DAY 9

Tuesday May 31^st 2016                                                            

Holy Island to Dunfermline                                                                Miles 108

Today we entered another country – twice!  Weather went from cloudy to spectacular, better than Jim’s home in Norfolk where his wife said that they had received 1½ inches of rain overnight!

Berwick on Tweed was our first destination after leaving Holy Island. This is the last town in England before you enter Scotland.  Ownership moved about eleven times between Scotland and England, through war and by gift.  However when James I of England (and VI of Scotland) came to the throne after the death of Elizabeth I, the two countries were united under one crown and Berwick remained in England. 

Berwick-On-Tweed

Albeit it was cloudy most of the time we were there, it was still presented as a magnificent town. It has the oldest intact defensive walls still in existence in England.  They are just over 1 mile long and cover ¾ of the town.  They are mainly high stone and mud bankings with some stone built gun emplacements.  We had a bracing walk on top of them.  They started to be built under Bloody Queen Mary and then continued under Queen Elizabeth and were reputedly the most expensive thing that was built during her reign.  Total cost over 12 years was £137,000 about £40 million in today’s money.  Elizabeth was almost bankrupted over this.

Berwick

We found the people to be extremely friendly and helpful.  They are so welcoming that parking in the town is free of charge, though you do need to purchase a parking disc for $1. This allows you to park anywhere for up to three hours and lasts for a year.  The only surprise was that you had to pay 20 pence to use the loo.  We heard yesterday on the BBC that the majority of towns in England are now getting rid of their public toilets altogether.  Apparently as Tescos (and other supermarkets) have them, Councils have decided to save money. Thank goodness for Tesco. 

Allotments in Berwick

At one place on the walls we looked down on probably the neatest allotments in Britain.  All the plots looked beautifully planted or dug in preparation for planting.  The soil is black and rich, almost like peat.  Not a weed in sight.  From one allotment hut we could hear Mozart being played.  Clearly the gardeners in Berwick have sophisticated tastes!

After a cup of hot chocolate we both decided that our hair was getting too long and looked for a hairdresser.  The first was full up, the second closed and the third could only take one of us.  As there was a guitar shop close by, Jim opted to forgo his haircut and play with the guitars.  I did get mine cut and am now feeling very tidy.

After Berwick we set off for Eyemouth, over the border into Scotland.  Just before arriving in this little fishing village, horror struck.  On deciding to text my wife I discovered that I had left my mobile phone back at the Lindisfarne Hotel.  I could not continue my journey without a cell phone, so had to make the painful decision to return and get it.  It meant an extra 30 mile round trip and about 45 minutes added to our journey.  Anita at the hotel (who called me “Pet”) had found it and returned it to me.  She had also, earlier, told me of places that I must visit when I get to the Orkneys, so Anita thank you for not only saving my trip but also adding to it with good advice.

Returning to Eyemouth we crossed into Scotland for the second time within the space of an hour.  Eyemouth is a bustling place with an active fishing industry as evidenced by the trucks departing with fresh fish.  As we left the town we found ourselves behind a funeral cortege with lots of people walking behind the coffin and on to the graveside.  We did not know who the deceased was, but he or she was clearly well liked and respected as borne out by the number of people who were present.

St Abbs Head and Village

St Abbs Head and village was our next destination and what a wonderful little place this is.  There is a steep road down into the little harbour, which can only be described as charming.  The sea was blue but the surf was up and the waves were crashing over the rocks.  There is a poignant memorial on the point overlooking the village remembering 3 fishermen from St Abbs who perished in a great storm in March 1881, which claimed in one night, a total of 189 fishermen from along the Scottish east coast.  We cooked up on my little stove a lunch of pea and ham soup, which was sufficient for the rest of the day (only needing to be topped up by a bag of jelly babies from the RNLI shop in Dunbar!).

