The final day – at the end of each day I had told myself I was going to give up and that I could not walk any further – Kim was also telling herself this now, with a knackered knee and a foot that looked like the Gestapo had successfully wrenched the D-Day location from her. But we were not quitters – no not us…. not while there was Paracetemol left.
We awoke to the radio with David Cameron telling the nation ‘there will be pain ahead’ and the Greetings Programme playing the Long and Winding Road – and so started the last day. The previous three days was brilliant sunshine and fabulous views – now it was mist and rain with a forecast for lightning. We assembled in Wooler and set off at a pace up the hill (bloody way designer again) not stopping until Eric was shouted at for going in the wrong direction. Hot chocolate this time kindly presented by Catherine’s hubby Keith who had given up the Sunday to deliver sustenance to the flagging walkers, and over the lovely bridge and ever onward on the way. The plan was to reach St Cuthbert’s Cave (he didn’t build it he squatted in it and his body was dumped there too) but this went slightly astray with a 2 mile detour after missing the waypoint mark which was covered with long grass and taking a waypoint leading somewhere else entirely and which turned out to be for those heading from Holy Island rather than us heading to it.
This demoralised everyone together with what was now continuous drizzle and a chilling wind with kept up for the entire 10 miles to the finish. It was a long, tiring and wet walk and it was now just a case of one foot in front of the other. Fenwick came and went, the A1 took ages to cross – we counted 200 cars before we could rush across being beeped at by walkers who had finished, got fed up waiting for us and were driving back home, and we had to cross the railway line. Kim waiting until we were all assembled then called the railway signalman – just wait there is a train coming, he said – I couldn’t hear anything and wondered how long we had to wait when suddenly a flash of passengers enjoying overpriced tea and biccies flashed past at a rate of knots – this was no longer the days when the chuff chuff announced a trains arrival – this was the age of Stealth Rail. We called again to tell the signalman it had passed and were given the all clear to scramble over the rails, not using our poles, and ended up waist deep in tall grass for the final stage to the Causeway.
I had originally planned to take the Pilgrim’s route marked with wooden posts but the time we had arrived meant it was unclear as to its state and it is easy to get caught out with little refuge in quicksands. So it was the long causeway road which Kim hobbled and Mike hobbled and Jim with some fresh pool girls were marching at a pace – the heather making its way onto Lindisfarne. Ali passed beeping and saying well done and I was met with a crowd of walkers and helpers so ended the walk with a wee run to the applause.
Champagne and scotch eggs was a superb combination before we marched to the Priory and with so many gardeners from the Scottish Borders Council unwilling to recommend a place to illegally plant the Eildon heather, Jim cut a plot near a wall and Connell heather and a thistle were planted for posterity. I was thrown into an impromptu speech followed by lots of tearful women hugging and we disappeared into a pub for a well deserved pint.
Kim was carried from the car sobbing to a bath where I thought she had frostbite but it turned out to be blooded plasters and she retired to bed full of Ali’s old serious painkillers from when he had a broken leg, as Ali and I celebrated with a bottle of Balvenie malt whisky, my painkiller of choice.
