The Nostalgic Spring Sojourn | Part 3

Tuesday, and time to head north again for the second stop of my trip and a return to York Caravan Park on the outskirts of er, York.

With around 135 miles to do and a check-in anytime after midday I’d planned on a 10’ish departure but for once was running early and pulled away at 9:40am, heading north on the M42.

I was in no rush and soon came up behind a Turners lorry doing a tad over fifty, so I tucked in behind at safe distance and watched with satisfaction as Rosie’s MPG climbed gradually, soon hitting the heady heights of 30 as we continued onto the A42 then the M1.

Clearly Rosie had sated her thirst on the way up from Brighton 4 days prior as the figure continued to rise – 31, 32, then more slowly to 33. Surely it couldn’t climb any higher – Patsy is no lightweight even though I had had a bit of clear out at the end of last year. Then it hit 34. That must be it I thought then at some point on the M18 the display edged to 35. I couldn’t believe it and thumped the steering wheel in delight. My darling Rosie, hardly in the throes of youth was truly awesome. It couldn’t last of course and a number of inclines in the A1(M) saw the figure drop but it still read 33mpg as I pulled in to York Caravan Park and was very happy indeed.

Having successfully moved Patsy onto her pitch without the motor mover for the second time, set up was fairly swift and after a cuppa and quick sarnie I set Rosie on course to the Monks Cross shopping centre where as thank you for her efforts replenished her with cheap supermarket diesel then picked up some bits and bobs in the shop. I’d come away with plenty of meals from my batch cooking efforts at home, crammed into the freezer compartment but, needed a bit of variety. Needless to say (too late) some new research samples were also procured for a thorough evaluation at some point.

York Caravan Park has many great features – nice serviced pitches and luxurious en-suite shower rooms to name but two – but one of the handiest ones is the bus stop almost literally outside the entrance. Trev and I used this many times when we we were here last – 2 years ago – but always into York. On the Wednesday though I boarded the bus travelling in the opposite direction – destination Whitby. I have to say I was a little apprehensive – 2 hours is a long time on a bus – but it was actually very comfortable with comfy spacious seats. I grabbed a seat on the top deck to make the most of the view as we travelled east to Malton, Pickering then onto the moors diverting off to Goathland, better known to many as Heartbeat country, before arriving at Whitby.

Back in the days when there was a ‘we’, I’d been to Whitby several times, once staying at a lovely little site behind the pub in Lythe just up from Sandsend. Remarkably though we’d never got to climb the famous 199 steps from the town on the eastern side of the Esk, instead getting to the famous Abbey by the road out of town.

I must admit to being a little out of puff by the time I got to the top - and thanks to the emerging sun, quite warm too – although the coat stayed on. Just. It was worth the effort though and the views across to West Cliff and back along the Esk around the harbour were terrific.

Lens clicking was interrupted as I found a spot in the grounds of St Mary’s church to devour a rather uninspiring home made ham sarnie and neck some caffeine, amused that most of the local er, residents up here wouldn’t appreciate the view:

The Abbey site was closed for building work until April but it was still possible to get some photos from the path by the perimeter wall, the traversing of which brought an unexpected ‘research’ opportunity in the shape of Whitby Brewery. The pint of Jet Black went down very well indeed and the courtyard was such a sun trap, the coat was reluctantly shrugged off. Temporarily I might add. I did ponder bringing some research samples home but at over three quid a bottle soon decided against it.

The descent was quicker and I had a pleasant amble through the shops, checking out some of the famous Whitby Jet, thinking that maybe a pair of cufflinks wouldn’t go amiss but nothing really caught my eye, so I crossed the bridge and made my way along by the harbour mouth and up to the West Cliff. Again, oddly, we never made it up here but once again the views back across to East Cliff and the Abbey were lovely and I got to see up close the Whalebone arch and the Captain Cook memorial.

I began my descent back into town, noting that there was still an hour until the next bus and after a brief consultation with that troublesome part of my anatomy that divides my left leg, decided that some medication was in order. The dispensary of choice was the Little Angel, a pub I remember from our previous visits – quelle surprise - not least because on Wednesdays they have a promo on all real ale at just over three quid a pint. Perfect.

