history

6 at 60: Keswick trail race

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I’ve just finished reading The Edge of the World: how the North Sea made us who we are (Michael Pye). It’s a fascinating ‘ramble’ (and I do NOT use that word pejoratively) around the countries surrounding the North Sea and through the centuries. The introduction starts in Scarborough but moves quickly and memorably to Domburg, and the various discoveries there of ancient remains including a temple to the goddess Nehalennia (who I had never heard of before). It continues by looking at the Frisians and the invention of money, and covers how money developed from paying for ‘things’ to purchasing more abstract items (insurance); it looks at the Vikings, those incredible explorers; and discusses politics, fashion, religion and travelling. It’s the sort of history book I love: a delve into social history and how the so-called dark ages evolved into modern life.

However there were certain thoughts that kept popping into my head as I read it. One was how human nature really does not change much. Another was that ‘back then’ people were always looking for signs about when the world would end. It struck me that we do that to a certain extent even now: there definitely is an ‘imminent disaster’ feeling about climate change. Whilst I do believe that climate change is real and has been exacerbated by human greed, at the same time the climate of the planet does change naturally from time to time – there were floods and famines in the past – and seeing signs that the world will end is nothing new. Don’t get me wrong – I believe fervently that we should be using fewer of this beautiful planet’s resources, and also taking more care of it; and I’m very conscious that as a ‘westerner’ I am one of the greedy guzzlers who uses so much of those resources.

The other theme that seemed topical was that of plague. The Black Death was as terrifying as Covid and as highly transmissable. The book has an entire chapter entitled ‘The Plague Laws’ and, having been published in 2014/15 states: “Like terrorism, like AIDS in our time, it settled in memory and panic and stung a sense of guilt into life”. It led to rules controlling travel and for a long time nobody knew what caused it nor how to prevent its spread. It has struck me often recently how a year and a half ago when Covid first became prevalent, there was a sense of panic but also perhaps our adrenalin was running high: certainly I was emotional when I first had to queue up at the supermarket, or had to queue outside an empty secondary school to pick up a Doctor’s prescription.

In terms of the series of trail races I’m running as one of my 6 at 60 challenges, there are still some safety precautions in place – likewise for choir. Lakeland Trails, who organise the races, ask that all entrants take a lateral flow test prior to racing; they also ask that we wear facemasks in the marquee, and provide hand sanitiser in the marquee.

Yesterday’s race took place at Keswick, in the heart of the Lake District. Having dropped the kids off at their Dad’s house, I thought I’d allowed plenty of time to park: after all the schools were back or going back on Monday, so could Keswick really be that busy? After driving around one car park twice I went to another – on the second loop I spotted someone leaving. Hooray! I paid for parking, ran through the town centre – the market was on, so it was busy – went to the toilet and registered and got to the start of the race a little flustered but with 10 minutes to go.

I’d opted for the mass start but a lot of people are still choosing to pick a time and do a wave start. Ironically, I think they’re limiting numbers to 30 for the wave starts and there were only 33 of us on the mass start… I seemed to be with a lot of young, fit, men and kept trying to make sure I didn’t start off too fast. After a short trot along the old railway line (now a multi-use track which I’ve previously cycled along – see https://runningin3time.wordpress.com/2021/03/28/return-to-the-lake-district/) we veered off to run up a gravelly track, which I think had been created to help with the tree clearing (the hillside looks denuded at present). We ran along an undulating track, but mostly uphill, around the southern side of Latrigg, and then along towards the Glenderaterra valley.

I’d run much of the course from this point several years ago: and conveniently had forgotten how it’s mostly a continuous but gradual uphill. At the northern end of the valley the route cuts up across the ‘Glenderaterra bogs’ – the long marsh grass lay underfoot like reeds, but hiding some very wet mud – and also at times stones. A young guy overtook me at one point and his left leg disappeared at the same time up to the ankle in mud. Through here even the young, fit runners were walking – and there was little room to overtake anyway.

