Apologies in advance for covering old ground so soon, but the weather was nicer today than Wednesday, and it gave me an excuse to eat teacakes!
I once again headed off past Sainsbury's and up the old railway path. No trampolines or burly men with tires today, and Scalby was as rubbish as ever so didn't even bother to take a picture. The only highlight between there and the main road at Burniston was this dead mole:
|(I moved it off the path into the undergrowth)|
Rather than continuing straight on, as I did last time, I turned left and did a bit of pavement-pounding, through Burniston village itself. Nothing in particular to report there either, unless you count the purchase of a Snickers and some bacon Wheat Crunchies from the Post Office. I carried on along the main road through Cloughton, bypassing the old station tea rooms (but making a note of the opening times for later), and at the bottom of the hill, where the road leads up to the top of the moor, I crossed over into the unknown. I've travelled through Cloughton in the car, and on the bus to Whitby, Robin Hood's Bay and the like, many, many times, and just before the last two houses in Cloughton I have always noticed a mysterious path leading off into the trees, but never had the opportunity to go along it.
Today was that day! As paths go, it was actually fairly average. It had muddy sections, grassy bits, bits with views of the sea, bits that smelled of cows - typically rural I suppose, but at least now, if I go past on the bus, I can smugly think to myself: "I've been up there".
By this point, stomach was starting to tell me it was nearly time to eat, and luckily Scruffy Ordnance Survey Map told me I was quite close to Hayburn Wyke station, which is then a reasonably short stroll back to Cloughton. I'm becoming, I think, slightly obsessed with Hayburn Wyke station. I'm tempted to start up a "Friends of..." group and do some guerilla restoration - I could fix up a sign board (the posts are still there), clear the weeds off part of the platform and chuck some gravel down - even put the edging stones back (they're on the trackbed now), perhaps install a bench... Oh the opportunities are endless! Stage 2 could be rebuild the signal box, fix some fencing...
|Remains of the signalbox|
|The platform end - edging stones embedded in the mud|
Called in at Cloughton and had a mug of tea and a toasted teacake at a table under the verandah. Was greeted by another of the station cats - small fat tortoiseshell with one eye. Sadly the other customers nearby had dogs so once I was seated it buggered off into the bushes.
On the subject of the other customers: It was one of those moments when you just can't help listening to other people's conversations. At the next table to me there was quite a respectable looking couple, who clearly had a bit of cash. They were talking about their grandchildren in Singapore, and how they were taking them on a cruise as a Christmas present, blah blah blah..., at which point, woman-on-table-nearest-the-door pipes up with
"Well, I've lived all over of course. Well, in England. Well, round London really"
- and I'm thinking "Shut up, you knob" - and then she says (I don't know how I managed to not laugh) -
"And in Dronfield - that's in the Peak District..."
So there you have it: Dronfield has been dismantled and rebuilt halfway between Buxton and Matlock, and isn't just some wanky dormitory village near Chesterfield!
The rest of the journey passed by uneventfully - the dead mole remained in it's new resting place, but with added flies. Scalby was still dull and boring, and when I got home, the cat had been sick on the carpet...