Whilst taking my medicine I thought about my visit – both this and previous ones - and it reawakened a few dormant thoughts. You see Trev and I often talked about moving ‘up north’ and Whitby was one of the places that we considered – nice little town close to the sea and affordable – but we’d more or less discounted it because of it’s relative remoteness. It had got me thinking again though, after all, who knows what the future holds? Thankfully.

On my return to the bus station I got to meet Adam, one of the regular Coastliner drivers who would be taking us back as far as Malton. We’d talked a little on Twitter and it was nice to at last meet properly.

Predictably, given the medicinal intake earlier, the walk back to Patsy after jumping off the bus was a little brisker than ideal. Entirely my own fault obviously, but it had been a really good day however, a quiet night in was most definitely called for as there was another busy day ahead on Thursday.

An Easter(n) Escape part 6 - More North Yorkshire

After throwing ourselves on the mercy of public transport on Tuesday, Wednesday saw us back on the road in Rosie, our bright red Honda for day inland that took us first to Pickering at the southern edge of the North Yorkshire Moors. Pickering is popular with tourists not least because it is also home to the NYM heritage railway which runs 18 miles to Whitby. We visited Pickering some seven years ago catching one of the lovely old steam trains from further up the line in Grosmont during a stay in Robin Hoods Bay with HRH, A.K.A Trev’s Mum. It’s a delightful trip through the moors stopping at a number of stations but perhaps most notably Goathland, famous for being used as fictional Aidensfield in the TV series Heartbeat.

The trains only run at weekends in the quiet months but a full daily service resumes this weekend. Not cheap but well worth it.

Next up was Malton, or more precisely Eden Camp just outside Malton. Eden Camp is, essentially a war museum but with a unique twist. It’s actually housed in an old prisoner of war camp  that housed both German and Italian POW’s during its life. There are different scenes and features in each hut that focus on different facets of the war and tell the story of what life was like for people affected by it.

The first hut explains how the Second World War began with the rise of the Nazi party in Germany and the first exhibit that greets you is a large flag with a swastika - universally recognised and regarded as a symbol of hatred and evil. The flag is protected by a glass fronted frame and I could see my reflection in the glass wearing - as usual - my black leather trench coat. Oops! It’s a garment seemingly forever demonised by Hitler and his mob - something confirmed later on when I heard a youngster in a visiting school party up ahead of us spot me and  shout “Oi look there’s ‘itler”. Not the look I had in mind.

Anyway, back to the museum. It also looks at the first world war and other conflicts since. The number of artefacts is mighty impressive and the reconstructions are excellent with sights, sounds and smells adding to the experience.

There is a cafe/canteen and a bar that doubles as a cinema for special screenings. We stuck to the soft stuff and prices were very reasonable.Tasty mugs of tea for just a quid. Large mess rooms allow individuals or groups to bring their own food. We spent way longer here than we’d anticipated but for history buffs you’ll need much longer than a day. Trev spotted the listing for this in one of those ‘things to do whilst in…’ leaflets and I’m so glad he did. At just twelve quid for the two of us it was good value too.

Last stop of the day was the market town of Helmsley again at the edge of the NYM National Park although part of the town is actually in it. It’s clearly aiming itself fairly and squarely at the tourist market - it even has it’s own leaflet which I spotted - but there’s nowt wrong with that. It’s a very pretty place and you know what they say - if you’ve got it……

It presented a little bit of a challenge to get more than a few photo’s without a car in the frame - it’s a popular place and one can only imagine the hoards of tourists during the busier summer months - but Helmsley is hardly unique in that. Nevertheless it didn’t spoil the enjoyment of the place and there were some very inviting looking pubs too but we resisted. Some how.

Returning to Whitby traffic was light enough to allow us to slow and get some photo’s of the fantastic landscape that is the North Yorkshire Moors. The only blot on the landscape was an odd shaped building that sat in a large parcel of land belonging - according to the warning signs - the Ministry of Defence. Typical!

