Walk 129 -- An historical day in Whitby

Ages: Colin was 63 years and 327 days. Rosemary was 61 years and 104 days.

Weather: Sunny and windy, though the wind subsided later.

Location: Historical day in Whitby.

Distance: 2½ miles.

Total distance: 1021 miles.

Terrain: Concrete mostly, and a lot of steps!

Tide: Coming in.

Rivers: No.51, the Esk.

Ferries: None.

Piers: None.

Kissing gates: None.

Pubs: The ‘Shambles Bar’ where we drank Theakston XB and Copper Dragon Challenger IPA.

‘English Heritage’ properties: No.37, Whitby Abbey.

Ferris wheels: No.7, a small one by the harbour, but again we found it closed for Winter.

Diversions: None.

How we got there and back: We were staying in a holiday cottage on a farm near the village of Rudston. We drove to Whitby Abbey where we parked on the road again, just beyond the double yellow lines, to avoid paying £4.20 which we think is a bit steep for a car parking charge. (Why do councils have to be so greedy?)

At the end we walked back across the town to the car, and drove back to the cottage. The next day we returned to Bognor.

We started today’s Walk by touring Whitby Abbey. The English Heritage ‘blurb’ tells us:

The first abbey was founded in 657 by the formidable St Hilda, a princess of the Northumbrian royal house whose Saxon name Hild means ‘battle’. Recent archaeological research suggests that it was once a bustling settlement, as well as the burial place of monarchs, the setting of an epoch-making international meeting between Celtic and Roman clerics, and the home of saints such as the poet Caedmon.

The Saxon abbey was destroyed during a Viking invasion in 867 but one of William the Conqueror’s knights refounded it in the late 1070s. By 1220, his Norman church proved inadequate for the many pilgrims, and the building of the present church began. After its dissolution by Henry VIII in 1538, the abbey did not suffer as much destruction as many other monasteries, as it was (and still is) used by shipping as a navigation marker. The site then passed to the Cholmley family, who built a mansion mostly out of materials plundered from the monastery.

We did the audio-tour but it was much too wordy, I felt I was back at school! Whitby Abbey is one of English Heritage’s premier sites, and they have recently built a brand new visitor centre at great expense. The abbey occupies a commanding position up there on the clifftop, but quite honestly there is not much of it left! We have visited far more interesting castles and monasteries way out in the countryside, and some of them have been free to enter. It is probably the location that makes it so ‘important’, and the fact that with so many visitors to Whitby these days they can get away with charging £4.20 for the car park — even if you are a member with free entry to the site — and another £4.20 to get in if you're not a member.

We spoke to one disgruntled mother as we were coming down the steps later — she was brought up in Whitby and had returned to show her children where she used to play. She was shocked to find she would have to fork out so much cash just to take them round the ruins which she used to visit on a daily basis for nothing. She didn’t because she couldn’t afford it, so she turned away disappointed and took them down to the beach instead. (Come to think of it, I can remember putting a threepenny bit into a turnstile to get into Stonehenge back in the fifties, and we walked freely in and out of the central stones. Once I was staying with a friend who lived near Salisbury, and her father took us to Stonehenge in the evening. It was closed for the day, so we climbed over the low gate and walked round for nothing. Look what’s happened to the site now! You can see it all from the road anyhow, and the audio-tour is 90% speculation — tripe!)

Anyhow, we walked all round the abbey ruins and looked at what Henry VIII’s vandals had left of a once magnificent building. The stone was quite eroded in places due to its exposed position. There was a group of French students going round. They were a bit of a nuisance as they were loud, and more interested in flirting with each other than in the history they were supposed to be learning. We tried to avoid them as much as possible.We glanced in the churchyard which overlooks the harbour, then descended the famous 199 steps into the town. We walked along narrow cobbled streets, passed “Arguments Yard” (wonder what the origin of that name is — I expect they overheard Colin and I ‘discussing’ whose fault it was when we got lost!) and treated ourselves to a meal of traditional fish and chips in a restaurant. I don’t usually go for such fatty meals these days, but these were very nice indeed and not at all greasy. We contemplated the fact that we were almost due north of Bognor Regis, our starting point for this trek, and that all the rest of the Grand Walk will be west of Bognor even though we have many miles of the east coast still to do. (Look on a map of Britain for verification.)

