Roundabout Monkseaton, Tynemouth, and Whitley Bay – Local community information and advertising magazines

ALL AT SEA: Back To School

July 30, 2016

I enrolled at South Shields Marine & Technical College at the end of September 1959 for a three month course which was, basically, a crash course to pass a Second Mate’s examination.

This included mathematics, navigation, seamanship, English, cargo work, chart work and signals, which I would, together with my classmates, be examined on by the Board of Trade at the end of the course. There was also an Orals examination on Rules of the Road for Preventing Collisions at Sea: basic seamanship and ship knowledge and everyone dreaded this. All this would be taken in the space of one week, a daunting task. The overall pass mark was 70%.

Signals was a separate examination which included Morse code, semaphore, and knowledge of the International Code of Signals, with a pass mark of 98%! The latter subject was a system of sending messages by flags, the first part involving single flag ‘hoists,’ each flag alphabetical and with a meaning. For example, ‘B’, which was a red burgee meant ‘I am carrying explosives’ and the ‘X’ flag, a white flag with a blue St Andrew’s cross meant ‘Stop carrying out your intentions and watch for my signals’.

There was not a great deal of time for frivolities and from day one we were immersed in the various subjects, rapidly filling our notebooks with knowledge to study at home and revise nearer to the examination date.

I lodged with a wonderful family in Julian Avenue, South Shields, for £3-10s (£3.50) per week but, as the Company only paid for two months of the course, money was rather tight throughout – another good reason for not indulging in student pastimes!

Unfortunately, my savings were rapidly dwindling towards Christmas so I booked the examinations for the week beginning 21st December, with the Orals hanging over until the New Year; a costly mistake because I failed the lot!

I am forever in my landlady’s debt for she let me have free lodgings until I had obtained the Certificate, which I repaid when I returned after a five month voyage.

In January 1960, I became a qualified Second Officer but would sail as a Third Officer until I was promoted in July 1962.

My first ship as Third Officer was on ‘British Commander’, 12,000 tons deadweight, and ‘coasted’ from the United Kingdom to Scandinavia. I left that vessel in July 1960 to have some well-earned leave, but due to a seamen’s strike I was asked if I would join the ‘British Sailor’, 28,000 tons, on the Tyne, and sail it, along with another ten Third Mates, to the anchorage at the Nore in the River Thames. Essentially, although signed on as Third Mates, we were there as crew.

As the ship sailed down the Tyne we were called all kinds of nasty names and had potatoes thrown at us as various points but we managed to get past unscathed to return home some three days later.

Terry Took was born in Yorkshire but has lived in Tynemouth for over 50 years. He spent 45 years in the Merchant Navy which included 27 years as North Sea Pilot. He then spent five years as a lecturer at the Marine Department of South Tyneside College.

He is now an Elder Brother in Trinity House.

If you have any comments or would like to contact Terry then please e-mail him at pilotone@pilotone.plus.com.

NORTHUMBERLAND AND BORDER WALKS: A Long Time In Coming

July 30, 2016

A number of factors had conspired to scupper our country walking plans over the previous handful of months so, as we made our way north on a delightful summer morning, we travelled more in hope than expectation. But optimism quickly grows and, after a very pleasant pit stop in Rothbury for a much-needed caffeine kick, we were soon pulling onto the village green in the tiny settlement of Alwinton.

It had been a long time in coming, our first trip back to Coquetdale for nearly eleven months, but at last we were about to start our wander into the nearby hills. It was the ideal place to begin our day, mimulus, foxgloves and meadow cranesbill tumbling down to the Hosedon Burn, swallows sweeping low over the surrounding grasses and the pretty stone-built Bridge End Cottage a perfect picture-postcard backcloth.

The distinctive mellow song of a single blackbird caught our attention as we crossed the narrow wooden footbridge over the crystal-clear burn and then, with a signpost pointing towards the distant Border Ridge, we headed up the ancient line of Clennell Street. This track, which runs from Alwinton to Cocklawfoot in Scotland, has a history dating back to time immemorial and has over the centuries been used by smugglers, peddlers, reivers and drovers. These days it serves those more inclined to recreational pursuits: walkers, runners and mountain bikers.

The buildings of Alwinton Farm were quickly left behind as we followed the rough, stone-strewn track uphill, sheep-filled fields and the River Coquet over to our left, Clennell Hall and the River Alwin away to our right. A brief stop to admire the view towards the wooded Harbottle Hills and then upwards again, contouring the flanks of Castle Hills and on past tree-shrouded Clennellstreet Cottage.

