Thursday July 3rd: I awoke at 5am and set off at 7am. I found the first stretch through Little Beck (a charming spot) and the woods a bit trying. There was a long hill road climbing steeply out of Grosmont, followed by an equally steep descent and then up again into the open moor. Then "go due east in pathless heather" - simple enough in theory but in practice not easy to strike the right point on the road. So I took the incorrect "rough track" and had to enquire at a house where a charming lady in a dressing gown accompanied by four corgies came out to the track to find that my "wrong" track was just as good as the right one. The lane down into Littlebeck was full of wild flowers - including orchids. From Littlebeck the path climbed up through woods to the Hermitage and the "Falling Foss". Wainwright says "in surroundings of bewitching beauty" - but I confess I was so taken up with negotiating the slippery mud of the path and with trying not to take one of the deceptive branch tracks, that i was quite glad to arrive at the car park at the top. At New May Beck Farm there were only 9miles to go. The sun shone, a light breeze blew and I felt fine. I called at a farmhouse for water and a little further on sat on a roadside bank amid grass and flowers and enjoyed a leisurely snack. Then off once more to Hawkser and the coast. The coast path round the headland, about four miles in all, was delightful and easy. This was also the Cleveland Way and I passed two lads who had completed 80miles of it with 20miles to go. They were struggling and looked slightly aghast when I told them where I had come from. At 11.15, quite suddenly, I was off the path and walking a short suburban road which ended near a car park with a vast, motley crown of holidaymakers and a trail of obvious students, milling around and going down or up from the beach. The suddenness of this utterly different situation took me by surprise. I was quite overwhelmed, bewildered and almost afraid. The artificial nature of every thing dominated the village - the motor cars, the tourists, the shops full of tourist rubbish and the totally urban nature of all these people, particularly the older ones, wandering aimlessly about, looking in shop windows, was so remote from the way of life I had been following that I felt a stranger in a strange land full of weird creatures. Why were none of them walking that lovely cliff path? I dropped down to the beach, realising that my intentions and hopes of a bathe were doomed, for the sea was far out and the beach was a black pavement of stone, so I put a boot into a tiny pool and made do with that. An ice-cream van stood on the shore, so I ate two large ice creams before starting back up the hill. Half way up I plucked up courage to enter a shop and purchased a couple of souvenir dishes (just to prove I had been there!) and, at the tip found a bus to Whitby.
Whitby too was completely ruined by tourists. The real town with its fish quays and cargo ships and abbey was almost obliterated by cars, holidaymakers and huge fun parlours, where lights flashed, loud-speakers blared and groups sat round the bingo tables. After a little wandering myself, and two cups of tea, I entered the "Angel' inn and booked in for the night. I had found as I suspected that I could not escape by train until the morrow, and to camp would mean a long drag out of town and another one back in the morning. The Angel was a mixture of the plush-flash and the scruffy-tawdry, the dining room being gorgeous and my bedroom being small, without a table or a bedside light and with filthy windows permanently jammed - fortunately an inch or two open. I decided to have a luxury dinner - duck, melon - lots of veggies etc. etc. The melon was unripe, the main meal was quite tasteless, but the sweet was fair. The coffee just passed. And the bill was £5.25. I went easily to bed, to be shocked awake at 10pm. By the most shattering roar of motorbikes leaving the chip shop below in a walled yard. After which I slept well enough. In the morning I ate a good cooked breakfast plus cornflakes, all the bread and butter and all the toast. Then paid my £12.25 bill (including the dinner) and departed - with my room key in my back pocket!!
My train, the 10:13 was in the station and after posting two more cards, I found a good seat and enjoyed the scenery all the way to Middlesborough. In getting to Crewe I made four changes and was most favourably impressed by British Rail's efficiency. In all trains I got good seats without difficulty, and all were on time. It was a pretty soul searing journey through the industrial areas and made me thankful that I did not live there. I bought a cup of coffee in the buffet at Stockport - 25p for a little plastic beaker of hot water laced with some tasteless brown powder.
At Crewe my friends had just arrived and by 5pm I was enjoying the luxuries of the home.