Day 2: Snorkels would have helped!

We knew this would be a wet day, but the forecast promised that the showers would clear in the afternoon, so we left John and David at Wormald House in an optimistic frame of mind. At least we had not had to contend with the lost luggage like the three German ladies who shared the B and B with us. We had it all planned, down to the most shower proof of our clothes and (three cheers) the waterproof map case. I wish I had thought of something similar for my phone, which chugged away happily but refused to be unlocked at critical junctures because of wet hands and wet screen. As for my wallet, I have loads of credit but interest in sterling was rather damp (boom fish).

For the first two or three hours, we managed pretty well, but it was 32 kms in the wet – never driving rain, but no shelter for hours. Normally, it’s nice to stop and rest each hour for five minutes, but we had to plod on with everything getting heavier and heavier, so it wasn’t the ideal first day. Tonight we are pretty sore and limping around, but that’s because we didn’t hang around. We averaged about 11 minutes 20 seconds per kilometre, which is good going over that distance, but by the afternoon we just wanted to get dry!

The early part of the day was spent walking along the Wylam Way, one of the first experimental railway lines, which ran past George Stephenson’s cottage, then up the bank to Heddon-on-the-Wall. We won’t be discussing railways again until we take the night train from Inverness in ten days or so, but here is George’s place.

The incessant wet meant that we really didn’t bother with photos after Heddon-on-the-Wall, which was a shame because at times the Vallum was very obvious, still two or three metres deep. It swung under the road at times (while we had to cross it in the rain) and was an obstacle at times, but as there were lots of ladders and styles to climb – Northumberland seems to scorn the kissing-gate – that was the least of our worries. Climbing over a six foot wall on wet steps and limited handholds is no joke with a pack.

Three highlights amid the wet (apart from the welcome at beautiful Linden House): saying hello to an Aussie pilot a long way from home in the Heddon Churchyard, the evidence of the wall at Heddon (we didn’t see it again until Chollerford), and the bird blind at Reservoirs that offered just enough shelter for lunch – we had a group of Czech hikers with us who looked much more business-like than us). To our compatriot, we said thank you. He must have died in a training accident while flying from the airfield at what is now Albemarle Barracks but was RAF Ouston, a young man a long way from home and family. It’s good to know that the War Graves still keep the grave spotless, and some must have remembered him on Anzac Day, judging from the poppy crosses. Lest We Forget.

Just out of interest, he’s quite old for a PO – and unlikely to have been over here in any other capacity than flying crew. There were no RAAF squadrons based as Ouston from what I can see, so he may have been converting to Air-Sea-Rescue Wellingtons, or something else, rather than fighters. Worth a search at the AWM website!