The track, now grass-carpeted and gentle on our feet, continued its uphill trajectory and, as the gradient began to ease a little, the views towards shapely Clennell and Silverton Hills and the lonely ruins of Old Rookland opened up. Ahead lay the southern, recently harvested fringes of the vast Kidland Forest and, as we paused to cast our eyes along the undulating horizon, we were able to pick out the animal feed store close to the site of the long-gone youth hostel of Wholehope.

We had reached the extreme point of our walk and, with the pangs of hunger beginning to remind us that it was way past lunch time, our thoughts turned to the tuna-packed poppy seed bun we had bought just before leaving Monkseaton. So, without any discussion, we back-tracked a short distance, left the main track behind, headed steeply uphill and then, some 364 metres above sea level, we settled down for a leisurely break high above the delightful and secluded valley of the Hosedon Burn.

The wall to wall panorama from this modest height was dominated by the nearby pyramid-shaped, bracken-clad Lord’s Seat and the straight-edged plantation wrapped around the head of the Alwinton Burn. With our legs stretched out and the warm breeze brushing past we were happy to be back in one of the most beautiful parts of Northumberland.

Geoff Holland is a regular contributor to a number of magazines and the author of four books of self-guided walks, ‘The Hills of Upper Coquetdale’, ‘The Cheviot Hills’, ‘Walks from Wooler’ and ‘Walks on the Wild Side: The Cheviot Hills’. All books can be purchased online from www.trailguides.co.uk. Geoff, who has lived in Monkseaton for over 40 years, also operates the award-winning website www.cheviotwalks.co.uk. His poems have appeared in a number of publications.

LOCAL HISTORY: The White Lady of Seaton Delaval Hall

July 1, 2016

A room looking into the courtyard of Delaval Hall is known as ‘The Ghost Chamber’ and, at its window, the ‘White Lady’ is said to keep her melancholy vigil at sunset, looking for her absent Lord.

There is a story that in 1774, among the numerous visitors to Delaval Hall, a Duchess from the South of England was accompanied by an unknown fair lady who attracted the attention of the young Lord John Delaval. It soon became known that the fair visitor and young Lord John were engaged.

This met with the disapproval of his father, Lord Delaval, as he wanted his only son and heir to be allied to a more powerful and wealthy family. He therefore gave orders for his son to join his regiment in Lincolnshire, and not to return until he was sent for, on the assumption that the prolonged absence would cool his ardour for the lady.

His son obeyed, but not before he pledged his love to the fair visitor, and declared that when he did return they were to marry.

Lord John had not been gone for many weeks when news came that he had developed an illness, and had died suddenly. The last male heir to the Delaval’s was now dead!

During the first weeks of young Lord John’s absence, the health of the fair lady gave cause for alarm, which necessitated her to maintain a prolonged stay at the Hall. When news of Lord John’s death reached the lady, her health deteriorated further and her mind began to wander.

Over the months that followed, she was frequently seen looking from one of the windows in her room, and when questioned as to what she was looking for, her reply was always the same: “For the return of Lord Delaval to his home”. She could not be comforted, and at nights when all was silent, she would wander from her room to the windows, which commanded the best views of the Avenue. Here she was frequently seen dressed in white, gazing into the darkness and wringing her hands in grief.

As her health slowly failed, death put an end to her sorrowful vigils, and she was carried south by her relatives to be laid to rest. It is fabled that she died of a broken heart.

Her name is unknown, but the memory of the faithful and beautiful white lady is still kept by her form, which can be seen only at certain times of the year.

It is a fact that when the sun sinks in the west, casting a halo over the tops of the Cheviot Hills, or when a full moon sheds its light over the trees which guard the Hall, thus casting a shadow of the nearby Lady Chapel onto the south front of the former ruins, if you look very carefully, you will then be able to see “The White Lady” gazing from the windows of the first floor of the east wing of Seaton Delaval Hall.

Further reading for many of Charlie’s articles can be found in his books: ‘Monkseaton Village’ (Vol. 1 & 2), ‘North Shields Public Houses, Inns & Taverns’ (Part 1 & 2), ‘Tynemouth Remembered’ and ’Whitley Bay Remembered’ (Part 1 & 2) , all published by Summerhill Books.

More information on www.monkseaton.info and on the Monkseaton Village Facebook Page.

NORTHUMBERLAND AND BORDER WALKS: Wild Goats And A Familiar Hill

July 1, 2016

On average July is the warmest month of the year but it is also one of the wettest. However, as I stood in the narrow, emerald green valley of the Rowhope Burn, less than one hour into my first walk of July, the air was already as warm as a freshly barbecued chicken. The ‘Weather Gods’, it seemed, had woken up in a particularly pleasant mood.