At the top of the valley you cross a couple of streams and then after another short – but this time stony – uphill, you’re then on a gorgeous track which wends around Lonscale Fell – not much good for people with vertigo though – and then starts to go downhill. The car park on Latrigg was further away than I remembered, but at one point there was a lovely view of Derwentwater, and it’s basically downhill all the way – and the sun had come out. I’d previously run/walked up the path which goes up the northern/north western side of Latrigg, so it was great to be running down it. At one point I was overtaken by a very fast young man with rabbit ears on and an orange skirt. His t-shirt said ‘Matt’s Stag’.

By the time I got back to Fitz Park I was beginning to feel the effect of running 15km: but I knew that although plenty of young men had overtaken me (and a few older men), not many women had, and in fact I had overtaken a handful of people.

The results seem to indicate that out of the 33 people who did the mass start, I was 2nd woman, with a time of 1.42. That doesn’t really say much though – when I compare my time with the 335 people in all the wave starts it looks as if I would have come around 125th overall – and about 5th in the FV50 category.

If you’ve managed to read to the end of this with no photos, I hope you won’t mind if I now ‘advertise’ my fundraising page – https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/sarah-lewis-briggs I’m using my 6 at 60 challenges to raise money for Medecins sans Frontieres (sorry – haven’t worked out how to put accents in to wordpress) and it would be great if you felt like sponsoring me.

Meanwhile here’s a photo to brighten things up.

Somerset

sarahjlewisbriggs5 Comments

The school summer holidays haven’t really seemed to exist this year – whilst home-schooling stopped, not much really changed between one day and the next other than not having to battle to get at least a few pieces of work done each day.

However the relaxation of lockdown restrictions did mean that at least we (the children and I) could travel down to Somerset to see my parents, who, we realised, hadn’t seen their grandchildren for a year: for various reasons we hadn’t met at Christmas and my parents were going to come up to Cumbria ‘when the weather gets better’. Then, of course, as they were beginning to think about it, coronavirus hit.

We stopped off near Stafford en route south, to see a friend of mine. The kids were, of course, complaining bitterly about doing something that was not orientated around them: in the end Bella was keen to stop off on the way back as well as she had an enjoyable time playing piano duets!

We stayed in a hotel, which made life easier all round, and whilst we saw my parents at breakfast and dinner times, we didn’t spend all day, every day, with them. They’ve been shielding and hardly been out of their house and garden until the last few weeks – even now they are understandably hesitant. I’ve seen it with younger people as well: we all became used to keeping our distance and to not going out, to a greater or lesser extent, and starting to get back to a type of normality can feel strange at the least and scary at best. I’ve now been to shops a few times but I always feel more relaxed when the shops aren’t busy: I was relieved when we didn’t have to queue for school shoes for Edward the other day.

Somerset was, of course, busy: it’s a popular tourist area and along with the rest of the country seems to be getting increased numbers of visitors this year. Brexit started it with the poor exchange rate; coronavirus has now had an effect, and I think climate change/global warming has also made this country more attractive (the weather we had during lockdown in the spring was absolutely glorious, and I’m sure not a one-off).

The boys and I went – and took my Dad – to the Helicopter Museum in Weston-super-Mare, which was not massively busy: they have the largest collection of helicopters in the world and for someone who knows little about helicopters it was quite an eye-opener. Some of them are so huge: and some of them terrifying, the way they bristle with guns and cannons and rockets (one Russian one in particular). It saddened me in a way as it was a reminder of a world at war: being keen on history though I’m too conscious that war and the movement of peoples is something which has always happened, and doubtless always will.

