31 August 2016 - The Croft Campsite, Warden Law, Houghton-le-Spring, Tyne & Wear

We decided  today would be a good day for wandering about the city of Newcastle-upon-Tyne and so headed off to South Hylton, the last station on the metro line that runs south to the Sunderland area. We had several false starts, because our Tomtom did not understand we were unable to turn right at one junction, so ended up driving more distance than necessary.

Our day tickets, able to be used on buses, trains and the Tyne Ferry should we so desire, cost is  £4.80 each, a far cry from what parking in the city might costs us, without taking into consideration  the emotional stress of doing so. 

We disembarked at Central Station and walked up steep Grainger Street, the first of many from which we would appreciate the grand Victorian architecture that graces this city. Unable to find the Information Centre, now relocated to somewhere else other than that marked on the maps dotted around the streets, we found our way to the Library where the lovely folk there armed us with a tear off map and a little booklet summarising all the attractions we should seek out, most mirroring those listed last night.

Grey's Monument

Our first destination was the Laing Art Gallery, close to the library and offering some absolute gems. We enjoyed the 18^th and 19^th century paintings on the first floor, most by artists with a Northumbrian connection. But it’s not a gallery to spend a day in and we were soon back out on the street, now heading to the wide and busy pedestrianized Northumberland Street, where we found a bench to sit and listen to a trio of busking musicians competing with a cat walling pipe player further up the street. Alas the traditional and conservative tunes were popular with the more aged of us eating our cut lunch or just chilling, but not so much with the change-carrying youth whizzing by. 

Fed and watered, we headed back along the street, stopping to admire Grey’s Monument, erected between 1837 and 1838 to commemorate Earl Grey, he of the tea, and a local politician who was Prime Minister from 1830 to 1834, and to celebrate the passing of the Reform Act 1832, which attempted to stamp out corruption and increase the number of people eligible to vote. This was one of the first steps to building the democratic parliamentary system Britain has today.  

The monument itself has a story to tell; it was paid for through public subscription and should have stood 150 feet high, however funds were short, so it was built only to 134 feet.

Pedestrianised streets

In July 1941, over a hundred years after its erection, during World War II, lightning struck the statue and the Earl’s head fell onto the tram lines below. Luckily the heavy stone head did not injure any passers-by, but a local journalist reported that the damage included most of the head but that the Earl’s chin was still up. A decision was made to keep the damaged head, with an aim to replace it once the war was over. The damaged monument became a symbol of community determination in wartime. The head was eventually re-sculpted in 1947.

Down on the river bank, we walked along Quayside, from where the seven bridge crossings within the city centre area can be seen. The most prominent is the Tyne Bridge completed in 1928, which is said to closely resemble Sydney’s Harbour Bridge. With a little imagination, one might agree, especially when you consider that they were both built by Dorman Long of Middlesbrough. This here in Newcastle is, however, a very much smaller version.

Gateshead Millenium Bridge

The most recent is the lovely Gateshead Millenium pedestrian bridge, the world’s first tilting span, designed to pivot to allow ships to pass. We were too late to see the day’s opening, today only at midday, however we did cross it taking in all the wonderful views on offer. 

The bridge allows for easy access to the BALTIC Centre for Contemporary Arts. Here we took the external glass lift up to the fifth floor of this converted flour factory which ceased its commercial operations in about 1982. There is a restaurant on the top floor, and the fifth boasts a glass box that protrudes out toward the river, again offering splendid views. 

Tyne Bridge

One floor down there is The Playground Project, a massive mecca for children, and then the next three floors are exhibition spaces for art. The gallery consists of 2,600 square metres of art space, making it the United Kingdom’s largest dedicated contemporary art institution. Today there were works by Caroline Achaintre, Jumana Emil Abboud and Christiana Soulou. While not all the artwork was to our taste, we certainly found it interesting.

We crossed back over the pedestrian bridge and walked back along the quay, now even busier with diners and drinkers in the many restaurants and cafes along the way. As we started back up the hill toward the retail area, we spotted a multi storied Jacobean building, or what appeared so. Further exploration revealed “Bessie Surtees House”, two merchants’ houses on Sandhill that were built in the 16^th and 17^th centuries. We were surprised to find that this is the home to the North East regional branch of English Heritage and delighted to find exhibitions on the first floor, open free of charge to all and sundry. It is a Grade I listed building.

