These Norfolk Day Drabble gems may not have been crowned the winners but every entry received was an absolute diamond.

Here is a selection of some of the EDP's favourite picks from the entries received:

All Sewn Up

By Ron Brewer, 83, Old Buckenham

It was doing that sewing on telly

That lit the fire in his belly.

He felt he should have done better

But then came a letter.

A commission to make a special dress.

His legs shook like jelly

But if he gave it some welly

He reckoned he could give it a go.

No point in saying no.

The chosen material was wonderful

A really outrageous colour too.

He was keen to do his little bit

Sewing like mad to ensure a perfect fit.

It would fill him with total pride

Should his client win ‘Drag Queen of the Year’.

Holkham Beach

By Patrick Widdess, 42, Norwich

1952: We run about barefoot, as the grown-ups sit or slump by the dunes. Our new queen needs a castle, so we get digging; build high walls and towers of golden sand fortified with shells and seaweed. We raise a paper flag before teatime and leave it flapping in the breeze.

2022: My stick sinks in the sand with each step as the grandchildren run ahead. Daughter and son-in-law lug the chairs, picnic basket, and buckets and spades.

Something catches my eye by the dunes. Red, white and blue still flying from the highest tower – untouched by time and tide.


By Sue Page, 55, Edgefield

He didn’t like writing, he preferred maths, he felt he could do maths. The blank paper remained unmoved on his desk, the teacher’s words drifted over his head. What was that? A ruler clattered to the floor. His wandering mind jolted back, just in time to hear the teacher say, “Today, don’t worry about spelling or punctuation, just get your thoughts onto the paper.” That was all he needed, the fear left him, as he began writing with a freedom he’d never felt before. He wrote the title his way, it read ‘My home Norfolk, Wha’s fit for a Queen.

Norfolk Tea Boy for Oulton Airfield

By Judy Watts, 66, Aylsham

I pedal along the lanes. Oh no CRASH I fall off my bike. Thank goodness bottles aren’t broken. Just the trickle of water which is so precious; I’ve biked eight miles. I can’t go back now. Looking around I see a fast running stream. I run to it with half empty bottles to fill up once more. Phew. I pedal like mad to get there on time to make the tea for the brave pilots who fly in from the raids.

“Come on boy, give us a mug!” I hand the mug to the pilot, praying all will be well.

Our Last Walk

By Amy Radbourne, 30, Scarning

Pawprints disappeared under silken sand as we strolled along Holkham beach. The glistening sea stretched, seemingly as endless as our love for you, but it couldn’t last forever. Beyond the amber horizon, lay lands full of wonder, treasures and excitement, but in that moment, I never dreamt of being anywhere other than at your side. Brown eyes wide with innocent wonder, your tiny legs padded through the dwindling waves. You had strength yet to enjoy your last ‘walkies’. Fit for royalty, the pebbles were like jewels. The sand was your red carpet. After all, dogs have the most golden hearts.


By Sally Ross-Benham, 55, Stalham

“Only put them in the basket if you’d be happy for the Queen to eat them!”

Mum’s only instruction as we forage through dry, dusty, Norfolk fields where the uniform lines of green plants stretch out full of promise. Our little fingers squeezing, assessing, and picking the plumpest, juiciest, reddest strawberries.

The farm worker weighing them fixes us with an unblinking eye and asks “now, have you eaten any?” Earnestly we shake our heads while telltale red juice trails down sticky chins and Mum softly chuckles.

Our reward, Sunday roast dinner followed by delicious strawberries and clouds of homemade meringue.