We ended up having to go back on to the Berwickshire Coastal Path that runs behind the dunes to get to where we wanted to be. Eventually, we followed a long and weary road out to and through Haggerston Castle and reached the holiday camp just as the heavens opened and the rain teemed down. Despite the fact it was a relatively short walk today we were both now tired and just a teensy bit grumpy and ready for home. It was a wait of over an hour for a bus, so we opted for a taxi and wet, weary and with sore feet we headed back to our car at Berwick upon Tweed.
On our stopover in Berwick upon Tweed we enjoyed a nice Italian meal, despite the best efforts of the headwaiter in the establishment to spoil our enjoyment by shouting across the dining room at his staff. Our accommodation was reasonable but as it was in the coombes of a house it was very warm in the late evening sunshine. No breakfast in the accommodation, so we bought from a little deli across the way and ate on the hoof. From our accommodation in the middle of town, we made our way back down to the bridges across the river. Berwick upon Tweed sits on the north bank of the river with Tweedmouth on the south. Berwick is a little bit of an anomaly in that it is the last town in England going north, but it sits on the north bank of the River Tweed which is generally taken to be the physical border between England and Scotland. The local football team, Berwick Rangers, play in one of the Scottish football leagues and, the local accent to my ears was distinctly Scottish. English or Scottish? Go figure! Down by the river there are three bridge crossings in very close proximity to each other. The Old Bridge, from which this photograph was taken was built between 1611 -1624. It consists of 15 beautiful arches that from the shore seem to move effortlessly across the water (See first photograph). Earlier bridges would most likely have been wood which was more easily destroyed by the weather or in one of the many wars fought here, particularly during the Scottish Wars of Independence. The wee nook in the foreground of the picture enables pedestrians to duck in out of the way of the cars. The next bridge up is Royal Tweed Bridge with long, low, elegant spans and which is now the main road traffic bridge for the town (traffic now only goes south on the Old Bridge). Beyond the road bridge is the Royal Border Bridge, a railway viaduct with equally impressive, but much higher arches than the old road bridge. We crossed the Old Bridge at low tide, taking the time to admire the view from the bridge. The weather was just a wee bit dismal; a fine smirm-like rain falling every so gently on our heads and shoulders. While we took the precaution of donning wet gear, it never developed in to anything like ‘real rain’ until the very end of the walk. Across the bridge, we dropped down to our left on to an asphalt path that runs along the river’s edge through the dockside and up to the sandy beach at Spittal. Spittal is a wonderful example of how you can look at an area now and think it fairly inconsequential, but literally scratch the surface and you can find hundreds of years of history underground. In recent times, activity in the area has been industrial but not too long ago the area would have been a hive of activity with fisherman’s cottages and smoke houses lining the shore. In even earlier times, it is thought that there may have been a leprosy hospital on the site. In times of plague the gates of the town would be closed and anyone ill or requiring isolation would be expected to stay on the south side of the river. The only reminder of busier and perhaps more prosperous and productive times on the site is a single, sad, now cold and forlorn factory chimney at Sandstell Point. At the end of the asphalt path we dropped down on to the beach to walk along the water’s edge. The sky above had become grey and angry looking and we expected a downpour at any minute. At the end of the beach, by Bear’s Head, we moved back up again on to what was now a promenade for the last wee bit before moving in to more open countryside. Looking back we had fine views of the town on the hillside and the lovely line of the long pier running out to the lighthouse. The route here moves up on to low-level cliffs for the walk, sandwiched between the cliff edge and the railway line on our right, round Redshin Cove to Cocklawburn Beach. The constantly changing light, created by rapidly moving cloud formations, presented us with peculiar light and shade perspectives that it was difficult to capture on our basic digital cameras. Where is the SLR Olympus with black and white film when you need it? Lying in the bottom of the wardrobe, of course! Just before Cocklawburn Beach, we moved on to a tarmac road that would take us down to the beach. We moved off that on to a secondary road that we hoped would be a short cut to the sands but it just suddenly ended, poking out over the beach with a considerable wee drop for the unwary. You would not want to be hammering down here on your bicycle at night! Not for the first time on our adventures, we went into reverse and back up the road to follow our initial route down to the sands. It was nice to see here the wild version of cranesbill growing in big unruly patches. The rock plates on the beach were a lovely mixture of colours and whirls and we found some where you could clearly see the fossilised remains of what we presume to be seaweed. As we round the cove, the horizon to the south of us opens up and we have our first glimpse of the Holy Isle, lying low in the water and wearing a fine grey cloak of mist. Even from a distance of three or four miles we can see the constant stream of traffic, buses, cars and cycles moving slowly up the causeway as pilgrims come to bear witness. From our position on the headland we can look along the length of Cocklawburn Beach to Cheswick Sands and Goswick Sands beyond. The play of thick, angry clouds; constant changes in the intensity and direction of light and the glint of it on the moving water created a brilliant black and white kaleidoscope for us at the end of a day that had been fairly dreich weather-wise. It lit up the beach as we walked along it and took the mind off feet now weary after three days of walking. With a long drive home it was always planned that this would be a short day’s walking and we were to stop short of the causeway and cut up to Haggerston Castle to catch a bus back to Berwick. When you are walking a beach, you cannot see beyond the dunes and there are no signposts indicating where you are in relation to the settlements that lie further back from the coast, it is difficult to know when to leave the beach. Following a conversation with a local man on the beach, we went through one of the breaks in the dunes, believing we were heading for Goswick. Unfortunately, we had left far too early and were still only in the vicinity of Cheswick. We ended up having to go back on to the Berwickshire Coastal Path that runs behind the dunes to get to where we wanted to be. Eventually, we followed a long and weary road out to and through Haggerston Castle and reached the holiday camp just as the heavens opened and the rain teemed down. Despite the fact it was a relatively short walk today we were both now tired and just a teensy bit grumpy and ready for home. It was a wait of over an hour for a bus, so we opted for a taxi and wet, weary and with sore feet we headed back to our car at Berwick upon Tweed.
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