Thursday and our last full day in North Yorkshire. We’d promised ourselves an easy day and a lie in, not least because the weather forecast promised rain until nearly lunchtime - and it was right too. First stop - when we did eventually emerge from Patsy’s comforting bosom (?) was Robin Hoods Bay, four or so miles from Whitby on the road to Scarborough. It’s another picture postcard village with a narrow road winding steeply down to the sea mush like Staithes. As I mentioned earlier we stayed here some seven years ago in a lovely little B & B at the top of the village. In amongst the photo’s below is one of a pub - the Victoria Hotel just a short walk from said B & B. I mention this because it was here that I had my first pint of bitter virtually since I started drinking. My first ever beer was Whitbread ‘Best’ - which goes a long way to explaining why I drank lager for the next 20 years or so. Anyway, I remember the beer that made me see the light - Cameron’s Castle Eden - and I’ve hardly touched a lager since.

Last but not least was dear old Whitby, with a pause at the Abbey for the necessary lens clicking before crossing the bridge and heading in to town.

Having parked up on the east side we headed for the old town only for it start raining. Immediate plans were hatched to dive in to the nearest cafe, but somehow we ended up in a pub. Just while the rain cleared though. Honest! With a few more images committed to digital memory it was time to head back to the site.

Our last night was of course in our ‘local’ - The Stiddy - just around the corner from the campsite. An extremely friendly pub that made us feel very welcome.

So, by the time you get this we will have moved on. Our time in North Yorkshire has again been very fulfilling and the camp site played a  part in that. Not too big, Lythe Caravan & Camping Park offers great facilities and cracking views across farmland and out to sea. There are wooden camping pods too should you have friends that don’t caravan or motorhome.  A volunteer run shop a short walk up the road stocks all the essentials and is good place for a cuppa and a chinwag too.

Right, that’s it from the North Yorkshire Coast. Lincolnshire coming soon!

A Yarn from York

Honestly, these titles get worse don’t they, still at least it announces, to those who have had the dubious privilege of reading my recent communications that we’ve moved on from Doe Park in Teesdale down the A1 a bit to Yorkshire. Or, more precisely, York.

We’ve enjoyed it very much but once again, time has beaten us, as we move on again tomorrow, down to Rutland for the second ever ‘Twittercamp’. It’s been fun, and here’s what we’ve been up to.

Our last night in Doe Park, saw us dining out at the the pub we had visited previously, the excellent Crown at Mickleton. The beer was good, the food was better and the deserts were divine. We left, lighter in the wallet and heavier in the stomach but well sated.

It was another short hop down to York so there was no rush to get away, with earliest check in on site not being until midday. Nevertheless, before 10am we were on the road and heading south. I drove the first leg, and with the wind a lot lighter our new tug Rosie performed much better. We paused at the services for a bacon bap and coffee, stretched our legs and then Trev took over for the final run in to York. We timed it almost to perfection, arriving at the site just before midday. However we weren't alone. There was a queue both in front and behind of other campers clearly of a similar mind. The wardens waved us in. What followed next was a military operation, with the wardens arranging the new arrivals in two lines, the driver staying with the car while other halves go in and pay. Despite the large volume of caravans and motorhomes the whole operation went smoothly – as – one of the wardens told us – it usually does, as it’s always like this on a Sunday. Well done to them.

By 12:30pm we were sited, with the legs down and the kettle on. Again, no awning. We didn’t want to waste what little time we had with unnecessary er, erections…..

The site is functional, rather than pretty, it being on the banks of the River Ouse and centrally located next to Rowntree Park and just a short walk in to the city centre. The whole facilities block, including reception is raised to prevent flooding. It’s compact and even those experienced in reversing might welcome a motor mover. A gate at the back of the site offers a shortcut to the local shops and a few pubs.

Sunday afternoon we had our first look at York to get our bearings, but with frequent outbursts of rain spent more time dodging in and out of shops. A couple of the aforementioned local pubs were the no doubt grateful recipients of the patronage of the Blogger in Black and his Portly Partner. I.e, me and Trev.

