AND SO TO WALLSEND;PEARL OF THE NORTH
THURSDAY 11 TH MAY, 2006
A scorching sun, plus the threat of 18 miles ahead meant an early departure from Wylam, and a fond farewell to The Craven`s at Wormald House; by far the best `mine hosts` on the walk. Following the usual uncertainty as to which way to go, and having been assisted by a number of commuters heading for the train, we strode off across the car park and out along the wooded path toward our exotic goal;Wallsend Museum and the official end of the walk. Within a few minutes we found ourselves passing steam engineer Robert Stephensons cottage, and continued to follow the pleasant routeway provided by the disused railway line . Around the bend and our first view of the glorious River Tyne."Pity we haven`t got a canoe", said Nick, ever the optimist, "be easy to boat down to Wallsend". I was just beginning to consider the proposition when the rock below us at the water`s edge began to move;or more precisely,the object perched upon it began to move. Unbelievably, there below us some 30 feet away was a basking seal, bathing in the early morning sun. Now as someone who had previously thought that all seals lived only in captivity, my immediate concern was to ensure that its` health and temper` was OK, prior to calling Desmond Morris at Whipsnade Zoo.But then, after five minutes or so of observation and reflection, it became clear that the animal was prospering on the rich pickings of the river. And this so far inland from the sea;proof if ever it were needed of the increasingly successful attempts at cleaning our formerly highly polluted industrial rivers. Well done Northumbria Water !
Sid, The Tyne River Seal,enquires about Roger The Goat`s health.
OK, so it`s a really small picture of Sid, but we were excited, and this is as good as it gets with a Kodak Instamatic. Remember, Sid was about 18 miles from the sea; a veritable explorer from the massed and uniform ranks of the world of the seals. Sid, we salute you sir !
Excited now, we pressed on toward Newcastle. With temperatures to rival the Majorcan coastline a stop for refreshment became something of a priority. So a mile or two into the western suburbs of the city we left the river briefly, to visit The Lemington Community Centre. It was `Help The Aged` meal day and even though we qualified we weren`t supposed to be there.We weren`t even`Club Members`, but the staff could see our problem, and Dave had blagged us in. Where else in the UK can you buy three cups of tea,three satsumas and a Waggon Wheel for £2.30 ? In addition to that, having moaned to the staff that I`d lost my woolly hat and that the naked bit of my scalp was frying,I was presented with an official Umbro England peaked cap,completely gratis ! We were all flabbergasted. The helpers who were all volunteers, were hard working and friendly, and the place was both clean as a new pin and rammed with punters. What a great resource for the locals (and wimpy walkers like ourselves) .
Back out and into the heat, and a few more river bank miles bought us to the edge of the commercial heart of the city. Ahead of us lay a view of the wonderful collection of bridges that help to make Newcastle so distinctively recognisable, and as we stood to admire them the unmistakable sound of an extended and somewhat plaintive fart assaulted the airways. Dave and I both turned to look at Nick, but before we could pursue the matter, a further, more controlled, and yet somehow louder emission rumbled towards us from some distance beyond Nick. There, tethered firmly to the patch of green between the boat house and the pub was Donald, the famous `Farting Horse of Denton Dene`. Now we`d heard about this horse from a number of sources, but had tended to dismiss the stories as geordie folklore. But now, amongst the hoops of laughter from ourselves and a crowd of locals who`d gathered around, we were forced eat our words. Nick, who had chosen up to this point not to photograph any of the thousands of unique roman artifacts we`d walked past along the wall, rushed for his camera. My own, somewhat shaky image will be presented to you, dear and probably oh so shocked reader, at the end of the blog.
Millennium Bridge and The River Tyne. But still no sign of Wallsend.
