A Rubbery Room in Alston

Day 13

The couple had started their breakfast when I arrived at the shared table. We talked happily enough, avoiding any possible controversy. I never did know their names but found out that she was a nurse and he a vicar, be God! I bet they’re popular for fancy dress parties. I just hope they enjoy all that dressing up stuff in the bedroom, it would be such a waste otherwise.

He being a cleric was another reason for me to dislike him, with his support of Bush’s cowboy, kick-ass diplomacy. Being an atheist I expect clergymen to live up to high moral standards and not to be in favour of wars. This, of course, does not apply to the Second World War or any war waged against the French. I didn’t have any problem at all with her but the more I learned about him the worse it got. Before he turned his hand to instructing folk on the surest way to heaven he was sending them on holidays from hell as a travel agent. Not a proper one, he’d worked for Going Places. I’d also been a travel agent, for 25 years, most of them as an independent and a lot of them working for myself. Workers for large, tour operator controlled chains I regard as minions of the Antichrist. I guess we just weren’t cut out to be pals.

The veggie breakfast was much better than expected, I can live without a slice of bacon once in a while and there was plenty of toast. Ray offered us all some veggie sausages but I was the only one to take him up on the offer intending to eat them later as a snack. At the end of the meal seeing them on the side of my plate he cried in dismay

‘Oh! You haven’t eaten your sausages.’

I think they must have been home made as he’d seemed excessively keen to foist them upon us and now was upset that no-one was going to say how wonderful they were.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll polish them off later half way up the hill.’ I re-assured him.

Well I did try and all I can say is I’m glad I didn’t have to spit them out at the breakfast table.

Hall Croft can’t be faulted as a superb b & b in an excellent setting on the green of the lovely village of Dufton, a place I’d been before and would go to again. As well as the great walks to be had in the overlooking hills there’s the interest of nearby Appleby, with its three quarter scale castle, and of course the Lakes are just down the road. (This paragraph is available for sponsorship from the Dufton and District Tourist Board.)

The vicar and his wife set off before nine but I waited to get a sandwich from the shop so was away about 9.30. The forecast was for a bright sunny day with a cool wind so pretty well perfect for crossing one of the more difficult sections of the walk and one noted for its potentially horrendous conditions. They were right about the cool breeze, but not until I reached the hill tops, for the first couple of miles I was back to the morning routine of sweating into my eyes, fighting the flies along a sunken lane. After that it was slow going up the steep bits with frequent pauses to aid respiration.

It was quite a relief to reach Knock Old Man, two and a half hours of uphill takes it out of you. One thing it isn’t, of course, is an end to the day’s going up. The path to Cross Fell isn’t over a nice, easy plateau but involves puffing and panting over a series of hills. After Knock Fell there is Great Dun Fell, then, due to a shortage of imagination when the names were given out, you have Little Dun Fell. I think it’s about 6 inches shorter than the other one. Saving the best till last is Cross Fell, which is the highest up you can get along the whole of the Pennine Way. Between each one is a dip of two or three hundred feet and every step you take downward you can look forward to doing upward again very shortly, plus quite a bit extra in the case of Cross Fell.

If I’d been drinking this would have been a much more pleasant part of the day. I used to celebrate every summit with a swig of whisky from my hip flask, a little reward to look forward to when slogging upwards. You do have to be a bit careful if you do this though, I remember a very happy time going up and down Crinkle Crags in the Lake District. The view got a bit hazy by the last couple of mini peaks

I somehow managed to lose the path between Knock Fell and the golf ball. My excuse is that visibility was down to only about 25 miles. I imagine it could be pretty hairy on your own in dense fog and rain but the road would be difficult to miss after a quick compass bearing.

