by Richard Davies Davis

Created on: April 19, 2007   Last Updated: November 22, 2008

Ghostly tales of the Norfolk Broads.

England. Autumn.

"This is a brilliant idea!" Jessica remarked from her forward seat on the cabin cruiser. "'Do you know how long its been since we took a holiday?" "About three hundred years?" Robert replied, as he navigated the craft along the River Yare. "It's been that long I had quite forgotten how gorgeous the countryside is around here." On the banks of the river, trees had begun to shed their summer leaves, and the water glistened with fiery amber and gold. "I've never been on the broads?" She stumbled to keep her footing on the rolling boat. Robert laughed. "Well, at least you have a week to find your sea legs."

The Norfolk broads as this area is known, consist of several intertwining rivers and their tributaries that wind lazily across the countryside from the eastern coast of England. The broads are larger bodies of water, shallow lakes, connected by these inland waterways. "Want to stop for lunch?" Robert asked. "According to my map, the Drowning Man Inn is just around that bend ahead. Hope that's not an omen?"

They docked the motor cruiser alongside the tavern, one of the many riverside pubs to be found in this region. It had been built in the seventeenth century, and was typical of the local architecture. The walls were stone with wood beams and pillars throughout, and the roof thatched. In those days the inn was a stopping off point for the many river travelers along this route. It was a far more relaxing way to journey to and from sea-side towns; the alternative was uncomfortable and often cramped horse drawn carriages. The landlord maintained available rooms, and served a hearty breakfast and dinner. The inn was named in memory of the very first owner who apparently drank most of the profits, and one night plunged to his death into the River Yare. Nowadays, only the landlord and his family occupied the tavern, but they still served a fine meal.

Later that afternoon, Jessica, now more confident with a full stomach and a couple of ale's, took over the wheel while Robert with cigar and whiskey in hand, relaxed by her side.
It was now late in the season and they were all but alone on the river. In the summer months the broads are full of motor cruisers and yachts, mostly rentals from the many boatyards in the area. Robert badly needed the vacation. For the last ten years, he had done nothing else but work and more work. They were both relieved to be away from the noise, people and constant traffic of London. "Wake

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