Idling in Ryedale

Not the best start to the day - due to reasons beyond my control, I missed the train from Scarborough, so had to wait an hour for the next one. However, never one to miss the opportunity, I put this time to good use: smoking heavily on a park bench...

But anyway. I eventually made it to Malton, and so the adventure begins, exploring part of the route of the Thirsk & Malton Railway. I set off through the town, calling in at Overton's for a pork pie, some haslet sandwiches and a bottle of ginger beer (for later on), and followed the main road out through leafy suburbia. Fairly quickly (Malton isn't very big) the houses petered out, and once I crossed the bridge over the bypass, I was straight into open countryside. The road skirts the edge of the Howardian Hills, and looking north across the Vale of Pickering I tried very hard to spot the big tower thing at FlamingoLand, but alas, to no avail.

The first village I walked through was Broughton, followed on swiftly by Swinton. Both of them were quite pretty, but also at the same time, pretty boring. They each had a pub, but both were closed - it was, after all, not yet midday. Living in Scarborough one tends to forget that in a lot of places one cannot get a pint of Guinness and a double whisky with one's breakfast. 

The next place, and the location of my first photo opportunity, was Amotherby. From the road, in all honesty, it looks like a bit of a shithole. The derelict Esso garage, big factory, and row of run-down council houses, reminded me of one of those backwoods American towns from a horror film where if you don't get shot you get hogtied and raped instead. However, once you turn off onto the imaginatively-named Main Street, it improves greatly - all pretty stone cottages, flowers everywhere, and a dainty church, hidden away amongst grand old yew trees.

Sadly, at the old station it all goes a bit tits-up. It has been totally flattened in the years since the line's closure, and replaced by an extension to the BATA factory (possibly a maltings? I've no idea what BATA actually do...) Oh well.

Amotherby

It was now after midday, so I ate the pie (not a euphemism) as I retraced my steps through the village, and continued eastward towards Appleton-le-Street - another fairly dull village, but with a curious church which reminded me of a Turscan campanile, surveying the passing traffic. Passing a large spooky derelict barn, with very badly-painted window frames, the pavement abruptly ended. I didn't fancy walking in the road, but thankfully for once I had come prepared. I had, about my person, an actual up-to-date Ordnance Survey map of the area! Hurrah!

I meandered along a grassy track through a small woodland, across a field of buttercups, and past some ignorant horses who didn't even bother to look up as I passed. Soon I reached the village of Barton-le-Street.

The old station at Barton is on the north edge of the village, and, apart from having a sign proclaiming "The Old Station House", is completely unrecognisable as a railway building. I've seen photos of it when it was still open to passengers, and it looks totally different now, with extensions poking off at various points, and windows inserted and bricked up, seemingly at random. In the picture below, I think the far section is the original building, and the rails would have crossed the road about halfway along the flowerbed, coming straight out of their new dining room.

Barton le Street

 After navigating through a farmyard, and trampling through more fields (and eating my haslet sandwiches - if anyone pronounces it haze-let they will get a firm rebuke) I reached the outskirts of Slingsby. A small cemetery reminded me I still hadn't drunk my ginger beer, and provided a relatively disrespectful photo-opportunity (Apologies to the late Mr Fentiman).

Slingsby was a bit bigger than the other villages I'd been through. It had a farm shop (closed), an attractive church (closed), a castle hidden away in the undergrowth (presumably also closed, but I couldn't even find a way in!), and a sports club (also closed). The only sign of life - if you could call it that - was at the bowling green, where a group of white-clad pensioners were silently rolling their woods, and jotting down their scores in a very earnest manner.

The station here advertises itself as a bakery, but true to the spirit of the rest of the place, it too appeared to be closed, so I took the required photo, and turned onto the trackbed.

Slingsby

From here, almost to Hovingham itself, the old railway line has been turned into a footpath. It's mainly grass underfoot, between fields of gently swishing wheat on one side, and something green (possibly peas?) on the other, interspersed with poppies and clover. At one point a pair of game birds - partridge I think - erupted out of the greenery only feet away from me, with lots of clucking and angry flapping of wings. I nearly cacked my pants! Luckily nobody was around to witness me being startled by what would've constituted a very good pie-filling, so I carried on my way.

Just before Hovingham bowling green, I actually passed some other pedestrians - the first I'd seen all day. There was a sensible-looking couple, who nodded politely, and an old lady walking a black & white sheepdog that took an instant dislike to me. It leapt up and bit the top of my leg, so I stood really still in the hope it would fuck off. That didn't help and it then started snapping at my ankles. The lady apologised profusely, but I just laughed it off and told her I had cats. She looked somewhat bemused.

