Covid is complicating this project, to say the least, but while the travel restrictions were mild and the infection rates at home and in Norfolk were relatively low, I took the plunge and booked a hotel for another quick weekend research trip.

Specifically, I was planning to target what the Norfolk tourist board have branded the ‘Deep History Coast’, closer to Cromer than in my previous trip. The tide would be low at a reasonable hour of the day, and the forecast was clear.

That night Norfolk weathered torrential rains and high winds but it wasn’t the storm which kept me awake, rather the excitement of gathering fresh clay: I knew that the rain might be enough to cause parts of the cliffs to collapse overnight!

Sure enough the skies were bright next morning, and the sea was flat-calm. Only a half hour walk along the beach revealed several small landslides where the cliffs had given way, probably only hours previously.

I found myself drawn to an area where water appeared to be gushing from the base of the cliff. This was last night’s rainwater runoff, and was the perfect example of what the cliffs face each winter here. Coastal sea defences are often large, costly, physical structures which can dominate a beach, and yet they only attempt to solve part of the cause of land retreat. Arguably, rainwater is the greater menace to the cliff erosion in Norfolk. Already unstable land is further saturated during autumn and winter months and these clay beds are often sandwiched between layers of compacted sands and gravel. The water drains freely through these aggregate layers until it hits the less pervious clay and mudstone shelves.

My interest was further piqued when I saw that the stones and clay around this outpouring were stained with a crust of iron-oxide. I managed to scrape off some of this crust, along with some of the underlying pale grey clay. No single material, in these research trips so far, had seemed to so perfectly represent the problems of coastal erosion. Perhaps because of the fresh water rushing to meet the seawater (and their differing densities) I was already thinking about making a fine terra-sigillata from this iron rich deposit.

The clay in several spots here seemed exceedingly ‘short’ in texture, and I was keen to avoid the same low-temperature clays that I had gathered from Happisburgh earlier in the year. Instead I opted to collect a courser, darker clay. Maybe this would be equally low temperature, maybe it is more of a glacial till, only testing will tell.

The large timber sea defences along this stretch of coast are a constant reminder of the futile battle with Nature which King Cnut sought to demonstrate (that’s right, the story is commonly misunderstood; he was in fact seeking to prove that his regal power was no match for Nature’s).

I don’t quite know how as yet, but there is something in the structure of these sea defences which will almost certainly influence the pieces I end up producing from my research here. Along with the inevitable photos, I also harvested a small crop of seaweed; the very same stuff which grows on these baffles and groynes. Whether I end up making ash from this, or impressing it directly into the clay, or something entirely different, I am still not sure.