Possibly cheating? Bovvered!

Further ramblings up the Esk Valley line today. All stations visited by car - this probably counts as cheating, but in my defence, there's only four trains each way per day, the bus service up the valley is negligible, and I was offered a lift by JP so it would've been rude not to accept... haha!

Sleights - not trespassing on the disused platform, honest...

First off was Sleights, which is currently for sale. Mum says she'll buy it if she wins the Euromillions. North Yorkshire Moors Railway services pass through here, as well as Northern Rail trains from Middlesbrough, but didn't see any. Had a wander round Perry's Plants & Tea Garden, on the opposite bank of the river, and considered buying a terracotta Loch Ness Monster lawn ornament, but relented when I remembered I don't have a lawn...

Glaisdale

Next stop (missing out Grosmont and Egton, having been to those yesterday) was Glaisdale. Examined the Beggars Bridge over the river, and I poked my toe into the ford, then walked up the hill past the coal cells, to the station itself, the main building of which is, coincidentally, also for sale. If I win the Euromillions, I'll buy Sleights for Mum and Glaisdale for me, and I'll visit her by train. I'd have to demolish the naff conservatory at the back though - totally not in-keeping - and restore the signalbox too. Perhaps put a bar in the locking-room?... 

Lealholm(e) - the "E" is optional

The next village up the valley is Lealholm (although the big tile map spells it erroneously as "Lealholme"). Didn't explore here much, as there was an angry barking dog in the garden across the tracks, and a sinister man in the station porch. In all fairness, it was probably just the owner of the station house, and he probably thought I was equally as sinister, loitering around taking pictures of his stonework.

Danby

Last call was Danby - Scabby OS map doesn't go any further, and JP hadn't brought his SatNav. Again, photography opportunities were limited by not wishing to seem really creepy and weird. Like Egton yesterday - Danby station is home to a playgroup... 

The Joyous Adventures of Snakey-Boo

A birthday quest yesterday!

Despite a night out in Bacchus the night before, I met Mum at 8.30am and got the bus up to Whitby. Gotho joined us and we all had a breakfast in Wetherspoons. There's something about fried food that eradicates any potential hangover - I think they should be available on the NHS.

Caught the 11am train to Goathland, on the North York Moors Railway. No major occurances to report on the journey - the other passengers were all well-behaved; no children singing, no loud foreigners jabbering nonsense - nothing to rile me. The gods were clearly smiling.

I am smiling in Goathland - am I too a god? Perhaps not.

Wandered through Goathland - which despite the grey weather, and the cancellation several years ago of Heartbeat, was still quite busy with tourists - and along the road to Beck Hole. Turned of through the fields down towards Water Ark, which has a curious arrangement of bridges, and a good supply of hairy caterpillars too.

Called in to the Birch Hall Inn, for a birthday pint of Black Sheep in the beer garden, next to the river, then joined the historic Rail Trail beside the Murk Esk. 

Mum found a pile of shoelaces beside the path, and was about to pick it up (she's a bit like a magpie in some respects), but it turned out to be an adder. Couldn't get a photo 'cos it squirmed off into the undergrowth, so had to satisfy myself with receiving admiring glances from sheep instead. It was a pleasant stroll, and very quiet - think everybody else must have stayed within staggering distance of The Aidensfield Arms. Mum was pleased at the amount of wildflowers - orchids in particular, while Gotho found more than enough entertainment from the signs for the Deviation Shed at Grosmont.

Looking slightly less hungover at Grosmont

Watched a bit of vintage railway activity for a while, then bought a pie from the Co-op (still no match for Hinderwell). There was still some time to wait before the steam train back to Whitby, so I persuaded the others to walk to Egton Bridge and back - it being only a mile and a half away up the Esk Valley, with a lovely pub (The Postgate Inn) right next the station.

The walk seemed a lot further than it should have done - the sun was coming out now, so I had to carry my coat - but at least I saw a dead pheasant, and fed some dandelion leaves to a field of friendly hens. Took a couple of photos at Egton station - the main building is now a nursery, so I'm probably on some sort of register now - but disaster! The pub was shut!

Egton. Nice station, shame about the pub :(

Despite the disappointment of no alcohol, all was not lost. Had a quick nose around St Hedda's church. It's Catholic so the interior decor is a lot more glamorous than your average C of E establishment - particularly liked the golden stars all over the ceiling. The walk back to Grosmont seemed much quicker than the outward journey (sun back behind clouds now), and we got the train back to Whitby with time to spare. 

