Around Britain

I walked to Waterloo Station to catch the 1435 train to Weymouth. The train waited beyond its departure time for the operating personnel to arrive. Then came an announcement that the train had been cancelled. The passengers were instructed to board a train on another platform due to depart for Weymouth at 1505. That train, normally 10 carriages, had been reduced to 5. It was already quite full so it was standing room only. A girl in her twenties offered me her seat. If I'm capable of walking all day I ought to be able to stand up for a while so I declined her kind offer. I can only regret that I appeared to be in need of such an offer. Seats were vacated along the way so I was able to get a seat at Basingstoke or Winchester, I can't remember which.

Then came another announcement. The train would terminate at Dorchester. However, another train following behind us was going on to Weymouth. By changing at Wareham one could catch that train without having to change platforms so that's what I did.

Another announcement warned us of industrial action by drivers on a couple of days in May.

As this developed I faced another disruption of a different sort. I attend Chelsea & Westminster Hospital for routine check ups following an episode of lymphoma a few years ago. The original appointment for 22nd April had been cancelled at short notice and replaced by one on 30th April. This morning I received three letters from NHS. One confirmed the new appointment on 30th April. Another set a new telephone appointment with the same department on 1st May which seemed absurd. The third cancelled the 1st May appointment.

As I waited for the first train to start the hospital telephoned me to cancel the 30th April appointment. I was unable to conceal my irritation as I'd made arrangements including booking a train to make that appointment. The blameless messenger said that she was merely following doctor's orders. She gave me a telephone appointment for 29th April. That in its turn was superseded by an email received on 27 April stating that I needed to attend the hospital on 29th April. When I did attend I was told that it was a telephone appointment but no one rang me.

A passenger on the second of the three trains said “We live in Britain, not Great Britain.

George III often stayed in Weymouth and there's a statue of him on the sea front between the main shopping area and the hotels along the Esplanade. That's where I caught a bus just after 8.30 going to Bridport. This is to fill in the gap I left on my last outing between Bridport and Weymouth. I set out from Bridport to reach West Bay. There's an unstable stretch of cliff east of West Bay so the SWCP had to be diverted. It now climbs up from the beach on a very steep incline. I stopped frequently to catch my breath and restore my balance. A woman standing at the top and facing out to sea was the only other person I saw who made it to the top. We exchanged greetings and I commented on how steep the slope was.

There followed a level section between Bridport Golf Club's course and the cliff edge punctuated by one precipitous descent and ascent down and then up flights of steps. A bit later I descended again alongside a large estate of holiday chalets. Down amongst the chalets I was confronted by SWCP signs that both pointed back more or less in the direction I'd come. I had to ignore these and pressed on beside a camp site with Burton Bradstock on a hill above with the B3157 running through it.

Near Burton Beach alternative SWCP routes were indicated. I took the one not leading to the beach. Finding myself in a cul-de-sac I took local advice. A man struggling to walk with two sticks told me I'd gone wrong. He directed me back towards the beach and to take the SWCP eastwards from there. We chatted briefly. He'd said he's like to join me but his recent hip replacement made that impossible.

I was soon alongside Cogden Beach. There was a deviation inland to circumvent a lake covered by reeds. At this point Othona was above me on the B3157. The crowds at Burton Beach had thinned out. I passed someone hidden by a windbreak with three fishing rods propped up in front of him with lines into the sea. His dog waited patiently beside one of the rods.

My next target was West Bexington. A sign told me it was one mile away along the beach. The beach was very pebbly and the shingle got into my sandals making progress painful. I headed on a path inland. This led me to another cluster of chalets. I had to take advice from a resident to escape its winding roads. Eventually I reached a minor road leading to the junction at West Bexington. One road away from the junction was called Labour-in-Vain-Lane and described itself as private. I took the alternative down to the seafront passing a superior hotel on the way. I wanted a cafe as I was short of water having lost one of my bottles on yesterday's journey. There was only a restaurant with the sign “Michelin 2020” outside. It was empty apart from a man inside who watched me carefully in case I tried to use the Gents which was for customers only. Clearly this place didn't cater for the more modest traveller. I tried to find a way east but was confronted by signs that the track was private, available only to chalet owners. The beach itself was just shingle so I had to turn back.

