Yorkshire

A civilised start from home by taxi at 10:15 last Thursday to catch a train to London Bridge, then a longish walk, towing the suitcase, to the bus stop for the No 17 to Kings Cross.  Just about everyone else on the bus had either elbow crutches or a walking stick, so we were in similarly aged company.  One old chap got on, cursing and swearing and thumping the oyster card reader so hard as almost to dislodge it from its moorings! 

We had time to pause for a refreshment at the station, so went to the upper floor of the new hall, and were shocked to see so many morbidly obese people.  The person at the table next to ours was wearing a shocking pink shirt, which kinda compounded the felony.  We are hardly sylph-like ourselves, I should add, but felt less ashamed of our shapes in such company.  The train was a venerable HS125, such as I used to use between London and Dundee in the 1980s, but re-engined in the meantime, and no slouch.  Looking and feeling rather tired, though, and the experience was not helped by the presence nearby of the usual screaming brat.

Annie met us at York, and drove us across the moors to Whitby.  At this time of year the heather is magnificent - at the viewpoint above Horcom Hole we could see for miles across vast sweeps of purple.  We hope someone has put some bee hives out! 

Whitby Abbey shortly after dawn

We are staying in Annie's late husband's first wife's holiday cottage in a new development on the right bank of the Esk near the centre of Whitby.  It has views down the estuary and up to the ruined abbey, as well as across the river to the station whence steam trains leave for Pickering on the North Yorks Moors Railway.

Annie's friend Chris joined us for supper, so the four of us legged it into town to get fish and chips.  Very good, but we later formed the view that generous portions thereof, cooked in beef dripping, are not the greatest idea for bolshy old innards.  A poor night's sleep, in a small double bed with too warm a duvet.  We took the duvet out of its cover at some point in the restless small hours, and cleared the single bedroom next door in the morning.  We're a bit too big to share a 4'6" bed...

We took a stroll into town on Friday, and walked to the end of the pier to enjoy the views out to sea and along the beach, where kids were having donkey rides.  Thence to the local branch of the optician chain I probably should NOT have gone to for a last attempt to get the new glasses to fit comfortably on my big 'ead.  Failure, so they're going back next week.  Home via the pie & mash shop, and a soporific lunch.

Whitby Abbey and St Mary's church yard

We took a ride up the hill to the Abbey later, and thence to the fascinating St Mary's church.  Architecturally quite complex, with bits of pure Romanesque and some quite modern windows.  Inside it is curiouser yet, with high box pews and galleries.  And a clock with a decent Westminster chime, though less good time-keeping.  (Hence not a candidate in the BBC's search for a substitute for for Big Ben during the long refit.)

Saturday was our steam trains day, which we thoroughly enjoyed.  Out from Whitby at 10:00, arriving in Pickering through the woods and heather in time for lunch.  And just in time for a downpour, so we hung around in the station before puddle-jumping up to the White Swan for lunch.  Variously, steak sandwiches, with the meat done authentically French-style rare, or bacon chop, aka Kassler Rippchen. 

Art deco saloon car, North Yorkshire Moors Railway

We took three trains back down, stopping at Goathland and Grosmont.  On one leg of the journey we travelled in a fabulously restored Art Deco saloon car, with the most comfortable seats I expect ever to encounter in a train.  We paused at Goathland, but didn't scramble up to the village centre as time was limited.  We did have time to admire the nicely laid out borders in the station.  There was a time when railway stations competed for awards for their gardens.  A pre-Beeching, pre-Thatcher time, of course.

At Grosmont, we went along through the pedestrian tunnel for a look at the engine sheds and the yard.  Noted. 

Esk estuary from Abraham's Quay

When we got back to Whitby, the town was clearly en fête, with huge crowds there for the folk music festival, which included morris dancers and all sorts of other diversions.  It was also regatta weekend, hence the bunting on the house next door.  Having walked a lot during the day, we were content just to amble back to the cottage for a simple bit of supper.

On Sunday we took a look round a car boot sale, where there was also a good fresh veg stall.  That apart, it was largely the usual tat, so, although Annie bought a few bits and pieces, I stayed close to my bawbees as usual.

Saltburn funicular and pier

Monday saw us heading for Saltburn, where we walked the length of the pier (at low tide, unfortunately) and then took the funicular up the cliff.  Interesting to watch the down car taking on just enough water to counterbalance the up one.  As we walked along the front, a class of surfing pupils were being drilled in paddling out and then standing up on their boards.  We only saw the dry land exercises, but they were going out on the water as we went for our walk at the higher level.

Attractive town, with some elegant buildings looking out to sea from the cliff.  There's a bit of seaside tawdriness here and there, but it's very limited.  We walked down through an attractive park from the bandstand to the car park, pausing for tea at a little tearoom on the way.  The tea was brought in hopelessly dribbly pots, and the milk jug was perhaps just worse, but the tea was fine, and both the service and the non-matching selection of bone china were rather charming.

Heather at Moorsholm

Thence up on to the high moor, pausing to admire the heather again, then over to Egton Bridge for a pub lunch and yet more tea at the home of a friend of Annie's. 

Fireworks marked the end of the Whitby Regatta on Monday evening.  Excellent 15-minute show, clearly visible from just outside the cottage, though far enough away for quite a delay between the flash and the bang!

We were mightily lucky with the weather.  Apart from a sharp shower in Pickering just as we arrived, it was fine and mild much of the time.  As we left on Tuesday, it was just starting to drizzle, and we had a wet, foggy drive across the moors to York.  We were there in plenty of time for our train to London, so nursed a cup of tea for the hour or so in a cafe overlooking the station.  The train was another old HS125, but operated by a different company, and rather better fitted out.  We expected to be joined at our four-seat bay by a passenger getting on at Newark, but as the drinks trolley was between him and us at Newark, he took an unreserved seat further down the coach, leaving us with plenty of elbow room.  The rest of the journey was unremarkable - bus, another train and a taxi - and the weather had improved steadily as we came south.  

As usual, however much we enjoyed the trip away, it was good to be back to our familiar, spacious surroundings.  The garden had been busy: the rudbeckias are finally putting up a good display, and it looks as if we might even have a few courgettes to eat before long.  The grass has also grown, of course, but I'll defer the pleasure of dealing with that for a day or two.