What a beautiful world

I want to leave you with a speech that my Dad wrote for his eightieth birthday party. He never delivered it but I was delighted to find it in his desk drawer last summer while going through his stuff - he suffered a fatal stroke just before his eighty-first birthday.

..............................................


My friends

It has been a good 80 years

With, what seems to me perfect timing, I have twice this week heard Louis Armstrong singing that evocative song "What a wonderful world"

Nothing could more aptly express my feelings at this moment

"I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom for me and you

I see skies of blue and clouds of white
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night

And I think to myself what a wonderful world"

and it is you my friends that have made it so.

My neighbours -my colleagues in the Liberal Democrats- above all - my family

I am often asked if it is't about time I downsized and got rid of this house which is far too big for me.

But I love this house. Brenda and I must have been shown round more than 50 houses when we moved down here from Yorkshire. but this was the only one that satisfied her.

I have lived here now for more than half my life. It has seen many good times and indeed continues to see them.

But it is not the bricks and mortar but the quality of the community that envelopes us.

I cannot recall ever having a bad word or even a bad thought about any of my neighbors. Many of them have lived here for as long as I have.

I am particularly pleased that another generation of the Beckwith's are living next to me and would particularly like to welcome Peter here today. Ruth - Peter's wife - and Brenda were good pals. Those who were here at the time of the Queens Silver Jubilee are not likely to forget that event.

Brenda and Ruth decided that what this community needed was a street party to celebrate the day. As I remember it there was not the wildest enthusiasm at first but after Ruth and Brenda worked on them they stirred up a volcano of fervour. They got the police to ban motors from the street. They collected old sheets and dyed them red, white and blue and made bunting from them. They organised the food, celebration mugs, entertainment for children and adults. and with considerable foresight arranged for the use of the school in case it rained - and it did.

Well Peter - I expect they are both up there somewhere organizing the pants off someone who believed heaven was a place for rest and relaxation.

And there is dear Rita and Peter Moore. Rita says she looks across at my house every morning when she goes off to work to see if there is some sign of activity. Between her and the milkman they should ensure that I don't moulder away for too long before I am discovered.

And of course there are too many others to mention - but you all make a significant contribution to my well being.

So, I am afraid my neighbours, you are going to have to put up with me for a while longer.

My Liberal Democrat colleagues.

Little did I realise what I was letting myself in for when somewhere around 1980 I signed up with them. I thought I would just pay my subscriptions every year - smile benignly upon their progress - probably even vote for them.

But my work for them has given me an aim in life that I would greatly miss and those who were colleagues are now my friends.

I was talking the other day to Bruce Routledge - our revered Treasurer. We were discussing a campaign to increase our membership. We decided on a new motto. "We may not be that good at getting our candidates elected - but we have an awful lot of fun trying"

And finally my family.

I suppose the one dark cloud in my 80 years was Brenda's early illness and eventual death. Sad because she was unable to see the full fruition of her devotion to the welfare of her family. Sad because she was not able to share the peace and contentment that retirement and innumerable friendships have been granted to me.

I am blessed with three daughters. I am immensely proud of each one of them. Each has developed a family life that is comfortable, caring interesting and yet very different from the others - yet in each case I am made to feel contented and welcome in their company. And unlike many families they get on so well together.

They have married good men and each has brought in-law relationships that have enriched my life.

There is however one thing I have to say to my sons-in-law. Don't you think it is time you injected a bit more urgency into your plans for looking after me in my dotage?

The best offers I have received so far are;

From Steven and Lesley - he will tidy out his garage

From steve and Jill - well he was going to tow a small boat behind his barge. But now having sold the barge I see nothing forthcoming.

And from Curt and Ali - I can doss down in their veranda and they will even provide me with a hot-water bottle to protect me against the alpine nights. I have to say though that I would also need a chair lift up to their front door before I could contemplate that offer.

