Left York and headed up to Northumberland, first stop the National Trust property of Cragside.
Long drives are an excuse for my mind to wander (no laughing at the back), whilst Charlie loves the sat nav, always ‘using 2 fingers to explore’ the more scenic routes, the rivers, the hills, the valleys, the lines, whilst my mind goes off at weird tangents.
The weather can only be described as ‘grey to the ground’ with rain a constant, so the landscape was hardly visible beyond the roadside hedges, allowing my mind to wander freely until we saw the Angel – we are really North now! Have to say though, thought it would be more impressive, but Charlie said the trees had grown since the last time he drove past and it has diminished the impact.
So as we drove, bear with, some of my rounandabouts…
Our camper van has her name tattooed on her front wing, her name is Gillian, but is she a Taylforth or an Anderson? I like to think Anderson – X Files, The Fall and Mrs T in The Crown, much classier than EastEnders and Hollyoaks.
As we approached Thirsk, there were gypsy ponies tethered to the verges and roundabouts, taking me down another memory lane. Some you may remember that Rusthall Common regularly had tethered ponies grazing. Henry, my step-Grandfather tethered some of his ponies on Rusthall Common. When staying with our Nan we used to go up and help move the tether to new grazing and fill the water buckets and in the summer holidays I used to go to the horse fairs & sales with Henry. Often I would be thrown up on a pony, and Henry would extol the virtues of the pony as child’s riding pony, whilst I was expected to ride the pony as fast as possible in a ring formed by the crowds. Henry thought a small ginger kid in her riding kit would get him a better price rather than let one of the gypsy boys show off the pony, and I think it worked, as the ‘sales on the side’, conducted in secret away from the auctioneer, always held the promise that the sale price would include a £1 for the kid. Easy money!
My birthday is 27th December, that no-man’s land between Boxing Day and New Year. By 27th December, everyone was tired, big family day on Christmas Day and Boxing Day before horses was other family visits but once horses were involved, Boxing Day meant hunting, early mornings, long days, sometimes cold, sometimes wet and often both. So 27th was a crash day, my birthday. Every year I used to receive a new hardback book, it could be poetry, ‘Come Hither – Walter de la Mare’, Dickens – Great Expectations, a Paddington box set and my favourite, a new James Herriot. In my childhood Michael Bond and James Herriot were the 2 authors that could make me cry with laughter, make my stomach hurt so I couldn’t breathe and would have to put the book down to regain composure before continuing to read. So I was excited to be driving through Thirsk, home to my childhood hero, James Herriot.
So as we turned the corner and saw the ‘The World of James Herriot Museum’, Charlie said “we have time to stop”, but I said no, the garish red & white flags waving outside the original Skeldale Surgery put me off, I didn’t want the museum to destroy my world of James and the Farnons. Although my Scales family has immortalised ‘Trickie Woo’ although I don’t think Mrs Pomphrey would approve of our immortalisation. If something or someone is a bit ‘Trickie Woo’, then they are not quite kosher, on the level or are up to no good or got a bit of a swerve going on. Not quite Mrs Pomphrey..
So thankfully for all, (no more musings) we arrived at Cragside. Go if you are ever up this way, although due to Covid, not all the rooms were open but it is the magnificent grounds that make the visit. It had not stopped raining since we left York, so we kitted up in full waterproofs, and explored the house. For a large house it is very cosy with its own Turkish baths, to soak and steam away those aches after a day’s hiking, stalking, fishing or shooting. The house is a marvel of Victorian modern engineering with Cragside being the first building in the world to be lit by hydroelectricity and then we headed out into huge grounds, all set on steep hillsides. We walked, and we walked and then walked some more..
We explored the formal gardens, the Pinetum, the Archimedes Screw, the Pump Room, the Rock Garden, the Iron Bridge and the Power House. Cragside has over 30 miles of footpaths and has red squirrels, but we only covered 8 miles of paths and not a squirrel was spotted. However we did get wet, our waterproofs threw in the towel against the Northumbrian rain but still we walked. Cragside is built on and features sandstone rocks and escarpments, just like our sandstone outcrops around Tunbridge Wells, and their rock garden, one of the largest in Europe uses the sandstone to dramatic effect.
We arrived back at the van, absolutely waterlogged and drove to our camping pitch, which was a car park a couple of miles from Simonside, high up on the moors. Our only companions were sheep, until the rain got too much for them and they buggered off. The rain pounded the roof, swept down the moors into the car park, flood warning were issued for Rothbury and Morpeth, just down the valley from us.
But we survived the night, snug as bugs in a slightly damp, sock perfumed rug! Sunday came with scudding clouds and sunshine…
“We still see heights above us and the immensity that lies beyond”
RoundandAbout 