Around Britain

I arrived in Scarborough at 1630, the journey from King's Cross having taken 3 hours including a change at York. I decided to take advantage of the dry weather to make some progress towards my ultimate target of Whitby by tomorrow. I came out onto the North Bay promenade and looked back south towards the great headland. Upon this I could see the castle. A Roman signal station also stood up there but I couldn't see it.

I came to a pub and crossed the bridge over the River Derwent. I climbed steps until I was looking down to the river to my left far beneath. Almost immediately afterwards, I was looking down to my right onto a rocky shore. I followed the Cleveland Way along the top of cliffs. I had phoned the Heyburn Wyke Hotel whilst on the train to book accommodation for tonight. They had quoted me £38 and with breakfast at 9 am. At my protest, this had been brought forward to 8.30 as a concession. I said it was still too late for me. So I didn't book although I wasn't sure that there was any alternative. This was living dangerously. The ground is damp from the wettest June in living memory so a night out would be an ordeal.

At Crook Ness I turned inland on a road which led me to Burniston. Just before arriving there I passed underneath the old Scarborough to Whitby Railway. The Jolly Sailors was just a pub so I walked to the next village of Cloughton. The Blacksmiths Arms had accommodation but looked a bit smarter than I needed so I pressed on. Just up the road the Red Lion also had rooms but it was shut. I walked round the back and was told by one of a group of small boys that the pub didn't open until 8pm. It was only 6.30 and drizzle had started to fall. I asked the boy whether there was anywhere else providing B&B nearby. He said that if I wanted B&B he would ask his mum. She showed me a small single room with a shower and WC ensuite which was ideal and cost £25 with breakfast anytime I wanted. She didn't serve an evening meal but would prepare me something if I wanted. I said that I wouldn't put her to that trouble as I could eat at Blacksmiths Arms.

The meal at the Blacksmiths was a pasta bake with salad served on the same plate. Accompanying it was a bowl with five different types of vegetable including both boiled and roast potatoes.

I bought The Independent at the Post Office nearby and settled down to my breakfast at 7.30. I was the only person staying at the Red Lion.

By 8.40 I was on my way. I had decided to walk along the old Scarborough/Whitby railway line. This had been opened in 1885 and closed in 1965. It was now part of the National Cycle Network so the going was fairly level and firm. I thought I'd make much quicker progress than I would on the Cleveland Way. I joined the railway route near the Heyburn Wyke Hotel. A sign indicated I was 15.5 miles from Whitby and 8 from Scarborough. Initially the track passed through woodland but later, as it slowly climbed, I had a view out to sea from my increasingly elevated position. I encountered one or two local people out with their dogs and a group making a fuss about a young girl riding a pony.

The first place I came to of any significance was Ravenscar, ‘the town that never was.' In about 1900 a developer dreamt of creating a town to rival Scarborough. Plans were drawn up and a copy was displayed on a notice board showing all the streets and building plots. Interest was insufficient and the Ravenscar Estate Company went into liquidation. Now there is a hotel and a few houses. It's the highest point on the railway (162 feet above sea level) and the National Trust owns a lot of the surrounding land, particularly a stretch of coast line.

In 1947 Ravenscar was cut off for weeks by the extreme winter conditions. Supplies were down to tinned soup. Workmen went out into the fields with picks and shovels and harvested frozen turnips. Eventually a relief party came from York bearing bread and cakes. The whole community turned out to welcome them.

The next place on my route was Robin Hood's Bay, a fishing village dating from the 1500s. This was a cluster of houses on narrow streets and alleyways. The number of restaurants, B&Bs and the types of shop demonstrated that this was a popular tourist destination. Large groups wandered about. I resorted to a tea shop in Up Town. This had more substantial properties built to accommodate sea captains and is reached by climbing up a very steep lane. As I drank my tea and ate my paradise slice the rain started.

Outside I read a stone memorial, erected in 1981. It commemorated an occasion in 1881. There was a terrible storm and a ship went onto rocks in the bay. The lifeboat at Whitby couldn't put out to sea as the conditions were so bad. The boat was hauled 6 miles overland from Whitby to Robin Hood's Bay in just two hours. It required 18 horses hauling the boat and 200 men digging through seven foot snow drifts. The boat was launched and carried out the rescue. I don't think that could happen today.

