Dunwich Monastery Gateway

A Memory of Dunwich.

My earliest memory of Greyfriars in Dunwich was probably driving down the hill in my grandfather's old car in 1960 as he brought me to my new home at The Barne Arms Hotel. I had been at boarding school at Dollar in Scotland, and my grandfather had met me off the train in London and driven me along the tortuous roads (including the old A12) to Dunwich. Descending the hill, just before St James' Street opened out, the ruins on the right hand side seemed portentious, as I loved anything old and historic, and this was certainly both. Glimpses of the ruined buildings could be seen through the gate, and later I was to frequently circumnavigate the whole monastery, it's seaward wall being the final outer wall of the ancient city, and the gap between wall and clifftop getting shorter every year.
The first year I lived in Dunwich, there was I think, the last of the pilgrimages to the Monastery, with a religious procession led up the street, past the pub to the Monastery, led by churchmen, banners and numerous pilgrims. I don't know what happened after that, but it was the last one I saw, although I know that in the Church of England, there is still a Bishop of Dunwich. Dunwich was reputedly where St Felix landed to christianise the heathen Angles, who at that time populated Anglia. The other particular memories I have are of flashing past it at near ground level, and at breakneck speed on a 6-wheeled cart built from a salvaged pram and some pieces of wood, with our 'revolutionary' (we thought) new steering system. Justin North, my best friend from Marshside across the road from the pub and I, had built it outside his garage just off the Beach Lane, and would trundle it up to the top of the hill and take turns to career down. Nowadays it would be exceptionally foolish (it was too in those days) due to the amount of traffic, but we were young and foolhardy. At one time we converted it into an armoured car with large carboard box complete with turret on the back, to help us in our 'gang war' with other local boys. On one occasion, I was steering, Justin was in the back with his head emerging from the 'turret' when we had a mishap at the bottom. The steering came away in my hands and we careered into the garden wall outside The Ferns, the next house to Marshside. (The Ferns had once accommodated H Rider-Haggard, when he came to visit Suffolk, and more latterly it had been the summer holiday residence of Dr Roger Bannister of 1 Minute Mile fame). The result was a fair bit of damage to the cart and a number of minor cuts and bruises to our persons, Justin's head having ripped through the top and front of the (fairly substantial) cardboard box at the back.