The whole of the east coast of Scotland is dramatic and beautiful.  The sun shone brightly and the sea remained blue all the way towards Edinburgh.  The roadsides still had gorse in bloom but the hawthorn, unlike further south, was only just beginning to blossom.  We felt that Scotland was about 3 weeks later in blooming than the south of England.

The A1107 towards Cocksburnspath is wind turbine alley with rows and rows of blades spinning gracefully.  I wonder if in 100 years time these turbines will be as revered as much as the windmills of 100 years ago are today.

Dunbar is a fine town and the start of the Golf Course Coast and has excellent sandy beaches.  Here we visited the RNLI shop.  The RNLI do such a great job.  It is striking just how many RNLI stations there are.  Almost every bay and village and of course the towns I have passed through, have an RNLI station with boats large and small.  Every vessel is manned by volunteers and the RNLI is funded only by donations.  There are many sailors alive to day who have to give thanks to the RNLI for their rescue.  Tragically there are also many lifeboat men who have lost their lives trying to save mariners.

At North Berwick we stopped to photograph Bass rock and Tantallon Castle, which looked magnificent across a field of oilseed rape and in the blue water.  Again another lovely town.  It does seem that Scottish towns have an air of solidity, orderliness and perhaps also a certain somberness.  They are generally smart and without an over abundance of awful garish high street signs that we have seen on our journey through England.

North Berwick

We drove through Muirfield Golf Course where a US Boys golf tournament was taking place.  Muirfield has recently been in the news for having been denied the opportunity to host the British Open because it does not allow women as members.  In my experience golf clubs are all about keeping people out rather than encouraging people to join.  I am stunned that they can even continue to take this stance and I hope that the “loss” of potential income and prestige they will incur for not hosting the Open is at least a kick to their snobbish backsides and that changes happen soon.  I was particulalry shocked to hear Peter Allis, the main TV commentator for golf tournaments say, that “If women want to play at Muirfield all they have to do is marry a member”.   I am glad that my hobby is not golf and that I don’t have to mix with such people.  One other annoyance was that Murifield is allowed to put up temporary traffic lights to allow the golfers to cross the road.  These are “golfer controlled”.  I certainly am all for road safety, but to be able to hold up main road traffic to allow some arrogant people to chase a little white ball is crazy.  (How many points for running over a golfer?).

We entered Edinburgh at Musselburgh and continued on to Leith to try and get to see the Royal Yacht Britannia before it closed to visitors.  We were too late but did manage to get some pictures through windows from within the magnificent shopping mall that is built alongside.  The Royal Yacht has certainly dramatically changed Leith from poor and run down docklands to a very upmarket place to be.

New Forth Road Bridge (from old) - opens 2016

We then fought the Edinburgh homebound traffic through to the Forth Road Bridge.  This was very congested but in 2016 a new bridge will open right alongside it.  The construction of this is tremendous and it will be a work of art when it is completed.  It will come close, but not surpass, the original Forth rail bridge which still stands as an icon for Edinburgh and British engineering.  The old necessity of having to constantly keep painting the bridge (“when you get to one end you go back to the beginning and start again”) is now no longer true.  Modern paints allow them a 5 year break before repainting is necessary.

The original rail bridge took over from the centuries old ferry that ran from Queens Ferry across the Firth of Forth.  The ferry had its origins right back to the time of Queen Margaret (later a Saint of Scotland) who had supported the building of a Benedictine Abbey at Dunfermline and then paid for a ferry to be put in place to allow pilgrims to travel there from Edinburgh.  Margaret’s family had fled from England to the Continent when William the Conqueror invaded.  She was the niece of Edward the Confessor.  She later came to Scotland and married King Malcolm III (who had deposed my ancestor King Macbeth).  She had 8 children by him.  Three of her sons became Kings of Scotland and one daughter married Henry 1 of England.  She died in 1083, three days after Malcolm and her eldest son were killed in battle.  One strange but interesting fact about Margaret is that in 1560, Mary Queen of Scots, ordered the opening of Margaret’s tomb and the removal of her head, which was brought to her in Edinburgh to provide saintly protection for her during childbirth. The head was passed to the Jesuits in Douai in France, but lost during the French Revolution.  Her remaining bones were removed by Philip II of Spain and moved to Escorial, but have also since been lost.