Partially recovered we stumbled on along the quayside into the centre, our kit bags and walking boots looking somewhat incongruous amongst the business types basking outside their offices. A quick pit stop at The Slug and Lettuce,and we were off on the final leg toward Wallsend. "Ooooh, I could crush a grape," said Dave, now finding his second wind but trying to distract us. We`d been told quite a lot about Wallsend and it distilled into two pieces of advice; don`t stay overnight and under no circumstances leave a car parked there. Well as someone born and bred in Sandwell I regarded such advice with the contempt it deserved, and at first the pathway along the river was really rather pleasant. But then, as it cut inland behind the factories and the Swan Hunter Shipyards the scene began to change. The walkway became littered with glass and debris, plus every few hundred yards or so there was the blackened burn marks on the floor of torched cars and the like, subsequently cleared away by the desperate Council. "The Romans put Milecastles along the wall", I thought, "but the Wallsenders light fires".Everyone we met seemed to wear a black and white striped shirt and baseball hat. Everyone that is, apart from the two grimy guys lugging along a big grey wheelie bin full of lead. "Local entrepreneurs", said Dave. Sympathy for the plight of the good folk who form the vast majority of this area was countered by our own knackered state, and the apparent lack of care for this final section of `The World Heritage Site`. I suspect the council in this area, bless them, have bigger fish to fry (apart from the cars).
By now we were `Romaned Out`, and after only a passing interest in a restored section of Wall, we dragged up into the Museum and the official end of the walk. The staff were only too pleased to see us, especially as we bought three souvenir badges and a Hadrians Wall pencil. On a Thursday, this is what passes as a `rush` at The Wallsend Museum, and they were only too happy to photograph three wilting old codgers, as they perched against each other for support.
Three men, minus their goat, 100 miles on but none the wiser,pose at Wallsend Museum,the official end of the walk.
Note:only Ash was wearing sensible warm woolly clothing.
Elated, we asked how far to our digs. "Oh, just a two minute stroll" said the nice lady on the desk. Forty five minutes later, having crawled on all fours along a busy and polluted by-pass we reached our goal. It would be something of an exaggeration to say we were encouraged by our first view of The Hadrian Lodge Hotel. Neatly positioned between the shipyards, a Lorry Depot and a main road, it wouldn`t be the first place you`d choose for a romantic night out in Wallsend. But the fact was, we weren`t up for a romantic night, and this was by far the best Wallsend had to offer. Suitably refreshed by the warmth of the greeting and the chill of the Cumbrian Ale, we set off on our final and celebratory quest;to Sunderland (where else) by taxi, to listen to our (Ash and Dave`s) hero singer-songwriter Boo Hewerdine, playing at the Smugglers Inn at Roker. Now going from Wallsend to Roker, a distance of say 10 miles, is like travelling between Dudley and Wolverhampton, or Bracknell and Reading. You know; all one big happy place where everyone knows everything and everywhere within the amorphous urban mass within which they live. Well...... not quite. I asked the receptionist, a local girl, how long it would take us to get there. "Where is it pet ?", she said ."Roker", I replied,assuming that would do. "Where`s that then ?" I was starting to struggle ,"Er, Sunderland". "Sunderland!" she exclaimed,"Ooh, I never di goo there" (she was starting to speak Scottish) "where`s that pet ?".
Just then the taxi turned up. "Smugglers Inn, Roker,please", I said with a confident air. This was a taxi driver after all. "Where`s that then mate ?", he replied. "Roker", I said, now feeling a bit desperate. "Roker ?" he repeated, "Would that be where the football team play in Sunderland ?". Hell`s bells, this bloke really didn`t know where Roker was, let alone The Smugglers Inn. I tried to be more helpful, "No,the pub`s in the bit of Roker next to the beach ,just in front of a breakwater that sticks out into the North Sea". He rubbed his head and thought. "Well, have you got a map ?" Protest would have proven futile, and anyhow by now we were the other side of the Tyne Tunnel. Suffice it to say that with the help of several sets of directions from other taxi drivers, and by popping out of the car to ask passers by, we did eventually make the gig. Boo was good, Dave and I were at peace with the music, and Nick found a comfortable chair in which to sleep. On the way back Nick was in the box seat next to the driver. "Hadrians Lodge Hotel in Wallsend, please". The driver seemed unsure . "Where`s that mate?"
To Donate: This walk was udertaken for charity (KidzKlub Leeds). Please got to Wednesday 3rd May blog for details of how to donate, should you so wish. Many thanks.