The house is best known as the scene of the 1772 elopement of Bessie Surtees and John Scott, who later became Lord Chancellor. The very first floor window that Bessie climbed out through to reach the stage coach for Scotland is clearly indicated in the exhibition. I was impressed with her great determination.

Like so many old buildings, it was neglected for some years, but was rescued and restored in 1931 by the Right Honourable Standish Robert Gage Prendegast Vereker, later Lord Gort, which must have been a relief for those addressing him.

Then again it fell into disrepair in the second half of the 20^th century. In 1978, it came into the ownership of Tyne and Wear Metropolitan County Council, and the organisation began carrying out restoration work. The House was leased by English Heritage in 1989.

We had been on our way up to the cathedral, but with this little bonus delay, decided to leave further exploration of the city for another day, and made our way back to Central Station. The trains run very regularly, so we only had to wait five minutes or so. Back in South Hylton, we were relieved to find our car there and in one piece, and soon joined the late afternoon traffic to head back to camp. 

30 August 2016 - The Croft Campsite, Warden Law, Houghton-le-Spring, Tyne & Wear

Yet another lovely day dawned and we woke to farmyard sounds. Once packed up, we thought it time to check out the on-site Hadrian Wall, something we should have done at the beginning of our stay. The little red gate opposite the camp entrance, marked “Private – no entry!” is actually special access to the Hadrian walkway from the camp, because after all, tenting walkers are invited to pause and spend the night here; the licence for five caravans, is exactly that, for caravans.

We skirted around the large group of farm buildings, and across the fields to the kissing gates on the trail. Here at Bleatarn, the wall is little more than a raised earth mound, and the lumpy hollows adjacent are the remains of quarries from which the Romans extracted their building blocks. We wandered along the trail a little, enjoying the distant views beyond the hedges, then on our return, encountered a couple of Australian women who were walking the last leg of the Wall. It turned out they came from very near where Chris had lived in Melbourne in one of his previous lives. They have left their husbands and dogs back in Australia and are having a wonderful time in England, having some wonderful adventures, not the first in their travelling lives and surely not the last.

As we pulled out of the camp, our hosts, limping Andrew, his mother and father and a helping hand all came to farewell us. They are fabulously warm and welcoming folk and we would be delighted to return next year if our route takes us this way again.

Morning Views of Bleatarn Farm

Once on the road, we headed east along the A69, much of the journey alongside the River South Tyne, and then near Hexham, where the River North Tyne converges with its southern sister, the road widened to a dual lane highway and we continued on to the A1 which skirts the west side of Newcastle-upon-Tyne. Reaching the A1(M) we pulled off into the Wellington Service Centre, inferior to many we have utilised as a place to hang about until arrival time at our next camp, but still meeting our basic requirements.

Lunch over, we proceeded on to our camp, overshooting the entrance and having to ring the hostess for personal marshalling. The camp is excellent, set on a small field behind her house, once a plant nursery and now a work in progress for an even grander camp. It is adults-only, for advance bookings but still dog friendly. Surprise, surprise!

The laundry problem had become rather desperate, the number of weeks since linen last washed far too many to confess. We headed to Georgie’s Laundry found tucked in a row of terrace houses in a place called Hetton-le-Hole, and parked opposite. Entering the tiny little room, jammed full of washing machines and driers, we found Georgie busy folding and sorting, and surrounded in a dozen bags of laundry, many overflowing, at various stage of progress. Self-service was no longer available but she was happy to do our washing for us, depending when we wanted to collect it. We both imagined our own laundry disappearing into the chaos, so declined the offer. Perhaps the strange village name should have alerted us?

Our second option was a laundry in Durham, the city of the famous cathedral, actually only seven and a half miles distant. We set off guided by the Tomtom and the directions on my cellphone, this latter aid something I rarely think to use. This laundry was found in the old Crescent Cinema at Gilesgate on the north east edge of Durham. Parking turned out easier than expected and we found the laundry pristine and very acceptable. The place is decorated with retro-chic to reflect the times during which last screened a movie; January 1958. After our near-experience in Hetton-le-Hole, we were delighted with this at Gilesgate.

