Byrness Church, Catcleugh and the Three Kings

Last weekend I gave my coastal adventures a break, and headed instead for the lands beyond Otterburn on the road to Carter Bar. We had initially considered Kielder for our day trip, but decided in the end to go for Byrness and its environs.

The last time I'd been up that way was ages ago. I thought I remembered there being a little car park next to Byrness Church, but there wasn't; so we instead pulled onto the grass verge as best we could and headed into Redesdale Forest. The idea was to follow the Pennine Way south along the River Rede, angle off to have a gander at Hindhope Linn, loop round the forest tracks for a few miles, then call in at the Three Kings Stone Circle on the way back.

Now I was, as usual, the walk leader, famed, as I am, for my wrong turns, dead ends and accidentally extended excursions into the wilds. And so it proved again. As per usual I blamed my out-of-date map, but there was another 'extenuating circumstance': I could not believe the amount of damage to the forest following on from last winter's storms. Acres and acres of flattened timber, blocking paths and tracks and blighting the landscape for miles around. Forestry workers had cleared a great deal of the debris in order that rights of way (esp. the Pennine Way itself) could be negotiated, but due to my regular off-piste wanderings we found ourselves scrambling 'aal ower the shop' over this, that and the other, adding a good hour or two to the adventure.

Storm damage

Hindhope Linn. Barely worth the effort, really.

Anyway, we eventually got to see Hindhope Linn (one-way dead-end, as it turned out), then circled around without incident to the Three King's Stone Circle (this latter landmark was a bit tricky to find amidst the wreckage of a felled forest). Then I called in at the aforementioned Byrness Church to soak in some of the backstory to the dramatic and noteworthy construction of nearby Catcleugh Reservoir (for more info, see my old blog post here).

Three Kings Stone Circle

Byrness St.Francis'

Internal shots below, including the Catcleugh Reservoir commemorative window and plaque to those killed during construction

Just to top off the day, I directed the party a few miles up the road (past the reservoir) to call in at the famous border crossing point at Carter Bar. As the chilly north-easterly lashed our tired bodies, we queued patiently at the refreshments van for a few bits and bobs, then directed our car homeward. An interesting day.

If you want to know a little bit about the famous skirmish of 1575 near Carter Bar, see here.

Newcastle's Oldest House

Following on from my last post...

So my mate, Andy, suggested we start a Friday night's boozing at The Bacchus on High Bridge. I had a little historical story to tell him about this particular spot, though I sadly didn't have any relics to show him this time.

Those of you who have been drinking in central Newcastle for at least a couple of decades may remember the old Bacchus pub. It was completely different to the current affair, though the entrance was in exactly the same place - and, of course, it occupied the same site at 44-48 High Bridge. You may recall that the old pub was completely demolished and a brand new building erected in its place. I distinctly remember visiting there several times in 2000 when Andy (with a little help from yours truly) was involved in the formation of a new Ramblers' Group. The Bacchus, you see, was our first meeting place. 

Then it was flattened, was no more for a year or so, before being rebuilt and reopened with a completely new 'vibe'. And it has been thus ever since.

What I didn't realise myself until quite recently, though, was that they had the archaeologists in during the brief period when the site was a bare patch of ground (2001-02). And, incredibly, whilst they were poking around they found the very first trace of actual prehistoric habitation in the city. That is, they found Newcastle's oldest house. Yes, before the Romans arrived, even.

It wasn't too dramatic, you understand, with the discovery amounting to little more than the faint outline of a Late Bronze Age roundhouse. The breakthrough find (which is a rarity in any urban setting, anywhere) consisted of two curving slots and accompanying postholes, with radiocarbon dating pinning the sketchy remains to around 1,400BC. The structure had an estimated diameter of 11m, and pollen analysis of the soil suggested a 'scrub woodland' environment of hazel and herbs.

The modern-day Bacchus has a maritime theme about it, as you may well know. I'm not sure whose idea it was to go with this look, but I would suggest they missed a trick. Should have gone for 'Late Bronze Age', if you ask me.

And this time I detected a glint of interest in my mate's expression. I think he was genuinely impressed.

Note: I will be giving the subject of Newcastle's pre-Roman history a more thorough airing in the forthcoming Newcastle-upon-Tyne: Fragments of the Past, vol.2.

Newcastle Coin Comes Home

Believe it or not, from the 1130s to 1307, Newcastle-upon-Tyne was home, periodically, to a Royal Mint. The institution came and went as the need arose, its on-off temporary nature dictated, no doubt, by the undulating relations with the Scots and the occasional need for a northern financial base during border military campaigns.

Being a fledgling town at the time, there can be no doubt that the mint (and any associated 'financial exchange') would have been located within the safe confines of the castle precincts close to the keep. The coins produced were pennies and half pennies (and the occasional farthing), and of silver or silver-alloy composition. They were ‘hammered’ using dies ... and you can still pick them up at auction or on eBay.

