Pilgrim’s Progress – St Cuthbert’s Way

In 2007 we walked down the east coast of Northumberland. In July 2022, we walked across the bottom following the path of Hadrian’s Way. So it was now time to go across the top, along St Cuthbert’s Way, from Melrose in the Scottish Borders, 64 miles east to Holy Island on the coast.

The walk is named after Cuthbert, a 7th-century saint, a native of the Borders who spent his life in the service of the church. The route links Melrose Abbey, where Cuthbert began his religious life, with his initial burial place on Holy Island. And apparently Cuthbert is regarded as the patron saint of Northumbria, which, as a 55-year-old proud Northumbrian, I never knew.

Melrose is a small town of some 2,500 people, credited as the birthplace of Rugby Sevens, so fair play to them for that. The George and Abbotsford Hotel has a 3.7 rating on Google, obviously awarded by people of a more generous nature than I. Their “warm, welcoming and friendly bar and restaurant” was rather soulless, although the barmaid did have the good grace to tell me to give the locally brewed lager a miss and stick to the Peroni. We had a quick pint at the Ship Inn, where the weathered locals had obviously had a good Sunday afternoon session, and dined at Burt’s Hotel before turning in early.

Day One – Melrose to Harestanes

Day one involves walking some 15 miles from Melrose or Harestanes, or 17 miles in our case given that we needed to go on to Jedbergh to find some accommodation. The walk itself starts at the 12^th century Melrose Abbey, which seemed worthy of a mooch around, but which was however closed. It doesn’t open until 9.30am, and we were there bright and early at 9am. But time and tide wait for no man, and although the tide was a good five days away, we were more concerned with walking than looking at abbeys. So we headed south out of town, and up onto the Eildon Hills.

It’s anything but a gentle start to the walk. But the views from the triple peaks are worth the effort – looking over Melrose below, the Moorfoot and Lammermuir Hills to the north, and the Cheviots to the south. An American tourist asked if we knew anything about the legend of King Arthur. King Arthur? We could only mockingly reply that he was at the wrong end of the country. But it turned out he was right. The 13^th century poet and seer, Thomas the Rhymer, claimed that King Arthur was buried deep in the Eildon Hills. It is said that the hills are hollow and that the king’s loyal knights lie by his side. Aye, right.

The walk then descends into the village of Bowden. And then on to Newtown St Boswells, which, interestingly, had not one coffee shop, cafe, or bakery from which to grab a cup of tea and a bite to eat. Half a mile east of the village, the trail hits the River Tweed close to Dryburgh Suspension Bridge. And it’s a beautiful section of walking along the banks of the river, sometimes on the flood plain and sometimes through lovely woodland. By the time we reached the village of Maxton, we were about halfway through the day.

They were very tired legs and dry throats which took us on through the afternoon to the Royal Jedbergh Hotel, only to find that it doesn’t actually have a bar. They did however have several very cold bottles of Tennent’s lager, which were gratefully accepted, and which barely touched the sides. Now Jedbergh on a Monday evening is something to behold. Or not. There are restaurants a-plenty, but on a Monday evening they’re all a-closed. But a good old-fashioned fish and chip supper in the shadow of another abbey was just the job.

And I had to admit, that was a tougher start than I’d expected. 17 miles or so from Melrose to Jedbergh. Or 43,848 steps according to my watch, which sounds like an awful lot.

Day Two – Harestanes to Kirk Yetholm

And it turned out that we could have got a bus or a taxi from Harestanes down to Jedbergh, except that the Planning Department (in this case, me) overlooked this. But that was exactly what we did to get back on track to start day two. From Jedfoot Bridge, the trail is mainly across farmland, with a few patches of woodland here and there.

Past farms and house steads – Coldhough Bank, Brownrigg, Cessford. And a castle. And I love a castle. Cessford Castle was built in the 15^th century and apparently saw more than its fair share of action, hardly surprising given that it is just eight miles from the border between England and Scotland. Nowadays, Cessford Castle is a complete ruin, little more than a glorified sheep-shed. The signs warned that it was unsafe to enter, and whilst once upon a time, we might have ignored such warnings, on this occasion, they were heeded. It did however provide a little shelter from the rain under which we ate our lunch. I believe the Scots would describe it as dreich. It was grey and overcast, and drizzled or pissed down virtually all day.