After our repast we made our way down to the harbour on the east side of the river. We passed the ‘Whitby Jet’ outlet, but it seemed expensive and I think black jewellery looks hideous (like black finger-nails — ugh!) Anyway, jet is a type of COAL! So people who wear a jet necklace are really wearing a piece of coal round their necks. (I must stop being so cynical!) We carried on to the water’s edge, and said “Hello!” to a couple of the many seagulls there.

We walked along the east harbour as far as we could. There was a tape across the landward end of the walkway as if we were not supposed step out on it, but loads of people had ignored it and continued on so we did too. It was quite cold and windy out there despite the bright sunshine, but we were OK when we put our hoods up.
We certainly weren’t in any danger of being blown off into the sea! (Nanny State at it again?)

We were amused to find ‘etchings’ of fossils and dinosaurs in the concrete, also a concrete sculpture and the inevitable ship’s anchor. We were unable to walk the full length of the east harbour because a connecting bridge had been washed away in a storm somewhen or other, and the end left to go derelict. The notice said “No access until further notice” — only if you can fly, or jump like a kangaroo!
We returned to the town, and to the lifting bridge across the River Esk. The bridge remained down the whole time we were there. I remembered the year we had brought our four children here — it was back in 1979, and they were then aged eleven, nine, seven and six. We were camping at Goathland and had taken them to a fish and chip shop on the west side of the river. Then we couldn’t get back over for ages because the bridge had gone up to let all the fishing boats back on the evening tide. We thought the spectacle was very exciting — there were a lot more fishing boats in those days. We crossed over, then diverted to the left because we had seen a tall ship harboured just a little further along the river on the west side. It was a brightly painted replica of some old ship called “Grand Turk”. It looked good, but I don't know if it was seaworthy.We followed the riverside to the west harbour, and this one we could walk along right to the end. We passed a tall stone column with a light and a weather vane on the top, and there is another light at the end matching one on the derelict side. The artwork this side is rather fine -- wrought ironwork on a gate which is the kind of Art I really like. It depicts ships on a rough sea, and declares “Tribute to Whitby Seafarers”. The wind had subsided by then and the sky began to cloud over. It was much warmer, and not nearly so bright. We could have walked back along a lower level with columns each side, but I saw a lot of green algae down there which put me in mind of Brighton Marina on Walk 5! So I declared it an unsafe path and we returned along the top.We passed a small pink Ferris wheel, really only for children, but it was closed like the other fairground rides. It was too early in the season.The sea was completely covering the beach, so we reckoned it was odds on that we would have to find a route over the top to continue northwards on our next Walk.We found a path up the steep hill, with a shortcut through a little tunnel, and it gave us a grandstand view over Whitby town with the bridge at its focal point.Near the top we came across a granite War Memorial, but felt saddened that it had no individual names on it and was situated in a rather seedy part of town. It looked as if it had been done on the cheap.Further on, prominence was given to a statue of Captain Cook. James Cook, that most famous of explorers, came to Whitby in 1746 aged eighteen. He was apprenticed to a local ship owner, and spent the next nine years serving aboard cargo ships which travelled between London, Liverpool, Dublin, Holland, Norway and the Baltic. That was how he learned to be such a fine seaman. Later on, all the ships he used for his voyages to the nether ends of the world were built at Whitby. A plaque on the plinth of his statue reads:

THIS PLAQUE

WAS PRESENTED BY THE PEOPLE OF AUSTRALIA

TO THE WHITBY URBAN DISTRICT COUNCIL

TO COMMEMORATE THE BI-CENTENARY OF THE DISCOVERY

OF THE EAST COAST OF AUSTRALIA BY

LIEUTENANT JAMES COOK, R.N.

FROM THIS DISCOVERY EMERGED A NATION.

20TH APRIL - 22ND AUGUST 1770

UNVEILED BY

HIS EXCELLENCY THE HIGH COMMISSIONER FOR AUSTRALIA,

THE HON. SIR ALEXANDER DOWNER, K.B.E.