We also went to Wookey Hole caves: highly commercialised and probably the most intimidating place I’ve been recently in terms of having to queue and having people around you all the time, but some stunning rock formations inside, all atmospherically lit. Bella was keen to do a cave adventure walk type thing, which I wouldn’t mind doing sometime: but at £50 per head and with Edward not being able to do it, that will have to wait for another day (it includes abseiling, ladders over deep water, and via ferrata, and you get to see bits of the caves that the normal visitors don’t). Of course there was the usual shop on the way out, where I bought some cave-aged Cheddar cheese and some cherry mead.

Finally we met up with my sister and her partner, Ross, at Cleeve Abbey – somewhere I hadn’t been since going there with my grandmother when I was a teenager. It was such a contrast to many monastic ruins, which don’t really give you any idea of how the monks lived: often the church remains and possibly part of the cloisters, but nothing else. Here the dormitory area is still in existence but nothing other than a few stones remain of the church. There is also a stunning example of a coloured tiled pavement – the photo below doesn’t do it justice. It’s somewhere I’d highly recommend if you like that sort of history.

We had a lovely, relaxing few days and I was impressed by how considerate and helpful my older two in particular were towards my Mum and Dad. As for so many parents, it’s a delight to see your children developing into decent adults; into people of whom you are genuinely proud.

Northumberland

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Easter was stunning this year.  Days of sunshine and warm weather; the Lake District honeypots were bustling with people: walkers with their poles, families with their dogs, children and cars… it took us an hour to get on to the Windermere ferry, Isabella complaining about the wait but Edward and I keen to enjoy the quirky journey – which in fact was probably still quicker than driving around the wiggly lanes, reversing every so often into a passing place, squeezing past cars and cyclists, queuing to get through Ambleside… 

I love the Lakes even when they’re busy.  I think 15 years of living in London has inured me to queues and traffic – it was always quicker to cycle than to drive in London, especially in the rush hour.  So complaints about how busy the Lake District gets tend to make me smile internally in a superior sort of fashion and to say to myself ‘you’ve obviously never lived in London’ (the same applies to people who think that they have to have a house with a garage….).  I do wish, however, that the economic benefits brought to the Lake District – indeed to Cumbria as a whole – by the visitors were balanced by more environmental benefits.  The various authorities are making efforts (more buses; buses with bike racks; reminders about not walking where you shouldn’t, keeping your dogs on leads near livestock, not dropping litter) but I can’t help thinking how wasteful we humans are.  I’m as guilty as any – I drive to the Lake District, I buy food in cafes, some of which have plastic straws or plastic single use pots, I trample the various paths… (apparently I saved approximately 25 miles by taking the ferry rather than driving – a mere drop in the Environmental ocean…).

One of the things about the Lake District is the narrow windy, undulating roads with stone walls on either side.  Cycling doesn’t particularly appeal to me, unless at least some of the roads could be made car-free (maybe that’s the answer?). Whilst I would love to be out on my bike, if I fall off I might fall into a wall; alternatively I could be suddenly squashed into a wall or knocked off my bike by a car – or van – coming too fast round a corner and not seeing me until it was too late.  That’s not to say I wouldn’t cycle in the Lake District, but I can see what deters people.

Northumberland on the other hand is perfect cycling country.  On Easter Monday I went eastwards to drop a bike off to a friend near Corbridge.  From there I drove more or less due north along back routes to the A697 to go to Wooler.  All day in Northumberland I was to see cyclists, singly and in groups.  Even the quieter roads are relatively wide with grass verges, and many of them have long straight sections, providing great visibility (the grass verges also mean that if you fall off you’ll have a slightly softer landing than against a stone wall).  What’s missing of course are the high fells and the lakes: but the Cheviots are beautiful and provide stunning views, including to the North Sea.

