Middlesbrough; Saturday, 23 October, 2010

I decided to have a bit of lie-in, so by the time I finally left the hotel it was already gone 10, which left me with only 25 minutes to walk across town to catch the train. Of course, I could have gone out earlier with a bit of shampoo in my hair as the rain outside was so fine and heavy that it was far more effective at getting me wet than the pretty useless shower in the hotel had been.

Pretty much soaked I arrived at the station and brought my ticket north to Hartlepool. The journey takes you over the “original” railway, part of the Stockton to Darlington railway which kick started the whole idea of trains 180 years ago. With the rickety train bouncing all over the place on the decidedly bouncy line it would appear that not much has changed in 180 years round here.

Hartlepool is best know for it’s populations interesting way of dealing with Monkeys (the story goes that at the height of the Napoleonic wars a French ship was wrecked off the coast, the only survivor was a monkey dressed in a French uniform. As the people of Hartlepool had not seen a French man (or a monkey) before, the assumed it was a spy and hung it, hence they are know known as Monkey Hangers), and it’s “memorable” former MP Lord (did you bring the Garlic, cross and silver bullet) Mandleson.

What I wasn’t expecting was a pleasant small town centre which has obviously recently been heavily regenerated and the former docks converted into row upon row of (in-town-)out-of-town-shops. Next door to the vast retail site was the real reason for visiting, the historic docks.

I had a long wander around the docks taking in all the sights including the Museum of Hartlepool and the HMS Trincomalee whilst all the time the weather was slowly improving.

Having taken in the sights of Hartlepool I had a decision to make. Back into Middlesbrough, or continue north up the coast. In the end it was partly dictated by the fact that the next train North was sooner than the train south so I headed north towards Sunderland and Newcastle, and I’m glad I did as, once your past the eye sores of sites being demolished north of Hartlepool, the train runs along the coast, through some breathtaking scenery, made all the more impressive by the North Sea being quite “lively”. As the train went past the harbour at Seaham the sea was merrily crashing over the harbour walls churning the harbour up.

The journey up the coast is quite slow, but it doesn’t matter as for the vast part of it the countryside is interesting. Nearly an hour after leaving Hartlepool the train finally pulled onto the High Level Bridge and crossed over the Tyne into Newcastle.

By now it was heading rapidly towards early evening, so I decided to grab a very late lunch/early dinner in Newcastle and then make my way back. As I wandered over to a restaurant I saw a bus go past that made me realise that I didn’t have to go back the way I had come. First thing in the morning, before my train to Hartlepool, there had been a train going to Bishop Auckland, now going through Newcastle was the bus to the Angel of the North statue, which continues onto Bishop Auckland, I had a plan for the journey home, go back in a big loop through the County Durham countryside.

So, after dinner, I wandered back to the bus station and with perfect timing (for once) made it just before the bus was due to depart. It was an interesting journey, back through Low Fell, Chester-le-Street and the impressive entrance into Durham, with the sun just starting to disappear behind the spire of the cathedral. Shortly after leaving Durham the sun had fully gone, so the final part of the ride through the countryside to Bishop Auckland was in the twilight.

Of course, before setting out from Newcastle I had checked that there would be a train to catch when I got to Bishop Auckland, and there was, last one of the night! The bus arrived at about 25 minutes before the train, at which point I suddenly realised I didn’t actually know where the station was in Bishop Auckland, I’d kind of made the assumption that it would be in the town centre, but that’s not always the case and I had the nasty feeling I could have just caused myself some serious problems. Thankfully, there is pretty good signage in the town, and 20 minutes later I found myself standing at the station waiting for the train back, through Darlington and the other part of the oldest railway, to Middlesbrough and a very welcome bed.