A scorching sun, plus the threat of 18 miles ahead meant an early departure from Wylam, and a fond farewell to The Craven`s at Wormald House; by far the best `mine hosts` on the walk. Following the usual uncertainty as to which way to go, and having been assisted by a number of commuters heading for the train, we strode off across the car park and out along the wooded path toward our exotic goal;Wallsend Museum and the official end of the walk. Within a few minutes we found ourselves passing steam engineer Robert Stephensons cottage, and continued to follow the pleasant routeway provided by the disused railway line . Around the bend and our first view of the glorious River Tyne."Pity we haven`t got a canoe", said Nick, ever the optimist, "be easy to boat down to Wallsend". I was just beginning to consider the proposition when the rock below us at the water`s edge began to move;or more precisely,the object perched upon it began to move. Unbelievably, there below us some 30 feet away was a basking seal, bathing in the early morning sun. Now as someone who had previously thought that all seals lived only in captivity, my immediate concern was to ensure that its` health and temper` was OK, prior to calling Desmond Morris at Whipsnade Zoo.But then, after five minutes or so of observation and reflection, it became clear that the animal was prospering on the rich pickings of the river. And this so far inland from the sea;proof if ever it were needed of the increasingly successful attempts at cleaning our formerly highly polluted industrial rivers. Well done Northumbria Water !
Sid, The Tyne River Seal,enquires about Roger The Goat`s health.
OK, so it`s a really small picture of Sid, but we were excited, and this is as good as it gets with a Kodak Instamatic. Remember, Sid was about 18 miles from the sea; a veritable explorer from the massed and uniform ranks of the world of the seals. Sid, we salute you sir !
Excited now, we pressed on toward Newcastle. With temperatures to rival the Majorcan coastline a stop for refreshment became something of a priority. So a mile or two into the western suburbs of the city we left the river briefly, to visit The Lemington Community Centre. It was `Help The Aged` meal day and even though we qualified we weren`t supposed to be there.We weren`t even`Club Members`, but the staff could see our problem, and Dave had blagged us in. Where else in the UK can you buy three cups of tea,three satsumas and a Waggon Wheel for £2.30 ? In addition to that, having moaned to the staff that I`d lost my woolly hat and that the naked bit of my scalp was frying,I was presented with an official Umbro England peaked cap,completely gratis ! We were all flabbergasted. The helpers who were all volunteers, were hard working and friendly, and the place was both clean as a new pin and rammed with punters. What a great resource for the locals (and wimpy walkers like ourselves) .
Back out and into the heat, and a few more river bank miles bought us to the edge of the commercial heart of the city. Ahead of us lay a view of the wonderful collection of bridges that help to make Newcastle so distinctively recognisable, and as we stood to admire them the unmistakable sound of an extended and somewhat plaintive fart assaulted the airways. Dave and I both turned to look at Nick, but before we could pursue the matter, a further, more controlled, and yet somehow louder emission rumbled towards us from some distance beyond Nick. There, tethered firmly to the patch of green between the boat house and the pub was Donald, the famous `Farting Horse of Denton Dene`. Now we`d heard about this horse from a number of sources, but had tended to dismiss the stories as geordie folklore. But now, amongst the hoops of laughter from ourselves and a crowd of locals who`d gathered around, we were forced eat our words. Nick, who had chosen up to this point not to photograph any of the thousands of unique roman artifacts we`d walked past along the wall, rushed for his camera. My own, somewhat shaky image will be presented to you, dear and probably oh so shocked reader, at the end of the blog.
Millennium Bridge and The River Tyne. But still no sign of Wallsend.
