Northumberland and Cumbria, England
by Jean Pidgley
I rarely if ever meditate but, when walking in special places, I will contemplate on my past, my present and what’s to come, and then I always feel grateful for my sight enabling me to see the glory of magnificent views and for my hearing, which allows me to absorb the sound of rushing streams and the songs of birds.
Some thirty years ago I repeated a walk when on holiday with family in Yorkshire, which I had done often in my teens. Yorkshire, a lovely county and a favourite of mine, allows easy access to lovely dales and outstanding moorland and to the wilds of Northumberland and Cumbria.
Cumbria, mountainous and outstandingly beautiful, was only created in 1974 when several county names were changed. Formerly Cumberland, it was formed to include a part of Lancashire and all of lovely Westmoreland, home to the England’s Lake District. Unlike my beloved Cotswolds which ranks highly in the order of English landscape beauty, Cumbria is subjected to harsh weather, but has the beauty of its dales partly due to the splendour of the surrounding countryside, the contrast between green fields,woods and valleys, and the naked breezy moors which are never far away.
Cumbria’s mountains are part of the Pennine chain and the grassy slopes of the hills have to feed the sheep and deer in severe Winter storms and heavy Spring rains. Scattered farm houses are the only signs of human habitation and as one drives or walks higher, the links with civilisation disappear, and there is nothing but moorland and sky, and breathtaking views without apparent limit.
From the loveliness of the Yorkshire Dales a foray into Cumbria combines the beauty of the scenery with austere rocky canyons and all England’s mountains over 3,000 feet are within its boundaries. In many parts nature is allowed to go completely untamed and we can see its glory without the addition of human intrusion. But Cumbria, wild, hilly, sparsely populated, site of many sieges and visibly displaying gutted castles, shares with Northumberland Europe’s largest surviving Roman monument – Hadrian’s Wall.
A splendid view of the Wall is seen at Housesteads in Northumberland at a section between Walltown Crags where it undulates for several miles over Whin Still ridge. I loved to ramble on top of the Wall itself where it is eight to ten feet wide and over ten feet high. I would stand alone on one of the Wall’s highest vantage points and look down on some of the most spectacular scenery in England, and immerse myself with thoughts of Roman legions patrolling where my own feet were firmly planted. I could envision them toiling to pull earth, cut turf, and lay stones, hewed, hacked and sawed and placed one by one to strengthen and form this massive barrier their Emperor had ordered.
I haven’t seen a sunrise or experienced a sun setting over the Wall’s contours but I can imagine the sun, rising or setting, could well highlight its character and definition – enhancing its sloping banks and clumps of craggy rocks with elongated shadows. When I was there last no large official car parks, tearooms, or hordes of hikers had taken over the wall and it was allowed to stand firm, and relatively untouched except for the National Trust which oversees archaeological digs, rebuilding and repairs. Casual walkers, like me, digested its history, walked to protect the wall knowing that too many feet, far outnumbering the legions of centuries ago, could shift the turf, damage the stones, and ultimately commercialize a true jewel in England’s plethora of historical gems.
So much of the Wall disappeared in the 1700s and much of the stone went to build local churches, homes and farm walls. No need to shape, cut, form but simply pillage and build. England can thank John Clayton, born during the time of Lord Nelson, who was shocked at the way the local landowners showed little or no regard for the Wall and its history but continually took stone for their own use. Mr Clayton proceeded to buy up farms and other properties whenever they came up for sale, and his own farm labourers then cleared and rebuilt sections of the damaged wall.
I have since heard much has been done to preserve this now World Heritage Site, but when I was last there restoration and digs and finds were apparent but I saw few, and just took in the views and felt the ever-present wind on my face.
I liked to end my walk at the Vindolanda Fort. Hadrian’s Wall at Vindolanda was always my dessert after I had absorbed, like a glutton, the magnificence of a small slice of Cumbria and its sections of wall en route east to the sites in Northumberland. I would remain alone with my thoughts amidst the grandeur of Northumberland’s heathered rolling hills and ancient meadowed countryside and a host of Roman ruins and forts as I worked my way some six miles from Housesteads to Vindolanda.
Few facilities existed then and I continued my trudge over undulating hills, past a tiny wood and down a small valley, dotted with grass chewing sheep with the occasional osprey swooping down to grab an unsuspecting field mouse, to the hamlet of Once Brewed where The Twice Brewed Inn served good hearty northern fare. Feet sore, body aching, a hot home cooked meal washed down with a local light ale, and I was in my heaven on earth and I have never found anywhere better. Forgotten was children’s writer Beatrix Potter’s Cumbrian house, Hill Top, where she created her characters Peter Rabbit and Jemima Puddle Duck. It would be seen another day. William Wordsworth, inspired by the same lakes and mountains, could also be remembered another time, and Dove Cottage on Lake Grasmere, where he lived for over fifty years, could be re-visited. But, during my allotted time with Hadrian and his Wall, I had deliberately stayed remote with my thoughts midst Nature’s grandeur and Rome’s remnants from empire building, aware that, just around a corner in a lane in Once Brewed, I had left a car which would transport me down the road back into Yorkshire and family happenings, where tranquility, dreams and contemplation would be put on hold.
