St. Ives, part three.

St. Ives still grips us. The E.A. has put out a strong stream warning and closed the locks so here we sit. Luckily next to a water point.
So today instead of heading up river to Hemingford Grey we donned our walking boots and walked there, crossing Hemingford Meadow.

A buttercup bestrewn water meadow with views back to St. Ives

with the spires of the two churches, parish on the left, free church on the right, dominating the horizon.
Hemingford Grey has got to be the most chocolate box perfect village anywhere.

The river runs right past the church and there are some splendid old messuages.

After a pint in The Cock we set off back to St. Ives and by the time we got there we were feeling the effects of the walk, mostly thirst, so we adjourned to The Oliver Cromwell.

Down a little back street, that's it at the end on the left. Six real ales and four proper ciders, beside the usual clutter of continental euro-slop. Friendly, cheerful staff as well.
Imray describes the town wharf as moorings, well you could moor there but you would need a ladder to get up the wall. It also marks a water point.

Surely not.
So here we sit, still waiting for the water to drop.

Watch this space.........