Which is precisely what I did a while back, and here it is:

What we have here, then, is an Edward I silver penny from the Newcastle mint, dating to 1300-07. The words VILL NOV’CASTRI can be made out on the reverse side (right). It is tiny little item, at about 16mm in diameter. Kinda neat, though.

I acquired this in the early weeks of the Covid-19 pandemic, and sat admiring it in my office for months unable to share it with anyone. My wife was distinctly unimpressed, for sure, and the only person who I thought may be interested was my mate, Andy. Now I have met Andy most Friday evenings for a few beers in central Newcastle for the best part of forty years, but we hardly saw each other during Covid. So when things started opening up again a few weeks ago, we couldn't wait to get back into our old routine.

Andy and I have always liked to vary our nights out a bit. Sometimes we'd start at The Strawberry and hang around the top end of the town; we might decide to kick off at The Bacchus, and hang around the High Bridge area. The Central Station area would be a regular haunt. Sometimes we'd start at The Five Swans; there'll be odd nights down the Ouseburn, too; and very occasionally we'd venture further afield into the near suburbs.

Then Andy suggested a place we hadn't been to in a while: the Quayside. But we'd begin at The Bridge Hotel, then pick our way (carefully) down Castle Stairs and onward to such places as The Red House, The Bridge Tavern and, of course, The Crown Posada. You get the idea.

And this was the moment I'd been waiting two years for: I will take the coin along to impress him ... unveiling it pretty much on the very spot upon which it was 'hammered' over 700 years before. Though we don't know exactly where in the Castle Garth it came into existence, it couldn't have been more than twenty yards or so away from our seat in The Bridge.

Andy was moderately impressed (or at least he very kindly pretended to be), and the moment soon passed. I carefully placed the delicate relic back in the recesses of my wallet, we drank up, and moved on toward the top of Castle Stairs. Newcastle's tiny wee silver penny had finally returned home to its birthplace, though there had been little in the way of fanfare. I would love to know which corners of the kingdom it has visited in the intervening seven centuries.

OK, then, so it wasn't such a big deal to anyone but me. However, as the following Friday evening loomed, Andy suggested we start the next session at The Bacchus. "Oh," I exclaimed, "I've got a fascinating little historical story about that place, too."

He could hardly wait. Ahem.

Tune in soon for the next instalment.

P.S. You can learn more about the Newcastle Mint in my book Newcastle-upon-Tyne: Fragments of the Past, vol.1 in the left-hand column. If you want to slyly avoid buying the same, the full article is actually viewable in the Amazon preview.

Alnmouth to Craster

Over the past year or three my wife and I have been trying to walk the entire North-East coast a bit at a time. That is, all the way from the Scottish border down to Staithes. Well, that's the plan, anyway.

The latest leg was the stretch from Alnmouth to Craster, which we ticked off over Friday 1st and Saturday 2nd April. Because of the limits of time, tides and the bus timetable we had to do this in awkward little bits and bobs. So stick with me ... and pay attention!

First of all we indulged ourselves with a visit to The Running Fox tearoom/cafe in Longhoughton ... to spend a Mother's Day voucher. The 'Afternoon Tea For One' was more than enough for the two of us, and, with unlimited lashings of free coffee, provided an excellent start to the day. Recommended!

It did, however, mean that we got off to a late-ish start for our walk - hence the main reason for us spreading it over the two days. The tricky tide times (dodgy stretch north of Alnmouth) and the impossibility of using the local bus service both helped the decision, too. We parked up at Longhoughton Beach (ensuring that we left the car on the near side of the final gate to avoid the 5pm lock-up deadline), and set off on the four-mile hike north to Craster.

Although we were aided by fabulous weather, I have to say that this stretch of coastline is among the best in the country. And it doesn't even include the stunning bit beyond Craster towards Dunstanburgh! The mixture of little sandy bays and rocky outcrops & inlets ensured a constant and exciting mix of drama and outstanding natural beauty. Swarms of Oystercatchers, wading sandpipers sweeping in and out with the waves and, er, oh, yes, a large dead seal provided the high- (and low-) lights of the day's excursion.

A sprinkling of notable features deserve special mention. The early dip into Whitefin Spring and its little bridge, the nearby Howick Hillfort, Rumbling Kern (& its beach), and the stunning Bathing House - once the play area of Earl Grey and his family. Then there's the swing round to Cullernose Point, followed by the long flat walk into Craster. Dunstanburgh Castle hones into view in the far distance - but we'd already walked that stretch a while back!

Low Stead Links is where the Whitefin Spring pops up. Bridge just out of sight to the right. This is looking south. Hillfort is behind us.

