Walk 146 -- Beal to Berwick-upon-Tweed

Ages: Colin was 64 years and 156 days. Rosemary was 61 years and 298 days.

Weather: Very misty all day. Occasional light drizzle. Breezy, but mild.
Location: Beal — causeway end to Berwick-upon-Tweed.
Distance: 10½ miles.
Total distance: 1212½ miles.
Terrain: A little beach, some road, but chiefly tracks and grassy paths. Mostly flat.
Tide: Out.
Rivers: No.67, the Tweed at Berwick.
Ferries: None.
Piers: None.
Kissing gates: Nos.117 & 118 Goswick Links. Nos.119 & 120 at the further end of the golf course.
Pubs: None.
‘English Heritage’ properties: None.
Ferris wheels: None.
Diversions: No.44 where a footbridge over a ditch had been obliterated and a new one built further upstream. No.45 on a brand new footpath alongside the railway (this was a short cut).
How we got there and back: We were staying in a holiday flat in Longhoughton. We drove to Berwick-upon Tweed where we parked for free near a caravan site and a locked public toilets (we used a nearby bush!) We walked to the railway station and caught the Holy Island bus which only runs twice a week. (Fortunately this was the right day, otherwise it would have been another expensive taxi.) We alighted just before the bus drove on to the causeway.
At the end we were tired and fed up. It was drizzling and the visibility was very poor. We stopped at the ‘Kipper Gate’, and then took the quickest route we could back to where we had parked the car. We had a cup of tea and some biscuits, then we felt a little better. It was quite a long way to drive back to our flat in Longhoughton.

