As I left Norwich I couldn’t resist riding on the BMX track. Will post some film footage of that tomorrow.

Today was a day of two halves. Just twenty or so miles from Norwich to Tibenham, and then — as will be recounted in part two — a 25-mile evening circuit aroud Harleston, a village with some significance for me.

On this trip I’ve been either bivvying out or staying in Ibis/Mercure/Novotel hotels (the Accor group is a project supporter) but with no Accor hotel nearby and the prospect of heavy rain through the night I fired up Booking.com and found a last-minute place in Tibenham for eighty quid. And it had an indoor swimming pool, and it’s part of a grade-II-listed 17th century former farmhouse. Result!

My book loop tomorrow is a tour of World War II airfields. Tibenham isn’t on the route but it had an important bomber base in the war, home to the 445th Bombardment Group (Heavy) of the United States Army Air Forces Eighth Air Force. In one fateful mission over Germany, a navigation error led to the group becoming isolated and it came under furious attack from Luftwaffe fighters. Twenty-five B-24 Liberator bombers were shot down and a further six crashed on the return flight. Only four bombers made it back. This was the greatest single-mission loss of aircraft from any American bombardment group during the war.

Prior to this mission, film actor James Stewart had been a commander with the 445th at Tibenham. He flew 10 operational missions from the base.

After the war, Stewart was a frequent visitor to Norfolk. In the early 1980s he was a guest of honour at a commemoration event held at the American Library at the Norfolk and Norwich Millennium Library. My dad, Al, was head of security at the library at the time, and he was part of a group that escorted Stewart through the various displays.

“He was introduced to all heads of department,” my dad remembers.

“He gave an address about his time in Norfolk saying how well him and his fellow airmen were treated.”

Norfolk Gliding Club has been based at Tibenham since 1960. Gliders were flying today, banking for about ten minutes after their winch tow into the air.

I quite fancied a flight myself (I might not fly passenger planes any more but a winch-powered flight wouldn’t break any of my self-imposed rulees) but there were no public flights today. Instead I got to the historic accomondation early and had a swim. My small, barn-like part of the farm had been alloted 3pm to 4pm for time in the pool and, with nodody there to say otherwise, I had fun diving in. Later that evening, on the 25-mile circuit, I noticed a knitter had fashioned a diver as part of an Olympics display in the village of Thorpe Abbotts. It even had the same colour of swim shorts as me.