20TH APRIL 1970

Nearby is the famous Whitby whalebone arch, so we stood underneath it and asked a passerby to take a photo of us. There were fifty-five Whitby based whaling ships between 1753 and 1833. During this time more than 25000 dead seals and 2761 dead whales were brought back to the town. Boiler houses on the harbourside turned the whale blubber into oil. (Bet it was smelly!) This was then used to manufacture soap, margarine, paint, candles and it was even lit in street lights. Whaleskin was used for leather and cartilage for glue — no part of the whale was wasted.
The ‘blurb’ also told us that the whalebone arch is made from a pair of blue whale jawbones obtained by Thor Dhal of Norway and Graham Leach of Whitby. They were erected in 1963 “in honour of the men of Whitby who braved the inhospitable seas in and around the arctic”. However, we found another almost illegible plaque nearby claiming they were bowhead whale jawbones presented to the town of Whitby by the Anchorage Sister Cities Commission and the citizens of the municipality of Anchorage, Alaska, in April 2002! So whose bones are they?

Whitby is a very pretty town, full of interest, and we had thoroughly enjoyed ourselves!

That ended Walk no.129, we shall pick up Walk no.130 next time at the whalebone arch in Whitby. We walked back across the town to the car, and drove back to the cottage in Rudston for the last time. It is too far from where we are now walking to use it again — pity, because it is a roomy property in a quiet rural setting, and one of the few holiday cottages that has a dishwasher! The next day we packed up our stuff and returned to Bognor.

Walk 128 -- Robin Hood's Bay to Whitby Abbey

Ages: Colin was 63 years and 326 days. Rosemary was 61 years and 103 days.

Weather: Showers which cleared just as we started the Walk. Some sun, very windy but mild.

Location: Robin Hood’s Bay to Whitby Abbey.

Distance: 6½ miles.

Total distance: 1018½ miles.

Terrain: Mostly grassy cliff paths. Very muddy and slippery in places.

Tide: Coming in.

Rivers: None.

Ferries: None.

Piers: None.

Kissing gates: Nos.96 & 97 each side of a piece of National Trust land, no.98 near a lighthouse.

Pubs: None.

‘English Heritage’ properties: None.

Ferris wheels: None.

Diversions: None.

How we got there and back: We were staying in a holiday cottage on a farm near the village of Rudston. With just one bike on the back of the car we drove to Robin Hood’s Bay where Colin dropped me off to kick my heels for an hour and a half. (I thoroughly explored the village and beach, and bought delicious pasties in the local shop.) Meanwhile he drove to Whitby Abbey where he parked in the road just beyond the double yellow lines because, once again, the car park would have cost us £4.20. Then he cycled back, along the disused railway. He said I would have ‘hated it’ because it was mostly uphill against the wind and it was raining. (I gather he didn’t enjoy it much himself, and is almost sold on the taxi idea!)

At the end we drove to Robin Hood’s Bay to pick up the bike, and had our tea there because it was a more pleasant environment. Then we returned to the cottage.

While Colin was parking the car and cycling back, I thoroughly explored the village of Robin Hood’s Bay — despite the fact that it rained the whole time! (I had to be very careful taking photos, shielding the camera with my body or the hood of my coat.) I explored the narrow back alleys, and went down to the beach. Apart from fishing, smuggling was rife here in yesteryear. Apparently the smuggled goods were taken from the beach up the tunnel where the river comes out, and there are connections from that tunnel to the cellar of many a house. Robin Hood’s Bay always has been a very close community, but was especially so in those days. The customs officers would have met a wall of silence every time they entered the village.By the car park where I was to meet Colin was a weird modern sculpture which I didn't quite understand (not being an ‘Arty-Farty’ type of person) — but I expect it is very meaningful to somebody. Behind it was a lovely view of the whole bay back to Ravenscar, and I was able to appreciate that much more having walked it yesterday.Something I found far more interesting was a plaque giving a little bit of local history. It said:

On the 18th January 1881 the Brig "VISITOR" ran ashore in Robin Hood's Bay. No local boat could be launched on account of the violence of the storm, so the Whitby lifeboat was brought overland past this point — a distance of 6 miles — through snowdrifts 7 feet deep on a road rising to 500 feet, with 200 men clearing the way ahead and with 18 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.

So that future generations may remember the bravery of Coxwain Henry Freeman, and the lifeboatmen, and the dogged determination of the people of Whitby, Hawsker and Robin Hood's Bay, who overcame such difficulties, this memorial was erected in 1981.

What a story!

