Today marks the beginning of part 6 of my journey. I join the 62 mile St. Cuthbert’s Way as it cuts across the Scottish-English borders on its way to the Holy Island of Lindisfarne. This is an important and medieval pilgrimage route following the life of St. Cuthbert. Living in the 7th century, Cuthbert, was a highly respected monk and influential in the development of Christianity in England. He was born and lived his life in the Border region, and eventually became Abbot of Lindisfarne Abbey. The abbey is on an island that is tough to get to, but due to St. Cuthbert’s legacy and revered status, it has seen millions of pilgrims make the trip over the centuries. Since I knew I’d be “close”, I wanted to include the pilgrimage on my walk. The Holy Island of Lindisfarne has held a fascination and call to me for a long time. It’s considered a liminal space; a place where the separation between the profane world and all that is holy and mysterious is thin. It is where deep truth and understanding is felt, without words to describe. That sounds pretty wonderful and important. I want to walk there.
From Town Yetholm you have to return over the bridge to Kirk Yetholm, retrace some Pennine Way steps, then set off east on the St. Cuthbert’s Way. Most of these pilgrims have already been walking two or three days, and wow - were there a lot of them! This seems to be the most popular trail I’ve been on during my entire trip. We were getting ready last night for the 13 mile walk back up in the Cheviot Hills again, checking out the weather forecast. As we were listening to the rain fall and the thunder roar, the weather channel was showing the biggest, most solid low pressure front I’ve ever seen in a weather report engulfing the entire British Isles. My mood sank, and I knew I just didn’t have it in me to walk into those stunning hills again in a rain and thunder storm. It seemed safer to find a different route to Wooler.
So we did. We took two adorable local minibuses, first to Kelso and then onto Wooler. The first trip was short, and the bus bursting with friendly locals. We talked to Andy at the bus stop on the village green. He relocated from southern England twelve years ago so he had a playful and observant eye to these small Scottish border towns. He obviously was enamored with his new home, their salmon-filled rivers, their green hillsides, their quirky legacy of medieval horse racing fairs (Town Yetholm‘s is happening next week and all the decorations and banners are up), but he missed the flat land and expansive views of his former Essex home. On the bus, Andy said hello to all the other passengers, they enthusiastically greeted him back; everyone rearranged themselves at each stop to sort out who would need to get off next. Lots of chatter catching up with one another. It was a friendly trip. The woman next to me started asking about my trip, and she was delighted. She was over 70, told me how much she loved walking still, even to get her potatoes and veg and carry them home like she is doing today in town. Then she told me she had a suggestion, if I let her, as to what I should do when I finish this whole trip: walk the Trans-Pyrenees route west to east. She described it in great detail, knew all about it, has been her dream to do since she was 20. But she hasn’t. As we climbed down from the bus, I had a fun new route and possible trip to research, and she told me I had inspired her and she might just set off on her dream trip after all.
Kelso is a lovely market town with lots of history. It has the largest cobbled market square in all of Scotland, and it has the ruins of a truly impressive abbey built in the 12th century. We stopped at the ATM to get some cash, and it being Scotland we received Bank of Scotland bills. They have delightful artwork on their backs! My walking friend from the bus, Anne, recommended a café we must go to. Kelso is busy and there are many options for shopping and eating, but we walked the rainy streets further and further from the square to find the Café U. It was 100% worth it! A real local place of laughter, convivial conversations, welcome, and absolutely amazing food and coffee. If you’re ever in Kelso (and you should go if you’re close by), definitely make it to this café. I didn’t even imagine places like this really exist outside of a clever setting for a fun and warm novel.
We had to drag ourselves away from the warmth, both physical and emotional, and back out into the rain to catch the next small bus to Wooler. This was a longer trip and a more quiet bus with only two other passengers, and they only went a few stops. We stayed on and zoomed through a series of sweet villages. We slowed down upon entering Kirk Newton (there are a lot of ‘kirks’ around here, I think it means ‘church’); there were people walking the main road and also all the small lanes and across the fields near the village. I noticed they were all wearing black. All the people gathered into larger groups, chatting and walking, continuing together down one narrow street. There were more and more cars on what was a road with no traffic on it for miles just before. They were gathering for a funeral on this rainy Thursday, showing their respect and love for an obviously well thought of member of their community. The scene really touched me; it was so big and genuine. The whole village, and beyond, stopping their typical activities to mark this occasion together, like their forbearers have done for generations most likely.
Continuing on our way along the road, passing hillsides we would have been walking through, we arrived not long after in Wooler. We had a cup of tea and shopped for food for the walk tomorrow while we waited for our room to be ready. I went to the sweet shop to see what yummy things I might find in the jars along its walls. My paternal grandparents owned a sweet shop, they lived above it; while I never met them, my dad told me stories about growing up in such a popular place with all the children in town and how my grandmother would treat each child with patience while the serious selections were made. Whenever I see one now I am drawn to go inside and imagine my grandmother talking to the children, and my young dad running under the counter and up the stairs to his home. I obtained some extra items for my lunch tomorrow.