So gentlemen I would like to see a bit more movement in that direction please. I certainly cannot contemplate living in an old peoples home, watching day time television in the common room and having nothing to do but complain about the matron and the food.

Well my friends I would like to propose a toast - in fact if you can endure it I would like to propose three. So make sure your glasses are well charged. My wine waiters will pass amongst you and replenish your glasses without spilling too much in your lap.

My first toast is to Brenda and Ruth. I hope they are looking down benignly on this gathering. By the law of averages it will not be too long before Peter and I join you. But I have to say that we are in no hurry.

To Brenda and Ruth!

My second toast is to my newest granddaughter Edie May. Nothing could have been a more wonderful 80th birthday gift than her safe arrival.

And again I am reminded of the words from "what a wonderful world"

"I see babies crying. I watch them grow
They'll learn much more than I'll ever know
And I think to myself what a wonderful world"

To Edie May!

My friends. I think you are the salt of the earth. And I want to propose a toast to each and everyone of you. May our comfortable life style and friendship long continue. Yet may we also continue to bear in mind and to work for those who are perhaps less advantaged than us.

To us all!






Richard Antony Bonner with Edie May
June 2009


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A summer of achievements

I have decided not to go to John O'Groats. Scotland is a big and beautiful country and not to be hurried through. I shall leave this for another day. Perhaps for a time when I can enjoy it together with Curt.

A bike seems burdensome and after spending so long in isolation on the trails I am not convinced that I want to be riding along side traffic.

John O'Groats was merely a target and gave me a framework and a foundation for this summer. It isn't necessary to get there because my real goals have already been achieved.

I have nothing more to prove to myself at this point in time.

I have reconnected with my place of birth and I have done more than a little walking.

My self confidence has been revived, I trust my decision making and know that I am worthy.

My health is superb and no longer in doubt

I know what makes me happy and feeds my soul. I know I require contrasts in my life and to follow my dreams.

I have accepted that everything physical about my parents and my life with them is now gone. But memories remain and their legacy lives on within my sisters and I.

I now have a new relationship with Britain, founded on my childhood but reshaped by my newer experiences. I know my love for this country is real and deep and that I do want to return as soon as able, to live here and have ideas on how that could work.

Can you believe I have achieved so much just by walking for two months? This summer has been all I could ever ask for.

My new goal will be to maintain this happiness and new found fitness and to carry it over into my "real life".

I want to get back to my husband and son.






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What to do next?

I am in the Hoot n' Cat coffee shop in Kelso, just over the border in Scotland.

I have this mad idea to buy a bike and continue up to John O'Groats.

I know I am done with the walking but not quite sure that I am done with this adventure. I am waiting for a divine signal to tell me this is the right thing to do. Perhaps I need another latte while I am waiting for this signal?

It's raining, so not particularly inspiring but I can't seem to shake this feeling that I am not done yet.

I've been in the local bike shop and sized up the perfect bike but the rest of the plan is not clear. Lots to consider. How will I get the bike home? What about my rucksack? Is this financially ludicrous? When am I coming home anyway? Will I be able to get home because Curt couldn't? More importantly where am I staying tonight?

Thought it might help to write these questions down but no answers yet. Does anyone have any comments on this?

Better order a pot of tea as I may be here in this cafe a while longer.




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Location:The Butts,Kelso,United Kingdom

Day 50: Kirk Yetholm and THE END OF THE PENNINE WAY

I ate my last boiled egg and put my tent away.


It was a beautiful view to wake up to and the clouds hung low over the Cheviots.


I could look back and see the route we had taken over hills and along ridges yesterday, it looked a long way and it was amazingly satisfying. I tried to imagine what it would look like if I could see further south, to my entire route. How long would that look? I have walked up and down plenty of mountains before but never through a mountain range and I was liking how it made me feel.

We descended down and out of the Pennine range. It was only eight miles today but it was surprisingly hard.