Labour-in-Vain-Lane took me a long way towards Abbotsbury. As it was a Private Road I had to live with the fear of being turned back. If that had happened I would have resisted as it led to a public foot path marked on my map. This connected to East Bexington Farm where a dead end road took me to the B3157 just short of Abbotsbury. A bus stop notice board indicated that a bus was due at 1407 that'd take me back to Weymouth. It was 1515 so I had time for tea and a toasted hot cross bun at a cafe. A brief shower prompted me to remain in the cafe for shelter. I then proceeded to the bus stop outside the Ilchester Arms. There the board suggested that the bus would come at 1647 so I resigned myself to a long wait.

I was joined at the bus stop by a young American woman. We quickly established that we'd already met on top of the steep slope at West Bay. She had visited the sub-tropical garden near Abbotsbury. She'd also been caught up in yesterday's railway chaos. Since she'd only just flown in from the States she was jet-lagged and fearful of falling asleep and missing some crucial announcement about the onward journey. We had a pleasant conversation as the rain started to fall in earnest. There was no bus shelter and nowhere else to take cover so we just had to endure it until the bus came. Emily had been an exchange student at St Andrews University and loved coming back to the U.K. She was staying in Weymouth for a short time before going to London.

Later I went out for a meal and it was still raining. Fortunately I had an umbrella. By staying in Weymouth for all three days of this trip I was able to bring more gear and walk with a much lighter pack.

Today - 10.23 miles; total 3790.15

My research had indicated a limited Sunday bus service. It seemed I had to get to Fiveways, a bus stop near a community centre, for the 10.36 service to Abbotsbury. Just on the off chance I asked Google to tell me the first service leaving Weymouth for Abbotsbury. It was the 8.45 leaving from the King's Statue. That meant I could make a much earlier and more convenient start.

Abbotsbury is a delightful village with a long history. Orc, a house steward of King Cnut, founded the Abbey for the Benedictine monks in 1044. They spent much of their time saying masses for the soul of their founder and the souls of others who made generous donations of property to the community. A tithe barn built in about 1400 survives but all trace of the cloisters, dormitory and refectory (where the monks took their meals) has gone. There are surviving fragments of the Abbey church and of a house probably occupied by the Abbot. The monks built St Catherine's Chapel in the 14th century. This is placed on the summit of a hill on the seawards side of the village. Services are held there and choirs use it for the excellent acoustics.

The village seems to be thriving. There are pubs and cafes, a butcher, a village shop with post office and a bakery. The bus stop outside the Ilchester Arms also has an impressive village hall nearby. Unfortunately it was not open to those wishing to shelter from the rain yesterday.

It was not much after 9 when I left Abbotsbury. As I reached the last house on the B3157 I switched to Hardy Way, a rough track leading to Portesham. The weather held and the church bells of Abbotsbury Church rung out behind me. I encountered not a soul. At Portesham I crossed the B3157 and turned into Winter's Lane just past the church taking me eastwards. The road climbed and I was soon a bit below the crest of a ridge. I reached Waddon House, a fine late 17th century property with dogs on top of a couple of pillars.

The height gave me a panoramic view of the landscape all the way to the sea. In between lower hills I saw that Chesil Beach had now separated itself from the mainland. It was an agricultural scene with sheep, cattle and the occasional farmstead. Traffic was minimal on the narrow road. Only locals would use it as the faster, wider B3157 ran parallel in the valley below. The only sounds I heard were made by birds and sheep. Sheep noises usually began with a B but they dispensed with the B if really upset.

At a ribbed hill the road switched to the other side of the ridge so the view was lost. I couldn't tell whether the ribbing was natural or a sign of cultivation such as terracing. I passed the road off to Corton Farm and a number of runners went by suggesting an approaching town.

I reached the B3157 and was disappointed by the lack of pavement in an area with several houses. I escaped the traffic by turning left to Elwell. Now it became very built up and the pavement continuous. It was a long hike into Weymouth. An underpass got me beyond the A354 connecting Weymouth with Dorchester. Near the sea front I saw the spire of the church close to my hotel.

Total today 9.84; total 3799.99.