As I walked along the cliff top between Trow Rocks and Marsden Bay this morning, I obtained an amazing new perspective on a coast and a town where I had worked for twenty years and lived close by for further fifteen. It was an exciting discovery and I was able to share the sentiments expressed on plaques secured to the many benches providing resting and viewing points. One said "a place with lots of Sky". But another pointed out that "the most beautiful things in life cannot be seen or even touched, they must be felt within the heart.
Yesterday morning with a blue sky and the promise of only light showers I could not wait to continue my coast path walk from the River Tyne to the River Wear. So far I have explored the beach route, the beach road route, the coastal road route and the parks and open spaces route between the mouth of the river Tyne and the former Sand Dancer restaurant, a direct route distance of just over one English mile or 1.7 kilometres, When walking from my home through the parks to the sea edge the distance is about the same as the additional walking to get to the front is cancelled out by the distance between the river and my home. Walking to the beach path does involve a little longer in length but is of no significance.
It is difficult to calculate the extra distance from the Sand Dancer to the now closed Mango's bar restaurant at the former Water's Edge establishment because private vehicles cannot use the straight and flat the beach road, and the coast road sweeps round from the former Sand Dancer by Gypsy Green to the New Crown Pub restaurant. Along the coast road, about half a kilometre, and it is then half a kilometre drive through the Leas, then around one side of the former Trow Quarry, to reach the public car park at the end of sand beaches which form the South Shields Bay. I say beaches because there are in effect three, the first formed within the breakwater river entrance piers, the second from the other side of the South Shields pier to the Sand Dancer, and then the quiet southern beach which can only be accessed by the two car parks at the former restaurants and where the area is restricted to use by water sports. Elsewhere the beaches are directly accessible on foot or from the car parks and roadside stopping places along its length, although at the junction with the road, Ocean Road, which leads past the thirty to forty restaurants, take ways, pubs, bars and clubs and a score of guest houses and small hotels onto the main pedestrianised shopping road, and then on to market Square and the riverside, it is necessary to go through the amusement park and then alongside the all weather sports facilities, in order to reach the sand, and a further distance reach the water's edge.
I mention this because it is not uncommon for families alighting the metro train at the town centre or the adjacent bus station in bright sunshine, having to rush the final yards between the North and South Marine Parks, to reach the indoor Dunes entertainment centre before the rains come, and never get to see the see the sea if the tide is out, preferring to stay dry, having a meal. and with amusements for the child and adolescent of all ages. However it is also possible to find individuals in personal tent like structures determined to have their day on the beach regardless of the wind and coldish temperature.
At Sunderland, there was a similar situation where families would alight from the metro train at one end of the High Street through Fullwell and walking along its length to the residential housing at the other end in the bright and warm sunshine of a summer's day and then would experience the disappointment on reaching the end and looking down the hill across playfields to the wide expanse of Seaburn bay but were also prevented from seeing the Sand or the Sea, because of a curtain of fog which had swept in and hung over the coast road, or a little further inland, cold and damp, but at least locals had come prepared and immediately reached for the warm clothing than been brought, and switched to plan B, how to have a great day regardless of the weather.
On Wednesday, I had parked the car across from the former Harton Colliery site, crossed the playing field and then took the Beach Road to the Mangos at Water's Edge and explored the paths to the World War two gun emplacement overlooking Shields Bay and then the walking and cycle routes along the upper and lower levels through or along side the former quarry and around the Trow Rocks Bay, returning cross country and the Leas, to my car, a return distance by the coast Road of between one mile and two kilometres, but which because of the nature of the terrain and widening Leas is at least a third longer in length.
On Friday morning I parked the car at the first coast roadside parking area, about 1.2 miles or 2 kilometres from the River Tyne and then travelled a roadside distance of only .6 of mile but the walk lasted some 90 minutes with the overall length approaching two miles, three and quarter kilometres. This is because I used unofficial walking paths as close to the cliff edge as the sign posts permitted, having walked across the Leas to get there. I have never done this before and therefore was unaware that at one promontory there is National Trust map with information on bird and wildlife, drawing attention that the rock bay below, once reached by steps, and is known as Frenchman's Bay, and used to be a smugglers cove, as I suggested might be the situation between the Trow and Target Rocks Both there and at Frenchman's although there is a vast flatish open space from the present coast road, the land rises and then falls away so that boats can come ashore from vessels moored out at sea and unload their cargos out of view, and where look outs placed on the upper cliff, or hillocks would have a commanding view in all directions and provide early warning of any suspicious approaches.