As I placed my last step into the Border hotel in Kirk Yetholm, I knew it would be my last. Completely psychological I am sure but I felt as though I couldn't walk another step.


Fifty days and six hundred miles later and I was done with walking!



I took the obligatory pictures, had my celebratory free half pint, received my certificate and signed the Pennine Wayfarer book.


I did it. I walked the entire Pennine Way.


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Location:Kelso,United Kingdom

Day 49: Byrness to Hen Hole hut

We struggled over breakfast with the system. The list on our slip became longer as we gathered breakfast and lunch items together, making it a mathematical nightmare. 15p x 4 butters + 25p x packet of two slices of bread x4 + 20p per Dairlylee cheese + 20p per Kitkat etc, etc. I think we would have gathered up more food if it hadn't been so mentally exhausting.

Needless to say we left without having enough breakfast or getting enough food to last us through a wild camp tonight. But I did prepare two hard boiled eggs for the road as I have become psychologically dependent on them.

This was it, our final 29 miles on the Pennine way, the path goes over the Cheviot hills and there are no villages, places to stay or refreshments along the way. We were on our own now until the end. And it felt exciting.




I didn't fall in a bog and for the most part they were paved with flag stones or duck boards.



The views were tremendous and the path took us back and forth over the Scottish border. It was wild but tame; windy but calm; cold but muggy; boggy but rugged. All those contrasts that have become so important to me were right there for me to experience all at the same time. I can't tell you how fortunate I felt to be on the last leg of this amazing trail that had taken me up through the heart of a country I adore.

Cotton grass and the Cheviot hills.


Scots out for a day hike and resting at this mountain refuge.



A Sottish caterpillar


We had planned to camp half way but decided to move on and try and get to the next hut.

We arrived at Hen Hole hut exhausted but happy to have completed 21 miles in one day. This meant we only had a short day tomorrow. It also meant we could be down for lunch which was good as we had little food left.


We sheltered in the hut and ate our delicious Dairylee and crisp sandwiches before putting up our tents. I also signed in the visitors book and searched for entries of any known people that had come by this way before me. So fun to read all their stories. No sign of Sarah.


It was windy and cold but with all my layers on and my summer REI bag I was cozy enough and it was a wonderful way to spend my last night on the trail.



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Day 48: Bellingham to Byrness

Eggs are magnificent I have decided.

My problem for the last few days has almost certainly been a lack of eggs. Fun Gums for dinner and the odd cheese and pickle sandwich for breakfast do not fuel the body enough for this kind of thing. That is obvious Ali.....I can hear you thinking this.

After eating a massive wholesome breakfast at the "Riverside hotel" containing two poached eggs, I found I could walk again. I had a surprising amount of energy and made me realise just how bad yesterday had felt. I need to remember this when I get home and eat eggs way more.

The guide book now frequently refers to "progressive bogginess". I had thought it boggy before but today was quagmire central.







We had to ascend up a steep bank next to the forest and I felt like I was in the Amazon. I had to fight back the head high greenery, suffer the oppressive humidity, swat the flys and midges while trying to climb a ninety degree incline of quag. Two steps up, three slides back and a boot full of thick sludge.


But my eggs were working.

More level bog on top.

Then miles of forestry track again into Byrness. Very nice of the Forestry Commission to welcome us but what about a bench or a tuck shop or some tea?


We stayed at the YHA that had been bought privately by a very enterprising couple. Great to finally find someone dialling into the possibilities of walkers on the national trails.

I spend a lot of time thinking about this as I walk. Thinking about my experiences in the various B&B's, bunk houses, campsites and how I would do it differently. It doesn't take much to please us walkers, we are an appreciative bunch but we do have some unusual needs that could easily be accommodated should you know what they are. I won't go into it all now but I know how I would run my accommodation if I had a place on a national trail.

Anyway this couple had it down and were openly proud of themselves.