Holy Island, Alnwick Castle and Northumberland Tour from Edinburgh
If You Go:
♦ Hadrian’s Wall Path
♦ Once Brewed
♦ Visit Northumberland
♦ Accomodations
♦ Twice Brewed Inn
About the author:
Jean Pidgley was born in the New Forest, England, and emigrated to Canada in 1961. She spent many years in Marketing Communications with the telecommunications industry, and retired when Business Advertising Manager with one of Canada’s leading telecommunications companies. Her passion is golf and interests include travel and writing for pleasure.
Photo credits:
Hadrian’s Wall 1 by David Mark from Pixabay
Housesteads Roman Fort by Eleonora Pavlovska from Pixabay
Twice Brewed Inn by Bill Henderson / The Twice Brewed Inn
The remainder of the city sprawls away behind and up the hills though nowhere is terribly far from the spread of farmland, coast and the wild. Sheep can be spotted grazing upon the hills to the south overlooking the old narrow port of Douglas, at the mouth of the Douglas River, hemmed in by solid rock breakwater walls. Low tide levels are readily earmarked on the sides of the piers where craft lay drunkenly upon the mud flats waiting for the inflow to sober them up.
Despite its relegation to third place tourism and its legacy are far from relics.
Minutely visible in the mirrors is the Edwardian Era Gaiety Theatre; a proud heritage building facing on to the main promenade with the ornate exterior a valid promise of what awaits inside. Opening in 1900, a year short of Queen Victoria’s passing, its rich upholstered seating with upper balconies, side theatre boxes and the expressive faces of cherubs and their statuesque kin holds silent witness to the many scenes on and off stage that have transpired over its many years. We were favoured there with a rousing rendition of Little Shop of Horrors so well presented I was surprised to discover the cast were not professionals. The sense of timelessness about watching a performance in this heritage theatre, where my ancestors had most likely sat as well, was as personal as it was poignant.
On the hills above is the must see Heritage of Man National Museum. Housed in its historic quarters, faced with ornate Celtic artistic adornments, its doors open to a chronological history which comes alive in dioramas, authentic artifacts, interactive displays which encapsulates the national story of the Isle of Man and its long history from prehistory to modern. Step into a sod roofed Celtic great house to hear a grandfather passing on to an enthralled child, a cozy home with common conversation between a Manx wife and Norse husband and displays enlivening images of the heady days of Edwardian era tourism. Gawk, amazed, under the expansive skeleton of a great deer which once roamed the isle.There are the makings of a long afternoon walking these halls.
With that, he presented his infant son, born just a few days earlier.
Ruthin Castle stands on a ridge overlooking the beautiful Vale of Clwyd. It was the castle that gave the town its name, for it’s a corruption of Welsh words meaning ‘red fort’, referring to the sandstone from which it was built. The castle, which Dafydd built in 1277, is in ruins now, destroyed in the reign of Charles II.
During this conflict, another of Dafydd’s strongholds fell. This was at nearby Denbigh. The current stone castle was built after the stronghold fell, as part of Edward’s ‘Iron Ring’ around North Wales. Henry de Lacy was commissioned by the King to build it, and was also granted a Borough Charter to establish the surrounding town of Denbigh … which also took its name from the castle; it’s a corruption of the Welsh for ‘little fort’.
In the 15th Century, the castle was besieged twice, but held out, first, against the rebels of Owain Glyndwr then against the Lancastrians in the War of the Roses.
Ruthin Castle has connections with more modern Princes of Wales too. The ‘Prince of Wales’ suite and ‘Bertie’s Restaurant’ at the hotel are named after Albert Edward (later, of course, King Edward VII) who visited the house frequently in Victorian times … because he was having an affair with Patsy, the owner’s wife!
At first glance, the town of Bletchley, some fifty miles to the north of London, appears to be an unremarkable kind of place. For a long time, as far as the outside world was concerned at least, the town’s main claims to fame were the busy railway junction and the manufacture of bricks.
I eventually opted to walk across the park to the ornamental lake and the manor house beyond and then make my way back. The lake was pretty and peaceful in the autumn sunshine, with a breeze rustling the leaves and rippling the water. It was easy to imagine code-breakers taking a well-earned rest by the water’s edge.
Inside, it is all warm wood panelling, stained glass windows, narrow passageways and chandeliers. Some of the new recruits, used to rather grander places, regarded it as a Victorian monstrosity, while for others it represented the kind of stately home they never thought they would enter. Aside from its code-breaking role, the Bletchley Park operation is emblematic of the social upheaval of the period.
Block B houses the main museum on the site, complete with multiple Enigma machines, the largest such collection in the world. Each branch of the German military had their own version, modified in various ways to increase security. The settings were changed daily, and the addition of extra rotors and a plug board made cracking the Enigma machine a much more difficult proposition. Just thinking about it gave me a headache.
,_London_8.jpg){kind=link}
.jpg){kind=link}