Best of all, the refreshment trolley was selling wine! Brillo!

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.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

After delivering some odd bits to Gotho's flat yesterday, JP kindly drove myself and mum out to Kettleness - reportedly Yorkshire's most remote village - for a coastal stroll.
Kettleness station (closed in 1958) is owned by a scout group, as a sort of bunkhouse, and is very well-preserved. It's hard to imagine it was ever very well-used, unless the farm next door was exceptionally busy, but the view is beautiful. The coastal vista was also handy for the Romans - the base of one of their signal stations is nearby but we didn't bother visiting it.

Kettleness

The walk from the station towards Runswick was at first quite difficult to find - the Cleveland Way is very well-signposted, but scabby OS map directed me on a different route, further from the cliff top, to appease

A nice bridge

Mum's fear of heights. Eventually, after slipping and sliding through some liquefied cow poo in a farmyard, and traversing a field of sheep, we found the correct route. We followed the trackbed for a while, and then cut across a field towards the coast, before dropping down into a deep valley. What began as a pleasant, winding, wooded path, quickly became stairs, before suddenly transforming into something resembling the Dakota Badlands, or the Khyber Pass...

One side was a rockface of rotting shale, and the other was a near-

Actually a path...

vertical drop into a ravine. Scabby OS map was clearly laughing inwardly at this point, and as we reached the bottom of the crevasse the path disappeared completely and turned into a stream. Oops.

Luckily, the rock-scrambling was short lived, and we were rewarded with an easy stroll across the sands of Runswick Bay. 

We had a quick catch-up with JP outside the tea room - he was driving to our destination, to save us having to walk back or catch a bus - and dumped our coats in the car (far too warm for multiple layers!). We meandered up through the village (only getting slightly lost and accidentally cutting through someone's garden once), then continued along the road to Hinderwell.

Hinderwell...

On first impressions, Hinderwell is shite. The station has been completely demolished and replaced by a small industrial estate and a children's play area. The railway cottages remain, so we passed those and wandered into a fairly dire (architecturally) post-war council estate. Thinking about it, railway lines (even closed down ones) tend to go through the mankier areas of towns - just look at Edgehill and Barrowcliff in Scarborough. I think I blame the Germans.

HURRAH!

OMG! YES!

Once on the main village street though, things began to look up. There was a couple of pubs, a chip-shop, and (insert trumpet fanfare here) a butchers advertising pies for a pound! Obviously I had to have one, and it was amazingly good, but that wasn't the end of Hinderwell's unexpected greatness - one of the pubs was called The Badger Hounds - effectively a Sausage Dog pub! Wow!

Obviously, after such excitement, even St. Hilda's sacred well in the churchyard took second place, and with a spring in my step, and a stomach full of meaty pastry, we strode out for the final station of the day...

Staithes is a lovely traditional old fishing village, with pretty little cottages, and quaint pubs and shops...

So obviously the route I navigated for us took us through the obligatory council estate, past the allotments, through a demolished bridge and round the back of the fishfinger factory, before reaching the slightly dilapidated old station - which is  used as a house, or possibly some sort of squat. 

The rough end of Staithes I think.

Just time to make our way down the hill to the Cod & Lobster, for a wine overlooking the sea, before heading home in the car. 

All's well that ends well.

Slugs, slugs, glorious slugs

A group activity today. Went to Whitby with Mum, JP and Gotho, to visit Squirrille, Fraser and Scaramanga. The original intention was to play crazy golf at the Arnold Palmer course (I doubt Arnold Palmer actually designed it - if indeed he is even a real person), but it was shut -presumably 'cos either A: the fog was amazing, or B: it is no longer the school holidays, so instead I managed to persuade the others to join me on a PlatformCat adventure northwards along the route of the Whitby, Redcar and Middlesbrough Union Railway, up the coast to Sandsend.

JP and Scaramanga set off in the car, while Mum, Fraser, Gotho and Scaramanga headed off along the road by foot. First port of call was the old Whitby West Cliff station - now a small residential area called Beeching Mews (!) - and I was assisted in photography by Fraser. Apparently the selfie I took was gash, so the snatched the camera from me and this was the result:

Whitby West Cliff - Hope none of the residents were looking out...

From there. the route took us past the Kingdom Hall of Jehovah's Witnesses (spit, spit!), the football ground, and this really weird garden. I think the owners must be on drugs.

