10 September 2016 - Sandfield House Farm Caravan Park, Whitby, North Yorkshire

If one comes to the North Yorkshire coast for just a few days, it is imperative to visit Whitby, Scarborough and take a drive across the heather clad moors if conditions allow. And if there are days to spare? There are charming little seaside settlements recommended by sundry folk encountered along the way and tracks all over the moors begging to be walked upon. But what if there is only one day left, such as we had?  We decided a mix of the two knowing that they would be only token gestures to appease our travelling frustrations. 

Setting off down the street

Our first destination was Robin Hood Bay, supposedly the one not to be missed, and we would agree had we not previously been to Doc Martin’s Port Wen in Cornwall or Cloverley in Devon, or even Whitby just up the road. After such recommendation we were a little disappointed.

The day had started well, rising to a calm day after such a windy yesterday. We drove through the outskirts of Whitby and turned off the A171 toward the coast. The name has absolutely nothing to do with the rebel of Nottingham, but is a remnant of the old Tudor name, Robbyn Huddes Bay. However there are stories of intrigue and adventure, here of a coastal nature; stories of smuggling into the tiny bay at the foot of the settlement perched on the edge of a very steep hill. Legend has it that goods were handed from window to window through the residences to evade the officials, such is the closeness of the residences almost stacked  on top of each other to avoid falling into the bay. And while this may sound a little farfetched, the “falling into the bay” is not at all.

The end of the road

In the 1780s there was a series of big cliff falls and part of King Street fell into the sea, taking twenty two cottages over the edge. Over the last two centuries more than two hundred homes have fallen into the sea, the last one to plunge into the sea in 1953.

In the 1970s a huge concrete wall was built to protect the Bay Hotel and the nearby streets and houses. It was one of the first sea walls in Britain to be designed with a curved wall that follows the shape of the cliff, designed to reduce the power of the waves and to reduce the risk of the sea undercutting the wall.

A second attempt to protect the town was started in 2000 and completed within the scheduled year and budget of £3 million. In this structure there are two hundred reinforced concrete bored piles, ten metres in length, supporting the reinforced earth buttress acting as load transfer columns. It is of course far more complex that that, but visually it is impressive and very ugly. I suspect that Robin Hood Bay viewed from any of the many little fishing dinghys anchored out in the bay is not half as attractive as it seems descending on foot into the village.

And it is on foot that the tourist must come, the streets being so steep with tight little corners that it would be madness to let any motorist loose in the village, apart from residents. There are a couple of fairly spacious Pay & Display car parks in the upper section of the village, opposite a row of Victorian villas, accomodation for those requiring a quiet sojourn. The machines request payment for one hour, two, four or more. We had no idea how long we would want to spend in the Bay, so fed the machine with £4, hoping that would be enough. In fact it was more than adequate, but we did decide on returning to the car park, that it would have been appropriate had we lingered at one of the teashops. We spent about an hour and a half wandering about all the streets, along the seawalls, and of course taking our time to carefully descend, and then ascend, the steep cobbled main road.

Looking south from the sea wall

The National Trust looks after the Old Coastguard Station right on the cliff edge where there is a small exhibition of the kind of critters that might be found in the tidal pools on a day when the tide is out. There is also a little exhibition on the role of the coastguard here, but the varied history of the town apart from this, should be learned in the small museum which we left unvisited today.

The Coastguard Service was set up in 1822 to stop smuggling, although over the years it has become more concerned with maritime safety and today Her Majesty’s Coastguard Service co-ordinates air-sea rescue services. Here in Robin Hoods Bay, the geography and geology of the settling was entirely suited to smuggling operations, and the men were skilled seamen, expert at handling their little cobles. But fishing was the mainstay in the Bay until the end of the 19^th century; there were more fishing boats here than either Whitby or Scarborough. Cod and mackerel were the main catch along with crabs, lobsters and other shell fish. As boats got larger and needed bigger moorings, Whitby and Scarborough harbours became more important. However as I have already indicated, today there were quite a few boats both anchored in the bay and up on the hard, above the slip where the road ends abruptly and up above another launching area we walked around to.

