Norwich City Quotes

Mrs Greenow had told Captain Bellfield at their last meeting before she left Norwich, that, under certain circumstances, if he behaved himself well, there might possibly be ground of hope. Whereupon Captain Bellfield had immediately gone to the best tailor in that city, had told the man of his coming marriage, and had given an extensive order. But the tailor had not as yet supplied the goods, waiting for more credible evidence of the Captain’s good fortune.

When Sicily became part of the Kingdom of Naples, Palermo lost its capital status. It was never to regain it. It is now essentially a baroque city, beautiful though sadly dilapidated. But the setting – the Conca d’Oro or Shell of Gold – is as lovely as ever, and the Sicilian parliament still meets in King Roger’s old palace – so all, perhaps, is not lost.

The range and variety of Chaucer's English did much to establish English as a national language. Chaucer also contributed much to the formation of a standard English based on the dialect of the East Midlands region which was basically the dialect of London which Chaucer himself spoke. Indeed, by the end of the fourteenth century the educated language of London, bolstered by the economic power of London itself, was beginning to become the standard form of written language throughout the country, although the process was not to be completed for several centuries. The cultural, commercial, administrative and intellectual importance of the East Midlands (one of the two main universities, Cambridge, was also in this region), the agricultural richness of the region and the presence of major cities, Norwich and London, contributed much to the increasing standardisation of the dialect.

Although she was a recluse, she was not entirely apart from the world. She lived sealed in a cottage joined to the church in the city of Norwich. The modern fiction is that an anchorite was walled into a tiny church alcove with barely room for a prie-dieu and hard bed. Julian would probably have had a suite of rooms as well as a walled garden. Solitaries were even allowed to have cattle and property. They also had guests. The life was simple with much time devoted to prayer and contemplation, but it was not the cruel torture we might imagine. A main road passed right outside her house and Julian gave spiritual direction and advice to the many people who sought her out. One of these was Margery Kempe, who while certainly not of Julian’s sanctity, has entered history for writing the first biography of women in English. Nor was Julian entirely alone within her cottage. She would have had a maid (we know the names of two of them). And she may have had pets.

Uruk retained a certain importance, but it never recovered its former political power. Its ruins now lie isolated in the deserts of Iraq.

With the 1980s came a new harshness in British politics, which included prioritising profit over public service. The Conservatives - the very party who might have been expected to support the traditional distinctiveness of the English regions against the homogenous products of the metropolis - decided that it could raise more revenue by selling ITV franchises to the highest bidder, and could build a 'stronger' ITV by allowing one franchise holder to take over another. Soon Anglia had been swallowed up, alongside Ulster, Border, Yorkshire and the others, and ITV became a single company. Proud cities such as Leeds, Birmingham, Plymouth and Norwich lost their broadcasters: from then on decisions were taken in London, or (as the UK television market was taken over by international firms) in Los Angeles or Luxembourg.