"We have it all, we do here" he kept on saying as he flung open the various cupboards full of goodies for our consumption " Fully licensed we are here" as he showed us his cupboard of liquor and local ales. "we do bag transport and pick up and drop off we do here". "you wash your clothes out here in this bucket, spin them in this here machine and hang them to dry here". "breakfast is in the fridge here" as he opened it up to reveal individually priced tomatoes, eggs, sausages and pieces of bread. "You just help yourself you do here and fill out this slip with how much you owe", "hundred percent occupancy we now have here".

The last part of the YHA tour took us into an extremely smelly boot room. "you put your boots in this here dry room, fill them with newspaper and put on these here flip flops".

"We have it all, we do here". "Dinner will be in an hour".

Too much information and they failed to tell us how to get back in the hostel and Mick and I found ourselves hilariously locked out twice.

Our other concern was then how to get more beer from the cupboard as this one remained locked. "You ring us three times on our mobile and then hang up and we know then that you need more beer and it doesn't cost you the call". He winked. "We have everything sorted here".

Brilliant. And dinner was great. She had made mega batches of various dishes and frozen them to be cooked individually. I had veggies and rice in a sweet Thai chilli sauce and chocolate sponge with custard for dessert. Yum.

Joining us for dinner was a family from Australia walking John O'Groats to Lands End and doing exactly my route except the other way round. They had been going 7 weeks and had been on the Pennine Way three days. And I thought I was so unique. There was also a group of runners we had met previously doing a section of the Pennine Way. In fact there was a whole host of people staying here, doing various outdoor activities and for some reason the youth hosteling association had been dumb enough to sell. This couple had the foresight to realise that they had a captive audience because there was only one other b&b in the village and absolutely nowhere to buy anything, not even a pub.

The topic of conversation over dinner turned to bog. The next section is again "progressively boggy" and a story emerged of a guy yesterday going up to his waist in it and had a mucky tide mark to prove it. His cell phone had been ruined and he was incapable of getting out without help. We talked about sucking bogs but were informed that these probably weren't of the sucking kind but they didn't sound too convinced.

I will be more careful over the bogs tomorrow.

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Day 47: Stonehaugh to Bellingham.

We breakfasted on a cheese and pickle sandwich each, very reluctantly saved from yesterday.

We were walking to Bellingham today. Not in Washington of course and this one is pronounced "Bellinjam".

More forestry trails today.

About ten miles and it nearly killed me. Think I may be coming to the end of my abilities.

But thankfully Bellinjam contained the most wonderful B&B where I recovered quickly over cheese sandwiches, egg and cress sandwiches, lattes, Mexican spinach balls and a ploughmans platter. In fact the "Riverside", located on a cricket field, contained every thing we needed and we didn't even venture into the village. It even had Internet access but my Ipad was unable to hook up - hope that it is not screwed up. Really need to post this hoard if blogs.

The very civilised "Riverside Hotel"


Really missing Curt and Ivan. Can't phone because I have no signal :(







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Day 46: Greenhead to Stonehaugh

Walking along Hadrian's Wall was incredibly tough. Magnificent views of the Northumberland countryside but a roller coaster of steep ups and downs.


Hadrian's wall runs coast to coast where England is at it's skinniest. It was built in AD 122 by the Roman Emperor, Hadrian as a fortification to keep the Scottish rabble out of England. The wall is still visible in some places and a remarkable feat of engineering but in others it is completely missing, destroyed over the years to build castles elsewhere.





We were heading for Housesteads which conjured up visions of B&Bs, pubs, eating establishments, houses and "steads". It was instead a load of Roman rubble. Once a Roman Fort of course and there was a delightful museum but this was of no interest to us. We needed food and somewhere to stay.

This caused us to walk a further 6 miles and take a detour slightly off the map to a little village called Stonehaugh.

The moment we left the touristy Wall we were once again in isolation and on boggy moorlands


We walked the last few miles on forest trails. I became paranoid about map reading and did not fancy getting lost in this maze of spookiness. Tall pines lined the path and their tight interior was extremely dark, devoid of any vegetation but mulched pine needles piled in heaps around the tree bases.