After that, we passed along beside the golf course. Gothos and my's rendition of "The Red Car and The Blue Car Had a Race" from the old Milky Way advert was amazing as we traversed Newholm Beck, and then we were beside the sea. At this point I educated everyone with a thrilling lecture about the origins of the coast road. Originally, the main road north of Whitby was on the beach (tidal conditions permitting), but a Maharajah of somewhere, was (for some reason) living in Mulgrave Castle, and he had a proper road built, above the strand line, because his elephants didn't like walking on sand. True fact.

Sandsend

After catching up with JP and Scaramanga outside the Hart Inn, Sandsend's old station (closed since 1958) was soon reached. Only Gotho and I walked up the steps to it, having left Fraser at the pub, and mum at the public loos. There was only a small amount of possible trespassing involved - or at least, creeping through a hedge - and lots of slugs. Seriously, I think there must be a slug-plantation nearby. All over the place! Proper black ones too - not those nasty fever-slugs...

But yeah, we backtracked to to the pub via this goat,

I <3 goats

and I heard a well-earned pint of Black Sheep, beside a proper open fire. Brillo!

Windy on the Wold

After a hearty breakfast in Scarborough, and a quick slash in Morrisons', JP drove Mum and myself back down the coast and dumped us out at Speeton.

Surprisingly, despite it's bleak, windy and remote location, Speeton station only closed in 1970. Can't imagine it was ever very well used, 'cos it's not particularly near the village, and even if it was, there's only about 6 houses there anyway.

Speeton appears to have been Tango-ed.

The wind appeared to blowing straight from the Steppes of Russia, and the local architecture had a touch of beyond the Iron Curtain too - ruined sheds, a lot of post war-concrete, and curious metal masts of various shapes and sizes. Even the farms seemed to me like they could belong to some sort of People's Collective...

 Called into the garden centre at Reighton, as a quick diversion - pricing up olive trees, to replace my sadly-deceased geranium - then dropped down of the wolds into Hunmanby. The landscape became a lot less Soviet, and the buildings were a lot less forbidding, but still hardly any people around.

Windswept in Hunmanby

The main street had quite a lot of shops open, but very few customers - bought a tuna pizza from the Hunmanby Pantry and possibly doubled their day's takings! Ate while wandering behind the church, and just as I finished, disturbed somebody else having their lunch:

Do you want fries with that?

Pies, Pies, Pies! Yes!

What a fantastic and unexpected start!

What should have just been a day of lugging furniture about for my Gothic brother, managed to randomly include two extra stations, and all because of pie...

Me and les parents were driving up to Whitby, and on approaching Sneaton Corner on  the A171, my stepfather (JP) suddenly announced a desire for a pie from Jackson's at Ruswarp. I didn't need asking twice of course, so we made a quick diversion down into the valley. Alas, the pork pies had run out, but the disaster was averted with a pork and apple, a bacon and egg, and a cheese and onion pasty, so a potential crisis was averted.

After nomming down the pies in the car park, I suggested to Mum that me and her could walk along the new path under the Larpool viaduct, and impressively (given her advancing years) she said yes.

Christ I look pasty... (Ruswarp)

The the sun was shining, the lambs were gamboling in the fields, and I was full of meat and pastry - could a day get any better? The last time I walked between Ruswarp and Whitby (admittedly, in the other direction), the path didn't exist - so a long portion of it was actually achieved by walking along the track itself. And before anyone rings up the British Transport Police, please be aware it was about 15 years ago, so they probably won't give a crap any more. And anyway - at the time, there were only four trains a day (the NYMR still terminated in Grosmont), so it was hardly risky.

Larpool Viaduct

But anyway, historical trespass anectdotes aside, it was delightful. Mum was thrilled to spot wild violets, blackthorn flowers, broom, greater stitchwort (I kid you not), and despite the surface being somewhat uneven in places and thus uncomfortable underfoot (stupid cheap Primark shoes...) it was thoroughly enjoyable.

Every so often I pointed out historical railway based places of interest - where the Whitby and Pickering Railway cut off a meander and straightened the Esk; the former site of Bog Hall Junction, the point where the siding for the gasworks was... - but I think Mum was far more interested in the oystercatchers running about on the low-tide uncovered riverbed. Note to self: Not everyone is as big a geek as me...

Gay.

Aggresive.

When we got to Whitby, after passing behind the picturesquely scruffy boatyard, and the old engine shed (Don't get me started on this - it makes me angry), we made a quick detour into Whitby station (formerly Whitby Town), to take the required photo.