Hovingham Spa

The last station of the day was Hovingham Spa - the "Spa" suffix added by the North Eastern Railway in attempt to market the village as some sort of glamorous holiday resort. It didn't work, of course (it was never going to be as good as Bath or Buxton), but it's still a pleasant place to hang about. The main feature of the village is Hovingham Hall - a stately pile; the residence of Sir William Worsley. Rather than being hidden away down a long avenue of trees, it's right on the village street, and the main entrance passes through an enormous archway, leading through the livery stables before the front door. Very odd.

I didn't see Sir Will, but on the parish noticeboard, there was a poster bearing his name, looking for witnesses to what is clearly the crime of the century: "Have You Seen This Stone?". Very dramatic.

The bus back to Malton wasn't due to depart for an hour and a half, but I couldn't be bothered exploring any further. My shoes had been rubbing, and I had about twenty blisters. Time for a pint.

No Weddings and a Funeral

This morning, despite not leaving the den of iniquity that is Bacchus 'til after 3am, I managed to drag myself onto the 09:48 TransPennine Express to Malton - the starting point for today's adventure visiting a couple of stations on the abandoned Malton & Driffield Railway. 

Wind-in-the-Willows was never like this.

After a stroll through the back streets of Norton-on-Derwent (Malton station not actually being in Malton of course...), my planned route took me out to the south-west, through a sea of pebbledashed post-war council housing along Beverley Road, and I spotted the first roadkill of the day! There were also lots of little snails to avoid crushing, as it was drizzling steadily.

After a mile or so, I turned off, onto the Centenary Way footpath (I've no idea what it celebrates the Centenary of - or where it leads to, but there seems to be bits of it all over the place) and across open farmland towards the railway embankment behind the Bacon Factory. Sadly, there was no aroma of bacon, just a faint undernote of horse muck, as the area is quite well-known for it's racing stables.

No trains today...

The path actually leads up onto the embankment, and follows along it for a while - the view is crap 'cos it's totally overgrown with bushes and trees - before dropping back down to field level again and over a fairly rotten-looking footbridge across a drainage ditch. 

Still following the mysterious Centenary Way, thee path became very muddy and horrid - perhaps wearing brogues had been a bad idea? - so I had to tread very carefully. In fact "Tread" might be the wrong word - "Mince" might be more appropriate. Like a sylvan John Inman-impersonator. Thankfully there was nobody else around to see just how much of an utter knob I looked.

Soon though, I was back on a proper road, and it was time for a station-selfie. Although quite an attractive building, I didn't hang around long at Settrington, because as well as a profusion of "Private" notices, there is also a long shed with cages along the front - very strong-looking cages - which clearly are meant to house some sort of killer hounds. They aren't visible in the photo as I have managed to obscure them with my massive head.

Settrington - hiding my fear well

So anyway, I managed to keep all my innards intact, and limbs uneaten, and carried on along the lane

Settrington Grange - seriously creepy...

southwards. It runs parallel with the old trackbed , but to be honest I was far more intrigued by the security measures at Settrington Grange on the other side of the road. They clearly do not welcome visitors at all, and have got the most enormously high fence I have ever seen - badly camouflaged behind a dying hedge. Perhaps that's where the killer dogs from the old station go to work? I'm sure they've got to be hiding something dodgy - I'm thinking Josef Fritzl crossed with Jimmy Savile...

North Grimston is only a short distance away, and is much more welcoming. The only warning sign there is about children playing on the grass. Not scary at all. The station layout there is quite unusual, and must have been a pain in the arse when the line was open, as the road runs right through the middle, actually bisecting the platform! The station house is on the southern half of the platform, and the waiting rooms on the north. Luckily, even nowadays the road is only a very minor one - I imagine before the station closed in 1950 it was probably even quieter!

North Grimston - the southern part of the platform

"Bright Eyes..."

My original vague plan at this point was to carry on to the next

station along the line at Wharram, but due to time constraints and not wanting to miss the train back from Malton, I ditched that idea. I walked a short way beyond the station house, turned left, and (insert trumpet fanfare here) found myself back on the Centenary Way again! I followed it down the hill, as it lead back to the actual village of North Grimston, and passed my second dead animal of the day (third if you count the sausage roll I bought from Asda). Not roadkill obviously - I think this one had been attacked by a fox, or maybe an owl.

I wouldn't drive across that for all the tea in China!

The path crosses under the old railway line this time, by means of a seriously rickety bridge that looks like it's come out of the Wild West, never mind rural Yorkshire. Most of the bridges between Malton and North Grimston were removed long ago, but this one is used by Lord Middleton of Birdsall to access his pheasant nest areas further along the line. He (or at least, his chauffeur) must have nerves of steel to drive a Landrover over that! Or perhaps they use something smaller - maybe a SmartCar...

