Number Seventy News

Ah, the West Riding !  All that Pennine weather. Actually pleasant enough for autumn as we wound into Wharfedale, stopping at the Wharfedale Inn at Arthington for Black Sheep and Fish and Chips (and mushy peas, of course).  But heading up from Keighley pst Haworth and Oxenhope - a glimpse of smoke down in the valley from the K&WVR - on the roads which gradually climb the contours along the side of the valley, fringed by millstone grit walls, we found deteriorating weather.  We entered the clouds and lost the scenery, except for 100yards of bleak and treeless moor on either side, and the occasional totally isolated row of cottages about which the only possible question is “why?”  But as we came over the top into Calderdale through the mist ahead appeared Heptonstall church tower, grey against a grey landscape and cloudscape.  Fortunately, once we got up to Heptonstall the rain was intermittent, although the grey clouds racing across the top of the valleys gave no hope of sunshine.  Noticed that the Methodist Chapel had numerous umbrella racks.  Also that Sylvia Plath’s grave in the overflow churchyard is sadly neglected, though a few wilted sunflowers and collection of plastic Venus of Willendorf nestled amongst the grass and weeds.  Out beyond the village onto the ridge and then dropped down to find Lumb Bank.  Hughes and Plath had a splendid view from there, in whatever weather, and even on such a grey day the turning leaves were a splendid sight.  Up an old stone trackand further along the ridge then via the hamlet of Slack to the other side where a wood-edge path above a precipitous drop led us back to Heptonstall.  

After tea and cake at Milly’s cafe in Mytholmroyd to the Ted Hughes Theatre at Mytholmroyd school, where Ian Duhig and Anthony Thwaite were reading.  Hadn’t expected to like Ian Duhig’s work much, and didn’t, though he reads much better than he used to, and had deliberately chosen poems which were fairly accessible on first hearing. But any poem which needs a longer introduction than poem is not really trying to be accessible.

And Anthony Thwaite was a disappointment.  He’d chosen to read only personal autobiographical poems but none of them seemed to rise beyond the specific to the universal, nor did they attempt to.  Rather a thin offering, like the day’s Pennine rain.  At least Ted Hughes had some guts to his poems.

Filey is so genteel !  It actually reminded me of Sheringham - lots of real shops - a 2 storey sort of place.  Good fish and chips.  This walk was actually earlier in the summer - pyramid orchids were out in abundance.  Beautiful views across Filey Bay, steep descents to the beach via the fishermen’s rope, rock-hopping to Cayton Bay, then a serendipitous bus back to Filey.  

Briefly, we were enchanted by North Norfolk.  Not only the North Norfolk railway, which completes the landscape just like a railway should, but also the wide marshscapes of Blakeney, the rich woodlands, the fine country houses, and the excellent pubs and pub food. And most of it isn’t flat. !  PS - saw avocets for the first time, and a barn owl hunting towards the end of the afternoon.

The Hayburn Wyke pub sits just below the former Whitby-Scarborough railway line (now a walking/cycling route) a mile or so north of Cloughton. It apparently dates from the 18th century as a pub, although what route it was on for passing trade at that time, and what local community it served is not clear. Its brochure implies that smuggling may have had something to do with it but as the anchorage at Hayburn Wyke is hardly sheltered (though certainly remote and inaccessible) I have my doubts. Anyway, it now seems to have a good weekend trade of families wanting a pub lunch (looked fairly average pub food) and walkers / cyclists on the former railway line or the nearby Cleveland Way. We had some Black Sheep or coffee and set off into the delightful woods which cover the steep sides of the valley which carves its way down from the moors to the West towards the sea. When it reaches the beach, the stream falls over a 20ft waterfall. The tide was right in and because of the strong easterly breeze over the last few days there were some respectable waves. On previous visits the sea has always been calmer, and the tide further out - it’s a favourite place for piling rocks into towers a la Andy Goldsworthy. The rocks are from tennis ball to bigger than football size, smooth and round, grey streaked with brown.

