Yesterday we took the Tulip Brownie’s up to Berwick-on-Tweed for the day. We have been only once since we moved here, so were due for a visit. It is the most Northern town in England with Scotland only 3 miles away. The tip of Northumberland. The weather forecast said it was going to be hot. I think it was wrong. It was warm when the sun was out but cool when the clouds came over. A grey day as the photographs will show. After testing out the quality of the public toilet (4/10) we walked around the Elizabethan walls which were built to keep invading Scots from entering the town. Two Scots and two English walking around a town that has been back and forward over the border 13 times. Berwick’s football team is the only English side to play in the Scottish League. Clearly still some indecision about the towns nationality. The town was busy, very few wearing masks, lots of Scottish accents (or could have been native Border accents), everyone mingling but fairly relaxed. The town walls at Berwick are actually very interesting. There are actually two sets, the first being started by Edward 1st (apparently the Hammer of the Scots according to Him Indoors) and two miles long, whilst the later Elizabethan walls are a mile and a quarter in length. It is the best example of a bastion town in Britain. We had a nice stroll taking in the views over the golf course and out to sea. Yes, another one! Even on a non-golf day we experience golf. From Berwick Holy Island, Bamburgh and the Farne Islands can be seen. They both blend into one, appearing as if one long spit of land on the horizon. A disappearing island this time. Unfortunately the pier was closed for essential repairs on the lighthouse. What a shame as Mr Tulip Brownie had carried his binoculars to dolphin spot off the end of the pier. As we walked around we spent quite a bit of time admiring renovated houses with sea views. Quite a few of the grand houses on Pier Road are occupied by elderly people. We know this because it must have been Gardening Day as they were all out front, pruning roses and clipping clematis. There is a house on the road that is being renovated at a very slow pace. Little progress since our last visit. It looks sadly abandoned and neglected, with no windows but impressive stone window frames and a very ornate stone carving above the door. Outside the house is surrounded by a mass of reclaimed driftwood and odd pieces of heavy stonework. It looks like a washed up house wreck. Sad really when it could be a fantastic fantasy home by the Tweed, worth £800,000 judging by Zoopla.
It wasn’t until we went for coffee, earl grey and cake (yes finally) that we remembered about Covid restrictions. We sat outside, down on the quayside near the start of the Northumberland Coastal Walk, which Him Outdoors completed last year. The poor waitress had to ask 20 odd questions (wearing a ventilator mask) to ensure we received a full order. Firstly contact telephone numbers for track and trace, twice. Earl Grey please. Milk? Sugar? Lemon? Bacon Cob please. Butter? Brown Sauce? Red Sauce? Scone please. Fruit? Cheese? Fruit and white chocolate? Really! Crab Sandwich. Dressing? Salt? Pepper? Bread? Lemon and Poppy cake please. Straight forward mine. Just needed a fork. After our much needed, safely presented, refreshments we walked along to see the three of the four bridges. Why does one small town need so many bridges? Slightly over the top (of the Tweed) if you ask me! We walked back through the town which was now quite busy. I had been told of a mother of the bride/groom type shop that was worth checking out. Unfortunately that was also closed. Open by appointment only until Coronavirus has disappeared. Frustrating when you can see wedding hats, bags, dresses and jackets but get nowhere near them. I enjoyed our stroll around the border town. There was a definite sense though that there was more Scots than English in town.
When our time on the car park was up we took the car over the 15 arched, original Great North Road bridge, built in 1610 to the South side to Tweedmouth and Spittal. Tweedmouth is the home of both Berwick Rangers and Tweedmouth Rangers FC who play in the East of Scotland Football League. Even more ironic that both clubs play in Scotland but are historically on the English side of the town which was part of Islandshire once. Presumably because the four bridges didn’t exist in the Middle Ages when all the border toing and froing happened? The people in this part of Berwick are called Twempies. The Twempies have a beautiful beach just down the road at Spittal. A long stretch of golden sand with some interesting sandstone rocks and an ice cream van. Mr Tulip Brownie had been moaning all weekend about needing a new phone. Well, we found him a new Samsung on the beach. Just sat on the sand abandoned like the old man in the wheelchair. The four of us stood looking to Up North, South, East and West, trying to locate a owner. Him Indoors tried to unlock it but needed a finger from another body. No sign of any Vera murder victims on the beach, although there were a few beached whale Twempies about, in the form of heavily pregnant woman. An abnormal number of pregnant women. After a few false starts, a distressed woman was spotted patting down her empty pockets. The cynics in Him Indoors and I made her apply her finger before we handed it over. Mr Tulip Brownie was crying into the sand. Still no new phone for him. Other than the gorgeous beach there is very little at Spittal. Fish and chips, ice cream and a very tall red brick chimney, apparently a reminder of a once flourishing chemical fertiliser industry. Typical that the pong would be on the English side of the Tweed. Our lovely day out, exploring the Northern tip of Northumberland was finished off with a trip to the garden centre for orange or red plants only. I did come out with a white one though! When we arrived back home the sun had finally broken through and it was warm enough to sit on the rattan and take in the Amble view. Actually I was busy sorting out BBQ food but caught the back end of a conversation. I thought Him-in-the-garden had finally lost it! “… when JEF’s working in the Borders….” Well, firstly I have no intention of working ever again and why would I work in the Borders? Why would I travel all that way? Apparently he was criticising the muck I get on HIS lawn when I am working in my borders. I think the word is ‘gardening’. Stay safe everyone and watch those borders.
The Daily JEF 