TADS #63:Scarborough (or Postcards Of Scarborough).

"Two postcards of Scarborough just to keep in my mind, to hide away up there and help me remind myself of time past and time passing" - Postcards of Scaborough, Michael Chapman

I've long loved Michael Chapman's mournful, and beautiful, ballad Postcards of Scarborough and I've seen pictures of Scarborough (but never been) and it looked great (reminded me a bit of Llandudno) so when it came to arranging this year's (the NINTH) two day TADS trek, Scarborough seemed a pretty good choice.Then Pam told me her sister Val, and Val's husband Eric, lived there and we could stay with them.

That was it. Decision made and, luckily, at least eight others decided to join us. It's quite a trek though. Those driving took the longest but this is my blog so I'm only reporting on my journey. A 63 bus to KX station, a delayed train to York with Pam and Mo (both of whom I'd met on the concourse), a beer in the real ale pub on York station, and then another delayed, and absolutely rammed, train to Scarborough.

The delays were not a major inconvenience, we even got some money back on the delay repay scheme, and the journeys were actually good fun. On the first train a youngish guy befriended an elder ladies dog to everybody's glee and on the second train virtually everyone in the carriage was yammering away while a young boy impressed us all with his knowledge of the height of various tall buildings. Cliched friendly northerners or just happy holidaymakers? It's hard to tell but it's worth observing that from Doncaster to Scarborough the journey time was two hours. And both those places are in Yorkshire. Yorkshire's big.

 

On arriving in Scarborough, or Scarbados, Val (Pam's sister) came to pick Pam and myself up so we could drop our stuff off at her and husband Eric's absolutely lovely house (seriously, everything about it was amazing but I particularly loved the kitchen and the beautiful garden - and was really touched by the WELCOME DAVE sign in 'my' room).

 

Val even furnished us with some booze as I picked her and Eric's brains for local knowledge. Then Eric drove us into town (advising us to avoid the foreshore pubs as they're full of Wessies - West Yorkshire folk from Leeds and Bradford apparently - getting tanked up all day on John Smiths) and dropped us off at The Leeds Tavern where we met Mo and downed a couple of pints of delightful Timothy Taylor Landlord.

From The Leeds Tavern, it was along the front and up some impressive steps (Scarborough is architecturally a treat to visit) alongside a funicular to the Bike & Boot (near The Grand, or - as Eric joked - not so Grand, Hotel) for food and more drinks and to catch up with Adam and Teresa. The Bike & Boot had a strange toilet. I had mac'n'cheese.

After that Adam, Teresa, and Mo turned in and Pam and I went to meet with Big Neil, Bee, Neil, and Tina at the Crescent Bar. They were hosting an open mic night and though it looked very unpromising to begin with that soon changed. There was a guy doing poetry in a very dry John Cooper Clarke style (he even included a line about Scarborough's infamous wanking walrus) and a guy so frail he could barely climb on to the stage (even though it was only about four inches high) but then performed a version of Hurt (a Nine Inch Nails tune though this cover was definitely the Johnny Cash version) which bought a lump to my throat and a tear or two to Neil's eye.

It was lovely and Val came out and gave me and Pam a lift home. We felt like teenagers. I slept pretty well in the very comfy bed provided and, a bit of an issue with acid reflux aside, enjoyed a lovely breakfast of beans and scrambled egg on toast with veggie sausages. Val and Eric's adorable dog Tallisker (Tali) sniffing round my feet in hope of an extra feed.

Then the four of us took the short, twenty minutes or so, walk into town where, by the ferris wheel - the designated meeting place, we met with Adam, Teresa, Mo, Tina, Neil, Big Neil, and Bee (Cath wouldn't be joining us until later that evening) and started the walk by heading south along the seafront.

I love seaside towns. I love the buzz, the lights, the sense of excitement, the sound of happy children, the sand, the sea itself, the cliffs, the hotels. I love pretty much everything about seaside towns and Scarborough now firmly ranks among my all time favourites. Having said that, though, I didn't fancy a dip. Some brave souls were swimming in it. It can't have been very warm.

 

There's some amazing Victorian architecture on show (plus a bit of Art Deco) to boot and an incredibly picturesque bridge. The Cliff Bridge, formerly the Spa Bridge, was completed in 1827 and is Grade II listed. It does a great job of framing that section of the Scarborough coastline.

