We shake the dust of Horncastle off our feet.

On Thursday we returned to Belchford and walked to Horncastle. This is another of those Lincolnshire towns (like Barton on Humber and Louth) where the clocks seems to have stopped in about 1970. This is not necessarily a bad thing: it has two proper hardware shops, always the sign of a good town centre; several butchers (they like their meat in Lincolnshire; and an extraordinary number of antique/vintage/junk shops. I think the verb declines as follows: I deal in antiques; you trade in vintage items; he sells junk. Next to our hotel was one such establishment with a large white parrot in a cage. We were rather concerned, seeing it shut up in a cage at night, but when I returned the following morning, the bird had the run of the shop. It screeched "Hello" repeatedly followed by a series of alarming screams. If it is imitating what it's heard, I can only assume that the owner has murdered a number of customers. The bird turned out to be called "Sally" and seemed to be left in charge of the place while the boss was outside smoking. 
Horncastle has two famous former residents: Joseph Banks, the naturalist who travelled with Captain Cook; and William Marwood, hangman and inventor of the "long drop" technique (remember this - bound to come up in a quiz sometime). It was also the home of Mrs Alfred Lord Tennyson (Emily Selwood). Considering it has had the misfortune to have a Tesco plonked on the edge of town, it is a surprisingly bustling place. 

From Horncastle we had a straightforward if longish walk to Woodhall Spa, along a canal and then a disused railway. I found Woodhall Spa a strange place. Its prosperity was founded on waters discovered by accident during some early nineteenth century attempts to find coal measures. More latterly it has become famous for its golf courses, across one of which we walked, dodging the competitors in the English Women's Golf Championship, with which we happened to coincide. There are various large hotels, and some surprisingly fancy shops. It is like a little piece of Surrey, transported to the Lincolnshire countryside. During WWII it was surrounded by airfields, and the Dambusters were based nearby - their officer's mess was based in what is now the Petwood Hotel. 
There is only one tiny settlement - Stixwold - between Horncastle and Woodhall Spa - and the latter is only a small place. We did get some impression of how extraordinary it must have been for the inhabitants of a very sleepy and thinly populated part of Lincolnshire to have thousands of airmen descend on them: the first British, but from all over the UK; then Canadians and Poles; and finally the Americans. 

This was a long day: 14 miles - and we had done 18 miles the day before. We were tired and hungry and rather late on our return to Horncastle. We felt we needed a bath and a sit down before finding somewhere to have dinner. This was a mistake. Horncastle shuts, for culinary purposes, at 8.30. We were turned away from the Thai. We were rebuffed at the Bull. The Admiral Rodney, where we were staying, wouldn't feed us. Eventually the Chinese agreed to give us a takeaway, but refused to consider letting us eat it in their empty restaurant. The Rodney were persuaded to supply us with some plates and cutlery, but then told us we couldn't bring food onto the premises, so we rather furtively sneaked it upstairs. This quite tasty Chinese food was given some added savour by its being very slightly naughty to eat it in our room. But the experience put me in mind of Matthew 10:14 -  "And whosoever shall not receive you, nor hear your words, when ye depart out of that house or city, shake off the dust of your feet."
Photographs: Horncastle Farmer's Club; impressive former court building in Horncastle; picturesque ruin; Viking Way sculpture.