The Bathing House

Craster provided refreshments and a chance to chill. A fabulous little place - though a walk up to the Information Centre was in vain (closed on a weekday). So we made do with an emptying of our respective bladders, and set out along the right-hand path behind the aforementioned Info Centre (marked, if memory serves, 'Howick Hall Gates'. Or was it 'Entrance'. Whatever).

Craster Harbour

'Traditional Fish Smokers', Craster

See my ramblings here.

View north from Craster to Dunstanburgh

The path took us over fields, through Craster South Farm, then due south to join a treeline - and, yes, as if by magic, to the gates of the aforementioned hall, conveniently avoiding any trespassing. Due east along a road towards the coast, then a sharp right (south) past the somewhat out-of-place 'Seahouses Farm' to rejoin the coastal path near the hillfort/Whitefin Spring. Thence back to the car.

Eager to get through and away from Low Stead Farm (you have to pass through this to get to and from Longhoughton Beach), we left just before 5pm and headed for nearby Boulmer. We parked in the car park to the south of the main body of the village, and walked north a mile or so until we touched our previous parking spot at Longhoughton Beach, then headed back south. Much more open and a little wilder this stretch, but you can (sort of) make a circular route by hugging the coast on the way out and following the boundary wall back. 

---o---

The next morning we pulled into Alnmouth Beach car park (£3.50 fee) and walked the three mile or so north to Boulmer, then back again. It began with a steep ascent of the hill overlooking the town (following the Coastal Path), past a sizeable old pillbox, then hugging the edge of Alnmouth Golf Course for a long stretch. The path then drops down onto the beach (this is the tricky tidal bit), after which there is a climb up to and through the straggly caravan park upon Seaton Point (check out the line of chalets, too, just proud of the beach - interesting!). The walk into Boulmer is then straightforward enough, passing, as you do, the gaping Boulmer Haven - though you may not notice this if the tide is in.

Pillbox, just north of Alnmouth

Boulmer has a pub, but nothing else in the refreshments stakes, so we scoffed our bait on the bench in the very same car park we had utilised the previous day, and headed back south to Alnmouth. But with the tide out we managed to do so along the beach the whole way, which was very nice. An ice cream van awaited us in the car park, so we helped ourselves to a couple of 99s with monkey's blood (raspberry flavour for me, thanks).

Boy, what a beautiful stretch of North-East coast Alnmouth-Craster is. And I am pleased to say that my dodgy ankle held up admirably, too.

Where Kings Once Trod

I always get a kick out of standing in the exact same spot where someone famous once stood, or where something notable happened in the distant past. Most of us don't give a second thought to this when we're wandering our city streets or visiting an historic site; but I often do. A few days ago I found myself in the grounds of Blackfriars, Newcastle ... and came over all funny again.

What you see above is a modern-day shot of the site taken from the NW corner. What is left of the Blackfriars complex can be seen in the centre/right background, and the footprint of the monastery's church can be discerned in the foreground. Now place yourself a little beyond that tree and (roughly) facing up towards the camera. This is what you would have seen in front of you in medieval times:

(taken from the on-site info board)

Now, in that church on 19th* June 1334 there took place a meeting of the then king of England, Edward III, and the king of the Scots, Edward Balliol. It could be argued that it was Newcastle's greatest day - and will remain so until we win the Champions League (ahem).

Anglo-Scottish relations/wars/arguments in those days revolved around Scottish independence, of course. The First War of Scottish Independence spanned 1296-1328; then there was a brief interlude, before the Second War kicked off in the wake of King Robert the Bruce's death in 1329. Edward III used his influence to help Edward Balliol grab the crown north of the border in 1332, who promptly lost it, then regained it again in 1333 after English victories over the Scots at the Siege of Berwick and the Battle of Halidon Hill, respectively. So, by the spring of 1334 Edward III had his puppet ruler, Edward Balliol, dancing to his tune up in Scotland.

The big get-together at Blackfriars in June 1334 was essentially to make Balliol pay his English master homage - a sort of 'thank you' for helping him secure the Scottish throne. And for Novocastrians it was a chance to see the northern foe humiliated after years of aggravation. The ceremony was duly performed in "a public and solemn manner", with Balliol giving the necessary oaths, etc., and the so-called 'Treaty of Newcastle' was concluded. England also gained all the Scottish border counties ... albeit briefly, as it turned out!

Within months Balliol was ousted (again), the wars were reignited, and it all ended in a sort of awkward draw a couple of decades later in 1357. By then the treaty of 1334 was long-forgotten, and the town's 'greatest day' ultimately meant nothing.

However, you can still pop into Blackfriars and walk in the footsteps of the two kings of almost 700 years ago. Cool!

* Some sources give the date as 12th June.