In the unpleasant conditions I now faced I returned to the railway path that I had left at Ravenscar. I put my head down and walked as fast as I could. I even jogged for short sections. As I went through Hawkser, I saw the old station platform. A small stretch of rail had been kept and three carriages stood there, trapped for ever by the lack of any escape route. As I came near Whitby, the railway path crossed a high bridge over the River Esk. There was heavy machinery blocking the bridge so I had to edge round it to continue. The Abbey stood on top of a cliff and dominated the town.

I made my way to the centre and caught a bus back to Scarborough from outside the railway station. I was out walking for about 6 hours today.

I returned to Whitby by train to Scarborough and then bus to Whitby. I started walking about 1430 and aimed to stay the night at Staithes. Despite the heavy rain over the last few days, conditions were very pleasant. I walked past the Cook Memorial. Cook had come to Whitby as an 18 year old to work for a mariner, mostly sailing along the British coast. A couple of whale jaw bones stood together as an arch and there was a statue.

Scoresby, father and son, were also commemorated in the town. The father had invented the crow's nest by strapping a barrel to the mast for the lookout to get into for protection. The invention was probably forced by necessity as the Scoresbys were whalers sailing far into the north. By forcing a way through the ice, they almost got to within 500 miles of the North Pole. Whaling was an important industry until well into the 19th century. Whales were a major source of oil until oil wells started to produce it out of the ground.

Whitby looked as if it catered for trippers and I saw a hen party kitted out in uniform. They had messages on their backs and one read ‘Just do me'. I walked out of the town above Whitby Sands and soon joined the A174 which took me to Sandsend. At this point the Cleveland Way left the road which turned inland. The path followed the cliff top and took me, via Kettleness, to Runswick Bay. This was typical of many of the fishing villages in that it had an uptown and a downtown. The lower section went down to the beach and was a mass of houses huddled together. Narrow alley ways climbed the hillside between the buildings. These sometimes turned out to be dead ends. The wider ones might get you back to the main street. This street climbs up steeply to the upper town built level with the cliff top. Robins Hood Bay was just like this.

Staithes was similar to these villages but the upper town was larger. The town is dominated by the belching chimney of Boulby Mine. This looks like a cement works and stands behind and above the town. It does nothing for its appeal. I walked up the main street on the look out for accommodation. The town looked a bit drab and many of the properties were for sale, often with home made ‘For Sale' signs in the window. There was a promising restaurant with rooms. The door was locked and I could not phone as there was no network coverage. A bearded man said he would take me to a B&B. It was down a back street and there was a B&B sign outside. No one answered the door. The Captain Cook Inn looked lively and there were musicians playing in a crowded bar. My path was barred by a pram with a Boxer dog attached. When I got the landlady's attention she told me all rooms were taken but recommended a place nearby. This was Springfields. The business was up for sale. No one answered the door and my phone still had no coverage. It was already 1915. It was Saturday night in the holiday season. The thought occurred that I was going to have to spend the night out.

I had no choice but to walk on to Loftus – four miles further on. I passed near the potash mine where I saw that research was being carried out on dark matter. I turned off the main road and took a cycle route past farms. Shortly after the hamlet of Upton, I descended into Loftus. There were some awful pubs with drinkers, loud music and no food or accommodation. The only one that did have rooms was full. I walked to the end of the town and there was nothing, but it was now 2100 and it was unwise to continue. I remembered a barmaid had mentioned the Station Inn which I hadn't seen. It was just off the main street on a side road. No, they didn't do accommodation. The landlady who addressed me as ‘Petal' advised me to go on to Timms Coffee House in Skinningrove but I was loath to do so. A youth in his cups said I could have a room for £20. ‘Done' I said quickly, before he could change his mind. However, his female companion was less enthusiastic. I chatted pleasantly to give her the chance to realise what an upstanding citizen I was but my appearance and, I suppose, my predicament were against me. Then the Landlord said I could have a room after all for £15. It would be without breakfast. It was a good sized room with a bathroom. The landlord told me they normally let it out on weekly terms but it happened to be empty.

