Around Britain

I had travelled up yesterday afternoon, arriving in a bleak Grimsby with no hotel booking and no knowledge of the hotels. The County was near the station and advertised a rate of £15 a night. Hotel Reception at the side of the building was locked. At the second ring of the bell a man came and said they were full. Despite my predicament, I was almost relieved. It had looked a very mean establishment. The man had directed me to the St James Hotel in St James Square where people would be singing carols. The square was dominated by a church but I heard no carols. There was a small ice rink inside a tent and an impressive black sculpture. A fisherman in a sou'wester and waterproofs lent over the side of a trawler holding a net. Only a small part of the boat, enough for the man to lean on, was shown and this was tilting over towards the sea. It was an impressive sight.

The hotel was a sizeable modern block, part of the Corus Group. Until now I had associated that name only with the steel company, formerly British Steel. Yes, they could give me a room, I was informed by an alert and quite attractive girl at the desk - £45 including breakfast. The weather was so dire I decided to eat in, encouraged by the message outside the hotel that Grimsby was the food town of Europe. It didn't say that it was the best, and made no real claim at all which was just as well. The food was utterly plain and of ordinary quality. One shouldn't need any training to prepare a meal like this. This is perhaps unfair as the hotel was hosting 5 Christmas parties in the main restaurant. Someone, no doubt a youth unaccustomed to the amount of alcohol on offer free from his employer, had got hold of a hooter and was blowing it persistently. I commented on this to the pleasant young woman who was serving me. She said that the youth was in fact blowing simultaneously five of those hooters that extend as one blows them. The girl said that she was working hard over the Christmas period but the hotel was giving her New Year's Eve off and she intended to spend this in a caravan with her Auntie. We chatted intermittently and, as I left, she wished me a Merry Christmas.

Saturday dawned fine and clear. I ate a large cooked breakfast as I intended to keep going without a break all day. At Pyewipe I found the riverside. There was an embankment with a concrete road on top, wide enough to take cars. I discovered that Pyewipe Mudflats was one of the five most important sites for migrating birds in the UK and in the top ten in Europe. A large number of birds were illustrated on a board. Apparently the route taken by the birds was called the East Atlantic Flyway and some of the birds went all the way from the Arctic to South Africa. The mud flats at Pyewipe extend a long way out into the Humber. Today they were light blue as the sky was reflected from the water lying on the mud. I saw many flocks of Ringed Plover feeding on the upper reaches of the mud flats. Looking back towards Grimsby, I could see the tower at Grimsby Docks.

I followed the riverside walk. The river was very wide and I could see little on the far side except low lying mud banks topped with grass. There was no development to be seen as Hull was still a distance up stream. To my left there were industrial works and power stations. At a chemical plant a notice advised passers by on the action to take in an emergency. An emergency would be signalled by an alarm and flashing orange lights behind the notice board. In such an event one was instructed to leave the area immediately, avoiding any fume clouds that might appear. Fisherman had driven along the embankment and were now settled with their rods in place. One told me he was after anything he could get but the most likely catches were cod, whiting and flounder. A large ferry went by owned by DFDS Tor Line. A passer by walking his dog told me it was headed for Amsterdam.

As I approached Immingham Dock, I left the river by a path following a belt of trees. This took me into Immingham and I passed through a section that looked run down, almost abandoned. The Port itself was run by Associated British Ports and the entrance I passed was controlled. There were large piles of coke or coal dust inside the port area. Beyond the town I passed large oil refineries. As these ended I came upon the Humberside Sea Terminal. A couple of large ships were moored here. In the surrounding area hundreds, perhaps thousands, of cars were parked behind security fences. At first I thought these had been parked by ferry passengers but the cars were all new and many were identical models. Clearly they were awaiting export.

I now turned away from the river to head inland, passing through East Halton, South End, Goxhill and Barrow upon Humber. As I left the last just after 4 pm I saw the Humber Bridge for the first time. It is an engineering wonder. The box girders are so far apart that they don't appear to have anything to do with each other. The A1077 had a footpath so I was able to walk along that into Barton-upon-Humber, my destination. The bridge was in view most of the time. It grew in size as I approached the town and was now lit up in the gathering gloom. There were red lights on the box girders, road lights on each side of the bridge and the headlamps of the traffic passing over. Next time I would be crossing the bridge on foot.

