St Cuthbert's Way – Lost and Found

Walking a long distance path requires discipline. One should bring neither too much nor too little - reaching the shops before they shut can be tricky. Reaching any shops at all can be tricky.

Staying in a different hotel/B&B each night means one never unpacking fully - something could be left behind. We utilise packing pouches to make it easy to find what we want in our cases.

So when we arrived on Holy Island for three nights at the Lindisfarne Hotel it was delightful to unpack our clothing into drawers and tuck our cases away. 

In fact, in the chilled island atmosphere I relaxed a little too much. In the morning Nigel said 'Where's the big water bottle?'

And I said 'Where's my hand bag?'

I had left the bottle under a bench overlooking the sea where we had been watching grey seals fishing and eider duck and mergansers bobbing past, and I had left my handbag in the pub where we had dinner. 

Somebody had public-spiritedly disposed of the plastic water bottle, but the handbag was there waiting for me.

It was a luxury to be on Holy Island where people kept my handbag safe for me and even more of a luxury to be staying in one place, meaning we could actually go back to retrieve it.

Below is something I FOUND. On our wall at home is a photo signed by Fenwick Lawson - it shows his extraordinary sculpture (carved from a diseased elm) of St Cuthbert.  We bought the picture early in our married life, when we were both working for Durham University, and fell in love with Lawson's carving. Although it has hung in every home we have had, I had stopped seeing it really. But there, in the grounds of Lindisfarne Priory, was that much loved face again. My heart leapt when I saw the full size cast of Fenwick Lawson's sculpture, conveying as it had done all those years ago in Durham, the presence and gentleness of the saint. Home at last - journey's end for both ourselves and Cuthbert.

We attended services each day at ancient St Mary's or the more modern and Celtic St Cuthbert Centre. All were beautifully led by the hard-working chaplain, Kay, who was also covering for the vicar who was on holiday.

We explored not only the priory, but also the castle, with its Lutyens make-over and Gertrude Jekyll garden.

We saw amazing wildlife - marsh heleborine orchids and dark green fritillary butterflies were common in the dunes, not to mention the ubiquitous bunnies!

We saw fabulous birds including dunlin and ringed plover, and stood for several minutes while a swallow, only two metres away, serenaded us from a fence.

But one thing eluded me - it was the singing of the seals.

I had heard it once, a few years before - I'd been sketching and the rest of the family had gone off to swim on the other side of the island.  I'd heard an eerie wailing sound and followed it, walked across rocks to a tidal island surmounted by the remains of a little chapel, marked with a cross.  From there I could see sandbanks where dozens of seals were resting together and singing to one another 'OOOOOOOOooooooooooo.'

On the current trip we had already seen perhaps hundreds of grey seals but had not experienced the 'singing'. I had begun to wonder if I had dreamt it. Then on our very last morning, on our very last walk, there they were - once more on the same sandbank beyond chapel island, and the uncanny noise was carried to us faintly on the sea breeze. 

How lucky am I to hear seal song not once, but twice.

St Cuthbert's Way – The Pilgrims'Way

It was our last day of walking. Our final destination was Holy Island and it was now within sight. All we had to do was sprint across the A1, dash over the main Edinburgh-London rail line at an unmanned level crossing, then walk three or so miles along a causeway to Holy Island before the tide came in. 

Simples.

Opportunely, low tide was to occur in the morning, giving us plenty of time to get across. 

Nigel and I had both assumed there was only one causeway and that it was the one the cars used. 

But the guidebook indicated an alternative route. We could walk the three miles from shore to Island across a wilderness of sand and mud along a route marked out by poles, with the occasional refuge tower on stilts for those who get caught out by a rising tide. Enough water would remain that we would need to take our shoes and socks off. 

This was called the Pilgrims' Way.

I announced that I would like to go this way.

Nigel however spotted that the car causeway cleared sooner so we could set off half an hour earlier. The footing was firmer and we could stride on with no need to unboot.

We discussed it, and by the end of breakfast, as is not unusual with us, we had exchanged sides. For me, The Pilgrims' Way definitely looked more romantic, but I have a dodgy foot, so walking several miles barefoot was not an option. We should use the car causeway.

We set off down the road which formed the shared start to both routes and were overwhelmed by the press of nose-to-tail traffic on the narrow road. It seems the Holy Island of Lindisfarne has been featured in various TV shows and is now overly popular. It would be no pleasure to walk alongside so much traffic. We would take the Pilgrims' Way but keep our boots on as far as possible.

We followed the course set out by the poles and found ourselves walking on the bed of the sea, in a dreamy flatland of silt and sand. The grass at our feet was sea grass, and the mud was studded with cockle shells (a pilgrim emblem) and ornamented with the celtic interlace of ragworm casts. 

A woman coming in the opposite direction advised using our walking poles to test the depth of the water. In one place it had come up to her calves.

We had gone most of the way before we hit a chnnel deeper than our boots. In a way it was a relief to take them off and finish the walk like a proper pilgrim. Even more of a relief when Nigel kindly carried them for me. 

And finally, there we were on Holy Island, proud to have a little mud between our toes as we strolled on towards the priory where St Cuthbert had been Prior nearly 1,400 years ago. 

Journey's end - Lindisfarne Priory with Amanda and Mary, USA friends we made on the journey.