I hadn’t seen a sole since leaving Dufton then at a gate in the in the dip before the final ascent of Cross Fell two surly farmers appeared on a quad bike. I was only a matter of a few feet away from them but they were all for pretending I wasn’t there so I made a point of saying a cheery hello to them and got a pair of grunts in reply. When I reached the top four walkers appeared from nowhere, Darlington I think they said it was they came from. They were out looking for the source of the Tees, somebody had already done the Nile. Just the thing to do in a drought, I thought. I told them I hadn’t made up my mind between Alston and Garrigill for the night as yet and one of them told me it was all uphill from Garrigill. I believed him. I know ho w to read contours on the map it’s just my eyesight’s not really up to making out the numbers so I know where the hills are and how steep but don’t know whether they’re up or down until I get there

The way down from Cross Fell is not that obvious, until you reach a well trodden track across your path which, if you go the right way, leads you to Greg’s Hut and eventually Garrigill. On the way down I popped into the hut for a nosey. I can’t believe that any first time Pennine Way walker could go past without having a look inside and imagine what it would be like taking shelter there in a blizzard, perhaps being trapped with a couple of twenty year old Swedish girls who insisted you share their bottle of single malt with them while they rubbed up against you for warmth and did rude things with a jar of pickled herrings.

The track nearly all the way to Garrigill was hard going. A surface of very large gravel has been laid, presumably to make a smoother ride for the grouse shooters in their 4 x 4s, but it’s very tough on the feet and I used the verge as much as possible.

About a mile from Garrigill I decided to do the extra to Alston. The feet were having a right good moan about the rocks they’d been subjected to and the backs of my heels were hurting but the legs were still all right and it made sense for tomorrow, as I could then get to Greenhead. I rang up the cheapest on my list, the Victoria. The landlady was very obviously Chinese and after a rather odd conversation I continued on my way, pretty sure but not quite certain that I’d booked an en-suite single for the night at a rate of £25.

I nipped into what looked to be a very pleasant pub in the village and was amazed when I managed to order some sort of juicy drink rather than the pint I deserved. After Garrigill the village and the path runs alongside the river South Tyne. I noticed there was something peculiar about this river immediately but it took me a while to put my finger on it. Then it struck me, it was flowing the wrong way. This was the first and only river I came across that flows westward. It was good news as it meant that I’d generally be walking downhill to Alston

Just before the riverside walk is the junk yard pictured. You occasionally see this kind of thing everywhere but rotting vehicles appear every few miles along this part of the walk. Starting just outside Dufton up to Greenhead. You get everything from old ploughs in the fields to a bus in a back garden.

As I was entering the town I saw a group of girls in their early teens walking towards me then turn round and go back again. They were laughing and joking among themselves but all of them were more preoccupied in whatever they could see from their sideways glances. When I drew level I saw that there was a small encampment of gypsies that obviously hadn’t got far from Appleby before having to stop again. The encampment was giving the local girls the same excitement as the circus coming to town. I’m sure their parents felt the same, Just as I passed a couple of lads came out, took a look at the girls, instantly dismissing them as jailbait and walked off into town. I followed them up the hill. I guessed correctly wherethey were going long before I even knew where my pub was. Bloody marvellous, I thought, if my pub was the watering hole for the travelling community it was hardly going to be restful. Gypsies aren’t noted for sitting in the corner, sipping a quiet pint over the crossword.

I went in and told the barmaid, who, if you’d taken off her make-up, looked as though she really should have been revising for her GCSEs, that I had a room booked. She went off and after a bit of a wait the be-jeaned landlady arrived and with a resigned

‘Come on then.’

Didn’t give me chance to introduce myself and showed me upstairs

The room was not worth more than £25.

‘Don’t move the shower head’, she told me ‘water comes in downstairs. Breakfast at 8 o’clock.’

I wasn’t sure whether this was a suggestion or an order but it suited me so said ‘ok’

One wall of the bathroom was a window which was bevelled but had no curtain so like the Herriot at Hawes there was the feeling that you were totally visible to the outside. The real problem with the room, though, was the noise. Being on the first floor it wasn’t much quieter than being in the bar itself. Luckily the cacophony of sound made it impossible to make out individual conversations.

I didn’t have much of an appetite, I think I was too tired to eat. The Co-op across the road was open so I bought a few snacks to take back to my room even though it might have been more tranquil sat on the curb by the side of the busy main road.

It had been 7.30 when I’d reached Alston so after eating my snacks and wandering about in the shower for a while trying to get wet it was getting fairly late. I went to bed about 10.30 and surprisingly dropped off to sleep. I was woken up a few times by the racket downstairs which went on well past midnight but I didn’t have too bad a night.

P.S. If you're perplexed about the title-

Customer (In Chinese restaurant): Waiter! This chicken's rubbery.
Waiter: Ah, thank you velly much sir