Berwick-upon-Tweed to Kirk Yetholm

For the first time in over a week, I awoke looking forward to the day ahead.  I studied the YHA binder's description of my trail one more time before packing up and checking out.  My walk would take me back over the walls and then out into the surrounding countryside before coming back to Berwick by the ruins of the old castle (the aptly named Berwick Castle) - six miles in total. 

The town was quiet on a Sunday morning, and I was just as in love with Berwick-upon-Tweed as I had been the day before.  I daydreamed about moving to Berwick and making a life.  It just felt like a place to call home, where you could settle in and settle down.

I walked along the now familiar walls and paused to take pictures I had been too excited to take the day before.  The walls pass right by a parish church built during the time of Oliver Cromwell.  I had taken pictures of the graveyard yesterday, but today I stopped to wander around the outside of the church.  Since it was Sunday, I could see that the church was still in use, and I wondered a bit about whether there were still practicing Puritans in England. Regardless, the church was lovely.

The part of town where the parish is located is apparently the place to go to worship your chosen God.  Immediately next door to the Cromwellian parish is an Anglican church and then a synagogue is right across the street.

Anglican church

Synagogue

After walking along the walls, my path took me over the Old Bridge. There were sidewalks on each side of the bridge (and each side was to be used for foot traffic in only one direction).  The bridge was narrow enough that cars could only use it in one direction, and there were evenly spaced areas where in days gone past wagons or carriages could have pulled to the side to allow someone else to pass.    

On the other side of the bridge was a small war memorial, and as I stopped for a moment a swan climbed up out of the river and walked right up to the gate next to where I was standing.  I don't remember ever seeing a "wild" swan before.  I was frankly a bit awed.  Swans are magnificent creatures.

Although I could have watched the swan for hours, he/she soon got bored with me and headed back to the water.  With that, I was back on my way.

I was entirely and completely alone for the majority of my walk. I encountered one man and his dog out for a walk, but that was pretty much it. Although the scenery was lovely, I found I wasn't inclined to take many pictures.  I was just happy to be walking and enjoying the sights and sounds. My path took me out along the River Tweed for a couple of miles and then back on the other side of the river.  All in all, it was a thoroughly enjoyable way to pass the time.

At the end of my walk I arrived at Berwick Castle. The walking path went beneath a gun tower built high on the hills, and there were little "sally ports" in the passage. They looked more like dungeon rooms to me, but apparently soldiers manned the guns in these little rooms.

Once I got back to Berwick, it was time to head to the bus station for the ride to Kelso. Kelso is only about 10 miles from Kirk Yetholm, and on a week day the bus will take you to Kirk Yetholm. Unfortunately for me, this was a Sunday.  The plan was to meet Chuck at around 4ish at the Border Hotel. I arrived in Kelso a little after 3, and I wandered around trying to find the taxi office I'd looked up the night before. But, although I seemed to be on the right street, I couldn't see the office. So, I called, and they told me someone would be right down to get me.  

Apparently the office isn't manned on Sundays, and the lady who picked me up had driven from her house, where she'd just bid goodbye to her grandchildren who'd been over for Sunday lunch.  She drove me to Kirk Yetholm, and we chatted about the area, the weather, walkers, etc. Kirk Yetholm was a tiny place. I spent the short drive through the village looking about to see if we'd pass Chuck.  We didn't.  

The Border Hotel's bar was full of what appeared to be the regular patrons. They nodded at me and carried on with their conversations. I'm sure they wondered about an American appearing out of nowhere late on a Sunday afternoon in December. But then again, maybe they know that Americans in the village have to be associated with the Pennine Way somehow, and so they just shook their heads at the apparent foolishness of a walk in December.  The landlady showed me a couple of different rooms, explaining that although one was a bit bigger, the other was warmer. Knowing Chuck, I picked the warmer room and headed back to the bar to wait for him.

It wasn't long before he arrived, looking a little tired, a little more "bearded", and perhaps a little thinner, but overall happy to have finished the walk.  I was happy to see him!!!