Whitby (Town). Tragic hair.

There were no trains due for a while, so I didn't feel completely idiotic taking a photo of myself (4 photos in fact - the other three of which were even worse than the one above). I'm not sure how I'll cope taking selfies in actual busy stations in the future. I don't mind the quiet, obscure, closed-down locations like Hayburn Wyke, or Wykeham, but I'm going to feel like a proper bell-end in real places like York, for example, or Hull.

Note to self: Don't even think about Leeds yet. Oh my God...

Quadruplets, but no pie!

An early start this morning - the 08:55 bus from Scarborough to Thornton-le-Dale. Very quiet onboard - barely any passengers. This I find strange - during the week, when the bus was retimed from 9am to 8.55, all the local OAPs went crazy, because it meant they couldn't use their bus passes, but on a Saturday, when there are no time restrictions, they all want a lie-in 'cos it's the weekend. Correct me if I'm wrong, but surely if you're retired every day is the weekend?

But anyway, enough of that - back to the main reason for this blog...

Look - I've trimmed me beard! (Thornton Dale)

Thornton Dale railway station (note the lack of "-le-". Presumably the North Eastern Railway thought it was a pretentious French-ism) closed to passengers in 1950, and is now owned by the Overbrook Caravan Park. The name is rather apt, as the platforms and track were built partially on a bridge directly over the stream that the village is famous for.

The station bridge, over the brook

From Thornton, I crossed two fords in quick succession - one over the proper stream, and then the other over the mill race. I then wound my way through a small woodland area, and then along back lanes to the edge of the village, where I had to briefly follow the main A170 for a short while. 

The next village - Wilton - can be sensed long before it is reached. It stinks of cows, or, more specifically, cow turds. At first it's fairly rank, but after a while you get used to it though, and you don't notice it any more, although I noticed that nobody appeared to have hung their washing out...

Before the next photo, a quick explanatory note may be necessary, regarding station names. The station in Allerston, was never called Allerston. It was called Wilton - despite not being in Wilton - and is thus named on the big tile map. However, in 1903 it was renamed Ebberston - even though, again, it wasn't in Ebberston. That's Edwardian logic for you...

Whatever it was called - it has been restored as "Ebberston" (but purely for pedantic purposes I am tagging it as Wilton) and has track, and carriages in the platform which can be rented out for holidays. It's all very neatly kept, and even the weighbridge is neat and tidy. Sadly, there doesn't appear to be a station cat, but there was a chicken, which will have to do.

Allerston, no, Ebberston, erm Wilton... What???

After this, the next village is Ebberston (Erk! My brain hurts!), which only ever had a crossing-keeper's cottage - now a house with a garden full of sheep - and then it's along the road to Snainton, which was opened as Snainton, remained as Snainton, and is nowadays called Snainton. Phew.

Why so serious? (Snainton)

Until recently, the building was used as a garage business, but recently they've moved next door into the old goods yard and converted the station into houses. Honestly I can't say it's the most exciting conversion I've ever seen, but at least they haven't done a Scalby and flattened the lot - at least they've left the big monkey-puzzle tree at the end of the platform...

A relic from the stationmaster's garden?

The final station of the day, thus completing the whole of the Forge Valley Line, is in Brompton, but Edwardian Logic (or perhaps Victorian?) comes to the fore once more. The station was always called Sawdon - after a village a few miles away, in the hills to the north. Is it any wonder the line closed due to low passenger numbers? Probably nobody knew where the hell they were!

Quiff-tastic in Brompton Sawdon

The station here has been nicely restored as holiday cottages, and I can imagine them being very popular as Brompton is a very pretty village, with it's little streams gurgling along at the roadside, and chickens, ducks and geese milling about all over the place. There's also a very good butchers on the main street - Glave's - which sells excellent home made pies. As I had about twenty minutes to spare before catching the bus back home (and after walking for three hours, being quite hungry) I headed up to the shop. As I approached I could see the canopy was still unfurled, and the "Open" sign was waving gaily in the breeze. The lights were on, and there were people busying themselves inside...

But DISASTER! Saturday! Half-day closing! They closed at 12.30pm, and it was now 12.43!

13 minutes late for pastry-clad meaty goodness! Nooooo!

Luckily, there happens to be a very good bakery just round the corner from my house, so I called in when I got off the bus, and took it home. Much better than eating it out of a bag.

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... ;)