Part 4 - Lindisfarne to York via Berwick in Tweed
So I thought this section would be shorter and I am glad it isn't because it was my main reason for departing Old Coulsdon and I did it. It was short and yet it wasn't short. Anne Marie would have been proud of my spirit in her constituency but that is a take it or leave it affair. I can see where she is coming from - and a little surprised knowing what I now now that Mr Beith held on for so long - but doubtful about the people she supports. The man in the taxi was very pleasant but he may have been a bit different had he known he was talking to a hermitage fanatic. As we crossed onto the mainland, he spoke about Bamburgh and Dunstanburgh castles. I said that with respect it was a bit of a sore point as they were tantalisingly close but I couldn't get there or indeed do the wonderful walks this time around but I was very, very happy. I will say here what I think of the insights I have now had into the north Northumberland coast. I love it every bit as much as I had hoped. I have a real taste for it. It is just so far out from me. I haven't entirely ruled out future walking but if I were a younger man with no medical issues, I'd stay on the island for a while in a retreat. Shortly before we got back to Berwick, the driver - another man who can't cope with cities and loved the local countryside - said that it had been a difficult year for him. He had been diagnosed with cancer. "I'm so sorry to hear that" I said and added tentatively "and you are no age either". 40. These things happen. You just have to get on with it. That was his line. The chemo is not so bad and the medics are happy with his responses. "I thought chemo was very difficult - when did you have it?" "Ah no, the steroids are the worst of it. I've lost all me' hair. Two days ago. Had to be there for five hours. I'm jus' glad to be back now on these roads."
I doubt that Berwick as a town is pretty. I'm not so sure it is rough or even especially tough but I am very sure by instinct it is gritty. Near to the station, I thought there was football on but as I peered through failing eyes I didn't recognise the abbreviations although one said "Liv". I thought of Liverpool but that threw me. No, this it seems is ostensibly a rugby town - the likes of Hawick aren't that far away really - and culturally it has more than one foot in Scotland but not quite two feet. I am intrigued by it and came away from it thinking I could like it very much from the outskirts of the station side. It is a place which on paper stimulates the imagination and as the train pulled out and I chose to look inland, I was spellbound by the attractiveness of the countryside which surrounds it. On this day, and on balance, the wide range of people I met were - and as with everywhere there are exceptions - probably the best of the bunch on this break. I am moved by how one person's extremity is another's localism and he wouldn't wish to be anywhere else. I am going to say England because it is the only country I know fairly well, although there are still massive gaps, albeit many of the key ones for me now having been fast filled. I could equally say Britain. If I had a second life, I would want to spend more time in Scotland which has an immense coastline, see a bit more of Wales and venture into Northern Ireland. I won't have that and all I can say to my mother and others who wish they had seen more of abroad is that the language, the history, the food, the music and the differences in terrain all make other countries interesting.
However, you happen to have been born in a place where the scenery takes some beating. Hold onto that notion as I truly believe it. Politics and culture - they ebb and flow, alas often in seemingly a downward fashion - but to fashionably prefer elsewhere is at the very least doing our geography a disservice. If I am proud to have been born here, it is because of the nature of our wonderful islands at their most timeless. Obviously man - and woman - made more places accessible. With it all came risks and the necessity of constructing in certain ways. Some arrangements are short. Others are long. It might say a lot about me but that main north to south route is even today as scary as it is great. Fall asleep and rather than getting to where you are wanting to, you could end up in Edinburgh or London or even Penzance. There are fewer pressures in that sense but more limitations on a branch line.
I was very worried as we got past Newcastle that I would overshoot York and end up in Kings Cross. The bloke next to me said, on enquiry, that he would be getting out at York and now that I had given him permission he would happily give me a shove if I was out for the count. But I did stay awake. Sometimes I had to stick my nails into my hands in order to do so. One is more vulnerable in that situation. I just hoped that on exiting it would all be a bit more sedate. Luckily it was but then it was a Sunday and only 5.30pm. Ironically, I couldn't have gone out for a meal anyway as it was hard to put one foot in front of another on the way back to the Travelodge. For three hours, I was on the bed. I can't call it sleeping. It was an in and out weird dreamscape. Almost feverish. But later I got myself across to a Sainsbury's local and bought some chicken pieces, a pot of salad, fruit and a plastic knife, fork and spoon. Certainly it was more nutritious than the average eating out thing. It still felt a bit sad. What a terrific day, though, and checking out time on Monday wasn't until midday.
