The guide
Ely
Cambridgeshire, England
Ely Cathedral, the “Ship of the Fens”, rising over the city. (Photo: Diliff, Wikimedia Commons)
Getting there
London King’s Cross → Ely — about 1h10–1h20 direct, roughly half-hourly in normal service.
Famous for
The “Ship of the Fens”. Ely is England’s second-smallest city, standing on a little clay hill in the middle of flat fenland, and the great cathedral is the sail: one of medieval England’s wonders, crowned by the famous Octagon lantern tower. It was Oliver Cromwell’s town for ten years, its name is said to mean “Isle of Eels”, and the River Great Ouse slides past with swans, narrowboats and riverside gardens. Small, walkable, and quietly theatrical.
Where to eat
- Arbuckles — family-owned American restaurant at the Leisure Village on Downham Road; huge portions, famous fall-off-the-bone BBQ ribs; book ahead.
- Peacocks Tearoom — the riverside Victorian tearoom: proper teas, fresh cakes and afternoon teas; open Wed–Sun 9:30–5.
- The Old Fire Engine House — Georgian restaurant and art gallery behind the cathedral, classic British dishes, walled garden; Sundays 12–5:30.
- Ely Turkish Restaurant & Meze Bar — the locals’ choice for meze and charcoal grills on Fore Hill.
What to do
- Ely Cathedral — the Octagon lantern, the painted nave ceiling and the Lady Chapel; open Sundays 12–3 after services.
- Oliver Cromwell’s House — the only surviving Cromwell residence besides Hampton Court; free audio guide, then vote hero or villain. Daily 10–5.
- The Stained Glass Museum — the UK’s only museum of stained glass, in the cathedral triforium; Mon–Sat 10–5, closed Sundays; £6.50.
- The riverside walk — Jubilee Gardens down to the Old Bridge: swans, narrowboats and the Ouse at its prettiest.
- Ely Markets — 800 years of market on the Market Place: Thursday charter, Saturday craft/food/vintage, a relaxed Sunday market.
- Ely Museum — the Old Gaol’s fenland stories: eels, drains and life on the Fens.
- Waterside Antiques — riverside warehouses of antiques and curiosities, a happy browse.
The Octagon — the lantern tower crowning Ely Cathedral's crossing. (Photo: Michael Garlick, Wikimedia Commons (CC BY-SA 2.0))
Oliver Cromwell's House — the only surviving Cromwell residence besides Hampton Court. (Photo: Harry Mitchell, Wikimedia Commons (CC BY-SA 3.0))
The riverside — narrowboats on the Great Ouse. (Photo: Richard Humphrey, Wikimedia Commons (CC BY-SA 2.0))
The Market Place — 800 years of market beneath the cathedral. (Photo: Colin Park, Wikimedia Commons (CC BY-SA 2.0))
Jess's favourite Wicken Fen National Nature Reserve, nine miles south of Ely
the National Trust’s first reserve and the last wild fenland: boardwalks over ancient sedge fen, dragonflies, marsh harriers, and konik ponies and highland cattle roaming free. Open daily; visitor centre open Sundays 10–4:30. A short taxi ride, and the zookeeper in Jess gives it full marks.
Good to know: Best in spring or early autumn, when the fen skies go huge and the boat trips run on Wicken Lode (mid-March to October). On a Sunday, the cathedral opens 12–3 and the Stained Glass Museum is closed — so do Cromwell’s House first, the cathedral from midday, the riverside in the evening light. The Sunday market runs on the Market Place, and everything is an easy walk.
Jess plans her trips the week before, but trains have a mind of their own. Routes, times and fares in these guides were checked at the time of writing — engineering works, timetable changes and last-minute alterations can still happen. Please check your journey before you travel (National Rail Enquiries or the Trainline app) — and if a replacement bus sneaks in, we hope the day makes up for it.
Read Jess's diary of the day ↓
Jess's Day Off · Diary No. 14
Ely: The Ship of the Fens and the Ponies on the Fen
Ely, Cambridgeshire
The train out of King's Cross takes you into a landscape with no edges. The sky gets bigger and bigger until, far off, the cathedral appears on its little hill like a ship in full sail — and that, they tell me, is exactly why they call it the Ship of the Fens. I had my flask of tea, my cheese sandwich, and my notebook with Barnaby's latest dictation (a hedgehog, a lantern, a mist rolling in over the fen — I will tell you when it's finished).
The arrival
Ely station, and the first thing I noticed was the quiet. No parrots demanding an audience. No penguins holding a meeting about fish portions. Just flat fields to the horizon and a cathedral standing over the whole city like it was keeping watch, which — after the gibbons — was a refreshing level of being ignored. I followed the signs for the cathedral and immediately took my mandatory wrong turn, which delivered me, downhill, to the river instead. Jubilee Gardens, the Great Ouse sliding past, a heron standing on one leg like a folded umbrella. The rule holds: the wrong turn is usually the right one.
The walk
I walked back up past the Old Gaol to the cathedral, which opens to visitors at midday on Sundays, so I did the riverside first properly. The swans on the Ouse have the same fierce dignity as our penguins — all glide on top, all fury underneath — and one of them had started a tremendous argument with a narrowboat and was refusing to concede. I felt professionally seen.
The cathedral, when it opened, stopped me in my tracks. The Octagon is a crown of timber and glass hanging over the crossing, and the whole nave seemed to be looking up at it. I stood there for a good ten minutes doing absolutely nothing, which for me is a record. Then Oliver Cromwell's House — ten years he lived in Ely, and the house makes you choose at the end: hero or villain. I picked a side. I am not telling you which; Barnaby says the keeper's job is to notice, not to judge, and I intend to live up to that.
And then, because my diary would not be my diary without it: a taxi to Wicken Fen, the National Trust's first nature reserve, nine miles out into the wild fenland. Boardwalks over ancient sedge fen, dragonflies the size of small aircraft, marsh harriers quartering the reeds — and the konik ponies and highland cattle roaming free, exactly as promised. A foal came close enough to inspect my sandwich, which was a compliment I have not earned since the tapirs stopped noticing me. I will absolutely be the person who reads every interpretation board out loud. Happy.
The café
Back in Ely: Peacocks Tearoom on the Waterside, the Victorian tearoom in the garden room with its pretty teapots and its view over the river. I had a proper pot of tea and a scone with jam and cream, and ate it like someone who mucks out enclosures for a living, which is to say: thoroughly and without shame. Jess's pick, and I stand by it completely.
Home
Home by evening, boots muddy from the fen, notebook smelling faintly of clotted cream. Ely is England's second-smallest city and it does not seem to mind at all — it has a cathedral that fills the sky, a river full of swans, and ponies roaming the last wild fen. Small places with big hearts are my favourite kind. Tired. Happy.
Story seed
The Octagon did it. That great lantern hanging over the crossing like a crown of light, meant to be seen across the flat fenland. I'm writing a scene where Clarence finds a broken old lantern in the shed, and Pinafor helps him hang it over the clearing on the mistiest night of autumn — so the fireflies and moths have somewhere warm to gather, and nobody coming home through the fen has to find their way in the dark.
Barnaby's text"You stood under an octagon of oak and glass and thought of lanterns for fireflies. That's the keeper's eye, Jess — you see the grand thing and then you make it kind. Keep walking: the small kindnesses are the ones the forest remembers."
— Jess
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