So home we came with bags of wet washing, then hung it all in the sunshine, and left it to dry in the east coast breeze. While nature was doing its thing, we pulled out all our guide books and maps and prepared a to-do whilst-near-Newcastle-and-Durham-list.  It would appear at this point in time, that one week will not be sufficient. But surely I have said this before?

29 August 2016 - Bleatarn Farm, Irthington, near Brampton, Cumbria

 We were tardy again in setting off for the day, but serendipitous because by the time we headed for the hills, any reported morning mist had long disappeared. 

Our first stop was the Talkin Tarn Country Park, the plan to drive in, take a quick look and then decide whether we wanted to hang about longer. The park is not too far away, a mere two miles south of Brampton, a sixty five acre lake set amid one hundred and twenty acres of farmland and woodland. The tarn, or lake, is glacial in origin, formed about 10,000 years ago. It is in other words, a “kettle hole” like similar lakes just out of Atherton in Queensland, Australia.

We chose to stop a while and undertake the 1.3 mile circular walk about the lake, to take in the fresh air and the wildlife apparently so abundant. Certainly there were ducks and swans about the lake, and “flying birds” brilliantly identified thus by my companion when I asked his opinion, but the red squirrels and birds of other varieties had all gone to ground. At one point we thought there might be a couple of Loch-ness type monsters in the lake, however it turned out that these were springs feeding the lake with fresh water.

Talkin Tarn

The park was busy with families and dog walkers galore which are enough to send anything to ground. As we proceeded around the pathway, we came upon a rather distressed woman, clutching her little dog to her chest, possibly a terrier, while a little bichon-frise sort of dog clung to her leg, excitedly aroused and more interested in humping than assisting her progress. Remember what it is like when your toddler stands upon your shoes, holds your leg and insists on taking a ride as you attempt to walk forward. Such was the picture here before our eyes, although the little dog was more vigorous. It took some time to sift through the Geordie accent to understand what was going on beyond the obvious. Her dog, probably coming on heat, had been “attacked” by this cute little bundle of hotly sexed canine attention. Where was the owner? Was it ours?

We assured her we knew nothing but agreed that it was probably a good idea to return to the café beside the lake in an attempt to trace the owner. Further along the path we came upon another group of people looking for a little white dog. Had we seen it? We were delighted to act as messengers of such happy news and directed these folk toward the distressed “rape-victim”. Dogs everywhere! Why the Country Park bothers to have a couple of bird hides, I do not know; this seems to be principally a dog walking place.

Lake End Hotel

 Actually I am not being entirely truthful; there is a small boating club and boat sheds near the café. By the time we completed the circuit there were a couple of kayaks out on the water. However the notices all around insist that only authorised craft venture out onto the lake. 

Halfway around the lake, we could not help but notice the dilapidated building up a short pathway. We checked it out and found that it had once been the Lake End Hotel, but today is a dilapidated shell. Later research revealed that in 2009 developers wanted to build several houses there in return for a smart new rowing club house. The application was turned down by the council.

The hotel was apparently closed down in 2005 and has changed hands several times since, the last transaction for  £850,000 before it fell into the state it is today. Some information suggests that demolition might be the best option, but I wonder if this is allowed if it has any heritage status listing. It does seem such a waste and looks like it would be a good project for Grand Designs.

Downtown Alston

Back on the road, we drove through a series of little lanes, crossing the east-west rail line about four times until we joined the A689 which climbs slowly up into the North Pennines, crossing the county border from Cumbria into Northumberland before the road turns directly south following the South Tyne river valley. The road was shown on the map as being particularly scenic, and so it was. The moors stretched out either side, purple heather again abundant on the hills. Cold Fell at 621 metres ASL rose up on our right, followed by the slightly lower Glendue Fell at 522 metres ASL. Dry rock walls bounded verdant green fields in neat symmetrical shapes below the wilder barren heights. Black faced sheep, mostly horned and all unconcerned with our presence grazed far and near from the road.

Near Alston we crossed the river and pulled into the town, which is laid out on the steep slope falling down toward the river. The main road is cobbled with stones so old and decaying, one’s heels disappear into the cracks if you were so foolish to wear such shoes when walking about the town. We parked at the far end of the town, where the slopes were a little more gentle, and walked down into the town. We bought ice-creams at the Co-op and sat beneath the market cross in the sunshine watching the traffic and pedestrians struggle with the terrain. 

