Wolds Way Day 3

Goodmanham - Huggate

The first problem with the Shiptonthorpe Arms was the thinness of the walls.  I could hear the conversation of the bloke next door the previous night as if he was sat next to me.  I also heard him leaving at 5am the next morning.  Nevertheless I slept pretty well.

The second problem was that, as yet, breakfast was served at the owners’ main venture, the Robeanne House, a B&B a short drive up the road.  We were greeted in a very friendly and welcoming manner by Jeanne, the proprietress.  She led us to the breakfast room where we were unsurprised to meet our Kirkby Stephen friends, Dave and Sue.  Jeanne served us an excellent breakfast and chatted happily away with us as if she had all the time in the world.  We didn’t, as I had a long walk to Huggate to do.  ‘Oh, that’s not far,’ Jeanne told me, and wouldn’t back down even when I said it was 13 miles.  Perhaps she was made of sterner stuff than she looked.

Before setting off on the walk we called in at Market Weighton to pick up a sandwich from Cooplands (delicious) and blister plasters from Boots (necessary).  I slapped the plaster on the red spot on the ball of my foot and, without much expectation, hoped for the best.  It seemed to be doing its job at first and I soon forgot its presence.

After a small climb, the path descended into Londesborough Park.  A pair of red kites were turning around high in the air above a stand of chestnut before flying away.  Again the day was cool but rapidly warming up.

By Nunburnholme I felt the blister plaster at the top of my foot.  I sat on a bench outside the church and tried to jam it back in place.  It lasted another 30 minutes after which I gave up.  Despite its short time in position I found my foot surprisingly comfortable and didn’t get a twinge of pain all day.  These plasters must be pretty good.

There was a long, steady climb through and out of Brant Wood to Kilnwick Percy hill, crossing a road I had ridden my bike countless times when I was young.  A big hare ran across the field nearby after deciding I wasn’t to be trifled with.  Some cows eyed me lazily, I wasn’t worth their notice.  As I sat eating my huge sandwich, a bearded chap I had passed in Nunburnholme, and possibly the bloke I saw in Brnatingham, walked up.  Noticing my guidebook he asked if I was doing the whole route.  He said he was doing it in stages, parking his car up then getting a bus back.  He wasn’t sure how much he was going to manage this week.

The scenery from hereon was classic Wolds.  It’s how I picture it and it is endlessly lovely.  Fields folded down from hillsides in hedgerowed squares to steep valleys and narrow stands of trees.  The crops chequered the landscape.  Fields of oilseed rape yellowed from the edges, like a ripening ear of corn writ large, or a mouldering lettuce leaf.  I felt buoyed up by the beauty of what I could see and marched on cheerily.

I was gaining on beardy bloke as we dropped into Millington Pastures, but he was turning off and we waved each other goodbye from a distance.  Approaching Huggate I started to feel the ache of the miles in my legs, it was starting to feel quite hot too.  A text came through from Jill saying the Wolds Inn wasn’t open until 5pm.  There went my longed-for dream of a cool pint of beer.  As I was almost there I said to wait.  My alternative was the Gait Inn, Millington, or somewhere in Pocklington.  As we started out of the village we saw Dave and Sue, who we knew were also staying at the Wolds Inn.  We told them the situation and asked if they fancied coming along rather than waiting the hour or so until they could get in to the pub.  They jumped at the opportunity.

Unfortunately the Gait was shut for the afternoon.  Instead we dropped down to Pocklington and spotted the Cross Keys was open.  A friendly, funny barmaid served us a refreshing beverage and then it was time to return to Huggate.  The luxuries of having your own personal driver.

The room was good, with plenty of space and nice touches like biscuits and bottled water.  More substantial fare beckoned downstairs.  They were serving York Guzzler, and I made the most of it.  This would accompany my dinner very nicely: steak and ale pie.  Jill ordered the same, foodwise.  We were unprepared for what actually arrived: a slice of pie about the size of two housebricks.  It was unbelievable.  Dave and Sue, who had joined us, revised their plans of what to order.  Always keen to take up a challenge, I tucked right in, adding a few chips and veg as garnish, and found myself finished a good three quarters or more of the way into the pie.  Jill struggled to about half.  The pie was utterly gorgeous – tender meat, tasty sauce – but the size was rather ridiculous.  I shouldn’t really complain.