Unfortunately Samantha got confused by all of the construction at the end of the bridge, where new roads will soon merge.  Trying to be nice to her today and follow her instructions we got hopelessly lost for about 5 minutes, but we can't blame her as the road works have not yet been “charted”.

Jim and I spent the evening with two of my cousins, who greeted us with waving flags when we arrived – just like royalty.  A good meal, lots of chat and an 8 week old kitten to play with ended a fine day’s driving.

Tomorrow Jim departs back to Norfolk and I continue on on my own towards Aberdeen.  I will once again have to get used to my own company.

DAY 8

Monday May 30^th   2016                                                         

Redcar to Lindisfarne                                                               Miles 150

Today was a day of two halves.  The morning was spent in the industrial northeast in grey, murky, misty, claggy weather and the afternoon mostly in sunshine along the glorious Northumberland coast.

We left our hotel in Redcar at around 9.30am. We would not want to stay at this hotel again. However it was cheap and the staff, especially Ashley, went out of her way to ensure that we were happy.  Ashley if you ever read this, you should apply for a job with one of the big hotel chains; you could have a great career with them.  One interesting thing we noticed was the building plot alongside the hotel.  Lots of rubble and weeds.  The main plant growing was oilseed rape.  This plant lights up the countryside in bright yellow swathes at this time of year, however, the fact that it now grows in most cities indicates just how much of it is grown and how it has now spread to be a common weed.

Redcar seems a sorry town, completely in contrast to others on this coast.  It probably gets very little of the holiday trade.  The fishing boats are drawn up onto the streets one block away form the quay, each with its own tractor.  Is this for reasons of space on the beach or reflective of the wild weather on this coast?

Redcar Fishing Fleet

As we drove towards Middlesborough there was a distinct smell in the air.  It seemed to be a cross between a fried breakfast cooking and acrid chemicals.  Certainly it was pervasive in the car and I imagine that the locals have to endure this every day.  The area was one of docklands with large cranes.  As we entered Billingham we entered chemical city.  Huge factories and chemical plants and big buildings without any windows.  One place was called Oxygen Corner.  It was at this point that we realised that we had been holding our breath!  Presumably this is where the locals come to breathe and refresh when they can! 

No doubt such places are built on the coast because the land is available. As the sea here is uninviting and with a plethora of good resorts, no one wants to come to these parts, so a chemical plant can be sited here. Unfortunately whoever built such places here did not appreciate that the wind is mainly off the ocean and onto the land.  Indeed in these parts it originates in the Ural Mountains before crossing the North Sea.

At Sutton Carew, which we felt had similarities to Redcar, new 3 and 4 bedroomed houses were being advertised for sale at £139,500, which is half of the current UK national average of £288,000.  Sutton Carew’s northern end is posher, with a golf club and dunes, but has on its sea front a large Indian restaurant called the Sheesh Mahal.  Apart from spoiling the view, it supports the story that curry is now the national meal of England!

We started along the Durham Heritage Coast road and this offered good sea views as the road is close to the ocean and there are no mud flats.

Entering Hartlepool we saw the masts of a tall sailing ship.  Trying to get close to it proved difficult.  We followed the occasional sign, but the road into the Tees & Huddersfield Dockyard Museum was actually marked to a Yacht Club.  Message to Councils, if you want visitors to your expensively built museums, please make sure that the signage is clear and complete!  The great surprise to me was that this ship was the HMS Trincomalee.  This vessel was instrumental in charting the Pacific North West where I now live. Indeed my daughter lived in a road named after this ship.  She was built in India and launched in 1817 and was in the Pacific in 1852.  She is the oldest ex naval vessel still afloat.  HMS Victory is 50 years older, but in dry dock, so not floating.