The Landlord recommended that I bought a take away at Abdul's and brought it back to the pub to eat in the bar. I ordered chicken bhoona with rice and a couple of chapatti. As I waited I chatted to Abdul. He seemed to have a thriving business with at least six people working in the kitchen behind him. The only white employee was the delivery boy. Abdul said his people came from the Hindu Kush and he wanted to go back on a visit. He was suffering a mid-life crisis and thought he'd travel back overland in a diesel bus. He hadn't told his wife but he planned to take her and their young children. He also wanted to visit Bhutan. I said that I'd been there in 2006. I told him the story of the soldier who, on finding a Swiss Army knife in my hand luggage, escorted me to my hold luggage so that I could put it there. Abdul said he carried a machete on his trips. ‘You are only as sharp as your knife'.

I enjoyed the curry with a pint of ‘hand pulled ale'. I then went to my room having paid and checked that I would be able to let myself out in the morning when I made my early departure. Out 6 and a half hours today.

I was away by 0720. I came to Skinningrove and found that Timms Coffee House was a substantial building near the beach. I walked on sand dunes for a short while and then climbed up steps to the cliff top. In the distance I could see a substantial building near the cliff top. It was on the railway line serving Boulby Mine, connecting the mine to Saltburn-by-the-Sea. The building was the Guibal Fan House. This housed a large steam powered fan. The fan extracted stale air via a chimney from the Hunt Cliffe iron mine, allowing the inflow of fresh air from other apertures. It was last used in 1906 and was now listed as an Ancient Monument.

I skirted round Warsett Hill. The railway line and Cleveland Way came close together at the cliff edge. As I descended towards Saltburn, I could see beyond it in the distance an industrial landscape of smoking chimneys and cooling towers. A plaque at the cliff top told me that I was close to the site of Hunt Cliffe Roman Signal Station. The station had fallen into the sea but it had been excavated beforehand. There were other signal stations at Scarborough, Goldsborough and Ravenscar. These were built in the reign of the Roman Emperor Theodosius 379-395. He was the last Emperor to rule a unified empire, both east and west. The stations were intended to give early warning of raids by Picts and Saxons.

The Scarborough Signal Station is in good condition and indicates the form these buildings took. A tall central tower was set in a courtyard. A wall and outer ditch provided defence. Presumably a signal would be given from the top of the tower to a nearby settlement, warning of approaching ships. When the Hunt Cliffe Station was excavated, 14 skeletons were found at the bottom of its well. Some had suffered head injuries. Many were women and children. Presumably the Station had been overwhelmed and the occupiers massacred.

I descended towards Saltburn where I took a belated breakfast. A train bore me to Darlington where I changed onto the London train. I was out for just 2 and a half hours.

The train journey from King's Cross to Saltburn took three and a half hours with a change at Darlington. I bought a sandwich for £2 in a health food shop and then set off. I walked along the cliff top to Marske-by-the-Sea and then Redcar.

At Redcar I stopped on the sea front to read the inscription by a large rusty anchor. The anchor came from a Finnish ship, called ‘Birger', sunk in 1898 by a rock called Salt Scar, visible just off the front. 13 sailors lost their lives. The anchor had been raised by a local diving club in 1999. Out at sea there were eight stationary ships. I puzzled about this before realising that they were probably in a queue, waiting to moor at Teesport to unload and/or load. Their position was just outside the mouth of the Tees. A sign told me of the 1861 storm that destroyed 50 ships sheltering in Tees Mouth. To prevent this happening again, the Victorians built North Gare Breakwater

At the eastern edge of the town the steel works dominated the scene. White and rust coloured smoke belched from the works. I approached it on a bridle path which skirted a golf course. I was aiming for the start of the Teesdale Way. I found a marker post in Warrenby but lost the path in Coatham Nature Reserve. I had to walk back to Redcar to get onto the A1085. A heavily tattooed man cycled past with a wave and some comment about the weather. Later I caught him up as he had dismounted to pick a couple of small, unripe, green apples. I asked whether he knew where I could join the Teesdale Way and he told me of steps descending to it some distance ahead. He also advised me that there were B & Bs in Marton Road, Middlesborough but it was ‘a canny way.‘ He said the B & Bs were used by lorry drivers and contractors so they were of a good standard. ‘You don't want to stay in no sleazy place'.

