Hadrians Wall - Day 2

My goal, the Roman fort and town, is just west of Corbridge. It's a relatively long walk, about 1.5 miles, but the weather is cool and, of course, damp, so I'm comfortable, except for my healing tendon.

I discover the delightful Gresham House Garden Tea Room. Details under restaurants.

I also visit the St. Andrews village church and cross the Tyne river bridge on the way to my bed-and-breakfast place for the night. See lodging information.

We have dinner at another great pub. Details in Restaurant section.

This is a delightful village and well worth a day of your time.

Quick Tips:

It was Sunday, so the TI office was closed. In this part of England, asking locals is always the best way to get information.

Best Way To Get Around:

Between towns - Local Bus. The AD122 Bus - link: http://www.lakedistrictoutdoors.co.uk/transport/scenic_bus_rides.cfm#hadrianschariot

Local Trains, bicycle routes, best to walk when in town

Larry and I end up at Dyvel’s instead of Fellcroft because the luggage transporter left our bags there. I am disappointed. I wanted to stay at Tovi’s Fellcroft and wallow in her sympathy. Dyvel’s is a one-star hotel with a bar and restaurant on the ground floor and rooms on the upper floors. Charming, it is not.

I locate Fellscroft B&B and, after ringing the bell a few times, am greeted by the mistress of the house, who is right out of central casting as the motherly bed-and-breakfast owner. After telling me her name is Tovi, she goes to great lengths to make me feel comfortable. Her husband has gone to pick up my companions, so I shouldn’t have long to wait. I tell her my sad story of painful tendons, and she insists that I must promise to take care of myself the rest of the week. Her genuine concern touches me. She and I gossip about the Hadrian’s Wall tour companies, and she refuses to say anything bad about any of them, though it’s obvious she values one company in particular--not the one we chose, by the way.

My companions loved staying there and said they served one of the best breakfasts on the whole trip.

In the midst of the agony of a painful Achilles tendon, I see a sign announcing the Gresham House Garden Tea Room. I head for the place. It is delightful. It has a small garden in the rear named, not surprisingly, Secret Garden. More in line with my needs, it has a large selection of baked goods. I order a fresh scone with clotted cream and strawberry preserves, accompanied by strong black tea. A strikingly beautiful young lady serves the order. I'm saved!

As I savor the best-tasting scone I've ever eaten, I look around at the rest of the guests. I feel like I've dropped into the middle of a movie set. Everyone looks so stereotypically "British." I visit the garden, take pictures, and browse through the adjoining art gallery - all in all, it was a most delightful interlude.

We have another fine pub meal, accompanied by pints of great beer, followed by another fine dessert, here.

We have decided to try the desserts every night. This makes sense for my friends who are doing some tough walking every day, but I’m not so sure that I won’t balloon out eating as they do. Since tomorrow’s schedule calls for a five-mile hike, I figure I can handle that, and then I won’t have to feel guilty eating dessert.

http://www.theheritagetrail.co.uk/roman20britain/Hadrian/corbridge_fort.htm

A Roman fort and town just west of Corbridge, it's a relatively long walk, about 1.5 miles from the center of town. The weather is cool and, of course, damp, so I'm comfortable, except for my healing tendon.

The site is very well kept and features a quite good museum, as well as the ruins of the Roman Fort. You can access pictures of the ruins in my Corbridge Fort and Town Album. I spend about an hour and a half wandering around when the weather turned downright nasty, cold, and rainy, so I didn't spend as much time as I would have liked.

A beautiful little church is St. Andrew's, the Corbridge Parish church. I must go in. It does not disappoint. The church tower was built in AD674. The church itself is charming and unpretentious. The outside graveyard is fascinating.

Mr. Little, my previous night's host, agrees to drive me to the bus stop. After he is gone, I realize I am at the wrong stop. The bus I want plies the appropriately named AD122 route. I am at a bus stop that appears to be for weekday buses. It's Sunday. I'm flummoxed. I try calling Mr. Little, but no luck. I am very upset with Little, but as I recap the communication in my mind, I realize I did not tell him specifically that I wanted the AD122 bus, and so he drove me to the nearest bus stop.

In retrospect, I realize, that because we all speak English, I thought I could be lazy with my request. Not so. As George Bernard Shaw pointed out, just because it's England doesn't mean we speak the same language, and I should have specified exactly where I wanted to go. You'd think that after 12 years of living overseas, I would have done better.

What to do? What to do? I halfheartedly try to hitchhike, with no luck. I read the schedule attached to the bus stop sign a half-dozen times. I think that maybe a bus is due in an hour or so, but I'm not sure. I guess I'm going to have to pay a fortune for a taxi, but I left the taxi numbers in my duffel bag, which is being transported in a van to our next destination. I am just about to knock on the door of a nearby house to ask if they have a number for the taxi when I hear a diesel engine. A bus miraculously appears. I frantically wave it down, ask if it is going to Corbridge, and step on board. I am greeted by the driver, a gnome-like man who looks to be in his 70s and who doesn't even know the fare. One of the passengers supplies the fare information, and I hand him the correct change, to which he replies, "Lovely!"

I never get used to how the British respond to me or others as a substitute for thank you. The three most common phrases are the aforementioned "lovely," "brilliant," and "perfect." I guess these phrases correspond to "groovy," "far out," and "terrific" in American English. I still am surprised, though, when somebody who looks like a 75-year-old gnome responds with "lovely" when I give him bus fare.