Barton looked modest. The station was nothing more than a bus shelter and a single platform. There was a train at 6 pm to Grimsby so I went into the nearest pub to wait. I ordered tea so I was politely asked to wait whilst the drinkers were served. In the end I got a large mug and a packet of peanuts for £1. The barman, of late middle age, seemed to be a gentle soul. The same could not be said of his customers. They were drinking, swearing and smoking. No one was out of control, however, and I was pleased to be able to shelter from the cold with a warming drink.

Back at Grimsby, I decided to take the last train to Doncaster at 1936. This connected up with the London train. I tried with little success to find some take away food. All the establishments in the main street leading away from the station were selling alcohol only and lots of it. Crisps and peanuts were available, no doubt to stimulate thirst, but I needed something more substantial. At Subway I was able to buy a six inch Meatball Marinara Roll and a couple of cookies which quelled my appetite. There were no other customers whilst I was there. A notice on the wall gave the names of an Asian couple and said that they were the proud owners of the business. It didn't look prosperous but I was glad to find it.

Today I walked for 7 and a half hours.

I caught the 0830 train from King's Cross and reached Hull via Doncaster. I shared a carriage with some Newcastle supporters travelling from Stevenage to their side's match with Middlesbrough. References to beer peppered their conversation, and they were making early inroads into supplies that seemed more than adequate. They were staying in a hotel so this was not a cheap jaunt. One of their number caused hilarity by emerging from workaday clothes to reveal a short-trousered, close-fitting, crimson, one piece outfit. He had died blond hair and diamond studs on his ears. Shin pads and flashy brown shoes completed the picture. He was good looking but the garment failed to keep his beer belly in check. One of the party caused concern when he suggested that the outfit was in Middlesbrough colours. This sparked stories of narrow escapes from violent supporters of other clubs.

At Hull I discovered that the bus station next to the railway station was in course of demolition. I asked four people where I could find the bus to Barton. The first didn't know. The second was stone deaf. The third sounded as if he was from eastern Europe. The fourth was a black woman who lead me to the very bus stop I needed. The bus was not due immediately so I just had time to buy some lunch. A ham roll, flapjack and tea set me back £1.98. It looks as if the cost of living up north (this is East Yorkshire) is considerably less than it is in London.

The bus carried me over Humber Bridge and deposited me at Barton's modest railway station. I walked in the direction of a viewing platform for the bridge. This brought me to the riverside. The bridge towered above and there was clearly no access to it unless I returned inland. Only the western walkway was open so I crossed on that. There were a few walkers, fewer cyclists and a solitary runner. The railings were quite low and there was absolutely no impediment to anyone determined on suicide. This bridge has the longest single span of any suspension bridge in Europe. There didn't seem to be much traffic. Maybe it's busier during the week.

I descended to the river on the northern side. After changing into shorts, I ran for an hour until I had to turn inland. Much of the path was on a strip of land between the A63 and the shore. As I approached Hull I passed a shopping centre and entered the old docks area. Much of this was a development site surrounded by railings.

A lapse in concentration on Hull station left me on the Scarborough train. The ticket inspector advised me to alight at the first station, Cottingham, and cross the bridge to the opposite platform. In a few minutes a train picked me up and, after a short wait back at Hull, the same train took me on to Doncaster and the London train. I hardly deserved to be so fortunate.

The 0830 took me from King's Cross to Hull via Doncaster. It was cold and cloudy but the forecast had predicted it would be dry. I had soup and a toasted sandwich and set off eastwards at 1200 soon passing the Maritime Museum and the Town Hall.

I had chosen as my route a Cycle Path which started quite close to the station. This passed the Hull Kingston Rovers Rugby League Ground. The stadium might have been new as it was not marked on the map. Prominent was the Roger Millward Stand. I don't follow Rugby League but I had heard of this man. Near the ground, what looked like a station platform lined a section of the route. It was half hidden by vegetation. I realised that I was walking along a paved over railway line. Subsequently I discovered it was the East Holderness line which had gone as least as far as Patrington. Other stations at Hedon, Burstwick, Keyingham and Patrington still had their distinctive station buildings and these had almost all been converted into private houses.

