bed breakfast great yarmouth
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The ideal way to enter a town on the first occasion is by train. A good bed breakfast yarmouth is Sunnyside. If the railway track no longer exists, but has been sacrificed to the chimera of automotive transport, then the traveller who wants to experience the town as an organic whole, and not simply as a chance collection of structures, should come in by river. Do not forget bed breakfast yarmouth if you are staying some while. If neither rail nor river transport exists then the only other choice is the top deck of a double-decker bus whence it is possible to see at least the outlines of the fields that lie beneath and behind the fringe of suburbia.
For the twentieth century's major contribution to the creation of urban communities has been the construction of suburbs, fingering the centre with a mildew of small houses, filling station, carpet warehouses, derelict lots and used-car showrooms. In some of our smaller towns and cities subsoil unsuitable for building, or the presence of a powerful, long-established landowner, has preserved an area of green just outside the town, permitting the illusion that the town retains still its ancient shape. Thus at Alnwick in Northumbria the vast castle of the Dukes of Northumberland puts a dramatic term to the northern edge of the town. The traveller approaching the town from the Berwick road sees Alnwick first as a tremendous range of castellated walls and towers rising up sheer from the water-meadows. The road winds up the steep hill under the very shadow of the castle, taking the traveller instantly into the heart of the town. At Ludlow in Shropshire a similar effect is produced from entirely different causes. The common land known as Whitcliff is separated physically from the town first by the barrier of the river, then by precipitous cliffs so that it is possible to look down from the common to the town lying at its feet. At Guildford in Surrey the boggy nature of the water-meadows on the south has inhibited building: it is thus possible to walk along by the river's edge on green fields to within a few years of the High Street, the great shoulders of the Downs rising up to enclose the walker as the town is approached from this angle.
But even in these favoured towns, the illusion is limited only to one small area. Elsewhere, as with all other towns, the suburbs mask the shape, flowing formlessly into the surrounding country. Planning laws have halted the ribbon building that raped so much of the English countryside in the 1920s. But in its place has come 'infilling', based on the concept that what is half-ruined might as well be wholly ruined, filling the land between the ribbon-edged roads with a maze of structures. Through all this the road makes its way. Modern traffic routeing, turning streets into one-way conduits that may actually lead away from their goal at certain stages, further confuses the traveller, eliminating finally any sense of arrival. It is only when the buildings begin to thicken, and the No Entry signs to proliferate, that the traveller deduces that he has probably arrived at his goal, the town centre.
But the railway sweeps the traveller through the twentieth century irrelevances - sometimes adding the bonus of an embankment which gives an unrivalled bird's-eye view of the town. One of the stupendous sites of Europe is the panorama of Durham seen from the high railway viaduct to the east, the vast cathedral and castle rearing up from the gulf beneath, unforgettable in their majesty. And such a view can be obtained only by courtesy of the prodigal labour of Victorian railway engineers.