We returned towards the pub by a different route, at the bottom of the valley. Very lush and wet and green under the trees, before they come into full leaf. Lots of wood anemone, dog’s mercury, wild garlic, bluebells (neither yet in flower) and large clumps of primroses. A few shy plants of wood sorrel. Not many birds, though a wren did break cover from under my feet. (Much smaller and much noisier than the four deer that we flushed out in a wood near Heilbronn a few weeks ago). Delightful as this was, it struck me that a visit in 3 or 4 weeks time, on a sunny day, could be quite spectacular.

…in London. Starting from Euston station I just ambled wherever the whim took me, Euston Street leading to a wrought iron archway proclaiming “Tolmer’s Square” - just a small space between flats (50s?) with bushes, and trees, winding paths and a pub. Just the opposite of the windy wastes and dead stone of the Euston Centre just down the road. Then a winding course dwon Bolsover St. , Great Titchfield Street, Langham Street to Cavendish Square - loads of people sitting on the grass and on benches enjoying the afternonn sunshine - and across Oxford Street to Hanover Square. Brook Street looked interesting but I was quickly diverted to Avery Row and Brooks Mews - lanes and alleys lined with restaurants and interesting small shops. Via Davies Street to Berkeley Square - off which is the delightful Bruton Mews - interesting-looking pub half way along- back to Hay Hill, Dover Street, Grafton Street and so to New and then Old Bond Street where there’s a bench where you can sit between Churchill and (?) Truman, and then the street is lined with large cars parked on yellow lines with the chauffeur lounging on the bonnet or the boot while the nobs or the wags do their shopping. Steel dinosaurs in the Royal Academy courtyard, craft and tat market across the road in St. James churchyard. Peaceful interior, Wren, gallery on 3 sides, magnificent organ at west end, man sleeping beside Grinling Gibbons font. Swallow Street and under the arch to Regent Street gridlock. Walked between the traffic rather than over it to the other side and into Brewer Street. A very welcome cafe stop - I forget its name, but it’s a hundred yards up on the left, on a corner. Pressing firmly onward into the porn belt now - Soho as crowded and excitingly tacky as ever - Old Compton Street and across Shaftesbury Avenue. There’s a stret beside Blackwells which leads to another of those odd small squares - this one a wild garden - Phoenix Garden I think. Weeds and cottage garden flowers - and anyway what’s the difference? Back onto Shaftesbury Ave, Princes Circus, and the familiar environs of Museum Street. Over the years, I’ve worn a track from here to and from Kings Cross, but today brought a new version by crossing Southampton Row and taking one of those broad pedestrian accesses, Cosmo Place, again lined with cafes and pubs that just reminds you how perfect life would be without motor vehicles. This revealed Queen Square, yet another green space for the soul, and so to Judd Street with the towers of St. Pancras at the far end, and Euston Road and Kings Cross. Three hours in London could hardly be spent more enjoyably, and at only the cost of the shoe leather and refreshment on the way.

Take 33 German schoolchildren and six German adults and lead them over the Dales and Moors and along the coast of Yorkshire. God’s own country, as we know.

Day 1, and their bus dropped us at Kilnsey for a walk across Mastiles Lane to Malham. Just above Kilnsey there’s a superb picnic spot, overlooking the village and the valley, and overlooked by rabbits on the hillside above. Mastiles Lane is easy walking and one can enjoyto the full the lambs, sheep, rabbits, hares, curlews, highland cattle and larks along the way. Even though there are few gates and stiles, a large party of mixed ability soon gets spread out - I felt like the pied piper leading the raggle-taggle gypsies o! I’d thought it would be fun / possible to lead them down Gordale Scar and indeed, we made nine tenths of the descent without incident, but rain in the preceding days had swollen the stream and the only shower of the day wet the rock just too much to make it safe. So back up part of the way, and around the hill to come down a gentler way (though one child did manage to twist her ankle a bit). Stopped for the night at Malham Youth Hostel - very welcoming. Youth Hostels are such great places to stay - if only you can work out the sheet sleeping bags.