The weather was much better on Monday and we were back in the city after traversing the western sections of the city walls. There are some great views to be had and the Minster is rarely out of sight.

We checked out the museum gardens then  ambled around the town for a while enjoying the relaxed ambience – a large part is pedestrianised – before heading to the Minster.

Well, the place itself is stunning, but we couldn’t help comparing it to Canterbury cathedral, which we visited about 18 months ago. We took advantage of a guided tour  - included in the admission fee – and glad we did. We saw things we’d have never have seen if we just dawdled about aimlessly, like we usually do! Our guides particular interest seemed to be in the stained glass windows and pointed out things we’d have never have spotted otherwise. The tour takes and hour and run every half an hour or so. Your ticket is valid for a year, so if you have time – come back and get another perspective from a different guide.

A late lunch was taken at a well known pie and sarnie chain and we attempted to walk it off but our feet had clearly had enough. We headed back observing that a temporary caravan site appeared to have materialised in the coach park on the other side of the Ouse, occupied as it was with a number of large twin axle caravans and accompanying white Ford Transits.

Clearly some some medication was needed for our aching feet and we were able to combine this with a research expedition to one of the nearby hostelries. What was meant to be a quick visit turned in to a rather longer one. Needless to say, our feet no longer ached afterwards…

The weather forecasters had proved themselves right again as we woke to showers on Tuesday morning. They said the showers would be around all day and who were we to disbelieve them? What they also said was that the coast – only 50 or so miles away would be blessed with sunshine most of the day. So we fired up the waiting Rosie and headed off.

Now, we’d been to Whitby before – some seven years ago, but were both glad to go back. Having parked up on the marina we headed first across the harbour bridge to the eastern side, availing ourselves of a late breakfast before crossing back to the west. Whitby is famous for a couple of things – well probably more but I can only think of two at the minute. The first is fish – people come from miles around for the excellent range and quality of fish that’s brought ashore here. Queues outside chippys and fish restaurants are not uncommon. The second is Dracula. Yes, in Bram Stokers book of the same name it was here that the caped count (careful how you say that) came ashore before reeking havoc. As a result Whitby has become abut of a cult place for Goths and the like, so much so that the twice yearly Goth (& Alternative) Weekend festivals are now in their twentieth year. There was very little evidence of our black clad friends though (apart from me I guess), maybe something to do with it being daylight.

We were planning to head off to Robin Hood Bay but, having popped into a barbers for a haircut was recommended instead to check out a little place called Runswick in the opposite direction. I’m glad we took her advice too because it was beautiful. A large shallow beach with houses perched on the hillside, it was clearly very photogenic and we duly obliged.

We bypassed Robin Hood bay – having been before – and headed instead to Scarborough where the late afternoon sun was disappearing and the temperature plummeting with it. A lot quieter, tourist wise than Whitby, but pleasant enough nonetheless. We came across an interesting and rather large sculpture of a certain Freddie Gilroy. An ordinary man who had an extraordinary life like many who survived the worst atrocities of the second world war, the sculpture  was originally on loan to the town for just four weeks, but a very generous lady by the name of Maureen Robinson bought the sculpture for the town and Freddie is now a permanent fixture on the North Beach.

All in all a great day out, the journey up to Whitby gives you the chance to experience the stark beauty of the North Yorkshire Moors and the a great town awaits you on the coast.

Right, almost there. Wednesday and our last full day here in York. The plan was to head out to Knaresborough & Harrogate before coming back to do the National Railway Museum in town. There was shopping to do as well, (and a blog) and the need to get ready for our departure tomorrow. Our next stop is Rutland, for Twittercamp, and we wanted to be well organised.

Well, we got to  Harrogate, eventually, but roadwork's slowed us down so with time marching on it was only a short visit. Knaresborough got an even shorter one and coming back we decided to forego the railway museum for another time. Trev had never been and whilst  I’d been around it a couple of times it was over twenty years ago.

So, there we are. up to date again. Another great area, and yet again not enough time. The moors deserve more exploration as does York itself, and we didn’t even get over to Yorkshire’s cities to the west. There’s always another time though and hopefully it will be sooner rather than later.