Colin arrived at the appointed time, and it stopped raining at last. He wasn’t very happy. He’d had an argument with an old man in Whitby when he was parking his car — the old fellow was obviously suffering from dementia because there was no reason for his outburst. The cycle route along the old railway line from Whitby was a hard uphill grind all the way, he said I would have hated it! He was flustered and tired whereas I was calm and fresh — raring to go. So that is very definitely the end of cycling to set up line walks. It has served us very well through the flat marshlands all the way from Kent, but now we are in hillier country we shall have to use buses, trains and taxis.

I had bought some delicious pasties in a local shop, so we sat on a bench and ate them before we started. Colin felt a lot better then.

We left Robin Hood’s Bay on the coastal path near the old railway, which runs a parallel route to Whitby just a bit up the hill and further inland. Very soon we met two men back-packing, but they were a lot more serious than us with the world on their backs and walking about three times as far in a day. We can't compete! We continued to meet couples and solo walkers — a lot of people were out hiking today even though it was a weekday in March and the weather was awful. We also met a large number of rambling groups, I think they may have been connected to HF Holidays, or that kind of thing. Each group had a couple of guides, and a lot of the participants didn't seem to be fit enough for the type of walking they were doing. One or two looked worryingly exhausted, and fearful. Conditions were not good out on the clifftops. It was very wet, muddy and slippery after all the rain we have been having. We both found it difficult, our pace was slow because we had to be so careful, and I sat down involuntarily at one point and got covered in muck!

But it was a lovely route over the cliffs, and we both settled to the conditions and enjoyed it. The path would have been fairly kind if it wasn’t for the wind and the mud. It was very bracing and the views were stupendous. We sat in the lee of a wall to eat our lunch where we had a view but were sheltered. We went through an area of National Trust land — appropriately named ‘Rain Dale’ — where there were some long thin waterfalls running all the way down the cliff. Further on we found planks to sit on in a sheltered spot near Oakham Beck, so we stopped to eat our fruit and yoghurt.

Then we came across a little memorial garden, right out there on the clifftops. A seat surrounded by flowers and shrubs, all very well cared for. While Colin was taking a photograph of me sitting on the seat, he saw a pair of weasels in the adjacent field! As soon as he spied them they were off, and he didn’t get a chance to photograph them. All I saw was a couple of shapes disappearing into the distance. We looked at the map, and discovered we were not yet halfway along the Walk, our progress had been so slow. So we trudged on, with more determination now but still being very careful on the slippery parts.

Eventually we came down a sweep of a hill to a small lighthouse. The path led us across a lane and in front of it. Most of the complex seemed to have been turned into holiday cottages. Then we came to some more holiday cottages with great big foghorns on the roof! We were glad we didn’t stay there for this break — how much sleep would we have got on a foggy night? Those foghorns are LOUD!

We came to the top of a mound, and way in the distance we could see Whitby Abbey, the end of today’s Walk. But we still had a couple of miles to go.Up on the clifftop it was a bit ambiguous as to which side of the fence we should walk because the golden arrows were faded. We chose the wrong side, of course, and found it a bit narrow between the fence and clifftop! But we survived, and managed not to fall off.We descended to a holiday park where the path disappeared amongst the caravans. It was difficult to see which way we were supposed to go, so we asked a man who was out walking his dogs. He hadn’t a clue either, but he stopped and chatted about this and that for about ten minutes. We bumbled our way through the caravans and found the path again, but occasionally it disappeared again because the cliff was so eroded. It was probably down in the sea near some big rocks that were on the little headland there.

Further on we could see the entrance to Whitby Harbour peeping round the edge of the cliff. It felt like an age before we finally arrived at Whitby Abbey, and it looked as if it was about to rain again so we were relieved. We were also very tired, the slippery cliff paths had not made it an easy Walk. According to our map, there should have been a footpath round the end of the Abbey on the cliff side, but this was cut off — probably eroded away. So we cut across to the road and walked along to where our car was parked just beyond the double yellow lines.
That ended Walk no.128, we shall pick up Walk no.129 next time on the lane leading down the east side of Whitby Abbey. It wasn't a very nice place to stop and have our tea, and it was quite windy just there. So we drove to Robin Hood’s Bay where we found a more sheltered spot, and got out our flasks there. Then we tied the bike to the bike rack on the back of the car, and drove to our cosy cottage at Rudston — quite a distance now.