More spookiness was to come as we entered Stonehaugh. This village was unlike any other that I had encountered. Was I now in Canada? What happened to the quaint English village? A forlorn stark sign signified that we had arrived in Stonehaugh. Big logging trucks and shanty buildings greeted us. All was quiet except for the calling of a strange bird. Spooky, spooky and Mick felt it too. Could this village be full of weirdo's and would we end up in a big pot for dinner? A confused mix of Blair Witch Project and Fargo were coming to mind.


But the village green made us feel a little more at home. This is the village in it's entirety. Strange but quite cute terraced houses of differing colours lined either side.


We fretted over what to expect of the campsite. We were surprised to find the field packed with campers and instead of just a basic farmers field, it was civilised with toilets, showers and even a social club. What were all these holiday makers doing in this strange, off the beaten path place?

We headed for the community hall and social club where we had heard they may make us a cheese toasty. The only reason this grand building fit into the village was because it didn't fit and was distinctly odd, like everything else here. No toasties and no food at all that contained any nutritional value. Our dinner was thus:


......Ales, whiskies, twiglets, scampi fries and fun gums.

But we entertained ourselves with pool and ping pong.

And did find out that this village was purpose built in the 1940s to house the forestry workers. So that fits.
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Day 45: Alston to Greenhead

Have been trying to find Internet access to post some if these blogs, but to no avail.

Today was a tough walking day. Seventeen miles of railway track, fields, stiles, moorlands and bogs to end at Hadrians wall.


Great name:





It is becoming apparent that not many people complete this trail.

This could explain why the path towards the end of the day just petered out onto a massive moorland devoid of any way marker signs. It was hard to believe we were following a national trail and assumed they couldn't be bothered to sign it because not enough people made it this far.



We are also starting to hear about drop outs. I forgot to tell you but we met up with the Yorkshire lads with the dog in the pub the other day. They are now sans dog and sans two people who gave up and went home. Haven't seen Sarah the vicar yet either and it makes me wonder if she has gone home. She said she would, if the weather didn't improve. Of course she could be way ahead of me.

Did meet up though with a group of four today going our way. We found it odd that we hadn't met up until now but they said they had heard of me. My reputation is proceeding me. Made me feel quite special!

We are staying in a bunk house tonight next to the ruins on Thirwell Castle. We walk along Hadrians wall tomorrow.


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Day 44: Garrigill to Alston

Not much to blog about today.

We were treating this as a rest day and only walked 4 miles down a gentle river path to Alston.





Alston is the highest market town in England, although this is disputed by the inhabitants of Buxton, that also claims this altitude record. So they recently measured it and apparently if you measure where the market is, then Buxton wins but Alston ended up with being higher overall so they feel they ultimately won. I suppose every town could claim to have the highest something....the highest toilet, the highest zebra crossing the highest pig pen etc.





Tomorrow I start on the third and final map of the Pennine Way. Ninety miles left on this trail and I am starting to think of the end.

What shall I do next?

I am holding up incredibly well. In fact, holding up is an understatement because I am feeling better than I have done for years. I was starting to feel old before my years, the arthritis making me stiff, tired and constantly achy. All that has gone, my flexibility has returned, my posture improved and I feel young again. I can squat, get myself up off the floor with ease, clench my fists and I am strong and fit. My arthritis appears to be in remission and I am now only suffering in a minor way from the damage it has already caused. As far as I can tell, I don't seem to be creating any more damage which is of course the danger of this.

For doctors that are reading this blog (and I know there are!) I can recommend this prescription for your patients "Take a long walk".





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Day 43: Dufton to Garrigill

Over breakfast (no veggie sausages) our landlord, Ray, insisted on presenting us with a terrifying picture of our day ahead.