HMS Trincomalee

Leaving Huddersfield to continue along the Durham coast Jim taught me the “Durham song”.  Basically you “sing” Durham over and over again to the tune of the Pink Panther.  Try it, it works!

We entered Blackhall and then Easington.  Both ex mining towns, which “died” on the closure of the pits and indeed of the whole mining industry in the early 1990s.  Easington was the scene of one of the worst mining disasters, when in May 1951 an explosion killed 83 men.  Neither town appears to be prospering or showing much sign of having recovered from the closure of the pit.  New houses are advertised as being available for $114,000 or £98,000 with government “help to buy.”

Seaham is a pleasant place, despite the very sinister looking Masonic Lodge on the sea front.  It was around here that we learned that a sign advertising “WC” actually meant “no toilets here”.  Having found no toilets, despite the advertising, we were dissuaded from entering Tonya’s Café as there was risk of castration (or something similar) if we dared to use her toilets without buying breakfast.  It appears also that petrol stations in this area (despite calling themselves Service Stations) also do not have public toilets.  We were told that the public toilets were at Tesco. 

The bridge into Sunderland reminded us of the Tyne bridge in Newcastle.  The prettier part of the town is Roker where there are attractive houses facing a nice bay.  Once again, like Sutton Carew, a large restaurant “The Buddha” dominates and seriously lowers the tone of the town.

At Whitburn we were surprised to see a windmill and indeed two people riding on horses, probably as small farms are now in evidence.  There is a lighthouse and a nice view up the coast.

Thank goodness for Tesco.  Not only did they provide us with toilets but also some nice cinnamon buns and information as to the cost of the Tyne Tunnel toll fee.  We needed to have the exact change to throw into the basket to allow us through the barrier – and there were no signs advising how much to pay until you got to the toll gates!

At Whitley Bay I was reminded of the Captain of the Seabourn Legend who I had met on a cruise.  He said he had moved to Whitley Bay on the advice of Cliff Richard who had been on board his ship.  Cliff had told him of a wonderful place to live in the North East.  All he could remember was that the name began with “Whit”.  He drove to the North East and asked around for which town it might be.  A women in a service station said it might be Whitley Bay.  That sounded right so he went there and asked his wife to find them a house while he was travelling.  It was only later that he found out Cliff had said Whitby, not Whitley Bay!  I don’t know where he is living now.  Whitley Bay though is actually a nice place with a good sea front and a splendid lighthouse at St Marys.

St Marys Lighthouse, Whitley Bay

Blyth, further on, could be as nice as Whitley Bay but does not quite seem to have made it and appears to have given itself over to a big funfair.  At Newbiggin-by-the-Sea we noticed the strangely advertised, family boxing club.  Perhaps its better to fight it out with gloves on than with kitchen utensils!

Druridge Bay, just past Cresswell power station is the start of the glorious Northumberland Heritage Coast and the end of the industrial and mining towns.  This was the second half of our day; we had entered “Vera” country.  For the next 30 miles we were bowled over by the beauty of the coast and the pretty towns and villages, such as Craster and Newton-by-the-sea.  When the imposing castle at Bamburgh hoves into view you just have to stop and reach for your camera.  The castle is privately owned by the Armstrong family.  A castle has stood on this spot since 420AD!  The other side of the village is Budie Bay, which opens out to a glorious wide expanse of beach.

Bamburgh Castle

Our final destination was Holy Island with its ruined priory and the castle of Lindisfarne.  We were fortunate in that the tide was out and we were able to drive across the Causeway to the island.  If you mistime it you have to abandon your car to the sea and take to a refuge tower.  As the notice warning you as you begin the journey says “the responsibility is yours”!  