Out over Alston Moor

My many times great grandfather Burne was married in Alston in 1727, and his son was born there a couple of years later. I was curious as to what they were doing here, and although I did not discover that today, I did learn that it and the surrounding areas, were until recently mined for silver, zinc, coal and fluorospar. Today we fell into conversation with a woman at the Information Centre and asked if there was still mining going on now. These days the only mines are open to tourists however there is further exploration going on about the area, and if this is developed further, will provide well needed employment. In 1841 the town had a population of about 6,800; today it is nearer 1,100.

The moors and valley all about are part of the Pennine Way, and during the season, tourism supports the economy, and there is of course, much farming about, all of which requires an urban service industry.

Toward Carlisle from Hartside Summitt

After a strenuous ascent back to the car, we continued on across the Alston Moors, on past snow poles, passing over the Hartside Summit at 580 metres ASL, still below the Fell of the same name that rises a further 44 metres. Here we stopped to enjoy the views back over the moors, and then down to the west, taking in the relative lowlands about Penrith and Carlisle, and the peaks of the Lake District beyond. With such a splendid day, the views were quite wonderful.

The descent was winding and steep, and busy with hundreds of motorcycle riders who were also taking advantage of the holiday and excellent weather. Later we learned that one of these adventurers had met with a nasty accident at the foot of the hills.

We crossed over the M6 near Hutton-in-the-Forest, a rather strange name for a grand estate which was open to the public today, and probably many other days as well, and swept in a wide semi-circle north to Carlisle where we refuelled and re-provisioned before travelling the short distance home.

Cumbria, and the little we have seen of Northumberland, is indeed a very picturesque place.

28 August 2016 - Bleatarn Farm, Irthington, near Brampton, Cumbria

The rain came in bucket loads through the night; I just hoped all those big round hay bales were tucked away in one of the farms massive barns before it commenced. The poor weather caused us to delay our departure this morning, placing great faith in the weather app on our phones which promised dry weather by 11am. We headed off to Carlisle soon after 10am, finding a park close to the Castle and the events there, also delayed by the rain.

Carlisle Castle

Carlisle sits strategically near the Scottish – English border and so has centuries of history, much of it violent and of a military nature. Its castle has seen more action that most similar structures in the United Kingdom; site of skirmishes with Elizabethan Border Reivers, a Civil War siege which became the longest siege in English history, and Bonnie Prince Charlie’s Jacobite Rising of 1745 – 46. For a short time, Mary Queen of Scots was imprisoned here, although in better conditions than the Jacobite defenders later were. From the 1820s the castle became a permanently occupied garrison, and from 1873 to 1959 was the regimental headquarters of Cumbria’s County Infantry Regiment.

View over Carlisle from the Castle

There was a Roman fortress here back in the heyday of Hadrian’s Wall, but construction of the castle proper began during the 12^th century by King Henry I of England and was finished by King David I of Scotland, one of my many great grandfathers. Alterations were made through the centuries, and structures within the complex were demolished accordingly, such as the tower that Mary Queen of Scot was housed.

As we entered the castle walls today, we were first met with the sight of stalls dotted through the grounds, all part of the “Military Weekend at Carlisle”. Before we left, we wandered about seeking some kind of inspiration, and did pause for a while to watch and listen to a chap presenting a “Firing Demonstration and Uniform Talk”. Unfortunately he held the microphone too close to his mouth and we were unable to comprehend his otherwise well enunciated spiel. We left as he and his wife, dressed in World War II garb, (not at all flattering on her squat rotund figure) took to firing their weapons, the blasts bouncing round the walls and causing a family of small girls to burst into tears.

Army bits and pieces at the Castle

From the castle we walked on down to the town, now woken to the live band in the rotunda near the Old Town Hall. Today there were dozens of international food stalls from whence the most delicious and exotic odours flowed.