There was a tough, short, route and an easier, longer, route to the top of the cliff so we took the latter. Passing where Scarborough's least celebrated (these days) former resident Jimmy Savile used to live and bringing us out on the site of the former Holbeck Hall Hotel. It's no longer there because in 1993, after standing for 114 years, it fell off the cliff. Thankfully - and luckily, nobody was harmed.

 

Once we'd reached the top of the cliffs it was a gentle, winding, rolling path that took us inland through wheat fields at times as well as occasionally on to quiet roads festooned with camper vans. At the Salty Dog snack bar we stopped, after a brief and fairly unanimous vote, for a break. I had an R Whites Lemonade (I don't know if you've heard the rumours but I'm a secret lemonade drinker) and the pack-up (that's Yorkshire for packed lunch) that Val had generously made for me.

The Neils and Tina decided to walk along the beach and climb a steepish hill to meet the rest of us who'd continued along the cliff top. I was torn as I wanted to do both but decided to stick with the bulk of the gang. Eric was pretty much leading the way and that gave me a chance to drop back and chat to people more than I an normally able to. For that, among many other things, I'd like to thank Eric.

 

The view continued to inspire, the breeze was gentle, and the mood among the troops was buoyant. We passed holiday camps and looked out to the impressive promontory of Filey Brigg before slowly beginning to descend into Filey itself. Eric had a couple of friends there and he'd phoned ahead to see if they'd like to meet us for a drink. They suggested we pop round to their place. I don't think they realised there were twelve of us!

With the gang spreading out, we made our way to The Imperial pub in Filey (a place where Pam certainly didn't want to mention who she worked for) for some good craic. Teresa (AKA Filey Riley) told us how her parents spent their honeymoon in Filey so her and Adam and a few others went off to explore while the rest of us, lazily, stayed in the pub. I should have joined them as I don't know when I'll get a chance to visit Filey again.

We reconvened at Filey station where some weird incident involving a mobile phone was happening and the train back to Scarborough was, of course, delayed. We passed the time by having a very jolly game of Heads Up and I wonder what other travellers might have thought when they caught a glimpse of nearly a dozen middle aged ramblers impersonating chickens on the platform!

Back in Scarborough, once Mo had retrieved several packets of Oor Willie's Iron Brew Bon Bons (The Very Dab! - they looked like internal organs that had been removed during a gruesome operation and didn't taste much better) for a man who dropped his bag getting into a car, we had time for one more drink - and to meet Cath - before the curry.

Trouble is, August Bank Holiday weekend on a Saturday night in a seaside town, everywhere was rammed. The Craft Bar was too busy, the bar in the Stephen Joseph Theatre was too busy, and the Victoria Hotel bar wasn't too busy but, quite remarkably, had no beer. The Stumble Inn looked like it had a bit of character but it was still full. There was one small table outside so some of us had a quick one there while the rest went elsewhere.

We all met up again in the Taj which we'd booked earlier. But we'd only booked for eight people and there were twelve of us. It was a tactic which we thought we'd remedy on the night and though it was a little stressful to begin with we did all manage to squeeze in eventually. Apart from bringing out the wrong dish to begin with, everything else was great about the Taj. Tasty food, BYO booze keeping the prices down, and waiters who were over to the table (usually with bottle openers) as soon as we asked while not being too in your face. Can't recommend it enough but would advise booking for the correct amount of diners in future.

After that, Eric, Val, Pam, and I headed back 'home', Eric and I watched a bit of Match of the Day and I turned in for the night. The first day had been grand (like the hotel) and the second day wouldn't be a let down either.

 

This time, Eric wouldn't be joining us as he was playing at a festival with his ska band (that's my sort of person) but he would end up meeting us twice throughout the course of the day. Once at the start of the walk and then again in the evening. We met by the ferris wheel again but this time with an extra surprise. As we were waiting I got a call from Tina. Her and Neil were on the wheel, a wheel that earlier Val had said she'd never seen anybody go on.

Tempting though it was to go in the arcades, go for a ride on a pirate boat, or play a round of crazy gold, we instead headed north along the foreshore. The initial plan had been to try and reach the incredibly beautiful looking Robin Hood's Bay but further research suggested that was foolhardy and would have been too much so I decided Hayburn Wyke would be our destination for the day. No pub stops (because, except the pubs in Scarbados itself, there were no pubs en route) meant five hours and twenty minutes of solid walking with only a few very brief breaks to catch breath. Some felt the pain a little. These walks aren't supposed to be hard but they're not supposed to be TOO easy either.