As I left the building estates of Hull behind me, the concrete path became an earthen track. Almost at once a motorised vehicle with tyres like a tractor's came storming towards me, throwing up sheets of water. I saw several vehicles like this over the weekend. I believe farmers use them for driving over their land but others use them just for recreation. At Patrington I passed two B & Bs on the approach into the town but neither of the pubs in the town provided accommodation. In the Hillyard Arms I spoke to a deaf woman behind the bar and I had great difficulty in making myself understood. I pressed the bell of a B & B but there was no answer. I decided to press on although it was 0515 and the places ahead were much smaller than Patrington. I wanted to get a bit further but I was concerned that I might have to walk along the road in darkness for a while or even, at worst, to sleep out. I had an emergency foil blanket but it wouldn't protect me against the cold.

The next place was Welwick. A sign announced the Welwick Relic at a house where a painted face, attached to a contraption, moved up and down behind a gate post. A B & B sign swung in the wind but a girl in front of the TV ignored the door bell or perhaps didn't hear it. I moved on a few paces to the Coach and Horses. They didn't do accommodation or a meal but they introduced me to Julia, proprietor of the B & B I had just passed. She was drinking and smoking and said she would take me back with her.

Julia took me round the whole house. It had five or six bedrooms but three were taken up by herself and her two teenage children. There were no other guests. I had a bath and went down to the guests' living room. Julia brought me a cup of tea and then went back to the family TV room to eat her pasta tea. Later she brought me a toasted BLT sandwich, some Tibetan berries and some dried mixed fruit. Later I had a second cup of tea and a Bacardi and Lemonade. The charge was only £20 but I added £5 to cover the extra food.

Julia had left her husband, a farmer in Hollym some years ago. She had been an Arts Teacher and was trying to get back into teaching. She showed me a portfolio of her work. Many of her B & B guests were workers from Easington down the road near the coast. There was a terminal there bringing gas in from Norway. Julia had sat down with a beer and a cigarette. Clearly she liked to talk to her guests. She told me anything that came into her head. The other week she had called the police as Oliver, her son back from Leeds University, had bullied her and his sister. The police had cautioned him and he had behaved better since then. Earlier I had heard him lecturing his mother about her drinking, saying that it was affecting her health. Julia showed me a mass of photos showing her having high jinks with guests. She had a seaman's chest full of wigs and she loved dressing up. One of the photos she was reluctant to show me at first. One of her breasts was fully revealed. In another she wore an outfit which left both breasts exposed. Finally a photo showed her completely naked. She wanted me to acknowledge she didn't look too bad for someone approaching fifty. I declined a second Bacardi, pointing out that we lost an hour that night as the clocks went forward. She said breakfast was self-help. She would leave out cereal and bread, tea and coffee. She asked me to make an entry in her Visitors' Book. She asked for a hug and then I went to my room.

I was on the road by 9 am in fine weather. After Weeton and Skeffling, I reached Easington. Despite its isolated location, Easington looked busy with pubs and restaurants. Doubtless the gas terminal and the proximity of Spurn Head were contributory factors. I took the back road south past the cemetery. At Firtholme Farm I rejoined the main road towards Kilnsea. Kilnsea had a modern, one storey hotel looking out over Hawke Channel and a pub. I continued to the beginning of the three mile walk to Spurn Head at an information centre. Lots of cars had pulled up and groups were starting out on the walk to Spurn Head and back (total six miles). I decided against this as I had far enough to go already. I sat on a bench and phoned my sister Janie to wish her a happy birthday.

I retraced my steps to the Kilnsea pub and consumed a steak and ale pie and baked potato to compensate for yesterday's meagre diet. Thus fortified I set out with no clear idea of where I might end up that night although Withernsea seemed a sensible objective. At Easington I walked through the gas terminal which covered a large area divided by the road. Each section was surrounded by a high double fence with an empty strip of land between the fences. A Norwegian flag flew so that the gas probably came from the Norwegian fields in the North Sea. Just beyond the terminal was Out Newton Wind Farm with seven turbines.