A few miles on from the castle, we reached the village of Morebattle. Today’s walk should have taken us on another six miles to Town Yetholm. However, again, we couldn’t find any room at the inn, so were staying at Templehall Hotel in Morebattle. So after a quick pint, and a consultation with the hoteliers, a decision was made to check in, ditch our packs, and walk on to Town Yetholm. Then get a taxi back to Morebattle this evening, and then another taxi back to Town Yetholm in the morning. Walking from Morebattle all the way through to Wooler would be over 18 miles of apparently tough walking, and it was quickly decided that that was too much for two fellers in their mid-fifties. (One of whom, incidentally (and it wasn’t me) pulled a 4cm strip of metal out of his knee the other day – the legacy of an old reconstruction which had worked its way to the surface.)

And it is a cracking walk from Morebattle to Yetholm, up Grubbit Law and along the ridge to Wideopen Hill, which, at 400m, is the highest point on St. Cuthbert’s Way. And exactly halfway from Melrose to Holy Island. The views back to the Eildons, where we have come from, even in the drizzle, are spectacular. We were advised that it would take most people 3 hours to go from Morebattle to Yeatholm, and a good walker 2.5 hours. Without packs, and with a bit of haste to make sure we met our taxi driver, it took us 2 hours and 15 minutes. Rock stars eh?

Day Three – Kirk Yetholm to Wooler

Day 3 is a mere 12 miles from Kirk Yetholm to Wooler; up out of Kirk Yetholm and onto the moors. About two miles east of Kirk Yetholm is the England-Scotland border, two fences with a metre-wide ditch between them. It’s hardly a no-man’s land or demilitarised zone. On past Eccles Cairn, Ell’s Knowe, Elsdonburn and Hethpool, at the head of College Valley. Then onwards through woodland and a good track along the Cheviot foothills, heading towards Yeavering Bell, Northumberland’s largest Iron Age fort. A lovely walk then leads through the heather over Gains Law down to the market town of Wooler, and sustenance courtesy of the Angel Inn.

Despite the mean and moody clouds the forecasted thunderstorms never materialised, constantly seeming to be a few miles away in one direction or another. The Cheviots were delightful in their emptiness and isolation. Northumberland truly is magnificent.

The merlot in the Tankerville Arms in Wooler wasn’t bad either (we’re so sophisticated, aren’t we?).

By walking the same route, and following the same schedule, you meet the same people along the way. I’d half expected to encounter some genuine pilgrims, ideally carrying giant crosses. People for whom St Cuthbert’s Way represented a rite of passage, or other such spiritual rewards. But none were to be found. It was all folk like us, who simply like a hike with a bit of a challenge thrown in. A mother and daughter from London and Winchester, spending quality time together. Two retired brothers (not of the religious sort) who walked slowly but steadily. And three fellers from Consett doing the walk to raise money for a cancer hospice. It was nice to see what effectively became familiar faces time and again.

Day Four – Wooler to Fenwick

Day 4, 12 miles from Wooler to the tiny wee hamlet of Fenwick. From Wooler, St Cuthbert’s Way goes over Weetwood Moor, before dropping back to the River Till via the 16^th century Weetwood Bridge. And onto another section of typically dead-straight Roman road: the Devil’s Causeway, which once linked Corbridge, on the Tyne, and Tweedmouth, on the Tweed. (Now that would be a hike and a half.) 

It’s all fairly easy going across moors and farmland, and then, on a rocky ridge in the Kyloe Hills, is St Cuthbert’s Cave, where an overhanging outcrop of sandstone provides a sizeable shelter in the hollow below. I say sizeable, and it was a fine spot in which to eat the delicious coronation chicken sandwich bought that morning from Grinders Coffee Shop in Wooler, but I wouldn’t want to have lived there as Cuthbert is alleged to have done.

The role of the cave in St Cuthbert’s story seem to vary. Some sources say he lived in the cave as a hermit towards the end of his life, while others say the monks who carried his body away from Lindisfarne took refuge there. Perhaps it was a bit of both.