What I do not know if there was once open countryside where there are now dwellings along one side of the present coast road, or if there were dwellings and tracks for use by carts on the Leas area itself. Something to be explored further.
There is a series of rock inlets and one other smaller bays after Frenchman's, before coming to the longer Marsden Bay, with its Rocky bird sanctuary and lift from car park to sandy beach or the restaurant built into the lower rock. My previous comments of a parallel with parts of Cornwall around Land End Cornwall, or parts of he Scottish coast were well founded.
I had intended to continue further on to the Marsden Rocks roundabout but the clouds rolled in from the direction where I had parked my car and some first rain spots commenced before it was reached. It was a [pity because after the shower the day remained bright and warm.
Between the cliff edge and cycle route and the roadside there are three types of terrain. First a wide expanse of uneven ground, although the grassland is kept cut. There then are area of uncut and uneven ground which can be walked through but it would be wise to wear walking boots and long socks because of nettles and a walking stick would not go amiss, and I had kept mine in the car, and then there is manicured grassland on which games can be played or picnics held as close or as far from one's car as is wished. At several points one can look across open cliff top space for a good mile to north or south and for half a kilometre from cliff edge to roadside.
At a time when land for new social housing was at a premium, covetous eyes were cast on the area but those with a love of this coast and with the interests of future generations in mind arranged for the National Trust to become its guardians.
Although it was lunch time I motored along the coast to Seaburn Sunderland, as I had a cooked breakfast around 10 am although I had risen three hours earlier and worked. I wished to see the preparations for the airshow this weekend when around one million visitors will descend. For the second year in succession I will not be one of them as there is a free concert in North Bents Park (I passed by South Bents Parks as I reached the Seaburn and Roker Beaches, six miles or so from my home. I stopped at Morrison's for some goodies not available at Asda and the returned for a late lunch of prawns in shell, feta cheese, olives and lettuce and two Ciabata breads.
I watched some cricket when play commenced but we were not doing well, and also kept half an eye on a boring one sided pre season game of football soccer between Liverpool and Portsmouth watched by enthusiastic Asians, in Hong Kong, I think. The game was won on penalties by Portsmouth against the odds. In between the TV sport and working on the computer, and for the second time this week I caught the end of a former Walton's John boy movie about a Korean baby rescued by the crew of an aircraft carrier and brought back to the USA and where John boy obtains instant discharge from a position as naval doctor to arrive home on Christmas Day to surprise his wife with the child, having previously expressed unwillingness to give up his service career. It was at the level of the Walton's at Sea. The title is Narrow Escape.
Christopher Reeve as a Catholic priest in the US forces in wartime Italy also had several narrow escapes in The Monsignor watched the previous day. During his rise to Cardinal in charge of the Churches finances at the Vatican and to become a buddy of a new Pope, he takes over a machine gun post to prevent an enemy advance, seduces a nun who thinks he is an unscrupulous black-marketer GI, makes the church rich by being one trading with the Mafia, taking over the Swiss bank which the Mafia use to hide their money and colludes with the killing of a childhood mate who tries to make off with a small part of the horde. The church only gets upset when it looks as if the dodgy dealings will become public, but the Hollywood argument is followed that it is better that criminals financially sponsor the church than use the funds for further criminality. I look towards a book case holding Huxley's Ends and Means and Catholicism for Dummies placed above the voluminous master Catechism.
This evening I watched the Sentinel, which arrived from my mail order club. I thought it was a film about black and white devils, but is a hymn to the skills and dedication of the Presidential guards: the US secret service. There is much technical accuracy designed to impress the US public and I did not guess who was the blackmailed mole, although I correctly ruled out Michael son of Kirk Douglas and Kieffer Sutherland of 24 hours, ably representing the men and women who sign up to giving their lives to protect their President and more recently since the death of Bobby, Presidential Candidates. I also like the notion that wives of Presidents will be protected during their lifetime, unless they remarry, but Bush has changed the position so that when he leaves office the protection will last only for ten years. This may be something to be reconsidered. The link between this film and the series 24 became clear when in the former a toilet is used to abduct the President's daughter while in the latter it is used for a clandestine meeting between a personal chief guard of the President and the President's wife with whom he is having an affair. I am not sure why the American's produce so many films in which their President and his family are under constant attack by foreign led nationals. Perhaps the nation should stop boasting about the American dream and concentrate more on its nightmare? But then we should talk!
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