YOUTH “HOSTEL-ING” IN CUMBERLAND

Otago Daily Times, Issue 22742, 30 November 1935, Page 26

YOUTH “HOSTEL-ING” IN CUMBERLAND

By G. B. S. It was 6.15 a.in. when 1 started up my ancient but rattling good car and set offThe well-packed bergan in the dickie gave an additional rattle as we breezed up through Fulham and Hammersmith with only a few milk carts and very early buses to dispute our hurry through iOcicl> which are blocked with solid traffic latei in the day. On out through Chiswick, and at last rid of London when we wenspeeding along the Great West road Though actually the Great City wax behind, its tentacles spread tar out across the countryside, where rapid building schemes are helping it to engulf the surrounding villages and link it to the nearer towns. All the marvellous roads and myriads of buses carry the city con ditious far, far beyond the small blacli patch on the map. At Maidenhead the river looked veryfine so early and so clear. The roadway was perfect, and the old car went like a bird. In Reading I pulled up outside my companion’s gate with a puncture which I had to change. At 8.80 we l§ft Reading again and bowled along the beautiful highway up to Oxford. The river which we saw here and there, the beautiful summer green trees, and ripe corn fields made a fine pattern in the sunlight. Scudding clouds promised us rain further north. We hurried up to meet them and came into the lovely town of Oxford, where the buildings of the different colleges line the highway, line crumbling old stonewalls shaken by the traffic speeding between the green and red lights. Through Oxford and merrily on again till the clutch started to give trouble. On a bit of a hill it ceased to function at all, and my heart nearly followed suit. ’ I thought I should be properly cooked if I had to get a new one shipped. Two lorries stopped. The first suggested that a handful of cement would solve the problem, and I looked vaguely round for some, but as there was nothing much but cornfields and. hedges and small farms in sight I was more glad to accept a tow from the second, a large grey lorry labelled in white, “Cheap Transport,’" which took us along and into Banbury, and there left us, at the Morris agency by Banbury Cross. “ Ride a crock Morris,” etc.! Very fortunate, the agency was able to do 2s worth of adjusting which tightened it up, and we were able to proceed merrily once more. It was a long drive. Across the Midlands was beautiful flat farming country,. with the cut hay scenting the air and ripe cornfields ablaze Vith poppies, a sight to behold. North and further north we gradually came through Nottingham up to Leeds, and into the blackness and unbelievable grime of industrial England. There were miles of rows of tiny, crowded, sooty cottages, and the only open country scarred by slack heaps and smoking chimney stacks. We wound through following miles of tram cars. Across Ilkley Moor, where we had more rain, and on to Kendal, we hurried on to Wincleraere, where it was pouring, but we were so glad to see the lake that we sung our joy as we rattled by and on to Qrasmere, where we arrived at 9 p.m. What a stiff neck I had after driving 350 miles in the day in an £8 motor car! We slept like tops in the comfortable Youtli Hostel, which is an old stone farmhouse Awoke and looked out the window at pouring rain. Nothing daunted, we set out in oilskins with our rucksacks on our backs. We walked down to Grasmere village between high stone walls. Along a lane we went by Wordsworth’s cottage and then started climbing up the ridge. It was steep and stony,, with wet bracken. The mist was drifting by. As we climbed up the rain came to an end. and we had a marvellous view of tlie lakes below —Rydal Water. Grasmere, and an end-to-end view of Windemere. Further over west we saw smaller lakes and piles of purple hills. We followed along a pleasant grassy ridge up to the summit of Fairfield, where -the mist again closed down over us, though it did not stay down for long. Circling down to the east over Hart Crag and up to Dove Crag, we commanded a fine view of Brothers Water and east of it. On the west side of it rose Helvellyn, with Striding Edge now quite clear. We dropped down a steep ridge to Brothers Water, after which we tramped on down the valley where the stone walls hem the hayfields and converge on the cottages nestling by the roadside. A small stream,, neatly built in like a canal, flows quietly down, and on its bank is the Patterdale Youth Hostel, where we spent our next two nights—another beautiful old stone house standing back among some trees. Our next tramp started when we set out down Patterdale and skirted round Ullswater, following a pleasant stony path on the side where there is no road. There were bracken and trees 'lining the path and the blue lake shining in the sun. We came right round to a little village, Howtown, with whitewashed cottages gleaming in the sun and a pleasant, chattering beck. We climbed a steep hillside to the top of Loadpot Hill and followed a ridge along an old Roman high street. It was quite deserted. A few curly-horned sheep, the birds, and we ourselves. Glimpses of Ullswater behind us and, over east, we saw Hawes Water, one of the Manchester city waterworks. We traversed the ridge for six or seven easy walking miles on springy turf that brought us to Thornthwaite Beacon, from which we dropped into Pasture Beck. This we followed down to Brothel’s Water and Patterdale and so completed our round trip. We left Patterdale Youth Hostel and set out for Keswick via Helvellyn. A steady pull up a good track brought us to the end of Striding Edge, where we caught up with a man and a Austrian girf, who had also been at the 1 at terdale Youth Hostel. We went along the ridge together, a narrow, stony path sloping steeply on either hand. Mist enveloped us, and we had no view but ot ourselves and the nearby rocks as if we rode some strange ship in a strange ocean. On the top of Helvellyn there is the usual rock-wall shelter, in the lee of which we sat to eat our lunch. A tame old ewe came and shared our meal, would, in fact, have been quite willing to eat it all for us and unpack it for us, too. With a good few smacks on her inquisitive nose we kept her at a reasonable distance. . . , On the summit we bade our menus good-bye, and they went off across Dollywar,<|,on while we went over to Lhirlspol bv °Thirlmere, where it was bright sun, though the fog still clung round the mountains. We walked down the road till a bus overtook us. and we hailed it and rode the rest of the way into Keswick. This we discovered to be a lovely little stone-built town lying pleasantly round the north shore of Derwent Water, The streets were narrow and crooked. in the middle of the main street there is an isolated, church-like building with a clock-tower which someshow has a Swiss look. The rest of the afternoon we spent down on the pleasant tree-lined promenade by the lake. By supper time we were up at tne Youth Hostel, which is a marvellous place. It is an old hotel by the river and facing the park. It is a large place with accommodation for 80. To get to the frontdoor we had to follow down a ramp bum like a veranda above the river. The fornt door opened into a tiled hall in which we duly and per notice removed our nailed boots. One flight up the wooden stairs was the warden’s office, where we signed the book, handed in our membership cards, and bought our meal tickets —Is per meal. Bunks were allotted to us, so we went off up to make our beds and park our gear. We had a good hot wash, for there were plenty of bathrooms and hot water. Then retired to the common room, a very large room on the first floor opening on to a veranda overlooking the river. There were long tables and chairs, and the meals were served here. We were among those asked to lav the tables, and we helped to set about 50 places. When the gong went ah the Youth Hostellers sat down, and the warden and wardeness came in with a huge tureen of soup, which was served and handed down the hungry lines. For the second course each individual took his dirty soup plate and filed down to the kitchen, where his dinner was served and handed to him as he surrendered his soup plate and food ticket. It was good, plain food, well cooked and plenty of it. For one’s pudding again one filed down to the kitchen and collected it from the serving table. Many hands made light work of the washing up and there was an excellent supply of hot water and clean, dry dish towels. With three sinks washing hard it didn’t take long. Our beds were comfortable —two-decker bunks like hospital beds and even a few single hods. Mattresses and a pillow and three blankets each were supplied. The company in our room was a marvellous