Day 2. After a bit of German suspicion of the Great British Breakfast (all the more for those who were aware of its delights, therefore) we headed off towards Malham Cove. Fun fording the stream, and some of us were able to see the male peregrine falcon standing proud against the sky on the cliff edge, thanks to the watchers from the RSPB who had some powerful glasses to moinitor the peregrine’s breeding activity. House martins sweeping around the cove, and ravens after our sandwiches. It’s a steep rocky stair up the side of the cove, but we all made it, mostly following an old guy in his 60s on two crutches and with one very gammy leg. He reckoned the rubber ferrules on his sticks only lasted a week or so. Across from the Langscar Gate to Langcliffe then - again easy walking on a good track, but unbeatable high level views. We sat on a grassy knoll for our lunch amongst heartsease and violets with a 200 degree view of Yorkshire spread out around us. The RAF buzzed us - just a precaution no doubt. We stopped at the caves above Langcliffe but I didn’t let my pied piper role overtake me and forebore from leading my tail of children into the hillside for ever. Between Langcliffe and Stainforth, our destination, the path winds through fields on the side of the Ribble Valley, and through an old lime works with a lime kiln about 100yards long. The kids asked me if these had been “satanic mills”. I guess so. Stainforth Youth Hostel was once a country house built by a nouveau riche industrialist - he even made the Midland Railway build a tunnel for the railway under his front garden, rather than have a cutting there. Another great YH, pity the YHA is intending to close it, though I can very well see that it will cost the earth to maintain and improve, and is probably not quite in the right spot.

Day 3. On this day we did have some light rain - not quite continuous, but persistent. The black plastic bags we had bought in case of such an event came in useful for those who were not fully kitted out with waterproof clothing already. Delightful walk by the Ribble from Stainforth to Settle. Bluebells just finishing, masses of wild garlic, and also lady’s smock, stitchwort, all the usual Spring flowers. The footpath did lead through a field with a bull in it, but the rain must have dampened his spirits too for he chose to ignore us. The waterfalls and pools at Stainforth would have looked very inviting if it had been warmer and drier on the bank. Good cup of tea at “The Naked Man Cafe” in Settle, before our Bavarian bus driver took us back to York for a day’s break.

DAy 4. Off to the coast. We disembarked at Lythe, and walked across the fields to the Cleveland Way. It was a magnificent coup de theatre to come up the side of an ordinary field on a rather dull footpath and suddenly find ourselves on top of the cliffs north of Sandsend with the bay stretched out below. The kids were from southern Germany and some would not have come across this kind of coastline before. So down to Sandsend and then along the beach to Whitby as the tide was out. The new Whitby Youth Hostel is amazing - deserves its 4 star status. Huge rooms - wonderful views, great cafe. Some of us managed a meal at the Magpie - truly one of the great Yorkshire institutions. (Must try something other than haddock and chips one day - there’s an amazing variety of other good things on the menu.) And the Whitby Co-op stays open till 10 on a Friday night for essential supplies.

DAy 5. Off on the Cleveland Way along the cliff top. It was noticed that there is only a fence to prevent the unwary plunging onto the rocks when it’s a question of unwary cows - people have to look out for themselves. But there are some spectacular views and a couple of really nice picnic spots along the way. We sat among bluebells for our lunch. At Robin Hood’s Bay the children messed about on the rocks while some of us had tea and cakes, then we walked along the beach with half an hour to spare in advance of the tide, to Boggle Hole. As ever, a friendly and helpful welcome from the staff. The tide was coming in, and quickly cut off the route to Robin Hood’s Bay. Many of the children displayed an astonishing fortitude by bathing - ideal on the flat rocks with a gentle oncoming tide. It was a wonderful sight, and something they will probably always remember - one of those golden moments. While they splashed and swam, four sets of walkers appeared from the Ravenscar direction, all having to take off their boots and socks and wade a few yards up to their knees to round the rocks and reach the safety of the road and the cliff path on to Robin Hood’s Bay.

Day 6. The tide had retreated just far enough to allow us to take the beach to the next inlet, and then up across the fields to Ravenscar. Gorse bright on the hillsides - much nicer than oilseed rape. Views from Ravenscar to the North absolutely spectacular - especially with the tide out and those curving rock formations spreading out into the bay. Next bit of the Cleveland Way a bit dull though, too much samey cliff. We dropped down to Hayburn Wyke and amused ourselves on the rocks - some of us balanced rocks and made sculptures. One person even showered under the waterfall ! But then on to Cloughton, where the bus awaited.