The end of St Cuthbert's Way was marked by a map on the wall and a set of wheelie bins, just in case we were getting above ourselves.

St Cuthbert's Way –Time machine

Today our walk was to carry us not just through space but through time. Highlights were to include a mysterious cup-and-ring marked stone from the Neolithic or Bronze Age, and St Cuthbert's Cave where, in the ninth century, the monks of Lindisfarne brought St Cuthbert's body to shelter it from Viking raids.

We delayed setting off from Wooler as we were not supposed to check in at our B&B in Fenwick before 4pm. We explored the town and suddenly the view of the low hill beyond brought back to mind  a magical holiday when our children had been much younger. 

Although it was at Easter, snow had fallen deeply and we had trekked out into the hills admiring the way the wind had sculpted the snow, and had made a gigantic anowball which it took all of us to roll along. In the afternoon we had returned to the house and I had painted a watercolour of the low hillside opposite. It was this view that had reawakened the vivid memory.

Before leaving Wooler, we visited the stately Anglican church once more.

 Simultaneously two memories gripped us. I recalled coming here for the Easter service that snowy holiday. Nigel remembered even further back, when his secondary school choir would come each Christmas to sing carols here. 

Before we had ever set off, we had already made our own personal journey through time.

St Cuthbert's Way –The Toughest Day

According to our guidebook and other walkers, the fourth day, between Yetholm and Wooler was the toughest, marching many miles through the hunched hills of the Cheviots. It was also forecast to get warm and sunny later, making walking more tiring.

Motivated to finish before the heat got to us, Nigel and I set off at 8.30 am and absolutely scooted along, barely stopping to check birdsong on Merlin, nor google-lens unfamiliar plants. 

On the two occasions when we found ourselves in a field with a very large  cow with only one udder and a ring through its nose, I moved even faster.

As a result, we were in Wooler by 2.30 pm - an earlier arrival than on any other day. My joints were aching, and we were both tired, but basically, we felt very pleased with ourselves. We had made light of the toughest day.

Until, that is, we sat down in the hotel and switched our phones on. Then we saw that, Nick, our friend of many years had died from the brain tumour which had laid him low. 

In Wooler church, we lit a candle for him. It really had been the toughest day after all.

St Cuthbert's Way - A Perfect Village

As we walked into Morebattle, the well-tended verges were dotted with picturesque flower beds. But by contrast, overhead, a thunderous roar announced the passing of a typhoon jet. 

We were hoping for lunch at the community-owned pub and set off down the main street. 

At once, a woman of similar age to us crossed the road to speak to us: 'Welcome to Morebattle. The women's loos are there. The men's are round there. Are you heading for the community pub? I'm afraid it's shut because it's a Monday. But you can get a lovely cup of coffee at the village shop, and they have a gazebo!'

'The village shop it is, then.'

We passed more flower beds and the quaintly named Teapot Street and Thimble Row, bought a vegan magnum each and consumed them amid the field geraniums and nasturtiums of the community shop's sunny back garden. 

And all would have been perfect if the war plane had not circled back and cleft the sky with thunder once more. Even the most peaceful and friendly village is touched by these troubled times.

St Cuthbert's Way - Swing that bridge

I had thought it a delight to have Pascoe with us on the first two days of our walk, until, that is we came to a plank bridge, high above a river. 

Pascoe was unable to resist causing turbulence. And I was unable to stop myself snapping 'At least wait until I'm off the bridge.'

Luckily there was a second, even longer and higher plank bridge, so when he began rocking it, I had a second chance to show that I am really a good sport after all. It's a shame then that I heard myself growling, 'Just stop it.!'

However, soon Pascoe will return to Edinburgh, and I will miss his boisterous sense of fun. You will be able to spot me lingering midway over a fragile bridge above a raging torrent, looking wistful.

St Cuthbert's Way - Setting out

We've set off on another long distance footpath. In my sixties, with various arthritic joints, I never know if I'll make it. And actually, last time, there's a gap in our walk of the Pembrokeshire coast while my legs took a couple of days to recover. 

So this time I voted for a shorter path - St Cuthbert's Way. It follows the life journey of the gentle and nature loving man who wanted to be a hermit, but was singled out by the depth of his faith and the breadth of his ability to become a prior. What I had failed to take account of was that the route lay through the mighty Cheviot Hills.

Pascoe joined us for the start and we explored the red sandstone ruins of Melrose Abbey with its ornate window tracery. We admired the sculpture of the bagpipe playing pig, and the inscription to the redoubtable mason, John Morrow. We were silent a moment at the spot where Robert the Bruce's heart was buried.

But then it was time to start. And what a start. The map contours were jostling eachother as we made the steep ascent to a saddle between two high hills. My hip was creaking and my mouth was whingeing. But after that harsh climb and descent it got gentler, often tracing the windings of the great river Tweed, accompanied by herons, sand martins and black-headed gulls. 

Like Cuthbert himself, we took time to admire the nature around us, and we saw orchids, bell flowers, butter bur and sneezewort amongst others, and foraged wild cherries raspberries, whitecurrants, bilberries and sweet cicely. 

But all that appreciation slowed us down so in the end we had to dash for the bus (which was to take us from the path to our B&B) and my creaky old hip proved it could do it, today at least.