Safe and ugly

And while on marine matters, while here in Robin Hoods Bay, we also learned another tale worth recounting. In January 1881 the Brig “Visitor” ran ashore in the bay. No local boat could be launched on account of the violence of the storm, so the Whitby lifeboat was brought overland past a point at the top of the hill, a distance of six miles, through snowdrifts seven feet deep on a road rising to 500 feet, with two hundred men clearing the way ahead and with eighteen horses heaving at the tow lines, whilst men worked uphill towards them from the Bay. The lifeboat was launched two hours after leaving Whitby and at the second attempt, the crew of the “Visitor” were saved. There is a plaque at the top of the hill to commemorate the coxswain, the lifeboatmen and the folk of Whitby, Robin Hood Bay and nearby Hawsker. This was indeed an amazing feat; especially give the lay of the land and the season of the year. 

From Robin Hoods Bay we headed back to the main road, but this time via the lovely, and more stable village of Fylingthorpe, that which gives its name to the RAF Inca-like structure a little further west on the moor. We zigzagged our way in a general westward direction up and down incredibly steep gullies, through poorly accessed Littlebeck, crossing more regular southerly routes until we arrived at Goathland, which is more familiar to the general populace as “Aidensfield”. It is here the television series “Heartbeat” is filmed.

Now to be perfectly honest, I am not terribly familiar with the programme myself, having only ever watched the tail end of sessions waiting for something else to come on, but the village certainly did look familiar and even more so, the three cars parked outside the shops, especially the Police Ford Anglia.

We pulled into the National Park car park where we were accosted at once by a couple just leaving, who kindly offered their all day ticket to us. What a bonus! For at least five minutes before the parking custodian came over and told us that the tickets were not transferable; alas, he had witnessed the generous gesture and we were caught! We paid up and then spent the next twenty minutes discussing the parking woes of England with him. Despite his metier, he had much to say against the blatant taxing of motorists in this manner.

"Aidensfield" shopping centre

We finally escaped this chatty chap and sat upon a wall to eat our lunch; the picnic tables we had been heading for had been occupied while we were otherwise engaged. Then we set off around the village, down to the Aidensfield Garage where we brought ice-creams and were caught up once more, this time by by the owner. This business which he had owned and worked for most of his working life is now a gift shop with a freezer full of ice-creams when not the scene of the village garage. Up on the hoist behind the wall of wares on sale is a 1957 Austin, the owner’s pride and joy which must make his heart swell whenever he catches sight of it on the silver screen. Today we heard about his passion for racing motorbikes, his disdain for banks and his disappointment in the spending and saving habits of today’s young people.

Our ice-creams were long finished by the time we made out exit; we headed down to the railway station which has also featured on film, doubling as “Hogsmeade” in Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. On a more regular basis it is one of the stops on the North Yorkshire Moors Railway, and today we heard, then saw, this puff its way through.

For some more vigorous exercise, we set off down to Beck Hole,  a village a mile away, also on the rail, but our path today was via the incline which preceded the more roundabout diversion. Here there were horned long tailed sheep as docile as those along the roadsides. The blackberries were also plentiful however when Chris queried their calorie count, I decided I should cease my reckless feasting on these random offerings.

"Hogsmeade" with background of purple heather

So after all that excitement, we considered it time to head off home to our camp for the last time. Sandfields has served us well although Chris would probably say otherwise. He has not been able to access many of the television channels he chooses to watch, we have no cellphone reception and the free wi-fi is intermittent and poor, gas refills are overpriced, the site is so sterile with little vegetation, but the camp is well situated, real showers always welcome and flush toilets even more so. I am really so easy to please! 

Tomorrow morning we will head on to York, only about fifty miles south west. We have debated the route we should take, the two obvious routes as far as Pickering both having steep sections. Fortunately we have had opportunity to travel both routes while out exploring, so we go with foreknowledge, a rare bonus.