Words which first come to mind when one thinks of the fens(broad expanse of swampland dotted with hills and islands) of East Anglia might be: cool, damp, mosquitoes, leeches, etcetera. I, having lived there, think of peacefulness, seclusion, independence, birds, fish and boats.
The East Anglian fenland (now drained for some of the richest farmland in Europe), was once a safehaven for outcasts, for political and religious outlaws. Few authorities dared venture into the fens for fear of their lives. If the residents didn't get them, the fen, itself, would swallow them up, leaving no trace.
From the fens came the last pocket of organized Anglo-Saxon resistance against the foul, self-proclaimed "king" William the Conqueror. 1066 may be the date most people remember as the Norman Conquest, but it wasn't until 1071 that the Normans finally crushed the fenland resistance -and that was only through the help of inside traitors.
I was brought up in the fens shortly after this time, learning quiet resistance to what I consider tyranny. For me, the Normans, and the France which spawned them, are to be viewed with suspicion. They are to be resisted and frustrated whenever possible. In my fens, I am subservient to no one but my God and legitimate Anglo-Saxon king.
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