I found the steps. The Teesdale Way didn't look as if it was much used. It passed between a railway and a raised track used by industrial vehicles. To my right was Teesport although I could see little of it. To my left were more steel works and then chemical works beyond the A1065. I saw recent bicycle tyre marks on a muddy section of the path. I developed an irrational fear that the man to whom I had just spoken was lying in wait for me ahead. The man was very muscular and I would have been no match for him. He knew I was going to walk on this track and he also knew that it was little used. I passed several spots suitable for an ambush and my concerns eased. Another cyclist did pass me but I encountered no one else. I passed an area of slag heaps and a station at South Bank.

I came off Teesdale Way near North Ormesby and eventually found Marton Road. It was a wide commercial street. The Laurel would do B & B and the Irish barman took me upstairs to see the room. It was not en suite and didn't even have a basin. He said the price was £27 but, if I thought that too much, he might arrange a reduction. I offered £25 which he agreed. Terms were strictly cash and payment was required up front. I asked for a receipt but he couldn't find the receipt book. I just wanted to be able to prove that I had paid if different staff were on duty the following morning. I hinted at difficulties I'd had elsewhere (untrue but I'd seen one such dispute at a place I stayed in years ago). The barman just said that I wouldn't have any such problems at The Laurel.

I ate a curry across the road and eavesdropped on a conversation at a nearby table. A financial middle man was talking to two young business men about raising money for their business. He spoke quite loudly so I had no choice but to listen. I was out 5.5 hours today.

Having bought The Independent in the newsagent opposite, I sat down in the bar for breakfast shortly after 7 pm.

A rough looking man asked if I wanted tea or coffee but he didn't ask me anything else. After a while he brought me a plate loaded up with two sausages, bacon and egg, baked beans, a tinned tomato, a slice of black pudding and four half pieces of toast.

I was on my way by 8.55 having read the paper. I made directly for the Tees bridge. This was a rugged looking iron structure, very different from the sleek road bridge visible a short distance upstream. The other bridge carried the A19. Soon after crossing the Tees, I walked underneath the A19 and followed a little used path marked on the map which led me to a large retail park. To the north of this park, substantial construction works were in progress with a view to expanding the site. A large wheeled vehicle had created a deep rutted track across a sliver of land between the A19 and the construction site near a prison. The path marked on the map was hard to find as it was almost overgrown. I made my way along it with difficulty and disturbed a flock of sparrows. They hovered over a large bush that I was forcing my way past and then disappeared.

I walked around the edge of Stockton and entered Billingham. In Cowpen Bewley Woodland Country Park, I followed a minor road, part of the national cycle network. This took me to Greatham and then Seaton Carew. I reached the sea front to look out into Hartlepool Bay. To the North I could see the harbour. There was a grand esplanade opened in 1905. This was one of the first seaside resorts for those made prosperous early on in the industrial revolution. In the late 19th century a clergyman photographer recorded his time. Pictures showed bathing machines advertising Beechams Powder and boys in sailor suits playing with poorer boys in the shallows.

Hartlepool station was strange. Only one platform was in use but the announcer referred to platforms 1 and 2. If the train was heading one way it was platform 1 and, if the other, platform 2. There had been a second platform and it was still there on the other side of the tracks. The roof that had covered the station had been removed apart from the girders. The bridge that allowed access to the opposite platform was no more. After a short wait, I caught the 1415 and changed at Thornaby for Darlington. There the London train entered the station as soon as I arrived so I boarded it and used the trolley on the train to get a snack. I was out 5 hours.

I caught the 1030 from King's Cross to Newcastle. The connecting train took me to Hartlepool. My objective was Seaham which looked big enough to provide accommodation.

