Back in the saddle

A bit of revisiting, and some new stuff today, but first a bit of background reasoning...

This weekend has not been a huge success. First of all, there was an 18th birthday party at work on Saturday night, which meant I had to stay an extra two hours, and then yesterday I had the utter joy of cleaning up shit off the carpet. Human shit. I kid you not.

So, feeling somewhat apathetic towards the world of bowls, I requested a day off, using built up lieu time.

JP, Mum and I went for a drive...

First stop was the tea rooms at Sledmere House. Yes, I know it's got nothing to do with railways, but frankly my dear, when they sell sausage sandwiches as good as that, I don't give a damn. I also had a pork and stilton pie from the farm shop. Also very tasty, and helped soak up some of the alcohol from last night. Wine, lager, Guinness and absinthe is perhaps not the best combination. 

With my hunger problems solved, we headed off to the old station picnic site, at Fimber roundabout (or as le Tour de Yorkshire people would have it, Cote de Fimber). The Yorkshire Wolds Railway people were out in force, as at 11am today, their visitor centre was officially opened to the public by none other than Sir Tatton Sykes himself. The little diesel was trundling up and down the track and we got a cab ride! Hurrah!

Mum got somewhat overexcited when the driver let her sound the horn, and I was torn between amusement at the fact they were collecting donations in an empty camembert cheese box, and admiring the rather attractive young man operating the brake levers. Very nice eyes...

But anyway, bought a fridge magnet, and headed back to the car. Was unsure where to go next. JP didn't care, Mum didn't care as long as there was wine, so I consulted my handy 1920s road map (always travel prepared), and directed us to Pocklington.

I've only ever been to Pocklington once before, about 12 years ago to buy a sausage roll, so had no idea what to expect. Luckily, the first car park we located was right next to the old station - and what a splendid station it was! It looks a bit like the one in Filey, crossed with Whitby Town. It closed in 1965, when the line from York to Beverley was hacked away by Dr B. but from the front it's very hard to tell. It's now used as a sports hall for Pocklington School - I peered through a window (half term, so no risk of being suspected as a pervert) and it was all set up with neat rows of desks for forthcoming exams.

Pocklington

We found a pub - the Black Bull - it was very quiet, but had a decent smoking area at the back. Mum approved of the wine! I had a pint of Carling, which was fine - the same as most pints of Carling the world over...

Managed to persuade JP that what he really, really wanted to do next was take me to further old stations. Nunburnholme was next - it's now a house. It isn't very interesting (better than Scalby, obviously). There's not much I can really think to say about it. It was more an exercise in box ticking, but here you are:

Nunburnholme

Mum was by now, once again wishing for wine. Nunburnholme doesn't appear to have a pub nearby, so we drove vaguely northeastward, in an attempt to head towards home (or at least a branch of Wetherspoons). We passed through Middleton-on-the-Wolds - no idea if we passed the station site there. I believe it's been demolished, and sadly, however attractive my 1920s map is, it isn't very useful for locating things. Managed to find Bainton though - now greatly extended and surrounded by a high hedge. It's barely possible to recognise it's railway origins. Oh well.

Bainton

We found a pub eventually - not a Wetherspoons (the one we passed in Driffield looked rank), but the rather pleasant Anvil Arms, in Wold Newton. It overlooks the duckpond - I now wish I'd bothered to take a photo of the lifebelt attached to the phonebox, rather than just poking the decaying corpse of a duck with my foot...

Richard Whiteley (or Can Woodlice Cough?)

So, faced with a Sunday off, I did when any normal person would do. I called Faux-Bro and suggested a trip to finish off the old Malton & Driffield line. Lured by the promise of a pint, he agreed, so with the dulcet tones of Stevie Nicks echoing through a cloud of Lambert & Butler smoke, we zoomed across the Wolds. I would like to apologise once again to Scott the MerseyTart, but realistically without vehicular assistance I was never going to get to Wetwang on a Sunday otherwise. 

First port of call was the old station site at Sledmere & Fimber, as my usual slight hangover was demanding a cup of tea from the cafe. Irritatingly it was closed, so unrefreshed, I had a smoke amongst the trees, and pondered next moves. 

Being a Sunday, there was activity happening at the new Fimber Halt. It hasn't opened to the public yet, but there were a couple of people busying about with various tasks. The carriage has been newly painted and looks very smart - certainly much better than when I last visited! 

Wetwang - blinded by the sun

Wetwang isn't far away - only about two miles - but we drove. It's a fairly busy road, with no footpaths, and anyway I was wearing the wrong sort of shoes. The old station is on the imaginatively named "Station Hill", just north of the village centre. The turn off, should anyone so wish to go and have a look (doubtful, I know) is just by the duck pond on the main street.

After taking the requisite crap photo of myself, we had a look around the church - open of course (Hurrah for low rural crime rates!) - and then retired for a pint in the Black Swan's very windy beer garden. Thankfully the management have provided a glass screen, to shelter the bit nearest the doors, so I was at least able to smoke my ten millionth cigarette of the day, despite my propensity for buying cheap crappy lighters, which blow out if a so much as a woodlouse coughs nearby.

Half eaten

With the hair of the dog, working it's magic, there was just enough time to call in at the chippy for a battered sausage (fnaar) - I find it the sign of a good establishment when one has to queue up behind several mallards. No doubt the cost was put on their bills...

We gobbled up the sausage (stop sniggering), by the pond, and then headed back up and over the Wolds towards home, smug in the knowledge that at no point did anyone make any comments about Wetwang having a stupid name...