Today was colder and windier than the past few days had been but there was still a heat haze in the distance.  At Wooler I parked in a free car park near the Tourist Centre (in what seemed to be a rather nice community centre) and walked up the road towards the hamlet of Humbleton.  I crossed over a field adjoining a campsite – and through a bower of white flowered bushes into the next field.  There were some beautiful cottages at Humbleton and I paused to admire them before taking a left-hand track slightly uphill towards the hill itself, stopping again to read the interpretation panel about the battle of Humbleton Hill – which happened on my birthday but in 1402 (does anyone else ever feel that things happening on their birth date feels significant?).  The ravine which would have been useful to corralling cattle was clear on my right, and I stood on a grassy knoll trying to imagine what it would have felt like to have seen the battle taking place.  I wonder if archaeology was carried out whether there would be any remains of soldiers’ bones or artefacts?  Were the fields soaked red with the blood of the Scottish soldiers that day?  Apparently English losses were minimal: the English archers efficiently slaughtered most of the Scottish.

The track to the top of the hill bends to the south west and continues to climb – a grassy route and presumably ancient.  Would the Iron Age people who lived here have walked this route before me, all those centuries ago?  The wind was strong and lent an exhilarating chill to the air, but when in sheltered sunny areas warmth soaked into your being.  Internal cobwebs were blown away one moment, to be replaced by warmth and well-being the next.   What an amazing place to have lived, albeit exposed. 

I had particularly wanted to visit this hill fort since picking up a leaflet about it in a visitor centre somewhere else.  I remember going to a hill fort in the south – I think it may have been Cadbury – as a child and being singularly unimpressed whilst my mother raved on about how amazing it was.  To me it was just grassy mounds and some trees on top of a hill.  Humbleton Hill is different, and far more exciting – though I’m not sure that my children would be any more excited than I was as a child.  The remains of the inner and outer enclosure walls can be seen at the top, and clear grass circles of where the huts were situated.  In the distance you could see the North Sea and could understand why people would have wanted to live here.  You could see for miles around, and any unwanted guests would be spotted climbing the hill in plenty of time to work out what to do about them.

At the top the National Park has built a cairn (made with bits of the old enclosure walls???  Presumably not) and then provided thick planks of wood to sit on.  Several people were up there – someone spoke to me but the wind just threw her words away from me, although she seemed to hear what I said in reply all right.

Coming down the hill, and as I was wearing my trail running shoes – even though I was otherwise in normal clothes, including jeans – I couldn’t help but run for a bit, my heart singing in my chest, wondering again if Iron Age people had done the same.  The grassy track just invited it – if I’d been in running gear I’d have spread my arms and run down, the closest to flying on the ground that a human being can get! 

I chose then to take the slightly longer route back to Wooler through some woods (the path through them is part of St Cuthbert’s Way, another route I’d like to walk or run) and then over Wooler Common, which the Forestry Commission have turned into a lovely and educational wildlife habitat.  I got back to the car with time to get to Wallington (National Trust) before closing time.  Here nature has been tamed to an extent, but I loved the walk through the woodland to the walled garden and back and the vivid splashes of colour provided by spring flowers. And whilst the café only had egg and cress sandwiches left, it was pleasant to sit in the Courtyard Café and watch people enjoying the good weather: lazing in deckchairs; picnicking on the grass; chatting at the cafe tables; playing football or frizbee.  In my opinion the National Trust has improved its ‘offer’ vastly over the past decade or two, and there are several properties in this part of the world where you could spend several hours on a visit – Cragside, just up the road from Wallington, is another.

I drove home along the old military road to be met by my oldest son as I turned into my road.  He had been at cadet camp and been promoted, and having not seen him much over the past few weeks it was pleasant to spend an hour or so with him. It had been a glorious Easter.

They call this work?…

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You know when you really want to work for a particular organisation… and then you get a job with them… and sometimes it can turn out to be rubbish (and all your gut feelings in the interview process will have been saying ‘no, don’t do it!’).  On the other hand it can work – as British Waterways did for me.

I love history, so working for English Heritage was on my list of desirable employers.  Furthermore, although the job was in Newcastle – about 45 miles or a 1 hr 15 min train journey away – it was part-time and from the job description looked perfect.