It was here that the sun came out and dramatically highlighted the beauty of this place.  It was originally the home of St Aidan a monk from St Columbas Abbey on the Island of Iona (which I will be visiting in about one week) in Scotland.  On the day Aidan died a youth of seventeen, named Cuthbert, claimed to have had a vision saying that he should train as a monk and take on the work of St Aidan.  Cuthbert after a number of years of training came to Holy Island and was instrumental in the spread of Christianity.  He was highly revered and when he died he was buried on the island.  After 10 or so years his body was exhumed.  The idea being that his flesh would have decayed and his bones could be accessed and used as reliquaries and sent to many churches.  However on digging him up they found that his flesh had not decayed and his joints were as pliable as if he were still alive.  This proved to everyone that he was truly a saint.  Many years later, because of threats of Viking invasion, his body was moved and now lies in Durham in the cathedral church built to venerate his resting place.

Holy Island

Lindisfarne Castle was built in 1550 at the time that the Priory was abandoned and many of the Priory stones were used in building the castle.  It was remodeled by Edwin Lutyens (with garden by Gertrude Jekyll) between 1906 and 1912 on behalf of the publisher of Country Life magazine who then owned it.  The castle passed into the hands of the National Trust in 1944.

We spent three hours walking around the island and village and ended our day by participating in the service of Evening Prayer in St Mary’s Church adjacent to the ruined priory.  This has within it a huge and magnificent carving, made from tree trunks, of 6 monks carrying the coffin of St Cuthburt.

 Priory on Holy Island

St Mary's Church, Holy Island

We had no accommodation booked for the night but fortunately found room at the Lindisfarne Inn just off the island.

Tomorrow we enter Scotland.

And so to bed.

DAY 7

Sunday May 29^th   2016                                                           

Kingston Upon Hull to Redcar                                              Miles 150

Well I must say that Hull has improved enormously since I last came here, about 20 years ago. Then it was dreary and decaying.  There is clearly a huge effort to make Hull a liveable city and congratulations to the Council for what they have achieved.  We obviously have not seen everything, but the area around the Quay, although still under development, felt exciting.  We also found an excellent Indian restaurant, the Cinnamon, just a two minute walk from the Ibis Hotel, so we had a good evening.

Hull Quay

Despite being assured by the BBC that today would be sunshine everywhere, Hull and the North Yorkshire coast is presumably not included when one talks about everywhere. We did get breaks of sun during the day, which was glorious, but much of the day was under damp sea mist and there was a cold wind.  However, we found the Yorkshire coast to be an excellent part of the country.

Our first destination today was to the outer edge of the Yorkshire coast at Spurn Head.  We passed a sign to the unbelievably named village of Thorngumball before taking the long road to Spurn Head.  This would mean a return journey, but we had to do it to be true to the principle of a full coastal trip. We came across a surprising monument in a field near to Partington.  It was a metal cut out of four of the gunpowder plotters.  Guy Fawkes, Robert Catesby (who was the leader, not Guy) and two brothers, John and Christopher Wright, who lived locally at Plowlands Farm.  Apparently this was erected in July 2011 as a celebration of the fact that the plot failed and Parliament continued.  It was not as we first thought a comment on David Cameron’s upcoming referendum on the EU.

There is not a lot to see when you get to Spurn Head, but the twitchers, all with long lenses, certainly seemed to think so.  You can tour the lighthouse, which was not open, and anyway quite a walk from the car park.  We had to go to Spurn Head as it has to be part of the coastal route, but left without taking any photographs.  At Hedon we drove past the gas and energy plants, interestingly fenced by double rows of razor wire.  The word Stalagluft was spoken in the car and we expected to see Alsatians running between the fences.