collection of Lancashire mill girls. One by the name of Jenny was a genuine Grade Fields and kept us all in fits of laughter. The Lancashire lassies were cyclists. Two of them were “on tendems with ‘ blawks.’ ” “ D’ye know? you can go on tandems! Aw yuss! Hundred and fifty miles a day! Singles you can do about eighty, but that’s hard work.” A party of Dutch girls who occupied the bathrooms a long time and washed themselves extremely thoroughly amused our friends immensely. “Atta girl,” says Jennie, “Sights o’ Paris! ” We planned an easy day’s round trip from Keswick and left by launch up the lake—a pretty little lake with woods round it and wooded islets. We went up to Brandelbow near where Hugh Walpole Uves. Climbed up the bracken slopes of Cat’s Bells, from the - top of which we had a splendid view of Derwent Water and Bassenthwaite beyond and the hills all round. Bilberries delayed ns somewhat, but we ambled right along the heather-clad ridge to High Spy. A scramble brought us down over rough stones and bracken to Rothwaite, a charming group of stone cottages and farm buildings. A rough pony track took us over a dip in the hills to the tiny secluded basin which holds Watendlath. A blue mirror tarn with ducks sleeping on it in the sun and a group of old stone buildings. We went into a home for tea and sat in a beam-ceilinged kitchen. A heavily-studded worm-eaten door opened to the small whitewashed porch whose cool arch framed a glimpse of the glittering creek as it slid under the curve of the old stone bridge. It was such a peaceful spot. No honking motors near. Only two rough tracks narrow between stone walls wind up through the hills to this beautiful place. We strolled down the other track through sunlit Woods back to Derwent Water and round the road to Keswick.

Early next morning we set off up Skiddaw. A pleasant, easy stroll on a good track all the way, part of it steep till we reached the stony top. It was a scorching, hot day. A brilliant red glow spread gradually over our legs and arms. On the summit we lay down in the sun to admire it all, the pretty little lake and the township below, the purple hills all round. There were a number of other people up there, too, for it is a popular trip. We traversed along the top of the hill and dropped down a stone-strewn hillside into a big basin which is marked on the map Skiddaw Forest. Imagine our amazement when 1 found it was all open moorland, with no sign or possibility of a tree on the peat. They explained to me that a “ forest ” was not necessarily wooded, that it was just a wild sort of a place. This basin was desolate indeed for England. A stretch of several miles, and no road or path. We ambled across the soft turf of tussock grass (rare for England) and iow-grow-mg neather, whose purple flowers put a sheen across the landscape. When we came to a stream and it was still blazing sun we bathed and dried in the sun. Followed the valley round to Keswick once more. Supper that evening we ale on the hostel veranda, with a smooth, wide pool of the river below and the green spread of "the park back of it. The sun setting late slanted across the purple face of Skiddaw whose heather-clad ridges caught the glow kindly