It’s never a good idea to plan a trip during those dark winter nights, when you’re curled up in front of a roaring fire with a bottle of wine and nibbles………….
62.5 miles over 5 days, walking the St Cuthbert’s Way from Melrose to Lindisfarne, all our accommodation booked and luggage transferred, only a back pack required – it seemed so easy all that time ago. How difficult could it be – blimey, we were veterans of Hadrian’s Wall! But now, with a few weeks to go, Hubby, his Sister and I were starting to wonder what we were thinking way back in deepest January, as we started to receive information packs from the booking company. The first two days were around 15 miles each – one with the steepest part and the next, the highest. Gulp. It seemed all a bit over ambitious.
And so it was, departure day arrived and with encouraging words from the family, the three of us set off up the M6 motorway on a bright but cloudy day. The plan was to travel up to Carlisle, pick up the A69 and follow Hadrian’s Wall. There was a reason for this as Hubby’s Sis had walked it 4 years ago, and with her living in America, we thought we’d give her a trip down Memory Lane. However our Satnav (or as our daughter calls it – the Sat Nag) had different ideas. It suddenly decided that the A7 was a better route, so just after Brampton, while I was saying right at a roundabout, the SatNav said straight on and believing an app rather than his wife, the driver continued over. We ended up on a 20 minute scenic detour of the back lanes of the greater Brampton area to get back on the A69, which was, I must say was lovely. Successful, we headed towards the A68, passing Hadrian’s Wall and reminiscing all our adventures on our Walks.
We were starting to get peckish by this time and started to look out for cafes, but of course, when you want one, you can never find one. We drove through small villages and communities, all quiet and sleepy. We pulled up outside a pub, unsure if it was open or shut, but we decided that all we wanted, was a small cafe that served coffee and scones with lashings of cream and jam. We passed another pub with a sign “Last Pub In England” and wondered how far we would be driving before we got sustenance. But as we went round a bend, in the distance was a stone building with a huge banner on its side declaring it to be the “Last Cafe In England” and we instinctively pulled in and parked.
As we opened the door, we were a bit dubious – it looked rather old fashioned and there was just one customer. Mmmm, but we were hungry. We closed the door and turned left into another room and it was completely different – there was a counter heaving with cake and savouries, an excellent drinks menu, all very trendy and a lovely Northumbrian lady welcoming us in. We ordered 3 sausage sandwiches and coffee and sat in the conservatory watching a cockerel and hens scratching through the grass in the garden. The food arrived and we dived in, it was all very nice and more people came in – it was quietly popular. It was ticked the box with us. Later I went upstairs to use the loo decorated in decidedly 1970’s decor. Actually it probably hadn’t been decorated since 1970. The loo, basin and shower were all dusky pink, squeezed in a very narrow room. The shower was perched on top of steps and had seen better days and the rest of the bathroom, cladded in pine. It was a time warp. I had noticed two numbered doors. Can you imagine rocking up to this? That shared bathroom down the corridor? I got the distinct feeling that the place had new owners who had concentrated on the cafe downstairs first and would eventually bring the rest up to scratch. I wished them luck.
Fed and watered we carried on, crossing over into Scotland. We scooted around the edge of Jedburgh’s town centre which looked very nice. This would be tomorrow’s overnight stop. We drove through St Boswell and onto Melrose and on a long stretch of road, we got our first glimpse of the Eildon Hills, our challenge for tomorrow. They looked really high, rearing up from the rolling countryside – three massive hills. We spent the rest of the journey in awe and trepidation.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Melrose,_Scottish_Borders
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Melrose_Abbey
We soon dropped down into Melrose, a small pretty town with a little High Street where our hotel was located. We parked the car at the rear where it would spend the next five days and checked in. There seemed to be just one member of staff on duty and after a little wait in the reception area, we finally tracked her down serving beers in the bar and taking food orders. She proffered her apologies, but we were happy to wait. Finally she scuttled to the reception area with us in tow and sorted out the keys before walking briskly back to the bar. We lugged our luggage up a flight of stairs and found our respective rooms. They weren’t particularly big, but they were clean, reasonably modern and didn’t lookout over the kitchen bins and the staff smoking area. The Eildon Hills poked their heads over the town and into our bedroom windows. After a while, we decided to check out the town and stretch the old legs. It was quite small and compact, but we headed down to the Abbey where Cuthbert, as a young man, felt a strong call to the ministry and become a monk and a prior. It’s owned by Historic Environment Scotland and there was a small charge for entrance. By now, the sun was out and it was lovely late afternoon so we had a wander around the grounds – the actual Abbey, half in ruins, had metal fencing around it as it needed some restoration work to secure loose stonework. We found the Museum and wandered inside, looking at pottery and other artefacts. Back outside we went to the other side of the Abbey to look for the stone pig playing bagpipes, high up near the roof, in amongst numerous gargoyles, dragons and other stone creatures. The Eildon Hills peeked into the grounds too – we realised that Melrose snuggled right up to the foot of these hills. We were trying to convince ourselves that they weren’t that steep at all, despite the guide book’s musings and figuring out where the path went.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eildon_Hill
Having exhausted the Abbey – it was also nearing closing time anyway – we set off in search of a watering hole to celebrate our arrival in town. We had seen a place advertising cocktails, so we headed there. As soon as we walked in we knew it was a mistake – a solitary family of five huddled around a table for an early tea. We sat down and discovered that they weren’t serving cocktails that night either. It’s great having a relative who’s lived in the States for years as Sis just got up and left with us following slightly sheepishly (we would of probably stuck it out in there) and went off to find something a bit livelier. There were probably six establishments we visited – either devoid of customers, jam packed with Grand National punters watching the horse race on huge TV screens or the local where everybody stops drinking and gives you long and hard stares before whispering amongst themselves. We finally stopped in Burt’s Hotel, a cosy inn just up from our own hotel with a smattering of clientele, where we ordered three beers and toasted ourselves.
We loitered there for about 45 minutes before wandering up to the old railway station, now converted into an Italian restaurant for our evening meal that we had pre-booked. The Monte Casino was very busy and had a great atmosphere – we ordered pasta and a bottle of wine and toasted ourselves yet again. With full stomachs we took a convoluted route back to our hotel, and headed to our rooms. We started to organise for tomorrow morning, but spent a lot of time just shuffling stuff around and not really getting anywhere. Just a lot of debating whether to pack the waterproof trousers or not – total indecision. We gave up and jumped into bed for a fitful night’s sleep.
apathtosomewhere 
I going to enjoy your journey.
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