I was about to start the exceedingly steep climb up Rough Knowe, a south western spur of iconic Windy Gyle – a hill I have visited more than any other but never by this particular route. With nothing in the way of a path or sheep trace to guide me, I simply made a bee-line to the highest visible point through a dense forest of knee-high bracken. I was mightily relieved to reach slightly easier ground close to the head of Outer Green Cleugh.

The views opened up around me as I plodded on over knee-jarring terrain whilst a succession of impressive hill-splitting cleughs slipped down from the distant high ground of the Pennine Way. I could clearly pick out the deep incision of Foulstep Sike, an aptly-named watercourse I had crossed on numerous occasions in the past. Mile after mile of rolling hills stretched out in every direction as I continued upwards in boot-placing, muscle-stretching concentration.

Then, all of a sudden, little more than 50 metres ahead, I spotted a herd of wild goats happily grazing on this lonely and rarely-visited hillside. I stopped dead in my tracks, desperately hoping that I had not been spotted by these shy and sensitive creatures. But to no avail, my cover was instantly blown and, after the herd had cautiously sized me up, they moved, almost in unison, slowly and easily uphill. I continued behind them and, initially I was able to keep them well within my sights. But man is no match for these fleet and sure-footed beasts, custom-built for the wild and rugged Cheviot terrain and soon they had all disappeared from sight.

On I went, clambering over the damp, peat-riddled source of the Rowhope Burn, on over the post and wire border fence and then finally along the boot-worn Pennine Way path to the summit of Windy Gyle. It had taken me two lung-expanding hours to reach the highest point of the day and, as I sat with my back against the hill-topping triangulation pillar, I was joined by a further four like-minded souls. Pleasantries were exchanged before I then made tracks towards the age-old border crossing at Hexpethgate and then onto the meandering line of Clennell Street. An easy stretch of downhill walking led me towards my next port-of-call, the summit of Hazely Law and thence to the Hepden Burn, where I splashed my face with the cool, clear water of this beautifully sheltered burn.

I was well on my way back to where I had parked my car close to the River Coquet, a mere stone’s throw from the quiet farmstead of Windyhaugh. From a number of alternatives I decided on a route which would eventually take me over Shorthope Hill, grass-carpeted and enjoying superb views of the tidy farm of Rowhope. With little in the way of additional climbing how could I resist a visit to this fine little hill. How indeed!

ALL AT SEA: Farming Again

July 1, 2016

I had six months to wait before I could ‘take’ my Second Mate’s Certificate so it was too soon to enrol at South Shields Marine School, as it was a three month’s course and at that time I couldn’t sit the exam until I was twenty years old. I came home in July and my birthday was in November, so to make a little money to last me six months I worked on a farm.

As it was harvest time, my first job was assisting in the fields of barley, which then was always the first crop. After the corn was cut and made into sheaves we stacked them in ‘stooks,’ tent like, in straight rows across the field. This allowed them to dry in the air before transfer to the farmyard, where they were stacked until threshing time. Each stack represented one day’s threshing.

I hated barley. As the sheaves were lifted from the ground, one under each arm to be stooked, the barley awns broke off and lodged under our clothes where, needle like, they stuck into the skin in various parts of the body. Oats and wheat were not nearly so bad although occasionally someone would let out a huge yell as a wasp found its way to the skin!

After a couple of weeks we loaded the stooks on to a trailer to be transported to the farmyard.

In the field we had a huge shire horse to pull the trailer between the stooks, and having done this job many times it barely needed any orders to move between the stooks or even to stop at the correct place. When the trailer was full, the farmer drove a tractor with an empty trailer across the field at full tilt. We unhitched the horse and connected the full trailer to the tractor then the horse was re-hitched to the empty one for us to start all over again. The farmer, who didn’t seem to know how to drive the tractor slowly, careered across the field with mad abandon with our carefully stacked load swaying alarmingly. On one occasion, he caught the rope which held the load in place on the gate post and half the trailer load spilled back into the field to groans of anguish from us workers. It would have to be picked up again later in the day!

The best times of the day, beside ‘finishing-for-the-night-time’, was ‘looance’ which is a particularly Yorkshire way of saying ‘allowance.’ About ten o’clock in the morning and three o’clock in the afternoon the farmer, at his usual breakneck speed, would have a ‘load’ on the otherwise empty trailer. This was a huge urn of tea, complete with pint mugs, which was well shaken by the time it reached us, and a large home made apple pie with chunks of cheese. We sat in the shade of a stook after giving the horse some well earned oats, ate the delicious fare and discussed the crop and other subjects. ‘Other subjects’ invariably turned to my chosen career at sea.

I enjoyed my days on the farm, all the while knowing, of course, that I would not be taking up farming as an occupation.

He is now an Elder Brother in Trinity House.

If you have any comments or would like to contact Terry then please e-mail him at pilotone@pilotone.plus.com.