August 14, 2017: Melton to South Cave
Sheep stare at walkers as we enter Welton Dale.
We chose 8:00 as our breakfast hour on the second day of our sojourn on the Yorkshire Wolds Way and we were soon stuck in. Neither of us, of course, indulged any longer in the “full English,” Gavan usually satisfying himself with a soft-boiled egg, porridge or yoghurt, and I remaining faithful to my scrambled eggs on toast. We brought our bags down for their transfer by the trip organizers, received our packed lunches, and at 9:00 we were off.
In fact we hadn’t far to go to get to the next major site on the YWW – Welton – and we had only to turn right along the road adjacent to our b&b to find a direct route. It was a gray morning, quite a contrast to yesterday’s weather, but it was dry enough. Welton had a number of attractive features – though it was no longer blessed by a post office, where Gavan wanted to purchase some stamps for the postcards he intended to send to friends and relatives. A stream ran through Welton and I paused to take a picture of St. Helen’s church and a wildlife van which promised stud services for your lovelorn alpaca.
We now headed north along Dale Road and it was like stepping into real countryside for the first time on this trip. We passed several mossy ponds and after a cottage we encountered our first livestock, sheep, milling about on the grassy floor of Welton Dale. A gradual ascent, with woodland on our left, soon began and we left behind for a while the cows and sheep.
We passed Wauldby Manor Farm and turned to the west to continue upward within a shelterbelt of woodland. A little road walking followed as we used Elloughton Dale Road for further progress. Here we met a mother and daughter walking pair and, as usual in such encounters, data had to be exchanged on where we all expected to end up at the end of today’s march. They were going on to North Newbold and I knew we would never see them again. It was also true that we were often quizzed at such points about our accents – not our ascents. After 36 years as a London resident I was still a Yank to our fellow walkers and in Gavan, born in Ireland, educated at The American School in London, living in Connecticut but about to move to New Jersey, there was no mistaking American tones.
I pose next to one of the unusual features of the route – a wooden acorn-topped five-mile marker.
We paused for our packed lunches on a convenient bench but it actually began to rain a bit and I used this convenient perch to don my full battle gear. Then we crossed Brantingham Wold, next to Long Plantation, and again used a road to continue our descent into the next dale. On the way we passed one of the specially erected five-mile marker acorn posts that provide walkers with information on how many miles you still have to go to reach Filey.We did not turn left, which would have led us into Brantingham village itself, but there was a brief visit to All Saints Church on (another) Dale Road. Here Gavan made a rare mistake, wishing to cross the road and just head up the opposite side of the valley – while I could see that we were supposed to pass the church on our right and continue in a northerly direction along the floor of another lovely valley. I was both surprised and encouraged to pass a signpost promising only two and half miles to go before reaching our day’s destination in South Cave.
All Saints Church, Brantingham.
It was now quite dry again and the sun was making an effort in the skies above as we passed through lovely woodland and undertook another brief ascent. I had rather convinced myself that an ordeal would be required to climb the next hill, up to Mt. Airy Farm, but in the event this height was soon conquered and we could now obtain views of the agricultural flatlands to the west. A steep descent on tarmac brought us down to the Beverley Road where we began a stroll on pavement into South Cave itself. It was only 2:30 and we had covered eight miles.
When we reached the main street of the village I began my search for a convenient pub and Gavan headed off to the desired post office. The Bear, much to the surprise of the post office people, was not going to open its doors until 4:00 but it was also suggested that the Gallery bistro, a little bit along the way, did serve alcohol and so we headed here – taking a seat under an umbrella in a pleasant garden out back. I did enjoy a very cold bottle of Peroni beer.
We chatted for an hour or so and then, by pre-arrangement, we called our night’s accommodation and Charlie, one of the owners of the Rudstone Walk Farm, agreed to come fetch us from the empty parking lot of The Bear. Two miles or so away, the farm in question seemed to specialize in golfing holidays. It was in fact a splendidly manicured estate with lots of rooms and its own restaurant. Helen showed us to our own room – our bags having been delivered here already – and we had a bit of a rest in our own sitting room. We also had a dining table, our own bedrooms and our own kitchen – where Gavan could chill a bottle of wine he had bought in South Cave. (This is the life.)
After a nice rest we reported to the dining room and had a very nice repast – a beef pie for both of us, if I remember correctly – though Gavan, after seeing all these farm animals, was moving ever closer on this trip to ordering from the vegetarian side of the menu. Our waitress, Helen’s niece (though only two years younger) was a bustling delight. The light was now fading from the Western skies and it was time, after another successful day, to head for our beds.
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