St Nicholas', North Grimston

Before it reaches the village, the path runs right next to a stream, so is consequently more like a dirty swamp, which only confirmed what I was already thinking - smooth-soled brogues are definitely, definitely not designed for the countryside (although they do look very nice - I bet Lord Middleton has several pairs). After that though, it was road walking all the way back to Malton/Norton. I was going to pop in and have a nosey in St Nicholas's church, but as I reached the gate, I realised I was about to invade a funeral. Thankfully I managed to resist the urge to greet the assembled company with a hearty "Good Mourning!"...

Back in Norton, I had finished all my Asda snacks, so called into a butchers shop for a pork pie - it was very nice, but not quite as good as the one from Hinderwell earlier in the week, and cost 20p more (clearly the racehorse-owning local populace have more cash to spend on baked goods). And with that I was back at the station in time to get the 14:03 back home. Much better hangover prevention than sitting around at home watching DVDs and eating crisps.

A Splendid Stroll Through The Kirkham Gorge

Got the 09:48 from Scarborough this morning, to Malton. The train was on time. The other passengers were, or course, the usual bunch of business people and commoners. According to the delightful family across the aisle, Transpennine Express toilets are "the smallest toilets in the world". They've clearly not been on the Caledonian Sleeper. Or to my flat. But if you're trying to fit three people in there at once, what can you reasonably expect?

Took a photo of my self at Malton on arrival, but I looked so terrible I deleted it almost immediately, with the intention of getting another on the way back. My route took me out through the old goods yard - now a housing estate - and on to the riverbank - part of the Centenary Way apparently. My first thought was "what a muddy mess", but in retrospect that was nothing...

Running between the railway and the River Derwent, the path is very flat, very damp, and very windy. And also features cows. I like cows. They're nice. Unless I'm in the field with them, in which case I think they're really scary! Especially when I'm trying to walk quickly away from them, and the field suddenly turns into a swamp! I fear my shoes may never be the same again. Perhaps suede wasn't the best idea.

Cherry Islands, apparently

The Derwent bridge

Huttons Ambo was the next station on the line - "was" being the operative word, having closed to passengers, along with all the other intermediate stations, back in 1930 by the LNER. It's easy to see when you're actually on the train, but from the road it's fairly well hidden, being surrounded by fences, hedges, and the residents' washing lines. 

Does my bum forehead look big in this? (Huttons Ambo)

Random fact: Huttons Ambo served the villages of High Hutton and Low Hutton, the word "Ambo" means "both". Or something.

From Hutton, I had two options - I could either follow the river through the woods, up to the main road, or go up through the village, and across a field to the same point on the main road. I opted for the latter, 'cos I was getting a bit sick of rivers (plus it was shorter). The main road in question is the A64. It has no pavements. It is awful.

Do not walk on the grass verge of the A64, unless you like nettles, brambles, litter and speeding traffic. The A64 is a bastard. However, in it's favour, the A64 leads to Crambeck... 

Crambeck is so  pretty! Considering it's effectively a cul-de-sac off a hideous main road, it's like another world - little cottages, flowers everywhere - even a squirrel! The village street leads steeply down to the railway line and the river. There was never a passenger railway station there - just a coal and goods depot - so I didn't take a picture of myself (it wasn't on the tile map anyway, so would have broken the rules), but I had a good explore. 

Crambeck weighbridge

Crambeck crossing and phonebox

Crambeck became a goods depot, whereas the passenger facilities were at Castle Howard, just a little further along the line - they were kept separate so the gentry arriving to visit the stately home of the same name wouldn't have to deal with "that sort of thing" (I'm sure that's what they would've called it). The station building is now restored as a private residence and a holiday cottage, and looks fantastic considering it's been shut for the past 84 years, but sadly there's no close public access. I got a picture from the gates:

Stupid facial expression. Again. (Castle Howard)

From Castle Howard, it's only three quarters of a mile along the valley to the old station at Kirkham Abbey. The walk winds through woodland, and across fields, and the word "idyllic" doesn't do it justice. The station buildings are now a house, but there's still an operational signalbox, serving the level crossing. If Hornby made a train-set that looked like here, you wouldn't believe it could be real - it's all so perfect!

No comment... (Kirkham Abbey)

Kirkham signalbox

There's the old station and signal-box, overlooking the river, with a quaint old bridge, and the ruined priory (not abbey, despite the station name), and then further up the hill a manor house with a range of Victorian greenhouses and a tiny little pub right at the top. It's one of those places that should only exist in the imagination, but I'm glad it's real :)

After a quick half in the aforementioned tiny little pub - The Stone Trough ; my half-way point - I began to make my way back towards Malton. The scenery reminded me in a strange way of Norfolk - perhaps slightly more undulating, but similar. Walked via Menethorpe (not sure if it counts as a village, or even a hamlet), and Welham (effectively a suburb of the golf course). Got back to Malton with three minutes 'til the next train back to Scarborough, so had enough time to take a less hideous photo of myself on the platform...

Malton - better than the other photo... ;)