Today’s Walk was very hazardous — if we were to believe all the warning notices we read before we started. A noticeboard on the edge of the car park told us that:
(a) We were about to walk over a former military target area where metallic objects may explode and kill us:
(b) There was localised quicksand, so we could sink without trace:
(c) Wildfowling takes place between September 1^st and February 20^th, so we could be shot at since it was the middle of October:
(d) And about a mile further on a bridge over a drain told us we were at risk of drowning!All of this was on a public footpath. What a choice! We couldn’t make up our minds whether it was preferable to die by being blown to smithereens, suffocating in sandy mud, suffering a bullet in the heart or drowning in a ditch — but then we mused that we were too young to die, and besides we wanted to stay alive long enough to finish the Round-Britain-Walk! So we tentatively and carefully carried on. Weren’t we brave?Nobody mentioned getting lost in the fog, which was by far the greatest danger today. We could see coachloads of tourists crossing the causeway to Holy Island and disappearing in the mist before they got there. It must have lent atmosphere to their trip, but we were glad we went yesterday when there was weak sunshine and we could always see the mainland.
There was a good path northwards for nearly half a mile, then we were led up on to a bank. This turned westwards, but the path was so overgrown we couldn’t walk it easily. So we came down to the edge of the beach where the path was not so bad. After another half-mile we came to a tarmacked cycle path, but it was only a few yards seemingly in the middle of nowhere — very odd.
We crossed a bridge through a gate festooned with warning notices, and then became disorientated in the mist. We didn’t seem to be going the right way at all, according to the map, so in the end I got out my compass. The path led us a bit back on ourselves, the wrong way according to the compass and map. Eventually we concluded it was a diversion, and we hadn’t crossed the drain on the bridge we thought we had, but another one further up. A good path led us ever northwards behind the dunes, and after that we were all right. We met a man on a quad bike who stopped for a chat. Later we met some cyclists who were following ‘Cycle Route 1’ (so they said) and asked us if they were going the right way to get to Holy Island. We told them of the type of path we had been walking on, and of all the hazard warnings that were associated with it. They didn’t seem at all fazed, and continued their journey with a cheery wave.
We passed a caravan site, and came to a farm at Goswick where our track turned into a narrow tarmacked lane. There was a cold breeze, though not enough to shift the mist at all, so we sheltered behind an old milk churn platform (don’t use those any more!) to eat our pasties. That was OK, except that we had to endure the noise of a two-stroke coming from behind a barn all the while we were there.
Next was a golf course. We couldn’t believe the number of people out playing golf in all that mist and murk on a grey Wednesday in October — they couldn’t even see the length of the fairways from where they teed off! We got to a corner where the clubhouse was situated, and found that the coast path was clearly signposted at ninety degrees away from the sea. We were not happy with that and planned to trespass across the golf course to get to the coast. But there were too many people! Crowds of them everywhere, queuing up even, and there was no way we could nip across without being in real danger of being hit by a golf ball.
So we resigned ourselves to going the long way round, and it was a long way according to the map — at least a couple of miles extra. But we were in for a pleasant surprise — a couple of hundred yards inland a brand new path, not marked on the map, had been put in next to the railway! So we only had to walk an extra half mile after all. This led us to a public footpath which led to the beach. But we didn’t want to go to the beach because further on we would probably get stuck at the bottom of cliffs and have to backtrack.
We were trying to follow the brand-new waymarked ‘Northumbrian Coast Path’, so brand new it wasn’t marked on our brand-new map. So navigation was a little difficult as all the way-marking didn’t seem to be in place, or we just couldn’t find it. Whatever — we lost it several times, bumbled our way through and kept finding it again. We were still on the golf course, it was of interminable length. But few golfers seemed to be on this northern part — perhaps it was too far away from the ‘nineteenth hole’! One time, when we were ‘lost’, we walked through a “Ladies’ Tee” and there was absolutely no one there. Perhaps the ‘ladies’ have more sense than to be out on the greens in this cold and clammy weather where they can’t see more than a fifty yards or so into the distance. Come to think of it, what were we doing walking out in this cold and clammy weather where we couldn’t see more than a fifty yards or so into the distance?
We investigated a bank to our left and discovered the coast path was up there, but we couldn’t puzzle out where it had come from. However, it was quite clear where it was going to, and we didn’t lose it again. We sheltered behind a wall overlooking a fishing pond to eat our sarnies. Soon the track turned into a rough tarmacked road and we had lovely views over the beach, despite the mist which persisted all day.At a car park we went down to Cocklawburn beach to cut off a corner. It was good to walk on the sand again! We had to climb up at the other end of this short beach, and there we found a lot of evidence of slippage. The original road disappeared over the edge of the cliff in several places, and a new road had been laid down a bit further inland. But not much further — don’t think it’ll last long!The road turned inland under the railway, but a track led straight on squeezed between the railway and the clifftop. We were treated to good views, despite the mist which had become colder and clammier as the day wore on, and we looked down on interesting rocks.We came down into the seaside resort of Spittal, where there was one lonely family walking along the beach in their winter coats, the children attempting to dig the sand as they went. Not much else. We thought, “What a horrible name! We’d hate to have Spittal as part of our address!” An information board told us the name is thought to have originated in the 12^th century when there was a leper hospital here. I expect there was a lot of spittle about then — yuk! Spittal really developed as a fishing village — salmon in medieval times, but herring took preference by the 19^th century. This lasted well into the 20^th century when heavier industries began to take over. It also developed as a spa town when ‘taking the waters’ became fashionable towards the end of the 18^th century. Spittal water was rich in ‘iron, fixed air and sulphurous acid’ — I suppose that’s an improvement on spittle! The spa developed into a holiday town when sea-bathing became popular. Most of the visitors came from the Scottish border towns of Hawick, Jedburgh, Selkirk, Galashiels and Kelso. Like most seaside towns, Spittal began to decline in the 1960s, and when the railway linking it to the aforesaid border towns was closed in 1968, it died. Now it is more of a dormitory town for Berwick.
We walked along the prom which was nice — it looked new. In fact we found Spittal to be quite a pleasant place despite the weather which was deteriorating all the time. The wind had got up and it was cold, but the mist persisted spoiling our views of Berwick across the River Tweed. Colin obstinately battled with his cheap umbrella which kept blowing inside out, and I tried to ignore him as much as possible — usual scenario. We sat in a beach shelter to eat our chocolate.
We discovered we were following the ‘Lowry Trail’ with the occasional board displaying one or other of his paintings. Apparently he used to live in Berwick, and only died in 1976 — I hadn’t realised he lived so recently.
We walked round the point where there was a tall chimney, left over from some industry or other. From there we should have enjoyed amazing views of Berwick-upon-Tweed, but it was so shrouded in mist we could hardly see it.

