REFLECTIONS.

A memoir on the value of life.
by Kim.

Part VI.

We had a long sleep-in this morning, waking at about 9:45am. Our farmer friend banged on our window at 10 o’clock to enquire after the success of our rambling, and to check that we had not gotten lost – which, of course, we had but we kept that bit to ourselves. The next two hours were spent cleaning – Steve worked on the car interior and I concentrated on the hiking boots exterior that were caked in mud.
The fact that we didn’t go for a hike today proved to be a good decision for two reasons. The most obvious one was that we were both suffering from painful blisters. The other not so obvious reason was that Sunday trekkers inundated the area – something we would always want to avoid at all cost.
We set off to another part of the moors, went through Broughton and stopped at the Black Horse, a pub that was run by a delightful man who looked a little like British comedian Ronnie Corbett without spectacles and we all had a good old chat. His name was Tony and he told us that James Cook had attended a school in the village of Great Ayton, only about a 10-minute drive from his pub. This was of interest to us as, back in Australia, we live very close to where Cook sited the Australian coast and our Shire Council uses his likeness as their symbol.
Leaving Broughton, we drove to Farndale Moor. This was exactly how I expected the moors to look – no farms, grey skies and a thick carpeting of purple heather everywhere and the road was edged with snow. It was here we wanted to camp for the night. It was also the place we discovered that we had not restocked the grog cabinet! Oh no!!!!! Whiskey kept us warm ay night. We spent the next hour (and quarter of a tank of petrol) driving frantically from town to town. Nothing! Finally, we had driven too far to turn back so we settled atop Goathland Moor. There it started to sleet; snow was on its way.
Sleeping in again the next morning, we woke feeling very “toasty” indeed; the sleeping bags really made us cozy. We had a beer at a hotel in Goathland. Now, I must explain our constant frequenting of pubs. They are an institution in Britain and very social places. They were a great place to meet the locals who proved to be a fountain of knowledge of their surrounds so they were very informative for us.
Also, almost every pub was gloriously picturesque with low hung doorways and ceiling beams, all from a bygone era. At the time of writing, there was a law in place that meant the opening hours of public house were restricted. They would open at 11am, close at 3pm then re-open at 6pm only to finally shut for the day at 11pm. Well, at The Goathland pub we drank a beer and played a couple of games of darts. Steve has written in the journal that he won one and that I “fluked a win” in the next. What a terribly poor loser!
Leaving the pub, we made for the village of Pickering to buy some supplies, especially some Scotch whiskey, before heading off toward the coastal moor area intent on doing a hike the following day. We drove through some beautiful forest area and decided to camp in the Broxa Forest about 210 metres above the surrounding landscape. There were magnificent views from where we were camped but, in no time at all, we were enveloped by a real “pea-soup” fog. I settled down to cook Hamburgers à la me, causing a very hungry Steve to salivate. Our hunger was so intense that opening a tin of dog food would have set him off.
Waking the next morning we found that the fog, if anything, had thickened, reducing driving visibility to about 15 feet. We visited the seaside town of Staithes, which translates from Old English as “Landing-Place”, where James Cook had his first encounter with the sea.
We continued where we decided to camp outside of Daddry Shields as it had begun to snow, and the roads were looking ominous. Even in all the gloom, there is so much beauty in the British landscape that I simply cannot find the words to describe it. That night was spent listening to the BBC and the worsening situation between Libya and America and we were both starting to worry about our plans to travel through Africa. We already had learnt that two British tourists were stabbed in Morocco, one being killed. Then that night came reports the Americans bombed Libya injuring Gadhafi’s two sons and killing his adopted daughter. Nobody knew what that would provoke! The F-111s took off from British bases so we might expect terrorist action in London in retaliation.
Then at 11pm we heard that an American embassy employee was injured in Khartoum when five shots were fired at his car. He was flown to a hospital in Saudi Arabia and there were unconfirmed reports that he had since died. Meanwhile, 2,000 protestors marched on the US embassy in Tunis.
We woke to find the snow had stopped falling. Enquiring at a local pub as to the conditions of the road, we were assured they were passable though when we reached the high pass the snow was deep, and the glare was extreme. Coming across Hadrian’s Wall, we could not help but stop and have a look. This is one of the most famous Roman ruins in the UK. It was quite amusing to look at what was originally about 4 metres high look like nothing more than a fence. That, we would learn, was due not only to the surrounding soil rising but the locals would pinch stones from the wall to build their houses!
We decided to settle for the night by one of the wall’s forts. As to the Libyan crisis, there were reports of shots being fired around Gadhafi’s military compound and some talk of a possible coup. We awaited every development with bated breath.
Our destination the next day was a hamlet that bears our name, Colwell. It really was a “don’t blink or you’ll mis it” place and the word “hamlet does it too much justice – it consisted of one petrol station! On the way there we stopped at a pub which had a television and for the first time saw vision of the troubles in North Africa. Three British men, one a journalist kidnapped a year earlier and the other two teachers missing for over a month, were found murdered. Accompanying their bodies were letters claiming their deaths were a direct result of the US bombing of Tripoli and Benghazi. There are also reports that a British TV reporter had been kidnapped in Beirut.
I was beginning to become quite frightened by this point and just wished it would all calm down. We had been really looking forward to Africa ever since I started reading a Lonely Planet book, “Africa on a Shoestring”. It was to be the highlight of our year overseas. Now it was beginning to look under threat of not coming to fruition.
We continued north and crossed the Cheviot Hills which, at 804 metres. form the border between England and Scotland. They were covered in snow and the views were breathtaking. Outside of Jedburgh we found a campground where showered and cooked our dinner.
Setting off for Edinburgh we drove through magnificent scenery in the Moorfoot Hills. Snow thickly carpeted the ground about a babbling brook and the sheep wandered freely. At one point we rounded a corner to be graced by a distant view of snow covered mountains. Snow was such a thrill for us as neither of us ski, and Sydney barely gets below 13 degrees Celsius in the depths of winter.
Driving into Edinburgh we were captivated by the beauty of this city with its cobbled streets surrounding the rocky crag upon which sits Edinburgh Castle. The city didn’t feel claustrophobic like most cities and the snow-capped mountains could be seen from its centre. Also visible is “Arthur’s Seat”, a tall, grass-covered extinct volcano. We parked the car and strolled along the cobbled streets and entered a pub called “The Ensign Ewart” where we struck up a friendship with the barmaid, Mary, and two patrons.
The first was named Brian, an Irishman who loved a good natter. So much so that invited another patron, Gordon, to join us. We all chatted away happily, and it was only later that we learnt that Brian didn’t know Gordon from a hole in the ground! After Brian stumbled off at closing time, Gordon invited us back to his place for a coffee. Now that was quite memorable – what a mess the place was in!! After politely refusing his invitation of a place to stay, he showed us a good place to park for the night. It was a parking lot that cost us the princely sum of £4. Well actually, it cost Gordon £4 as we had no change, so we had to pay him back.
After a very late night, we woke at 10:30am, packed the car and headed to the pub to farewell our new-found friends but their night must have been later than ours and, by the time it came for us to leave, they had not arrived yet. We decided that the next two nights would be spent at a B&B and found a great one for only £10 each. After three weeks of cramped living in the car, the place was like a palace. Steve, a boxing fanatic, had an ulterior motive for wanting to stay – he was keen to watch the bout between Holmes and Spinks which was to be televised the next day.
Another first – we managed to wash both our clothes and our bodies, the first time in three weeks that we have been able to time them together. So, we were feeling very clean, relaxed and altogether comfortable.

END PART VI