What is clear is that St Cuthbert’s Way is not a route St Cuthbert himself ever followed. It is a walk which connects various places of significance in Cuthbert’s life, from Melrose where he grew up, the cave where he may have lived, and Lindisfarne, where he spent most of his life.

At the top of the ridge, the trail crosses some farmland, then provides a first glimpse of the ultimate destination of Holy Island, as well as Budle Bay, and the magnificent edifice of Bamburgh Castle to the south. From there it’s a few more miles through pine forest to the village of Fenwick, and quite literally, the last ice cream in the shop. And then another 20 minutes to the Lindisfarne Inn in Beal. And I’m not sure who imported the weather today, but Northumberland was absolutely glorious throughout.

Cuthbert was renowned for piety and a life of great austerity. It’s good job he didn’t join us at the Lindisfarne Inn then. A few beers upon arrival, a few more before dinner, two bottles of wine, and a couple of steaks, would not have met with his approval.

Day Five – Fenwick to Holy Island

Day 5, and it’s a short six-mile walk from Fenwick to Holy Island. The trail hits the coast on Budle Bay, then swerves north to meet the causeway, the only safe crossing point to the island. Part of Holy Island’s mystery, charm and even danger is that it becomes cut off from the mainland twice a day during high tide. During these times the causeway leading to the island is submerged, either in parts, or entirely, and it is impossible to cross. It’s a long time since there have been any fatalities, but about one vehicle each month is stranded on the causeway, requiring rescue by the Coastguard.

We had timed our arrival to coincide with a receding / low tide and had until about 4pm this afternoon to get off the island again. It would be possible to walk along the road, however the Pilgrim’s Way is a more direct route across the sand. For that read mud. Slippery, slimy, seaweed-smelling mud. Hefty waterproof boots are essential, and even then I resorted to taking mine off and walking barefoot. With hindsight, I should have done this right from the start and not halfway through. And we were accompanied by a ghostly moan which at one stage we assumed to be the wind – or the ghosts of dead sailors – and turned out be a colony of seals wondering where the bloody hell the sea had gone.

No harm done though, and we arrived safely on Lindisfarne around noon, alongside the mother and daughter combo we’d met several times along the way, and a prayer group thanking the Lord for something or other.

Now all we had to do was figure out how to get home. The plan was to get back to the mainland and hop on the X18 bus back to Pegswood. Easy. But, not for the first time, our logistical planning came into question. We went into a shop that doubles up as Tourist Information, and asked the nice lady what time the next bus was due to depart. “Tomorrow.” Turns out there are only three buses a week.

The nice lady said she’d be going to Beal at 4pm, and she could give us a lift if we wanted. We just had to while away four hours on Holy Island, get to Beal, then while away another two hours waiting for the blooming bus. So it was off to the Ship Inn for crab sandwiches and a pint or two.

Mind you, it seemed that our level of stupidity was fairly low compared to some of the fools she apparently had to put up with.

Our friends from Consett, incidentally, came a little unstuck. They missed a turning somewhere near Fenham Farm and ended reaching the coast on Budle Bay a bit further south than intended. Desperate to make their 4pm deadline, instead of walking north to find the causeway, they attempted to go straight across the bay. The fit, ex-army-boy, successfully made it, fighting has way past barking seals, waist deep in the onrushing tide, and “shitting himself”, as he none-too-delicately put it. The other two had to be rescued from the mud by the coastguard. It’s one thing to undertake such a venture to raise money for charity. It is something else altogether to put your own life at risk in the process.

And St Cuthbert? After a life of service, piety and extreme hardship, he died in his hermit’s cell on Inner Farne, in March 687. He was buried at Lindisfarne, where his grave became a place of veneration, only to be uprooted when the Vikings arrived, hauled around the Borders by devoted monks for 7 years, before finally coming to rest in Durham, hence founding the cathedral and the city. When his sarcophagus was opened eleven years after his death, his body was found to have been perfectly preserved – an apparent miracle which resulted in his Sainthood.

So that was St Cuthbert’s Way. A total of 64 miles of glorious Borders countryside. The first three days in particular are great hiking – lots of hills, ever-changing scenery, and spectacular, expansive views. And overall it felt a bit tougher than Hadrian’s Way. It’s a shame Cuthbert never did the walk himself (not alive anyway) – he’d have enjoyed it. Amen to that.

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