POPPY LAND.

Lake Wakatip Mail, Issue 2490, 6 November 1903, Page 6

POPPY LAND.

AS IT WAS AND AS IT IS. MHAT a fool you were ever to let a human being- into the secret of your beloved Cromer. Why coukl you not let it alone? Why on earth did you not keep it to yourself ':" These are the jeering and taunting remarks that are hurled every summer at my offending held. Instead of being a benefactor to the human race, j instead of being allowed to pride myself on j my own unselfishness, I am, I regret to say, looked upon as a tainted or suspected person. " Look here, old fellow, I have a delightful little place of my own down in the country," observed a friend the other day, "and I should liko to ask you down very much to stay with me as long a* you like, but—well—will you pimnise me on your oath you will not, write about it ? for, honestly, I do want to keep it to myself,and to give the slip to the trip;m." Quite ten years ago I first made the acquaintance of ('i omer, and it was then the quietest and, I believe, the most romantic seaside nook in England. It had no great hotels, no piers, no bathing machines, and no bands. Sands were good enough for us then : our bathing machines were the clefts in the cliffs, our music came from wandering jnusiciane. I walked out, before dinner, wind saw the sun sink Runton way a solitary pilgrim. If ever wakeful afc three o'clock in the mornins'. I could have seen the sun rise over by the Lighthouse Cliff, Standing on the turf that I suggested—entirely to myself-would be admirable for golf. The green landscape was not then starred with red-brick villas. The poppies had it all their own way. One morning, I wandered aimlessly over this soft, turfy cliff, and found myself in the most romantic of Norfolk villages. I leaned over a white gate,and looked enviously into a rose garden. I broke one of the Commandments. I envied ray neighbour's house, and he, the mirier of Sidestrand, repaid my ingratitude by making me his friend for life. And here I dwelt, under the shadow of the old mill, and here I discovered the Garden of Sleep, and here I became acquainted with the fishermen and the villagers, and here I have lived on and off, spring, summer, autumn, and winter, up to this very hour. For lam writing lines in the very room, at the same table, and sitting on the same chair, as when, in that rash but generous moment, I despatched the first of the " Poppyland Papers" 10 the Daily Te/t'jraph, and suggested there were joys to be found in summer holidays outside fashion, and dress, and promenade, and society, at the seaside. But there are other sinners besides myself. It is not fair to make me alone bear the burden of this crime of publicity. Scarcely was the ink dry that printed "Poppyland," in the large, st circulation in the world, ere <-forge R. Simms arrived to advertise the glories ot flvj Cromer district in his " Dagonet" column in the worldknown /e/.'". Here, at the table where I write, sitting in my chair, and dipping his pun into the ink.-tand presented to me one Chiistmas by the villagers of Sidestrand, Ihe excellent " Dagonet'' exchanged sentiment for his own delightful humour. He. laughed, he chaffed, and made the place notorious. He drove the predecessor of " Faust " about the Norfolk lanes, and lost his way at nightfall. Put the genial Sim- loves good company. He opened the sta re door and lit the theatre at Poppyland. Here he brought Wilson Barrett to wi ire plays ; here he conducted poor Robert Keece to breathe some fresh air once more when he was i-i extremi* ; here came Henry Pettitt to collaborate with George Simms in the old mill garden. The profession, once tempted, poured into Poppyland. Beerbohm, Tree dreamed of Hamlet in-the Old Mill House, and actually studied the Prince of Denmark in a secluded arbour at " Northrepps." Ceorge Alexander "Ms well known at Runton aud Sherringharn. Hermann Vezin loves to bathe off Overstrand beach. Ah ! me, but I forget. This old table at which 1 write is far more famous than any of you imagine. Here, Algernon Charles Swinburne wrote •'A Midsummer Holiday," whilst his friend, Theodore Watts, composed Bonnets in the blue china dining-room. Plays, poems, essays, stones, leaders, descriptive papers, have all been written in this sunny little room, dear to me by many a delightful memory. And it is ten years ago since Louie opened the white gate to me, and said that the traveller might rest. Only two seconds ago the faithful Louie opened the door to just such another traveller, and assured him that there was not a bed to be had ior love or money between Sherringharn and Mundesley.

Well, what do you think ! They have builb a Grand Hotel, and are designing a new and splendid Pier that is to have kiosques and shops, and a theatre and dancing platform at the end. There are bands of music all over the place. There are as many donkey,-anddonkey-chaisesatmodernCromer as at' Scarborough- The primitive little Cromer of old is fringed round with scarlet houses. Poets, like Mr. Sampson-lacker, and politicians, such as Mr. Broadhurst, Mr. Cyril Flower, and Mr. John Morley, make Poppyland their home. The golf links that I dreamed about on the Lighthouse Cliff are an accomplished fact. The sands swarm with tents and tennis-nets. Overstrand, that was once a hamlet of humble fishermen's cottages, is a red townlet of bungalows and villas. The silent lanes, trodden so few years ago alone by the husbandman, fisher, and | \stman echo with the shouts of excursion : : and holidaymakers. Omnibuses, elm i-bavcs, waggonettes, donkey-chaises, go i.i one continual stream all day between Cromer and Trimingham. The old mill opposite my cottage ha's drof >ped its ai nis in horror at the change. It has tumbled down and given up the ghost. The Garden of Sleep has been so trampled upon by visitors that it has ' fallen half-down into the sea. From morning until night excursionists g ; ,ze into our ro*e garden, lean over my white'jato.and babble continuously, " i'. ppyland : Poppyland !" Nay, they do more-they enter laughingly, and demand relics of Dafonet, S« inburne, Pettitt, Beerbohm Treei and WiUm Barrett. They offer bribes for Swinburne's stick and D:, '.mrt's pipe. Th-y have heen kn0wn—(.,,,1,1, j, ~■:,. iV.di- Ihe i- toa-ik if th-'V might sit in tin.- ei,..ii or rho author of " Poppyland Papers," and to handle Irs pen. Pretty dears ! So, nfterall, was it wholly wrong to opej, to ih'e worhi the ■:■■"' : <>■ lt iscl to 1'„.,-,vl;'iid v S.-nio our el, • iii.j-i deeide that (Mir-Vion. May • •>■ •. ali be •. happy there si- i li.-ive he' n. I)> ■■■ Urii'iii- '■ -< 'ieineni Scott in Th I-U-r.