The guide book does say this is the longest and toughest day on the Pennine way and these hills do hold the English records for bad weather. But I do think he went a little overboard and insisted we call him once off the hills and descending. If we didn't call he would call out the mountain search and rescue. Scary. I was more nervous about not having a cell phone signal to make that all important call.

Did we have good navigational skills? We assured him that we did.

We left the B&B and about 20 yards away, within full view of our concerned landlord, took the wrong path. We had to back track and nipped quickly around the corner in a hope that he had not seen us. At this point he was probably already on the phone to the search and rescue.

Once back on the Pennine way we confidently made our way up the long ascent to Great Dun Fell and then across broad sweeping plateaus to Cross Fell (i may have said this before but this is most definitely THE highest point on the pennine way - 893m)

And of course the weather was atrocious.

Torrential rain and thick clag (northern for mist). Visibility once more terrible and it became a wonderful exercise in navigation and I really enjoyed putting my new found compass skills to test. But also glad Mick was with me!

From out of the clag, two shapes in the form of wet Englishmen, descended and headed towards us.

It was Mick that initiated the typical English greeting:

"A good day for it, isn't it"

And the reply:

" Yes comes and goes....old chap, what what"

And they disappeared back into the clag.

Unable to break because of the weather (that hadn't "gone" at all but had been full on), we were happy to reach Greg's bothy (hut) to stop for a limp cheese sandwich, a YHA left over. Soaking wet from my non waterproofs and freezing cold, I layered on all the dry stuff I could find.

The door swung open and in walked Mr Dry as he is known to us now. I couldn't initially figure out why he looked so strange but then it registered. He was bone dry, clean, sporting a pair of binoculars around his neck and looking as though he had been on an afternoon stroll of bird spotting.

How could he have possibly been in the same weather as us? So unable to resist, I asked.

He proudly whispered as if letting me into a big secret, that he used a small umbrella. Oh, I said as if it explained it all, but could not for the life of me figure out how that had kept him so immaculate and in all that wind and wildness.

Will you be stopping the night here asked Mr Dry? As if we were in a plausible establishment.

I looked around at the cold, wet floors of the primitive rock bothy and could not imagine staying any longer than completely necessary in this dark place. Spend the night? Was he nuts?

Mr Dry then mysteriously disappeared.

As we left to once more brave the elements outside of the bothy, we both agreed that had been incredibly strange. Had Mr Dry been an apparition? Could he have been Greg?

It was a massively long ascent into Garrigill on a boring, hard track and we were so looking forward to the pub.

On arrival, the George and Dragon was all boarded up and horribly closed. But oddly enough and as unbelievable as this may sound, in the middle of a small roundabout in the centre of the village was a barrel of beer and hand pump. A couple of the villagers were pulling pints and offering us a glass to join in. More locals began to show at the pump, filled their sundry of containers with free beer and merrily sat on the roundabout in defiance of the closed pub.














We did remember that phone call to Ray in Dufton. I left a message to say we were down safely, so I hope that search and rescue are not out looking for us now....hic!





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Day 42: Langdon Beck to Dufton

This day has probably been my most favourite day of walking.

We left Langdon Beck youth hostel with the forecast being all doom and gloom.

And began walking up the remote river valley to follow the River Tees. Through meadows, fields and bogs, over stiles and boulders until we reached the impressive Cauldron Snout. Here the river boils furiously over a narrow rock gorge and we scrambled up the side over rocks polished by the boots of Pennine Wayfarers past.


As the path then ascended over the remote moorlands of the North Pennines and as if mandatory for this landscape, the forecasted mists and rains descended.

It was at this point, huddled under my hood, listening to the constant swish of rain trousers and confined to my own thoughts, that I decided not to eat any more veggie sausages. I am now officially fed up of English breakfasts veggie style. The veggie sausages eaten this morning were now playing havoc on my stomach. Yes, tomorrow I would have muesli and may not even have any eggs.

