June 12, 2011: Fenwick to Berwick-on-Tweed

A distant view of Holy Island

It was with great relief that we were able to observe the return of bright sunlight as we arose for the last day of our walk. By mutual agreement neither Tosh nor I said a thing about last night’s incident and neither did our landlady; our host was absent from the breakfast rites. One can only hope that they were a bit embarrassed by their behavior (what did they think two walkers ­– whose average age is 75 – were getting up to?) but I doubt it.

Tosh had fried haddock and two poached eggs. She seemed amazed and gratified that, after six days, we were still speaking – even though this had been the first overnight expedition with just the two of us. I had never had any doubts in this regard.

We left at 9:00, glad to be on our way, and headed east on the village street as far as a traffic-free A-1. Once across here we took the back road to Fenwick Granary ­– I was happy to be able to employ my camera once again. There was a steep hill to climb on field paths but at last we were able to see distant views of the elusive Holy Island. On the other side there seemed to be some minor footpath diversions, after we had again crossed the main railway line, but it was easy to see that we were meant to be heading for the Beal causeway – where a constant stream of traffic was taking tourists on and off the island.

On the other side of the road we passed a concrete tank trap (if that is what all those heavy blocks represented) and headed toward Beal Point. We sat down for a rest on some rocks. The route forward was tantalizingly close but there was no way one would risk a crossing of the South Low here; instead we had to head back inland as far as a sluice gate and bridge. On the other side a bicycle track headed back to the sea and we used this to make more northerly progress. There were certainly lots of bikes about and also a farmer on a three-wheeler ­– with one sheepdog running behind and one riding shotgun. Tosh walked right by what would have been our last access to the beach and we had another rest on a log.

Ahead we could see the white buildings of Beachcomber House and Tosh was hoping that there might be refreshments here but when we pulled even with this establishment there seemed to be nothing but horseboxes, caravans and riders. She asked one woman who all these people were but she was unhappy with the curt reply.

We continued north on a track with a number of cars to dodge, passing through the hamlet of Goswick (where I snuck in a pee behind a wall) and entering more golfing territory. Our next hope for refreshment came with the clubhouse of the Goswick Golf Club and Tosh soon returned from its interiors to announce that walkers were welcome. They actually had a bar in here and we had a nice rest while I drank half a lager. While Tosh was in the loos one chap actually came over to have a chat about our walking venture. This being a Sunday, there were lots of golfers about – all men as far as I could see – and they didn’t spare the pretty barmaid a long period of supposedly hilarious innuendo. There was a sign-up sheet for a grudge match against Alnmouth Village.

When we resumed our walk we had to approach the rail line again (many trains passed by going in both directions today) and walk on the grass next to the driving range. I found a golf ball and threw it back on the green. Tracks carried us in a northerly direction thereafter but after passing a pond on our left we climbed a stile that gave us access to a sheltered little valley and here we had our last packed lunch. I had tuna and sweetcorn in my sandwich. We were sitting in the grass next to a little path and it was quite pleasant in the sun – I ended up with quite a tan on my hands and face from this trip.

Tosh approaches Sea House

After lunch we returned to our track and continued on to a place called Sea House where the cycle track resumed. We were moving rather slowly now, tired from our efforts – but there was no rush. At one point we spotted the realization of one of Tosh’s recurrent fantasies: the white van ahead of us was actually selling ice cream, and she bought a huge concoction with a bakery base, two huge scoops of vanilla ice cream and a wafer on top – and scarfed the lot. Soon we had a wonderful stone wall on our left and on our right views down to the rocky formations and the crashing sea. Views of the Berwick lighthouse on its promontory soon appeared and then other parts of the town as well.

We began a descent into Spittal, Berwick’s southern neighbor, and left the coast behind us to stroll the length of the town’s Victorian main street. It all looked pretty shabby. Slowly we paralleled the Tweed, where jet skis and swans offered two views of contentment. Our route took us across the Old Bridge but on our left we had the nearby Royal Tweed Bridge (from which Tosh had tossed surplus rocks on a previous occasion) and, still further away, the rail-bearing Royal Border Bridge. Our guidebook suggested that we were to continue through parkland to a set of steps near the latter and so we did. Teenagers were larking about here and some lads seemed to be up to some form of mischief. The steps were long and steep and at the top Tosh chatted with yet more teenage girls – one of whom said she didn’t think she could walk a mile, let alone the 62 we had just notched up.

Across the street we were faced by the Berwick-on-Tweed railway station. This marked the formal end of the Northumberland Coast Path – though there was no recognition of this fact here. I went inside the station, which I had last used in 1979, to find the loos – but the nearest ones were out of order. I had better luck across the street at the Castle Inn, where we went next for a celebratory drink. It was 5:00.

Tosh was full of admiration for the girl behind the bar, the only staff member visible, a young lady with purple and white hair (itself in at least four different styles) – who was mending a curtain hook with a screwdriver. I studied the local map provided by Mickledore and figured our where we were and how to drop down the main street to find our hotel. Berwick seemed as charmless as Spittal.

The Cobbled Yard Hotel, Berwick-on-Tweed

Eventually we turned left on Walkergate and soon located the Cobbled Yard Hotel – but our hearts sank when we saw the giant coach outside and then the revelers it had dumped into our dining room. A chap in checkered chef’s trousers got us our keys and assured us that these people would soon have completed their tea break.

We found both of our bags in Tosh’s room upstairs – where our two rooms both had en suite facilities again. I had a rest before meeting my walking partner for drinks and dinner at 7:00. It was raining outside so we were content to remain under the care of a marvelously efficient woman who seemed to do everything in both bar and dining room – though mending the troublesome beer pumps was beyond her. I had a very spicy but quite satisfying chicken curry and then we went to bed for a well-deserved rest.

After breakfast we left at 9:30, Tosh again trundling her suitcase on wheels, uphill this time, and me with my big pack on my back. We stopped at a newsagents and Tosh bought the materials to send Marge a final card – writing the message as we stood next to a pillar box. We reached the station about ten (the loos were still out of order) and used the lift to rise a floor – then descended to platform one, where our 10:11 train was on time.

Once again we had seat reservations and once again they were facing backward, though this did give us a good view of the Angel of the North. They checked tickets several times but no one seemed interested in looking at my missing senior rail card. I phoned David the dog sitter as we approached London. Our train was on time here at 1:55 and, after a farewell to Tosh, I joined a long taxi queue. David had reminded me that they were paving Morshead Road so I had the cabbie let me off at the top of Wymering, walking the last block home after a most successful trip.

Footpath Index:

England: A Chilterns Hundred | The Chiltern Way | The Cleveland Way | The Coast-to-Coast Path | The Coleridge Way | The Cotswold Way | The Cumberland Way | The Cumbria Way | The Dales Way | The Furness Way | The Green London Way | The Greensand Way | The Isle of Wight Coast Path | The London Countryway | The London Outer Orbital Path | The Norfolk Coast Path | The North Downs Way | The Northumberland Coast Path | The Peddars Way | The Pennine Way | The Ridgeway Path | The Roman Way | The Saxon Shore Way | The South Downs Way | The South West Coast Path | The Thames Path | The Two Moors Way | The Vanguard Way | The Wealdway | The Westmorland Way | The White Peak Way | The Yorkshire Wolds Way