We thought Carlisle town quite lovely, and the cathedral all the guide books promised. Our arrival there coincided with the end of the morning service; the cauliflower headed congregation were still gathered in the rear of the church supping cups of tea and catching up with the week’s gossip with their fellow parishioners. We could have joined them but I would have felt a hypocrite. Instead we walked around the church avoiding the central parts so recently, and even partially still, occupied by Sunday worshippers. 

The Cathedral was founded in 1122 although there had been Christian celebration going on here before then. In the sixth century Christianity was established by St Kentigern, aka St Mungo, who became the first bishop and patron saint of Edinburgh. This red stoned cathedral is the second smallest in England; only Oxford cathedral is smaller.

Carlisle Cathedral

It was little after 1pm that we returned to the car park, and set off once more to explore. Our route took us north, six miles on the M6, across the Scottish border to Gretna Green. Everyone has heard of Gretna Green and think of this in connection with hasty marriages over the border, but the details were interestingly educational.

Gretna Green became a romantic haven for eloping young couples in 1754. England’s newly tightened marriage law prohibited couples, under the age of twenty one from marrying without approval from their parents. In Scotland it was much easier to marry. Couples began fleeing across the Scottish border to marry in the first building they reached, the famous Blacksmith’s Shop. It became renowned for on-the-spot weddings and the blacksmith swapped his role as a forger of metals that join together never to be separated, to a forger of couples joined in marriage, never to be parted. The anvil became the iconic symbol of romance.

In 1856, after more than one hundred years of anvil weddings at Gretna Green, a new tightly-worded English law caused upset in the romance capital of the world.  Lord Brougham’s “cooling off” Act ruled that at least one half of a couple had to live in Scotland for twenty one days before marrying. Whilst instant anvil weddings were no longer possible, the determined were not put off and many still many made the dramatic journey to Gretna Green, camping out or hiding in barns.

Carlisle market place

In 1886 farmer Hugh Mackie bought the Gretna Estate and its famous blacksmith’s shop. He was one of the first to develop such a tourist attraction, albeit a rather unique one. He resurrected the site as a wedding venue by persuading couples that a pre-wedding three week residency rule in Scotland should not dampen their enthusiasm for a romantic anvil marriage. Today the fourth generation of this entrepreneurial farmer run a vibrant tourist spot; a collection of hotels, restaurants, gift shops, a courtship maze, a museum and a wedding venue. 

We parked up in the car park next to a car boot sale taking place in the adjacent field, no doubt another offshoot of this thriving business. We wandered through the busy collection of buildings, and noted that none of the businesses required additional trade from us, the last of the big spenders.

Instead we hit the road again, ready for a tikki tour through the countryside, in and out of Scotland, up and over the hills to the north of Hadrian’s Wall, now south, then north east, south east, south west, up and over grazing country, and all very beautiful despite the fact that the clouds were still low enough to obscure the distant views of the higher peaks.

We detoured through Brampton, to check out the laundrette in person, my several telephone calls having been unanswered. The address was allusive, but the woman in the little Information Centre was most helpful; the laundrette had closed down a couple of years ago. I told her that the website and all the referring portals were still very much operational;  this was met with a very blank look. 

And so we took our big bag of dirty laundry home with us to be dealt with further along our route.

Late in the afternoon, Andrew’s father popped in to check all was well, but we were more interested to quiz him with twenty questions. They had managed to complete much of the harvest yesterday, although Andrew was not in good shape after having worked when he should not. The weather forecast and condition of the fields left the smallest windows of success, so they were hoping and praying (a figure of speech rather than the actual words that passed between us) for excellent weather for the rest of the week.

Apparently they run about 350 head of sheep and a similar number of cattle. When asked as to their shearing facility on site, he told me they employ a contractor who comes with his trailer and does his business outdoors. This is England! Outdoor shearing! This surely is a miracle!

When he disclosed his passion for flying, an activity pursued at the nearby airfield, Chris asked if the area had been subjected to WWII bombing. Interestingly Gretna had been targeted because there had been a munitions factory operating there. Left over bombs had been dropped here and there about to save the extra return weight. Our host had personally not been around to observe this; I would suggest he was born well after the war. 

We learned much more, because he is his son’s father, and Andrew certainly has the gift of the gab. Not that I minded but Chris had his mind on the dinner that needed to be cooked. His culinary skills rely much more on time and efficiency, which in turn results in far greater success than my more casual approach.