Amazingly as we arrived on top of High Cup Nick the mist and clouds lifted to reveal the most glorious valley I have ever seen. A U shaped valley with a river snaking its way along the bottom and into the distant mists. The valley sides rose smoothly up in a carpet of green with swaths of grey scree, to an impressive cliff that horseshoed it's way around the rim. As the mist lifted further we could see in the distance the eastern mountains of the Lake district and the Vale of Eden spread before us.








Looking back




The sun came out and the views remained as we began the long descent to the beautiful village of Dufton.






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Day 41: Baldersdale to Langdon beck

Had the most freshest, most delicious poached eggs for breakfast.

As I walked I thought about the question posed to me over breakfast "Aren't you scared walking alone?". This has been asked of me several times and I can never come up with anything better than "no". So now I was asking myself why.

I think it is because I am generally a positive person and don't believe that any harm will come to me. I don't think walking is particularly hazardous. I have a long history of walking and never get into any problems so I suppose I am also fairly confident. I could get lost or hurt myself but even then I feel I would manage and seek help somehow. I feel these are just the normal hazards I face in every day life. I am lucky because I don't tend to worry about what could happen. I find enough to worry about without getting anxious over the never ending possibilities of what may happen.

Perhaps foolish but I am glad I think this way, otherwise I would not be doing this.

And anyway I was about to have another walking companion. Mick had made last minute plans to join me again. I was going to meet up with him again in Middleton on Teesdale, about seven miles on.

Having always chosen to walk abroad and having completed numerous expeditions to the Himalayas, walking in Britain has never really been on Mick's radar - too tame I suppose.

But now it seems Mick has also been bitten by the long distance walking bug and even here, in Britain.

I really enjoy his company so I am happy to have him along again. Plus he is delivering my weekly shot to me.

One hundred and forty miles into the Pennine way and I am over half way there. Feeling pretty happy about this and my feet, despite feeling bad yesterday seem to have recovered again.


Mick found me hunkered down in a tea room, guzzling tea and engrossed in my James Herriot book (courtesy of last B&B). The Yorkshire Dales is James Herriot country and I always enjoy getting into the spirit of things with a pertinent book.

We walked on together towards Langdon Beck Youth hostel, another seven miles on but down a gentle river path by Low and High falls.





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Day 40: Tan hill inn to Baldersdale

Morning at Tan Hill


Breakfast at the pub was a lovely shambles. Too many people had been camping, bed and breakfasting or staying at the bunk house last night. Too many people for this quirky pub to deal with and everyone just ended up helping themselves.



Lesley was taking a cab to Kirby Stevens railway station and catching a train back to Horton on Ribblesdale to pick up her car, so we had to say goodbye :( She was excited though as the Settle to Carlisle railway is supposed to be the most beautiful railway line in the country and it was a favorite of our dad's - fitting in yet again with the greater theme of this story.

I was then on my own again, and set off north across the lonely, desolate and boggy moors and out of Yorkshire Dales National Park. I quickly gave up on keeping my feet dry and focused instead on not getting sucked up to my waist in bog. The flagstones that usually spanned the bogs were noticeably missing on this section of the Pennine Way making navigation tricky. Luckily the mist lifted as I descended and I could see marker posts at various intervals in the distance across the moors. It was fairly flat and I made good time despite an annoying pain in my toes.

Once off the moors, I followed a track for a short distance and a cute little tractor came up over the hill, followed by more cute little tractors. I waved at all the drivers as they passed and they proudly waved back. It was a sight to behold and could possibly explain a sign that had perplexed me a couple of days ago. The pennine way sign also had a plaque on it of a tractor labeled with coast to coast. There is another national trail that goes coast to coast and I do believe these tractors may have been following this path. Only in England. How brilliant.


My toe pain continued to get worse so I cut my day short about ten miles later at Clove farm B&B conveniently located right on the path. They were full but she squeezed me in her daughters room, brought me tea and cake and made me feel very welcome.


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