We continued on to the small seaside town of Withernsea. Thank goodness for Tesco. They were open and we were able to purchase some cinnamon buns and pork pies for lunch later. I am sure from what I have experienced so far that it would be possible to do this journey and purchase fresh food every day from one or other “superstore” at a handy junction.  We went to the sea front, had a brew and ate our buns.  We watched the RNLI in-shore lifeboat go out, but probably only for training. They practiced running the boat at speed through the waves, but it looked very cold.  No doubt they were the weekend duty crew as this was after all a Bank Holiday weekend.  We continue to notice the caravan and chalet parks.  Some chalets here in Withernsea were brown wooden affairs, old and tired.  One or two had windows covered with newspaper, others had fresh flowers and wisteria growing up the front. At another camp down the road, new static caravans were on offer for sale at £9,500.  A bargain if you intended to use it regularly and wanted to only go to Withernsea for your holidays.

Further along the main road and ahead of the traffic, we came across some road signs warning of road resurfacing and loose chippings and asking drivers to slow down.  There were also signs advising caution that there were no white line road markings, however, the lines were present and beautifully painted.  It would seem that the white line painters did not see it as there job to remove the signs and another group of workmen were to remove them.  No doubt they were not scheduled until after the holiday weekend.

We also noticed a strange pole with unusual equipment and aerials close the road.  The sign attached to it said, “these are weather instruments and not speed cameras”.  I don’t know why they would feel it necessary to advise that they were not speed cameras. Perhaps it was to prevent them being vandalised or, maybe just to stop unnecessarily raising the anxiety of passing motorists who might feel the need to reduce their speed.

In Aldburgh the roadside verges were beautifully cut and the Hawthorn hedges rounded.  We could have been in Surrey in the south of England.  They are obviously so regular in cutting the verges that there was a Mrs. Mowers Mower Shop advertising mowing machine (and motorcycle) repairs.

Driving on to Mappleton, a very nice place, where we could see the sea, there were more cabins, but this time upmarket ones, built in the Canadian log cabin style.  There are so many caravan, chalet and cabin parks that competition is encouraging the provision of more upmarket properties.  The only way to differentiate yourself in a crowded market is to increase the quality of your product.

Thank goodness for Tesco.  I woke up this morning with a stye in my right eye (the one nearest the sea!).  The only pharmacy open on Sundays in this area is at Tesco and Hornsea had one.  The Pharmacist helpfully sold me some antibiotic eye drops and said that it would be better in the morning.  Hopefully he is right, as Jim is not able to drive my hire car, so it is down to me.  I tried driving with my right eye closed, but my depth of field was severely impacted.

The sun was now shining again and we drove into the very pretty village of Atwick with its lovely village green.  But on leaving to head towards Scarborough we came across a horrendous traffic jam.  The traffic was stationary as far as the eye could see, so rather than sit it out, we diverted in-land along some very narrow roads.  This proved to be a good decision and it was an extremely pleasant drive, with, even though away from main roads, the verges again beautifully manicured.  The fields were glorious with yellow oil seed rape and green shoots of wheat.  To cap it all we came out ahead of the traffic jam. 

Scarborough

We passed Filey with its Butlins Holiday Camp and continued on to Scarborough.  This proved to be a glorious, stylish and bustling town.  Perhaps the best description of it is “Harrogate on Sea”, for those who know Harrogate.  There are both south and north beaches, which on a bright and sunny holiday Sunday were both very busy.  There is a high road that joins both halves of the town spanning across a gorge.  The bridge has attractive inward curving high barriers that are presumably to prevent people jumping off the bridge, but actually improve the look of the bridge and the environs, rather than make it ugly or a depressing sight.  (Vancouver take note for the Lions Gate Bridge).  The bridge offers dramatic views down into park gardens with the sea behind.  The buildings around are striking and smart Victorian architecture.  This is certainly a place that I would love to come back and visit.  The English seaside town is certainly alive and very healthy in Scarborough.  We both agreed that this was the best town on the coast since Sheringham.  The only down side to Scarborough was the thirty minute queue into the town, all due to some temporary road work traffic lights and bollards.  The bollards appeared to be surrounding nothing, no holes in the road nothing.  No doubt it was the same crew who were due to remove the other signage who did not remove them.  You would have thought that on a busy holiday weekend someone would have recognised the chaos that would ensue by leaving such impediments to free flow of traffic.