I followed a byway off the road so I didn't pass through the village of Out Newton. I rejoined the road near Holmpton and passed near Hollym. It was there that Julia had lived with her farmer husband who was now losing some of his land to coastal erosion. As I entered Withernsea at 4 pm I saw that there was a Sunday bus service every hour to Hull and that a bus was due in a few minutes. I caught this bus and sat on the top deck at the back to look out at some of the landscape I had passed through over the previous two days.

At Thorngumbald a girl not much over twenty joined me on the back seat. She didn't need to as the bus was not crowded. She seemed inclined to talk but then desisted as she thought I looked drowsy. I had been but I now felt fully awake. The girl asked me about my walk and I told her briefly about Around Britain. I then asked her whether she had had an accident as she had a contusion near one eye. She said there had been an accident involving her young son. I then had her story. She was separated from the boy's father and they had joint custody. She had been a victim of domestic violence. As a result she had suffered a breakdown and had been certified. For a while the father had had sole custody. The girl now had a problem with her accommodation. Her flat cost her £80 a week and she was £100 in arrears. If she didn't produce the money by this evening the landlord would change the locks and throw out her belongings. I told her that the landlord couldn't do this without a court order. The landlord, she told me, was a hard man and would not be bothered about a court order. I asked her what she planned to do and she didn't know. She just had this vague idea that she would go to Hull and ask people she met to help her. I sensed that my advice was not what she really needed, or not so much as cash. I offered her £10. Seeing my wad of notes she asked for twenty. I gave her twenty and she asked to keep the tenner as well. “Now that's cheeky,” I said. She handed the tenner back to me.

The conversation now turned to her parents who lived in a one-bedroomed bungalow in Thorngumbald. They had an endowment policy linked to their mortgage. The policy proceeds would fall short of the sum required to pay off their mortgage by £4,000. I said that, if her parents had been told that the policy proceeds would cover the mortgage, they should make a claim for compensation. She said they didn't see the point of making a claim as it was bound to fail. She then told me that she had been so badly beaten by a recent boy friend that she was making a claim to the Criminal Compensation Board and that her solicitor had advised her that she might receive about £5,000. She intended to offer this to her parents so that they would be able to pay off their mortgage. I thought this was absurd. She needed the money herself and her parents might receive compensation themselves if they took the trouble to apply for it. I told her so but I'm not sure she took took any notice. I didn't have much hope that she'd be able to get control over her life. She had a bar job and was contemplating a catering/hotel training course. She was on benefits so no doubt the bar earnings were cash and not declared.

On arrival in Hull she guided me through back streets to the station. Her name was Louise. She said I was “a nice man.” I wished her luck.

The train took me from King's Cross to Hull direct and a bus on to Withernsea. I was on the road by 1.45 pm. It was yet another fine day in this warmest April on record. We have not had a proper rainfall for weeks.

I passed a bakers where I bought a packet of 4 flapjacks for £0.99. I ate a couple straight away on the hoof. I left the town on the B1242 and turned right at a windmill towards Waxholme. At Redhouse Farm I turned north west on a track running parallel to the sea. After Tunstall I joined a minor road after some cliff top walking. The road was closed but I carried on regardless. It seemed that the road was in danger of collapse as erosion had brought the cliff top just to the side of the road. Soon after the road turned inland and I passed Hilston and Admiral Storr's Tower. This building was in the middle of a field and I could see no path to it through the crops.

Later I looked it up in A History of the County of York East Riding Volume 7. It stands north of Hilston on a knoll called Hilston Mount. It's an octagonal, brick building, 50 feet high with a semi-circular staircase turret on northern side. Built in 1750 by Joseph Storr; called the Mount in 1810 but, by 1852, was named after Storr's son, Rear Admiral John Storr. May have been intended as a watch tower and was reputedly a well known land mark for sailors. Served as a hospital for troops camped on coast, 1794-95, and later as a cottage. Disused in 1990.

For a while I rejoined the B1242 but I left it again just before Garton. I turned onto a track just after a church and headed north. At this point I began to be effected by the Oil Seed Rape which was in full flower. My nose began to run and it did not stop until much later. At Ringbrough I saw an enormous construction site in the middle of unmarked land on the map. Later I learnt that this related to a new gas cavern in addition to one that had already been constructed.