It is – or has been so far, and I’ve been there nearly 3 months – indeed a fantastic job.  I love the contrast of travelling from rural Brampton into bustling Newcastle – a city which is not too big nor too small, and where I work in a wonky old building with stories to tell, down near the Quayside.  I walked along the river at lunchtime today in the sun, the wind blowing my hair in my face and creating froth on the river, everything glistening in the unexpected warmth.

It’s the sort of job where you do extra bits, on your non-working days, just because you can and you want to.  So on Monday when some colleagues asked me to check some of our ‘free sites’ (ones you don’t have to pay to enter) – they tempted me by suggesting I could do them as a run – I didn’t need any persuading (and fortunately the sun was out and it was a lovely warm day as well).

After my weekly yoga class – held in the northern Pennines with a fantastic view over towards the Lake District fells – I drove to Birdoswald Roman Fort.  As I felt I had plenty of time and hadn’t had any breakfast, I headed into the (new) cafe, with its huge window providing a lovely view over the valley, and had a capuccino and a cherry scone.  Then it was time to start running.

I love the river crossing near ‘Birdos’.  Having gone east to Harrow’s Scar and the mile castle there, you drop down a very steep track towards Willowford Bridge.  Yew trees and Rowans lined the path, their bright red berries enticing.  When you get over the river – by an attractive modern bridge which curves upwards, higher on the western bank than on the east – you see the footings for the Roman Willowford bridge, including an interesting interpretation panel which shows how and why we now think there may have been, over the centuries, three different bridges there.  Today in Newcastle near the Swing Bridge was an interpretation panel linking the two – the Romans may have had a stone bridge across the Tyne of a similar design to that at Willowford.

I ran on to Poltross Burn, crossing the railway (that always feels a bit daring and dangerous, even though you’re allowed to!) en route.  As I stood at Poltross Burn milecastle, trying to imagine the Roman soldiers sleeping in barracks with slopey floors and also trying to imagine how squashed it must have been, a train went past.  What would the Romans have looked out on?  Certainly not on trains – I wonder what they would make of them.  The railway viaduct soars across the burn and it made me wonder how Hadrian’s Wall had crossed the burn – presumably if it had been culverted there would still be signs of that (there are none as far as I’m aware).

As I was far too early to meet my colleagues and had only covered a very short distance, I decided to turn round and run back to the car.

At Willowford the sheep looked at me askance.  My initial thought was ‘nobody told them not to walk on the wall’; my second was how some of them were acting like a group of Roman sentries, challenging me about who I was and what I was doing there.  I even started writing a poem in my head…

Believe it or not, although I enjoyed running along the wall I did actually do some work as well – there are photos of less interesting things like bits of fence that need repairing, which have been sent over to the relevant people.  But this is my job – dealing with and wandering around historic sites and buildings.  Just how lucky am I to be using my surveying* skills and experience in such amazing surroudings.

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*Footnote

There are several different types of surveyor.  When I started surveying, I trained as what was then called a General Practice Surveyor.  Basically we’re the type who know a little bit about building construction, but mostly know how to value buildings and what the laws are in relation to them, including laws about selling them, granting leases and getting more rent out of tenants and so forth.  We tend also to know a bit about planning and building use and therefore about development.  Anything we don’t know about in detail, we’ll know who to ask.  In some countries we’d be called Commercial Real Estate professionals.

The ones who know all about buildings are building surveyors.  They sort of overlap building/structural engineers and architects, and some of them are very good at managing projects – they can talk to builders in their own language.  Others become expert at things related to building construction like damp, or foundations, or rights of light.  If you want someone to tell you whether or not your house is going to fall down, you need a building surveyor.  For a while I wanted to be a building surveyor as I enjoyed getting out on site in hard hat and wellies and clambering up ladders.  I still love seeing a building being dismantled and coming back together again, and trying to work out what was built when and why…