We now had to walk up the River Tweed to the first bridging point. We trudged past a lifeboat station, through a mainly redundant industrial site and past a dock to get to the old bridge.This 15-span sandstone arch bridge, measuring 1164 feet in length, was built between 1610 and 1624 at a cost of £15000. It was ordered by James VI of Scotland, and formed part of the main route from London to Edinburgh until fairly modern times. Nowadays there is a modern road bridge about a hundred yards upstream, and a bypass which completely misses the town. Traffic is still allowed to use the old bridge, but in one direction only — from north to south.Pedestrians are asked to keep to the right, so the vehicles can pass freely.And so we crossed the River Tweed into the town of Berwick — a town which has been fought over by the Scots and the English since time immemorial. In the present day it is in England, but only just!We turned right and continued down the other bank of the river, walking towards the sea. We could have walked along the bottom next to the river, but the way was blocked by buildings, private car parks etc all along. So we decided to stay on top of the walls because it was less ‘bitty’. We were on the ramparts, and seemed to pass a cannon looking out to sea every few minutes. This town oozes history! We passed a guardhouse, one of many, and came to the ‘Kipper Gate’ in the ancient town walls. The rain had started in earnest and we were very tired by then, so we decided to call it a day and take the quickest route across town to where we had parked the car.
That ended Walk no.146, we shall pick up Walk no.148 next time at the ‘Kipper Gate’ in Berwick-upon-Tweed. Meanwhile Walk no.147 will be an historical tour of this town which is so rich in history. We returned to the car by the quickest route possible where we had a cup of tea and some biscuits. We felt considerably warmer and more comfortable then. The drive back to our flat in Longhoughton from where we finish our Walks gets longer and longer.

Walk 145 -- Lindisfarne (Holy Island)

Ages: Colin was 64 years and 155 days. Rosemary was 61 years and 297 days.

Weather: Cloudy but bright. Rain set in as we returned across the causeway.
Location: Beal—causeway end to Beal—causeway end, a circuit of Lindisfarne (Holy Island).
Distance: 10½ miles.
Total distance: 1202 miles.
Terrain: The causeway road, grassy paths and dunes.
Tide: Out—this was essential!
Rivers: None, we crossed the sea instead!
Ferries: None.
Piers: None.
Kissing gates: No.115 near the castle. No.116 a little further on.
Pubs: None.
‘English Heritage’ properties: No.42, Lindisfarne Priory.
Ferris wheels: None.
Diversions: None.
How we got there and back: We were staying in a holiday flat in Longhoughton. We drove to the free car park that overlooks the causeway that leads on to Holy Island, and discovered that the road was already clear of water even though we were half an hour ahead of the ‘official’ time.
At the end we finished the Walk at the car because this was a circular walk. We were nice and early—we had to be because the tide was coming in fast. We had a cup of tea, then went back to our cosy flat to have a bit of relaxation time.

My Dad’s birthday again! Must be a good day to walk. I still miss him enormously, even after 12+ years. He would have been 101 today! I do wish he was still around so I could tell him about our Round-Britain venture, he would have been so interested. But he died three years before we started, so he had no idea we were even planning it.

