Fast forward to the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, we discover a renewal of the flint industry. Whilst weapons were still the main reason for the restart, Brandon provided the main share of high‑quality knapped gunflints to the British Army for the duration of the Napoleonic Wars.

A fellow by the name of Edward Bliss had the spark of an idea in the back of his mind. He wondered how he might make a small fortune. Knowing that Brandon had been linked with the historic flint industry, he started producing the first‑class flints for the Army’s muskets, pistols and new‑fangled rifles, as carried by Major Richard Sharpe in the Bernard Cornwell novels.

He became so wealthy from selling these gold‑standard gunflints, they were guaranteed to spark every time, that he bought 2,500 acres of the Brecks. Brandon Park House, a fine Regency home occupied by the Bliss family until 1903, was completed a little after the formal end of the Regency period; Prince George was, by now, King George IV.

Eventually, as new weapons technology took hold, the demand for prime Norfolk and Suffolk gunflints reduced to almost nothing. That left a lot of men without work. It wasn’t the end of flintknapping on the estate, though.
Bliss decided to purchase approximately 1,000,000 trees for planting.

Thus, the fifty‑thousand‑acre Thetford Forest was created. Now, forgive me, but I was under the impression that Thetford was one of our ancient woodlands, up there with places like Sherwood Forest, but, alas, I am afraid to report it only goes back just under 200 years.

Brandon Country Park is now reduced in size to around thirty acres, all gloriously attractive it must be said.

Edward’s final nod to the flintknapping industry, that had served him so well, was the construction of the gothic mausoleum, surrounded by beautiful Irish yews, where he and his wife, Sarah, would take their final rest. It was not to be, though, as they were moved to the slightly less salubrious surroundings of Brandon Church in the early twentieth century.

I will let you have a bit of homework this week. The mausoleum is now haunted, aren’t they all, by Edward’s nephew, Baron Boretto, who stalks the grounds carrying a candlelit human skull. I have no idea why. Can anybody tell me?

The sole purpose of our visit was to tick off another local parkrun. It has been bugging me for a good few months now; whenever I open up the parkrun app, I am informed that the closest one not done yet is… was, Brandon. I have now scratched that itch.

Another one on the itchy list was Great Yarmouth North Beach, reputably the hardest one in the country. The reason is that it is run entirely on the very sandy beach. After taking part in Brandon, I have lost the urge to try GYNB.

There is no doubting it, BCP has to rate among the more attractive ones we have completed. We are running along trails hewn from the woods planted by Mr Bliss. Blue cedars, giant redwoods and others populate this tiny bit of Old England.

It was as dry as a bone, a very aged bone at that, and the paths were extremely sandy. Indeed, one hill was much like running up a sand dune at Holkham Beach.

We had to complete two laps of this most demanding of courses and I did not relish the sand dune second time around. Having said that, though, I was pushed up it by my VI Guide for the day, Keith Thornton, Jane’s cousin, who, compared with me, is a superb runner, clocking up times I can only envy.

By the end, I have never been so grateful to enter a finish funnel; I was digging and breathing deep. It was really quite nice when a couple of other participants came up to me and my regular guide, Nik Bryan, to discuss becoming VI Guides.

Nik was there running with another VI runner, Nicky, whom I have shared a couple of bike rides with. When I say bike rides, I mean that we were on the back of tandems, separate ones.