July 29, 2018: Rievaulx Abbey to Helmsley

Ready to begin the short leg back to Helmsley, I stand before the impressive ruins of Rievaulx Abbey.

On Sunday, July 29, 2018, Gavan and I made our way by mini-cab to King’s Cross Station. My long-time walking partner and former student was joining me on yet another joint enterprise. Last year we had walked the Yorkshire Wolds Way and our chosen route today, The Cleveland Way, also has a Yorkshire setting – and as we stared into the southern distance we could soon see some of the ridges we had traversed only last summer. We intended to walk only the first half of the Cleveland Way this time.

Although this was the second scheduled walk for this very hot summer it was the first one that I was actually able to undertake. So far it had not been a good year for me in the health category. In March a low heartbeat was diagnosed and just a few days later I received a pacemaker implant. (Gavan was sure this would lead to a faster pace and less fatigue, particularly at the end of each day’s stage.) Then on June 3, the very eve of a walk on the Pembrokeshire Coast Path with my brother- and sister-in-law, I began to experience urinary tract problems and we had to abort this expedition. Even now I was scheduled for further investigations and perhaps the zapping of some tenacious kidney stones ­– but my urologist, the estimable Mr. Miller, felt that if I wanted to undertake a walking expedition I should go ahead and do so.

Gavan had arrived from Dublin only a few minutes before a cab took us to our train station and here we waited in line to buy our tickets. My health problems and some uncertainty about Gavan’s arrival time had made it useless to pre-book our tickets – which we usually do. When I asked the clerk for tickets to Malton he said he had never heard of it and a minute or two later he had issued us tickets to Marton. Fortunately I noted this – Gavan was most perturbed that we seem to be at fault for providing misleading information. Tickets were reissued and we went to a nearby Boots for some supplies, including lunch materials – but not the clip-on sunglasses that they sell at every other Boots. (My current pair, which I still do use, is scratched.)

We left on the 11:30 for York. We ate our sandwiches and I worked on a particularly troublesome New York Times crossword puzzle. In York we switched, after a journey of two hours or so, to the Scarborough line, arriving in Malton, which is some dozen miles or so from the starting point for the Cleveland Way in Helmsley. From our first train I had made a call to a likely looking taxi supplier and we were now met by Dave, of the Red Cab Company – and thereby hangs a tale. Since the first stage of our walk seemed to be a particularly long one I had fashioned a strategy for cutting down the required distance. We would have Dave drop us off at our hotel in Helmsley, have him wait for us to check in, and then drive us to Rievaulx Abbey. We could then walk back to Helmsley, covering the initial miles on the Cleveland Way, and tomorrow Dave could drive us back to Rievaulx Bridge, giving us over an hour’s head start on what would now be for us Day 2. This will explain why, annoyingly perhaps, this is the one section of these accounts that must be read in a counter-clockwise direction.

The drive from Malton (which is contending for the title of the dog-friendliest town in England) lasted about twenty minutes. Dave kept up a running commentary on the local cab business and added that his wife had actually ferried a shooting party that included Prince Harry. Another topic was the local gentry, that is the Feversham family – one of whom, he said, had made a fortune in London in porn. After our re-start he also pointed out various spots on the Cleveland Way that we would soon be decorating with our boots. We arrived at Rievaulx Abbey at about 3:45 and after a long harangue on the subject of why we should buy a season ticket (which we disdained) we were admitted to a truly fantastic site.

There was practically no one about – indeed we had the museum all to ourselves and, as we wandered among the ruins of the abbey, we never had to wait for others to get out of the way when we wanted to use our cameras – well Gavan took pictures with his iPhone only. Every night, incidentally, he transferred a few shots from this device to my own phone so that I could keep Naomi in Philadelphia, Janet in Michigan and dog-sitting Linda in London up to date on how I was getting on. Tonight’s shot would be one of me leaning on my cane in front of the dramatic ruin.

The acorn symbol reminds walkers that they are on a National Trail.

Rievaulx Abbey is actually off-route so at 4:30, under gray but unthreatening skies, we took its access road south and soon found the Cleveland Way at Rievaulx Bridge. A path paralleled the highway back to Helmsley before heading steeply uphill under the cover of woodland along Jinny York Bank. There were lots of other people about, some joggers, some on cycles, but at this hour there weren’t any other Cleveland Way walkers. Now we dropped down into another valley, that of Blackdale Howl, and climbed up again before obtaining views of Helmsley itself. On our descent we found several markers signaling the start of the Cleveland Way and paused for some selfies. We had walked only 3.5 miles.

Helmsley’s market square.

We did not obtain any views of Helmsley Castle but used back lanes to reach the impressive market place of a quite charming town. We stopped off at the Royal Oak for a pint, then marched past the statue of an earlier Feversham to find our room at the Feathers. Gavan, incidentally, had done all the booking on this trip himself – dissatisfied with the stages offered by the professional companies and wanting to make sure that the stages he had planned would not overtax my energies.

The Feathers was a superior establishment, much dedicated to the hunting fraternity. A low lintel bore the inscription “Duck or Grouse” and each room had a hand-painted inscription to maintain the theme. (Though I doubt that they had used Oscar Wilde’s famous description of the sport – “the unspeakable in full pursuit of the uneatable.” In our room we had the famous quote that begins “If it looks like a duck” – but I was more than a little surprised that the quotation was attributed to James Whitmore Riley – when I knew that the famous Hoosier Poet is in fact James Whitcomb Riley. On our way to dinner, when we paused to order packed lunches, we shared this insight with the receptionist ­– who was delighted that she now had something with which to bedevil her boss.

Gavan had selected an Italian restaurant, La Trattoria – where we served by Dave’s son. I had the seafood linguine. The place, which also served as a local bakery, was quite crowded but everyone seemed to be in a good mood. As were we, after a very successful opening day. In was almost dark as we crossed the square one last time and headed for our beds.

To continue with this account your need:

Day 2: Rievaulx Abbey to Helmsley – 3.5 miles