By way of the A179, the A1048 and the A1049, I reached a short tunnel under the railway. This took me to a footpath in the midst of large derelict buildings. One was circular with great concrete ribs all the way round. I had no idea what it might have been for. When the path crossed a golf course, it became faint and there were no directional signs. An elderly couple of golfers asked politely where I was going and were very helpful. The woman said it was fortunate there were so few golfers on the course otherwise I might get hit.

Crimdon Park was at the start of the Durham Coastal Walk – an eleven mile stretch to just beyond Seaham. It housed an enormous caravan park which was surprisingly quiet for the time of year. Later I passed Blackhall Colliery. This had an information board but, as is often the case, it was vandalised and hardly legible. I learnt that Blackhall had been a wet pit and that there had been six steam engines to operate the winding mechanism. When electric power was introduced the pit chimney was knocked down.

Just before Horden there was an eight arch viaduct for the railway over Castle Eden Dene. I came to an area of shacks surrounded by a corrugated iron barrier. I peered in and it seemed that the purpose of the barrier was to protect allotments. I could see some chrysanthemumhs growing. The path petered out and, after following a few false leads, I entered Horden. On the way out I passed The Bell Hotel. I was ready to take any place that was available but this looked a hard drinking pub and the music was loud. After hesitating, I walked on.

Easington Colliery was another coal pit village. Just in case they forgot, a memorial stood on the hill to remind them. It was a tall black object made of steel. When I walked round it, I saw that it was the cage that took the men to and from the workings. It was divided into three sections. The upper two were compartments with mesh doors to hold the men in. I expect the bottom section had been like that too but the door had been removed. It was sizeable and I suppose that the men were packed in so that large numbers could be moved at a time.

At another viaduct over the Hawthorn Burn, I descended by twilight into a steep sided rocky chasm Rough steps had been cut. Soon after I was at Seaham. The Harbour View on the front was fully booked and there was nowhere else. Two pubs were closed and it looked a depressed sort of place. A bar woman told me where to catch the bus to Sunderland, but I had no confidence in a bus this late on a Sunday when there was no timetable to be seen. I bought a sandwich and some cake at Sainsburys and kept on walking. It was now well after 8 pm and dark but I could see the bright lights of Sunderland ahead up the coast. I kept to the road and there was a footpath all the way. The bar woman had told me there was a Travelodge in the centre of Sunderland and I pinned my hopes on it. At Ryhope there was a pub. It didn't do accommodation but the bar woman was friendly and confirmed that there was a Travelodge and an alternative at Ashbrooke. That was off route so didn't recommend itself. I said that I would have had a drink but had no time so continued.

The centre of Sunderland was lively – mostly clubs and pubs. Many establishments had bouncers (usually dressed in black) on the door. Not a hotel was to be seen but everyone I asked knew the Travelodge and pointed me the way. At 9.45 pm I was there and it had plenty of spare rooms. The price was £56 just for the room although £66 was posted up on the wall. Perhaps that was the weekday price. It was quite a relief to find a comfortable room and eat my provisions. It had taken me 7 hours to get here but now I should be able to reach Newcastle tomorrow.

On 10th September I did walk from Sunderland to Newcastle in about four hours. Upon a further study of the map, I decided that this should not count towards Around Britain. I noticed that there was a foot tunnel under the Tyne, also a ferry. This meant that I didn't have to go so far inland to make progress. Accordingly I took the train back to Sunderland.

King's Cross was extremely busy. I'd missed my intended train at 0930 due to the closure of the Victoria Line for repairs. It was the weekend of the Great North Run from Newcastle. Trains were likely to be full both going up north and returning. I asked for a first class return to avoid the risk of standing and to indulge myself with a little comfort. When I was asked for £211.20, I rapidly changed my mind. That compares with a standard fare of £62.90. Since I was told that I could upgrade to First upon payment of £20 it didn't make any sense to pay the extra.

At Sunderland I bought the next Ordnance Survey Map (81) at WH Smith and was on my way at 2 pm. The streets were crowded in the shopping streets near the station. Northern Rock was shut. In its window was displayed a notice, intended to reassure, but actually drawing attention to the difficulties of this leading mortgage bank. Earlier this month, there was a run on the bank which resulted in the Government guaranteeing its deposits. Its name is irredeemably tarnished and salvation can only come by means of a take over.