So I thought this section would be shorter and I am glad it isn't because it was my main reason for departing Old Coulsdon and I did it. It was short and yet it wasn't short. Anne Marie would have been proud of my spirit in her constituency but that is a take it or leave it affair. I can see where she is coming from - and a little surprised knowing what I now now that Mr Beith held on for so long - but doubtful about the people she supports. The man in the taxi was very pleasant but he may have been a bit different had he known he was talking to a hermitage fanatic. As we crossed onto the mainland, he spoke about Bamburgh and Dunstanburgh castles. I said that with respect it was a bit of a sore point as they were tantalisingly close but I couldn't get there or indeed do the wonderful walks this time around but I was very, very happy. I will say here what I think of the insights I have now had into the north Northumberland coast. I love it every bit as much as I had hoped. I have a real taste for it. It is just so far out from me. I haven't entirely ruled out future walking but if I were a younger man with no medical issues, I'd stay on the island for a while in a retreat. Shortly before we got back to Berwick, the driver - another man who can't cope with cities and loved the local countryside - said that it had been a difficult year for him. He had been diagnosed with cancer. "I'm so sorry to hear that" I said and added tentatively "and you are no age either". 40. These things happen. You just have to get on with it. That was his line. The chemo is not so bad and the medics are happy with his responses. "I thought chemo was very difficult - when did you have it?" "Ah no, the steroids are the worst of it. I've lost all me' hair. Two days ago. Had to be there for five hours. I'm jus' glad to be back now on these roads."
I doubt that Berwick as a town is pretty. I'm not so sure it is rough or even especially tough but I am very sure by instinct it is gritty. Near to the station, I thought there was football on but as I peered through failing eyes I didn't recognise the abbreviations although one said "Liv". I thought of Liverpool but that threw me. No, this it seems is ostensibly a rugby town - the likes of Hawick aren't that far away really - and culturally it has more than one foot in Scotland but not quite two feet. I am intrigued by it and came away from it thinking I could like it very much from the outskirts of the station side. It is a place which on paper stimulates the imagination and as the train pulled out and I chose to look inland, I was spellbound by the attractiveness of the countryside which surrounds it. On this day, and on balance, the wide range of people I met were - and as with everywhere there are exceptions - probably the best of the bunch on this break. I am moved by how one person's extremity is another's localism and he wouldn't wish to be anywhere else. I am going to say England because it is the only country I know fairly well, although there are still massive gaps, albeit many of the key ones for me now having been fast filled. I could equally say Britain. If I had a second life, I would want to spend more time in Scotland which has an immense coastline, see a bit more of Wales and venture into Northern Ireland. I won't have that and all I can say to my mother and others who wish they had seen more of abroad is that the language, the history, the food, the music and the differences in terrain all make other countries interesting.
However, you happen to have been born in a place where the scenery takes some beating. Hold onto that notion as I truly believe it. Politics and culture - they ebb and flow, alas often in seemingly a downward fashion - but to fashionably prefer elsewhere is at the very least doing our geography a disservice. If I am proud to have been born here, it is because of the nature of our wonderful islands at their most timeless. Obviously man - and woman - made more places accessible. With it all came risks and the necessity of constructing in certain ways. Some arrangements are short. Others are long. It might say a lot about me but that main north to south route is even today as scary as it is great. Fall asleep and rather than getting to where you are wanting to, you could end up in Edinburgh or London or even Penzance. There are fewer pressures in that sense but more limitations on a branch line.
I was very worried as we got past Newcastle that I would overshoot York and end up in Kings Cross. The bloke next to me said, on enquiry, that he would be getting out at York and now that I had given him permission he would happily give me a shove if I was out for the count. But I did stay awake. Sometimes I had to stick my nails into my hands in order to do so. One is more vulnerable in that situation. I just hoped that on exiting it would all be a bit more sedate. Luckily it was but then it was a Sunday and only 5.30pm. Ironically, I couldn't have gone out for a meal anyway as it was hard to put one foot in front of another on the way back to the Travelodge. For three hours, I was on the bed. I can't call it sleeping. It was an in and out weird dreamscape. Almost feverish. But later I got myself across to a Sainsbury's local and bought some chicken pieces, a pot of salad, fruit and a plastic knife, fork and spoon. Certainly it was more nutritious than the average eating out thing. It still felt a bit sad. What a terrific day, though, and checking out time on Monday wasn't until midday.
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