 

Instead of going up to visit Scarborough Castle and Anne Bronte's grave, we carried on round Marine Drive between the sea and the cliffs. Passing more camper vans and lots of circular mountings on the seawall telling stories about Scarborough's history (which was handy as I hadn't prepared my usual spiel for this walk). Although I noticed there wasn't one devoted to Jimmy Savile or his paedophile accomplice, mayor and ice cream man Peter Jaconelli.

A nice memorial to Freddie Gilroy & the Belsen Stragglers had me musing that that sounded like an unfortunately named sixties beat combo but the large bench provided a good photo op for some of the ladies. There were some lovely pastel shaded beach huts, a last chance for a toilet break, and the beach was packed with people frolicking and taking a dip. All was good. I wanted to stay for at least a week.

Near The Old Scalby Mill pub (tempting but too soon) we crossed a footbridge and ascended to a windy clifftop. Val assured me she'd never heard of anyone being blown off the cliffs but I wondered if I may be the first. We were on the Cleveland Way and we would be staying on the Cleveland Way for quite a long time. We passed some other walkers who had left Robin Hood's Bay at 9am that morning. We don't start that early!

 

There's not much up on those cliffs, except the odd bird observatory, but the views are incredible. Mostly it was flat but every now and then we had to descend and ascend some steepish steps which some found easier than others. We're a friendly group though and if someone is struggling, someone else will help them out.

With Eric banging out Madness covers elsewhere, it was up to me to lead today so I strode ahead at the front, perhaps going a bit too fast for some - but, hey, I wanted to get to the pub. We crossed stepping stones, climbed through wooded areas, and went up and down more sets of steps than I cared to count. But, eventually, we reached Hayburn Wyke where folks had two options. Go straight to the pub or look at the waterfall and then go to the pub.

 

Mo wanted to know if the waterfall was as impressive as Iguazu Falls and I had to point out that, no the waterfall would not be as impressive as Iguazu Falls. If North Yorkshire had a waterfall that looked like Iguazu Falls I think that's something that would be quite widely known. So Mo, and Bee, went to the pub and the rest of us went to have a look at a waterfall that Val had warned us was not particularly interesting.

Big Neil joked it looked like a sewer pipe and Adam nearly fell over on the rocks trying to get a better look but it was worth the extra few minutes I thought and the climb back up wasn't so bad (there were kids of about five/six years old doing it easily). The Hayburn Wyke pub wasn't so bad either but they'd stopped doing food (though they were dishing up free roast potatoes at the bar) so Bee handily booked somewhere up in Scarborough later. The taxis had been booked for 6.30pm so we had about two hours in the pub which we passed easily playing silly games (names five bands beginning with Q, name five television programmes beginnning with Z, and, for Cath and Mo, a film trivia game).

 

Back in Scarborough, we were dropped off at the Scarborough Flyer. Not one of the town's finest pubs but as a late replacement for somewhere to eat it served its purpose. I had veggie burger and chips and even though the pub looked like a Wetherspoons it wasn't one. It had lots of huge screens that would be used for showing sport but there was no sport on, just pundits talking about sport.

So we didn't linger long once we'd filled our bellies. We headed to the Merchant, a slightly tatty Irish bar but one full of character - and a really grim tap in the men's bog, where we had more drinks (my birthday was later in the week so I didn't have to pay for many - thanks generous folk - for the drinks and the cards) and a real good chinwag. It was a lovely way to round out the weekend although the weekend, for some of us, was not quite over yet.

Eric, Val, Pam, and I headed back and then the next day, after another lovely breakfast, we had a tour of Peasholm Park. A magical place. Beautiful gardens and lake, a funfair with a really bizarre water chute, dragon boats, and lots of happy holidaymakers. I felt sad that our short holiday was coming to an end but it was. Pam and I were dropped off at the station where we met with Mo. We had a quick drink in Koda Coffee and took the train to York and then another, delayed of course, back to London where we said our goodbyes and that was it for another year. I'm so glad I finally got to visit Scarborough and I must say I leave with very fond memories of the place and hope to visit again one day and, next time, go in those arcades, go on that ferris wheel, visit Robin Hood's Bay, and avoid the pub with no beer.

Thanks to Pam, Mo, Big Neil, Bee, Cath, Tina, Normal Sized Neil, Adam, and Teresa for a lovely weekend and extra special thanks to Val and Eric for being the greatest hosts ever (seriously, lifts, beds, breakfast, drinks, local knowledge, and, best of all, plenty of laughter). Here's some more photos of all the weird and wonderful wallies that made this postcard from Scaborough such a lovely thing to have to write. Where next year?