From superb Scarborough the road took us up onto the North Yorkshire Moors National Park.  The views were magnificent and it reminded me a lot of Dartmoor in Devon.  Our next destination was Robin Hood’s Bay.  We drove to it, saw it (it’s lovely) but did not stay, indeed could not stay, as there were no parking places at all in the town and drivers were getting frustrated.

For most of my life I have wanted to visit Whitby.  You see it so often in photos showing the best places in Britain.  It also features regularly in TV programs.  This was planned to be the highlight of my day and I was excited to be going there.  Our first stop was the ruins of Whitby Abbey that sits high up overlooking the town providing lovely views down into Whitby and the River Esk running into the harbor and out to sea.  Next to the Abbey, but we did not visit it, is the Church that featured in the story of Dracula (which was written here).  It is a mecca for “Goths” but we only saw one on her way there.  How is it that both the stories of Dracula and Frankenstein were written in lovely English towns far from any dark and demonic surroundings.  (Frankenstein was written by Mary Shelley in the lovely Thames side town of Marlow in Buckinghamshire).

Whitby Abbey

We had not chosen the best day to visit Whitby.  It was heaving with people.  I think that almost one half of Yorkshire was in Scarborough and almost another half was in Whitby, with those left over being in Robin Hoods Bay.  After an incident of car park rage with a women being prepared to lie down in a car space rather than let us park in it, we got lucky and found another car departing.   Jim’s charm got them to give us their parking ticket, which still had two hours left on it.  The “savings” meant that our afternoon tea was free!

I had one bizarre moment when walking along the street. I noticed a “twin” of the Nissan Qashqai that we are driving and not just the twin but its registration plate was the next one in the series!  Unfortunately I did not see the occupants but it would have been very interesting to find out where they had hired their vehicle from, probably not Exeter where mine came from, or perhaps it was.

Whitby Harbour (River Esk)

Whitby has an unusual swinging bridge in the centre of the town, which turns outward to allow vessels to pass.  It was built in 1906 by the same company that built the famous Blackpool Tower.

Because of the rush of people we felt that we did not want to stay any longer in Whitby and drove on to the small fishing village of Staithes.  We had to park up and walk down the hill to reach the village.  It was absolutely charming and built within a steep gorge leading down to the sea.  Though a small place now, it has a big history.  At one time it had the largest herring fleet in England.  It is also where Captain Cook grew up as a child.  Close by, to the north of the village, is Boulby Head, which is the highest point (at 666 feet) on the east coast of England.  Of particular significance today though is Boulby potash mine, which is the deepest mine in England and extends right out under the North Sea.  We decided to have dinner here and found the Crab and Lobster on the beach.  The steak and ale pie was both delicious and huge.  It was cooked in proper short crust pastry, not the awful cap of flaky pastry on top of a reheated, pre-prepared dish of meat that so many pubs now serve.

 Staithes

We had ignored Samantha so much today.  Samantha is the lady who gives us our GPS directions.  She decided therefore to get her own back on us.  Our journey to Redcar, our destination for tonight, via Saltburn-by-the-Sea, should have been straightforward along the sea front.  We decided we ought to listen to her as we did not know exactly where our hotel was.  She directed us off the sea front, backwards and forwards (and a complete circle at one time) through lots of housing areas, until we reached the hotel - on the seafront!

The hotel is the most disappointing (but cheapest) so far.  It has heavy red patterned carpets, dark wood panels and rose wallpaper.  Parking at the back was only achieved by my pushing the large garbage container to one side to make a space.  Though I was disappointed with the quality of the bedding, when I mentioned it the receptionist and the manager, they pulled out all of the stops to satisfy me.  All credit to them.

Tomorrow we expect to reach the borders of Scotland and the land of my Fathers.