We were at the mercy of the tides today because Holy Island is cut off from the mainland for several hours twice a day when the tide comes in. We didn’t have to do today’s Walk because it was a circular and we ended up in the same place at the end. But we both wanted to do it because Lindisfarne — the old name for Holy Island — is such an interesting place.
The official time the causeway was supposed to be open and safe for traffic today was listed as 09.40. We got up early to make sure we arrived in plenty of time, and found that by 09.00 the causeway was already uncovered and cars were driving across. So we didn’t waste any time in starting our Walk.
The tarmacked causeway — which was built in 1954 — is three miles long, but a lot of that is sand dunes. Before 1954 people had to walk across the mudflats, a route which is still marked out with tall posts. This morning there was a lot of traffic going over to the island but very little coming back. Probably most of it was tourists going over for the day. We very soon came to a notice informing us that it was dangerous to continue if water has reached the causeway — ignore this warning at your peril! That is where we crossed a bridge, the lowest part of the causeway and the last to be uncovered as the tide goes out.Just after that we came to a refuge, a hut on stilts that you can shelter in if you get cut off. It is very bare and bleak inside — I wouldn’t like to spend several hours sitting in it waiting for the tide to go out! It has a telephone inside from which you can only dial 999, so if someone has been really foolish and got themselves into a life-threatening mess they can call for help. We could see a similar refuge across the mud on the original path which is marked by posts.

We found the road to be fairly narrow, and there was quite a bit of traffic on it. It is just wide enough for cars coming each way to pass each other, but no provision has been made for pedestrians (probably because no one else is mad enough to want to walk across!) Stepping down to slippery seaweed and barnacle-covered rocks was the only alternative to standing our ground on the edge of the road. So we did the latter, and the traffic somehow managed to avoid us.We came to the first of the sand dunes, so Colin wandered behind them to water a tussock of grass. I continued along the road and a bloke in a car, thinking I was on my own, stopped to offer me a lift. I wonder if he fancied me!
We saw a lot of wildlife — herons, curlews, geese, and then a big colony of seals. They were lying on a sandbank some distance away, so we looked at them through our optical instruments (Colin has binoculars, but I have a small telescope because of my eye defect. I can cope with it so much better than binoculars which confuse me — I haven’t got binocular vision, you see). Colin counted them and reckoned there were 78, some of them pups in their white fur.We reached the island, and turned right to walk along the shoreline footpath to the village. Colin stayed on the stoney beach, but I went along the official path which climbed a small sandy cliff. It was very overgrown with nettles and I got the lower part of my trousers quite wet, so I reckon Colin had the best deal. But I could see the seals much better from up there. Colin eventually climbed up to where I was, and we went into the village. We used the tourists’ toilet (free! well done, Lindisfarne! ) before we entered the priory ruins.

Lindisfarne Priory

Lindisfarne Priory is one of the oldest Christian sites in England. Perhaps those early monks felt safe on this tiny island cut off from the mainland by treacherous waters twice a day. They certainly considered there was something very special about the place.