I made for the nearest bridge over the Wear. The route on the map was clear but I was taken off course by a massive development which had caused road closures and diversions. As I puzzled over the map, I was approached by a roughly dressed man smelling of alcohol. He asked me if I was lost and gave me directions. I thanked him and he warmly clapped me on the shoulder a couple of times. As I crossed the bridge I could see the Stadium of Light where Sunderland Football Club play their games. Kick off was in little more than half an hour and crowds were making their way to the stadium, many clad in the club's strip of wide vertical white and red stripes. As I walked away from the ground on the A183, stragglers wenth past me for a while. After the last of these I encountered a man with two white husky dogs. The animals wore coats with leggings in the Sunderland colours. The owner saw my expression and acknowledged me. They care about their football here.

A notice informed me that the Venerable Bede had lived in a monastery nearby. His writing is a main source of early Saxon history. As I reached the coast, I could see Sunderland harbour to my right. It was built out from the river mouth. At the end of each of the two harbour walls there was a small tower with a light. This was a major ship building area until the sixties but that has all gone. At Whitburn I left the main road for the coastal path. An MOD firing range forced me back to the road temporarily as I lost the path. Near Whitburn Colliery there were a couple of kilns near the site of Marsden. This was a village to house the coal miners. After the closure of the mine, the village was completely demolished. The lighthouse near Lizard Point claims to be the first which used electricity.

At South Shields I came to an open sea side area called The Leas, a large expanse of mown grass. This is where the Great North Run finishes tomorrow. I believe it is the largest half marathon in the world. I've run it a few times. Crowd barriers had been set up to maintain a clear path for the passage of ambulances over The Leas. The finish was marked by tall towers for filming. Officials were present. Their work seemed to be done for the moment so they relaxed. There was a large tented village for families to be re-united with their runners. An area had been set up for the collection of goody bags. To accommodate peak flows of runners, three channels had been created - for small, medium and large T-shirts. Provision had been made for a shuttle bus service back to Newcastle where the race was to start. A huge area beyond the finish would accommodate food and drink vendors and transport.

It dawned on me (not before time) that, with this invasion, I would have the utmost difficulty in finding accommodation. My fear was confirmed when I walked through the main street of South Shields. Part of this was taken up almost entirely by Guest Houses. None of them had any vacancies. I crossed the Tyne on the ferry, hoping the situation would be better in North Shields or beyond. These concerns went out of my head as I sat on the ferry watching a large sea going ferry pass through and on towards Tynemouth.

I walked to Tynemouth entering two pubs where I was told all accommodation was taken because of the run. I was advised to try Whitley Bay. However, if I went another 4 miles to find nothing my only option was to sleep out. I decided to catch the Metro back to Newcastle and return to London. I had no change for the Metro ticket machine and there was a threat of a £20 fine if one travelled without a ticket. I walked away. I walked as an alternative to making any decision. It was a dangerous state of mind. I decided to catch a bus back to Newcastle and I didn't have to wait long. I was at Newcastle Central Station by about 2015. To my surprise the last train to London had gone. I had to take the train to a place where there might be rooms. Durham was too close. I decided upon York which I reached about 2215.

The first person I met outside the station directed me to the Premier Travel Inn. As I walked there beside the city wall, I was half-thinking where I could go if all the hotels were full. Perhaps I should walk outside the centre and find a secluded spot amongst bushes in someone's front garden. It would be less dangerous than the centre where drunks and druggies might be competing for the same nooks and crannies. The Premier was full and the girl at the desk indifferent. I asked her to help me find a hotel as it was late and I didn't know what to do if I couldn't find a room. She produced a list of about 50 hotels and Guest Houses with telephone numbers and proceeded to ring them one by one. Either they didn't answer or they were full. At the Hilton she paused and said it was 5 star and I wouldn't want that would I? I replied that I'd take anything and she reserved me a room at £100 breakfast included. I shook the girl's hand and thanked her for all the trouble she'd taken on my behalf. A short walk through the centre brought me to the hotel. I was warned that it would be noisy as there was a wedding with a live band. The din went on until 0100 but I was still relieved to be inside.