wanted to talk.’ ‘So I do. Outside, though,’ Tess said firmly. ‘Unless you want Marianne hanging on your every word, of course.’ They ate bacon sandwiches and drank tea, and then Andy put on his long, navy-blue overcoat and Tess put on her dark-brown one with the fur collar, and they set off, into the chilly and uninspiring morning. ‘I told Marianne we’d be out for lunch,’ Tess said rather guiltily. ‘But in for an evening meal. It’s too cold for a picnic, but I thought – I thought we might buy a pie each or something.’ ‘You do want us out of your house, don’t you?’ Andy said quizzically. ‘Now I wonder why?’ ‘I’ve told you. Because of Marianne,’ Tess said. She could not bring herself to admit that she thought Ashley would turn up on the doorstep and make them both uncomfortable. For one thing, it would give Andy the impression that Ashley was a person of some significance in her life and for another, it would make her seem such a ninny. ‘Now, where shall we go?’ ‘The Broad isn’t iced up any more but I don’t fancy boating,’ Andy said as they stood in Deeping Lane, looking up and down it. ‘Shall we walk up to the bus stop and go into the city? Or we could walk to Stalham, I suppose.’ ‘We’ll catch a bus into the city,’ Tess decided. She was certain that Ashley would find them in Stalham without any trouble; Norwich would be a whole lot more difficult. She had no idea just what she expected Ash to do, except that it would be something embarrassing and unpleasant both for herself and for Andy. Ashley was so proprietorial, that was the trouble. He seemed to think he owned her. The bus came and the two of them jumped aboard and went right down to the front, for it wasn’t full by any means. Tess sat in the front seat against the window and Andy sat down beside her. ‘What luxury, a bus not crammed with office workers,’ she said, turning to Andy. ‘The bus Cherie and I catch in the mornings . . . oh!’ ‘Why Oh?’ Andy asked curiously. ‘Got a pain?’ ‘No, I just remembered . . . something I’d forgotten,’ Tess said confusedly. ‘It doesn’t matter . . . tell me what you did after that summer, the one you spent in Barton.’ She did not think it necessary to explain that she had just seen Ashley, in his snarling sports car, driving in the opposite direction. He had not, she was sure, seen her, which was one blessing, anyway. ‘School, then Russia, then school again,’ Andy said. ‘Now what I want to know is, did you ever discover about your mother and your dream and everything? You kept hinting mysteriously but you never actually came out with much.’ ‘No. Well, I wasn’t any better than you at putting things down in writing. But I really have found out more than I bargained for, Andy. D’you mind if I don’t tell you right away, though? I’ll save it for when we’re alone, later.’ ‘Being alone in the city isn’t easy,’ Andy said. He sounded rather disgruntled. ‘We could go to the flicks, I suppose, but then you can’t talk. People keep hushing you

of Norwich, and being back here made him feel weirdly heavy, as if the gravity beneath this city was greater than anywhere else on Earth. That thought made a strange kind of sense. London was home to eight million people, but how many had there been before that? The countless dead lay beneath the streets, and it was the weight of them, their sheer mass, that made the city pull so hard. He sat back, scrubbing his face with his hands. They had blood on them, he noticed when he returned them to his lap. The young woman’s blood. He tried to pick it from beneath his nails, itching like Macbeth. The copper in the front wasn’t interested in conversation, his wary eyes appearing in the mirror every minute or so. Kett tucked himself into the corner, pulling Billie’s phone from his pocket. It felt so strange

Increase of light and increase of labour have always gone hand in hand. If today, when our gaze is no longer able to penetrate the pale reflected glow over the city and its environs, we think back to the eighteenth century, it hardly seems possible that even then, before the Industrial Age, a great number of people, at least in some places, spent their lives with their wretched bodies strapped to looms made of wooden frames and rails, hung with weights, and reminiscent of instruments of torture or cages. It was a peculiar symbiosis which, perhaps because of its relatively primitive character, makes more apparent than any later form of factory work that we are able to maintain ourselves on this earth only by being harnessed to the machines we have invented. That weavers in particular, together with scholars and writers with whom they had much in common, tended to suffer from melancholy and all the evils associated with it, is understandable given the nature of their work, which forced them to sit bent over, day after day, straining to keep their eye on the complex patterns they created. It is difficult to imagine the depths of despair into which those can be driven who, even after the end of the working day, are engrossed in their intricate designs and who are pursued, into their dreams, by the feeling that they have got hold of the wrong thread. On the other hand, when we consider the weavers’ mental illnesses we should also bear in mind that many of the materials produced in the factories of Norwich in the decades before the Industrial Revolution began – silk brocades and watered tabinets, satins and satinettes, camblets and cheveretts, prunelles, callimancoes and florentines, diamantines and grenadines, blondines, bombazines, belle-isles and martiniques – were of a truly fabulous variety, and of an iridescent, quite indescribable beauty as if they had been produced by Nature itself, like the plumage of birds. – That, at any rate, is what I think when I look at the marvellous strips of colour in the pattern books, the edges and gaps filled with mysterious figures and symbols, that are kept in the small museum of Strangers Hall, which was once the town house of just such a family of silk weavers who had been exiled from France.