Partially recovered we stumbled on along the quayside into the centre, our kit bags and walking boots looking somewhat incongruous amongst the business types basking outside their offices. A quick pit stop at The Slug and Lettuce,and we were off on the final leg toward Wallsend. "Ooooh, I could crush a grape," said Dave, now finding his second wind but trying to distract us. We`d been told quite a lot about Wallsend and it distilled into two pieces of advice; don`t stay overnight and under no circumstances leave a car parked there. Well as someone born and bred in Sandwell I regarded such advice with the contempt it deserved, and at first the pathway along the river was really rather pleasant. But then, as it cut inland behind the factories and the Swan Hunter Shipyards the scene began to change. The walkway became littered with glass and debris, plus every few hundred yards or so there was the blackened burn marks on the floor of torched cars and the like, subsequently cleared away by the desperate Council. "The Romans put Milecastles along the wall", I thought, "but the Wallsenders light fires".Everyone we met seemed to wear a black and white striped shirt and baseball hat. Everyone that is, apart from the two grimy guys lugging along a big grey wheelie bin full of lead. "Local entrepreneurs", said Dave. Sympathy for the plight of the good folk who form the vast majority of this area was countered by our own knackered state, and the apparent lack of care for this final section of `The World Heritage Site`. I suspect the council in this area, bless them, have bigger fish to fry (apart from the cars).
By now we were `Romaned Out`, and after only a passing interest in a restored section of Wall, we dragged up into the Museum and the official end of the walk. The staff were only too pleased to see us, especially as we bought three souvenir badges and a Hadrians Wall pencil. On a Thursday, this is what passes as a `rush` at The Wallsend Museum, and they were only too happy to photograph three wilting old codgers, as they perched against each other for support.
Three men, minus their goat, 100 miles on but none the wiser,pose at Wallsend Museum,the official end of the walk.
Note:only Ash was wearing sensible warm woolly clothing.
Elated, we asked how far to our digs. "Oh, just a two minute stroll" said the nice lady on the desk. Forty five minutes later, having crawled on all fours along a busy and polluted by-pass we reached our goal. It would be something of an exaggeration to say we were encouraged by our first view of The Hadrian Lodge Hotel. Neatly positioned between the shipyards, a Lorry Depot and a main road, it wouldn`t be the first place you`d choose for a romantic night out in Wallsend. But the fact was, we weren`t up for a romantic night, and this was by far the best Wallsend had to offer. Suitably refreshed by the warmth of the greeting and the chill of the Cumbrian Ale, we set off on our final and celebratory quest;to Sunderland (where else) by taxi, to listen to our (Ash and Dave`s) hero singer-songwriter Boo Hewerdine, playing at the Smugglers Inn at Roker. Now going from Wallsend to Roker, a distance of say 10 miles, is like travelling between Dudley and Wolverhampton, or Bracknell and Reading. You know; all one big happy place where everyone knows everything and everywhere within the amorphous urban mass within which they live. Well...... not quite. I asked the receptionist, a local girl, how long it would take us to get there. "Where is it pet ?", she said ."Roker", I replied,assuming that would do. "Where`s that then ?" I was starting to struggle ,"Er, Sunderland". "Sunderland!" she exclaimed,"Ooh, I never di goo there" (she was starting to speak Scottish) "where`s that pet ?".
Just then the taxi turned up. "Smugglers Inn, Roker,please", I said with a confident air. This was a taxi driver after all. "Where`s that then mate ?", he replied. "Roker", I said, now feeling a bit desperate. "Roker ?" he repeated, "Would that be where the football team play in Sunderland ?". Hell`s bells, this bloke really didn`t know where Roker was, let alone The Smugglers Inn. I tried to be more helpful, "No,the pub`s in the bit of Roker next to the beach ,just in front of a breakwater that sticks out into the North Sea". He rubbed his head and thought. "Well, have you got a map ?" Protest would have proven futile, and anyhow by now we were the other side of the Tyne Tunnel. Suffice it to say that with the help of several sets of directions from other taxi drivers, and by popping out of the car to ask passers by, we did eventually make the gig. Boo was good, Dave and I were at peace with the music, and Nick found a comfortable chair in which to sleep. On the way back Nick was in the box seat next to the driver. "Hadrians Lodge Hotel in Wallsend, please". The driver seemed unsure . "Where`s that mate?"
To Donate: This walk was udertaken for charity (KidzKlub Leeds). Please got to Wednesday 3rd May blog for details of how to donate, should you so wish. Many thanks.
posted by George Tortoise at 12:01 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home