At Aldbrough I was tempted to catch a bus back to Hull. The bus did not come at the appointed time. I saw a small hotel and was tempted to stay. However, it was only 6 pm and I decided to press on to Hornsea. I had to keep to the B1242 which hardly had any pavement but the traffic was fairly light. Between the road and the sea was a stretch of MOD land around Cowden. There was a rifle range and an RAF base. From what I could see it was derelict with tumbledown huts. Despite there being no sign of use there were warning signs at intervals ordering the public to keep out. Perhaps there were unexploded devices in the long grass. Why isn't this land made safe and then sold?

After Mappleton I soon reached the outskirts of Hornsea which had a large estate of residential housing on its southern side. It was now 7.30 pm and I needed to find accommodation. There were the usual pubs which didn't do accommodation and a few cheerless looking guest houses. I settled for the Marine Hotel. This was on the sea front and I had a room looking directly out to sea for £20 with an extra £4.95 for breakfast. The building was very run down. There was a huge mark on the bare plaster wall in my room and a piece of cardboard had been stuck on the wall to cover I know not what. I had a pint of bitter and a chicken tikka masala and avoided a series of smothered dishes featured on the menu. You picked a dish and then the sauce with which the dish would then be smothered.

Next day I was the only person at breakfast. I caught a bus outside back to Hull via Beverley. As the bus approached Beverley I saw the massive minster but when I was in the town it disappeared. Only when the bus had left the town did I see it again. I was then able to keep it in view for miles whenever the view was not obstructed by nearby trees or buildings.

The train took me from King's Cross to Hull direct. I caught a bus to Hornsea where I was dropped at the Marine Hotel. A sign told me that the sea had advanced 400 metres in 2000 years and, in the process, submerged 30 villages.

I kept close to the cliff top as far as possible. It ran straight and already I could see the curve of the coast out to Flamborough Head. The cliff face was largely soil and the sea had taken bites out of it. The area was liberally strewn with pill boxes and one or two of these had fallen down the cliff. A fence with concrete posts and metal horizontals projected over the top out into space. The lump of concrete attached to the base of the outermost post hung over the beach.

I passed Atwick and, soon after, a large caravan park. Each position had a concrete area with service cables and pipes to deliver services. Erosion had eaten into this place as well. Some of the areas were abandoned as being too close to the top and some had partially collapsed onto the beach. Park roads came to an end at the cliff top where barriers were placed to alert sleepy or drunken drivers arriving at the park at night. It's still early in the season but some places had caravans in position with cars parked alongside.

At Skipsea Sands I came across a shanty town right on the cliff top. There were old railway carriages and the most dilapidated huts. I assumed it was abandoned but I saw a man in an enclosed patch behind one of the huts and there were a few cars parked, one a Volvo. I imagined that the huts might serve as hideouts for criminals.

At Barmston Main Drain I followed a path into Barmston. This came to a road which passed the post office. I turned north again on a track. Another stretch of water diverted me to the beach. There it spread out over the sand and ran towards the sea. This enabled me to cross it easily. Bridlington was now in full view. There was a car park at Auburn Village and there were few people taking their dogs for a walk along the beach. Soon I was in the town heading towards the harbour.

I decided to check on train times for the morning. The street along which I approached the station had dozens of guest houses. Some announced their prices. One proudly proclaimed that they had colour televisions in all rooms. None of them stood out. How could I decide? On my way back from the station I met a short man with a tattoo on his neck. He asked me whether I had been walking and warned me to watch out for some of the guest houses that charged as much as £32.50. I thanked him. Eventually I rejected all the guest house and chose the Brunswick Hotel. This was a handsome building near the front that had fallen on hard times. B & B was £20 but the room was not en suite and I had to pay a key deposit of £10. I was told there was an ironing board in the communal bathroom. Was the barman being ironic? I was in my running jacket and shorts and my small pack did not suggest that I would be dressing for dinner. My room on the second floor had a window looking out onto the main street. There was only a ceiling light but there was a basin and tea making facilities. It was a fire trap. The only way out was down a narrow staircase and there was no escape via the window. I had a crab salad at a restaurant nearby and some mushroom soup that enabled the spoon to stand up in the bowl.