The ‘English Heritage’ booklet tells us:Lindisfarne Priory on Holy Island was one of the most important centres of early Christianity in Anglo-Saxon England. It is still a place of pilgrimage today, the dramatic approach across the causeway adding to the fascination of the site.
St Aidan founded the monastery in AD 635, but St Cuthbert, Prior of Lindisfarne, is the most celebrated of the priory’s holy men. After many missionary journeys, and ten years as a hermit on lonely Farne Island, he reluctantly became Bishop before returning to die on Farne in 687. Buried in the priory, his remains were transferred to a pilgrim shrine there after eleven years, and found still undecayed — a sure sign of sanctity.
From the end of the 8^th century, the isolated island with its rich monastery was easy prey for Viking raiders. In 875 the monks left, carrying Cuthbert’s remains, which after long wanderings were enshrined in Durham Cathedral in 1104, where they still rest. Only after that time did Durham monks re-establish a priory on Lindisfarne. The evocative ruins of the richly decorated priory church they built in c.1150 still stand, with their famous ‘rainbow-arch’ — a vault-rib of the now vanished crossing tower. The small community lived quietly on Holy Island until the suppression of the monastery in 1537.
I was particularly interested to find out that Lindisfarne was designed by the same architects who built Durham Cathedral. I didn’t discover this until I had remarked on the similar markings adorning some of the columns. Durham Cathedral is my favourite of all Britain’s Cathedrals — and I have visited a good many. It is so dramatic, and I particularly love the huge chunky columns that line the nave. It amazes me how all this majesty was built using just simple tools by men who could barely read or write, if at all. What craftsmanship!
Other things of interest were the base of a very old Celtic cross which probably preceded any church on the site, and a modern sculpture of St Cuthbert. I was also interested to look at the erosion on the stones which make up the ruins of Lindisfarne. When I did my Open University Geology courses (twenty years ago — help!) I remember being told to look carefully at the walls of buildings constructed with sandstone because you can often see the original layers in which the sandstone was laid down. These layers are very obvious on the old stones of Lindisfarne Priory, and some of the patterns are quite attractive.We came out of the priory, passed a rather nosey horse over the wall, and climbed up on to a bit of the Whin Sill behind the ruins.From there we had fine views of the priory, the church, and back towards Bamburgh. We saw another colony of seals on a sandbank further away than the ones we had seen before.There was a war memorial on the top, and a track led down to a ruined cottage overlooking the fishing harbour and a beach. We sat there to eat our pies, staring across the beach at the castle perched precariously on another outcrop of Whin Sill.We scrambled down a bank to the tiny harbour, and then walked along the beach.The sheds containing the fishing tackle were the hulls of old boats which had been overturned.This gives them a very distinctive shape which we thought was quite artistic. As we approached the castle, we passed a stall selling crab sandwiches, so we succumbed — and very nice they were too. For the wimps there was an expensive minibus plying to and fro between the priory and the castle. We ignored it, after all the distance it covered wasn’t exactly far!
The castle is owned by the National Trust, and we are only English Heritage members, so we by-passed it. Even if we had been willing to pay, we hadn’t got time to dally because the tide was already coming in.
That is where we shook off the crowds — from there on we were completely on our own until we rejoined the causeway. We walked along the eastern shore to a concrete pyramid, and we never did find out what it was for or why it was there.
There was no clear path along the north side of the island, so we got a bit confused. We were aware that time was getting on – we had to beat the tide on the causeway (or spend the night on the island) and the crucial bridge where the road is covered first was three miles away. We took a path behind the dunes, but it was uneven and overgrown. In our hurry we got disorientated and felt completely lost amongst the grassy mounds. We battled on, and came out on a better path. With great relief we followed it to a signpost, but this only pointed us back towards the village where we didn’t want to go.
A less well-marked footpath led straight on, so we followed it for a while, wondering if we’d done the right thing. We knew the causeway was somewhere over to our right, but the map told us it was only sand over there (we weren’t quite sure where we were, really). We followed an unofficial path to the top of a grassy mound, and there was no sand — just the causeway! BUT — there was a barbed wire fence between us and our way out. Fortunately it was only one strand, so we took off our rucksacks and rolled underneath. Now we could ‘quick-march’ the three miles back to the mainland!
After a mile we had reached the twelve hundred mile mark from home, but there was nobody around to take our photos — everyone else was in a car. So we took a picture of our feet to register this milestone, after all they had done all the work!Then the rain started, and it really set in so the last two miles were miserable. There was a lot of traffic, mostly leaving the island now because the tide was coming in fast. It was a bit dodgy where the road was narrow because few cars actually slowed down to pass us. One driver, in a ‘Traffic Management’ vehicle, yelled something at me as he passed. I think it was, “You’re a hazard to the causeway!” — something like that. What cheek! What were we supposed to do? Gloop through the mud? I was incensed! We were really glad to get back to the car parked just on the mainland. The water was not yet lapping at our ankles, we still had time!

That ended Walk no.145, we shall pick up Walk no.146 next time at the same car park where we finished this Walk, at the beginning of the causeway. We had our tea and biscuits, then returned to our cosy flat to have a bit of relaxation time because it was only early afternoon.