The official route to the North Norfolk Coast Path between Cromer and Sheringham navigates away from the coast and across the hills that form part of the Cromer Ridge, which is the highest ground in Norfolk. This was the first time we had completed this section along the official route for some years, the more usual route being the cliff top permissive paths or the beach, which are described in
The Sheringham to Cromer Circular Walk. The walk began at East Runton, then a casual walk along the beach to Cromer where we started the path at Cromer Pier. Later we returned to Runton on the Coasthopper bus and as a fitting end to the day we watched the sun go down from the top of Wood Hill which gives the campsite its name. It is distinctly noticeable along this stretch of coast the change in position of where the sun sets during the passing months. During June it sets way out at sea. In September it sets landward of Beeston Bump and even later in the year it shifts very much inland. No matter where you watch or when it is always a spectacular sight.
Roman Camp, sitting high on the ridge, is a bit of a misnomer as there was never any roman camp there, maybe some old medieval iron workings but certainly no evidence of Romans. Quite why it was ever named as such I don't fully know, though there are suggestions that it was merely invented to cash in on the early tourist trade. I have fond memories from way back in the 1970's when this area was the setting for frequent family holidays. Back then, there used to be a cafe as the marker for Roman Camp simply named 'Roman Camp Tea Gardens'. And the area was always referred to as plain 'Roman Camp' and never the definitive 'The Roman Camp' although this is how it now appears on modern OS maps. It always intrigued my young curious mind as to why it was referred to as Roman Camp as there certainly appeared to be a distinct lack of Romans and no sign of any encampment. I was certain that it was probably called something else and the adult folk had somehow mistaken its name, or worse still, the dreaded thought that I had completely misheard the pronunciation and it wasn't really Roman Camp that they were saying but a local Norfolk name that I was ignorant of and that would explain the missing 'the' preceding its name. And, if this was the case, I would certainly be ribbed for not knowing its real name if I ever let slip that I thought it was called Roman Camp. The thought was not worth bearing the weight of. I would be taunted with a constant barrage of jokes about there being no Romans and reminders of there being no encampment. Better to keep ones mouth tight lipped and nod and agree that we would head up to Roman Camp, or whatever it may be called, and silently wonder about the lack of Romans, the lack of an encampment and the lack of the word 'The' to its name.
Despite my qualms about its name, the enticement of 'Let's go up to Roman Camp' would still be something worth anticipating with the enthusiasm of the slow walk up the hill from one of the Runtons on a hot summers afternoon to be rewarded by a glass of
Cresta lemonade with a block of ice cream inserted into it, both items purchased from the Tea Gardens. The Cresta would fizz and froth as the ice cream slowly melted into the liquid, creating a moreish cream soda flavour. Additional entertainment could be had by dive-bombing and dunking the ice cream with the compulsory straw. A relaxing hour would be passed sitting at the parasoled tables in front of the cafe and gathering our energies together for the walk back down to the sea. I would spend the time surveying the surroundings and noting the distinct lack of Romans, keeping tight lipped about my observations just in case it wasn't really called Roman Camp. My thoughts would wander, imagining that maybe one time we would arrive here and we would witness a legion of Roman soldiers setting up camp. Then I could confidently speak up in a firm and confident voice declaring authoritatively 'Look, there are Romans at Roman Camp' and heads would nod affirmatively at my observation. It was only ever daydreams. No Romans showed up in all the times I ever visited. And so I kept my thoughts to myself.
Now, some years on, with a little more wisdom and knowledge I know it is called Roman Camp, and not The Roman Camp as depicted on OS Maps. I still don't really know why. Sadly there is no longer a cafe to mark its position, the permanent single storied building now replaced by a somewhat clinical caravan park. And the magic and mystery that I used to know about this place seems somewhat diminished.
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