The Hills Have Eyes

An unexpected Quest yesterday - I was planning to spend the day sitting in the flat, reading a book, eat snacks and being tormented by Plume, but Faux-Bro had other ideas. As it was his day off, and I wasn't working 'til 5pm he suggested going out to the Wolds to have a nosey round the deserted medieval village of Wharram Percy, so immediately in my mind, I started plotting how many stations I could "accidentally" include in the trip.

First stop was a quick fag-break at the picnic site at Fimber roundabout, which just so happened to be the location of the (now demolished) Sledmere & Fimber station. Virtually all trace of the railway has gone, to be replaced by grass, benches, and old people drinking tea from a wooden hut. 

Sledmere & Fimber - possibly a bit of an old coal bunker?

After reading various notice boards about the history and wildlife in the area, I wandered round the back of the tea-building, and crept off into the nettles (shorts + nettles = not overly wise) to hunt for relics. There was a bit of old stone wall, which was presumably part of the platform, or maybe a foundation of the station house, and a curious concrete structure with a tree growing out of it, which may have been the stationmaster's coal hole. Who knows?

The oddest thing we found (relatively speaking - things got considerably creepier later, but more anon.) was a tiny plastic figurine of an angel, nestling in the undergrowth. What it was there for, I do not know... 

With the old station thoroughly investigated, I set off along the main road, past the crossing keepers' cottage (now a bed & breakfast), to where the Yorkshire Wolds Railway people are establishing themselves. Their site isn't open to the public just yet, but can be easily seen as it's right next the fence - no trespassing required! Hurrah! Their current plan is to run trains from a new station at Fimber Halt (just about visible in the picture, near the yellow shunter) to a terminus at Wetwang Green Lane, and once open it will be the only steam railway in East Yorkshire. Ooooh!

Back in the car (sorry Scott!), and still with the intention of getting to Wharram Percy, I directed Faux-Bro onto a country lane, rather than the main road, on the pretense it was more scenic. After a mile or so, I persuaded him to let me out so I could pose about where Burdale station used to be. At first glance, this looked like it was going to be totally impossible (impassable?) as the station here was on top of an embankment, which is now covered in nettles and brambles, with barbed wire all round it. Oh dear!

Good place to hide a body...

We walked along the fence line, looking for a suitable access point, and eventually stumbled on a way up, but even then, the way back to the station remnants looked totally blocked. As a consolation, I suggested a wander into the old quarry instead, which Faux-Bro accepted as a good substitute. Burdale Quarry is pretty huge, but has been closed nearly as long as the railway line - which shut for good in 1958 - so now it's being colonised by rabbits, orchids, and the occasional bird of prey. I think it might be a nature reserve, but I'm not sure.

Having now resigned myself to the fact I wasn't going to actually get right up to the station itself, we agreed that a walk along to the tunnel mouth would be a pleasing substitute. After navigating through a herd of cows (who all found it necessary to herald our passing with extravagant squirts of shite), the portal was before us, but was, quite unsurprisingly bricked up, with just a grill part way up for ventilation. Wanting to peer inside, I gripped the rusty metal bars, and pulled myself up to have a look. The grill hinged outwards, like a door, inviting us in...

Descending the ladder inside, into the void, the darkness was positively velvety, and the air much cooler and damper than outside. The tunnel stretched off into total blackness, so we couldn't go too far, not having brought torches. I was inspecting the scratched-in graffiti on the brickwork when all of a sudden Faux-Bro shouted "A skull!", but it wasn't human, just a sheep. Is it odd I was slightly disappointed?

Back out in the open air, after passing back through the still-shitting cows, we walked back towards the car. Somehow, we managed to locate the ruined station platforms, despite seemingly walking the same way we'd already been! There's not much left, just stones poking out of the undergrowth. The main buildings fell down long ago and have returned to nature.

Burdale - not much remains...

But anyway! Onward! 

Time was ticking on, so we drove off, over the head of the valley, to finally get to Wharram Percy. Except we didn't - not straight away anyway. First of all there was the distraction of the opposite end of the tunnel - certainly no exploration possibilities this time though, as the approach cutting is filled with mud and slime and the grill is considerably higher anyway. We had a poke about in a derelict platelayers' hut, and then finally got around to visiting the deserted medieval village.

Irritatingly, despite the pleasant weather all morning, the sky gods decided it would now be a good time to send down some rain! The only place to shelter was the ruin of the church, but that was already occupied by a group of cubs (too young to be proper scouts) messing about and eating sandwiches, so we stood under a tree by the pond and had a quick smoke. 

The rain eventually eased off, so rather than heading straight back to the car park, we walked back to where the old railway line crossed the path, and turned northward towards Wharram's old station. The trackbed here is now used as part of the Centenary Way (I still haven't worked out what it's the centenary of), and is bounded on both sides by bushes. 

Spying an interesting gap in the trees to the east, we slipped through into post-apocalyptic Soviet Russia., or as it's more commonly known: The Wharram Quarry chalk-crusher. With more concrete, rust and broken glass than you could shake a stick at, we were reminded of Pripiyat - the city abandoned after the Chernobyl disaster. It's impressive how nature can gradually reclaim something industrial and ugly, and make it into quite a magical environment. The only sour note was the vast amount of empty shotgun cartridges lying around in heaps...

Not wishing to be peppered with lead, we rejoined the path and very shortly were at the former Wharram station. It's fared considerably better than the other two we visited, and has been converted into a very tasteful private house, but not over-done - it still bears it's railway origins with pride. Even the water tower remains as an unusual garden feature!

Wharram

Adventure time was now done for the day, so we headed back the mile or so to the car. The drive was pleasant - we stopped at the Blue Bell at Weaverthorpe for a pint, and then it was home to feed the cat. All's well that ends well.