I ran and walked alternately and I was out for three and a half hours today.

The train took me to Hull and then on to Bridlington. I was able to start at 1330. As I climbed out of Bridlington, I came across the Bridlington Benches. These were wooden seats lining the cliff top. Each had been donated in commemoration of a deceased person or persons. The range of words was very limited. ‘In loving memory of….' was the standard. Words commending the deceased were common. Only one was religious – ‘Lord watch over us whilst we are absent from one another.' Pets were included occasionally. Their names would follow those of the couple commemorated. Some people were rocks who would be much missed; others were husbands, fathers and granddads. The supply of benches exceeded demand at this time of year but that might change in high summer.

Every so often the path would descend into a gully. Steps would take you down, with a banister to clutch, and then up the other side back onto the cliff top. Danes Dyke and South Landing were instances of this. Progress slowed down accordingly. I rounded Flamborough Head and approached the lighthouse. There were plenty of tourists here with car parks, cafés, souvenir shops and caravan sites to accommodate them. I took a swig from my water bottle and pressed on. Now there were twists and turns, ups and downs along the cliff top. Every time I reached a small bay the path made a detour inland and then back again.

The chalk cliffs were formidable, reaching 400 feet at their highest. This is the largest seabird colony in England. A board told me about the birds I could expect to see. The birds were everywhere in large numbers; cruising beside the cliff face, sitting on the sea, perched precariously on the cliff itself. How they remained on such minute footholds and preserved the eggs was a mystery. I saw guillemots. The notice said there were puffins, shags, kittiwakes and herring gulls as well as a few others. At Bempton Cliffs there was a Visitor Centre. This was a site of special scientific interest. Bird watchers gathered on the cliff top.

By Speeton I was on the look out for accommodation. I didn't want to be too late as I intended to watch the European Cup Final. I could see Filey but it was still some way off. At Hunmanby, a car park attendant directed me to a B&B but there were no vacancies. I staked my hopes on the Royal Oak near Primrose Valley Holiday Village. It was fully booked. It had to be Filey and I'd miss the match if I wanted to eat. The Three Tuns had stopped serving food ten minutes before I arrived at 2040. I took a standard room (not en suite) for £27.50. En suite was an extra tenner. A few paces away I enjoyed a reasonable Italian meal at San Marco. Liverpool lost so I had no regrets.

I was out 7 hours 10 minutes.

At Filey three major footpaths start. The Cleveland Way heads north along the coast and goes to Helmsley, Wolds Way goes to Hull and Centenary Way to York. I climbed out of the town onto the cliff with a view of St Oswald Church. I bypassed Filey Brigg. These are flat rocks off a headland visible to the north of the town. A warning notice says one should aim to be off these rocks two hours before high tide.

Quite soon I had a view of Scarborough in the distance but it would be midday before I reached it. A man on the cliff edge drew my attention to some seals swimming below. Every so often a black sleek head appeared above the surface to look around. Than an oblong shape, just submerged, would move about lazily in the clear sunlit water. Some people had got down to the shore to observe the seals more closely.

Later I encountered a policeman with a man. I jumped to the conclusion that the man had lost his dog over the cliff edge. The cliffs were dangerous here as they started as a steep grassy slope and then disappeared over a precipice. I could imagine a dog running down and then not being able to climb back. Soon afterward I saw three firemen. One was on a rope held by the other two, peering down the cliff. There were other policemen and a number of vehicles. Would they be bringing in helicopters to find this animal? The fireman walked towards me carrying ropes and other climbing tackle. ‘Have you been doing a spot of cliff climbing?' I asked. One of them explained that there had been a report of a woman in an agitated state near the cliff top. When I said I was on a coastal walk starting at Brighton, the spokesman informed me I had come to the best stretch of coastline in England and spoke disparagingly of Brighton with its bit of gravel. I responded that the people were nice down there. We exchanged such pleasantries for a short while and I moved on.

I entered Scarborough on the Valley Bridge built in the 19th century. The station was a large building so that the trains and all passengers were under cover. It had taken me 3 and a half hours to get here from Filey.