Chapter VI: Walbottle to East Wallhouses

The first indication of a mile-castle I noted in a field on the left, just before reaching the lodge of West Denton House. It was just a daisy-covered mound, as I saw it, with cows lying about on it.

I pushed on up the hill towards Walbottle (A.S. _botel_, an abode; the abode on the Wall), with the Wall-ditch running alongside. At the top there is a beautiful view across the valley of the Tyne. The painter Martin, a native of Haydon Bridge, is said to have made it the basis of his picture, "The Plains of Heaven."

Walbottle is now an unattractive colliery village, whatever it may have been in Saxon times. There were many colliers about, for the strike was on, and I saw women and children searching in the rubbish at the pit-heads for scraps of coal.

At the Engine Inn at Walbottle I was able to get a bottle of lemonade, and was also plentifully supplied with soap and water in the back-kitchen by the kindly landlady. So I went on my way much refreshed.

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Soon I came to Walbottle Dene House, a farm-house on the right, in the front garden of which are the splendid remains of the northern gateway of a mile-castle, the first mile-castle to be seen uncovered. The course of the road was altered here to avoid injury to this mile-castle after it had been excavated. The huge stones can be easily seen by looking over the low garden wall.

Wall-stones appear in the hedge on the right a little farther on; and then comes Walbottle Dene, a steep little ravine, with paths traversing its tree-covered sides, green with ferns and fresh spring foliage, and the Newburn flowing through at the bottom.

In the mining village of Throckley, I saw crowds collected for a funeral. The miners on strike were sitting in rows on the path opposite the house, dressed in their Sunday clothes, to do honour to their neighbour. A late-comer overtook me, and said as he passed: "A hot day." I said: "Yes; I am glad it is fine for your holiday." From that we came to the question of the strike (as I had intended), and the respective claims of the owners and the miners. He told me he had been in every trade you can name, and coal-mining was the worst. I said: "Then why are you in it now?" and he replied: "Because of the pay." He then described to me the unhealthiness and the dangers of a miner's life, and to emphasize it he said: "You {51} should compare what these men are now with what they looked like six weeks ago; why, they are not the same men!" He drew such a vivid picture of the hardships, that I said, in all good faith: "Oh, if only a substitute could be found for coal!" But there I found he did not agree with me at all, any more than the owners would have done.

It is a truism that there must be something wrong with a society in which the workers in a disagreeable and dangerous calling would not have it made less dangerous because the very danger gives them a claim to higher wages. They are used to the danger, and they are used to the wages; they would rather keep both! And who can blame them, things being as they are? Perhaps some day we may reach a condition of society in which every labour-saving device, or danger-averting discovery, will bless the whole of the community, and penalize none. This must surely come about in proportion as we learn to think of mankind as "one body," and to see that if one member suffers, every member is bound to suffer with it.

There can be no real gain through another's loss.

My miner-friend took my remarks very good-temperedly, and joined the groups seated on the ground as soon as we came up to them.

Opposite the Filter-beds at Throckley, I turned off on the left, through an inviting-looking green {52} meadow, and, crossing the Vallum, sat down under some trees to rest. A man and a boy were busy chopping and carting logs of wood in the little plantation near me--another sign of the coal-strike. Soon after returning to the road I saw traces of another mile-castle.

All this time the Wall-ditch can be traced on the right for the greater part of the way, and the Vallum on the left, at varying distances from the road, about 30 to 50 yards. At the top of the hill leading down to Heddon-on-the-Wall, both the Wall-ditch and the Vallum are a delight to the eye which has perhaps hitherto been tempted to see them as monotonous. Both ditches are cut through the sandstone rock. This was a specially good place for testing the shape of the Vallum-ditch, and sections made in 1893 proved it to be flat-bottomed and not V-shaped, just as it was later found to be along its whole length.

A little way down the hill, by climbing into the field on the left, we can see the Wall, 5 or 6 courses high, and, built into it, an interesting circular chamber of unknown use, 7 feet in diameter. The Vallum-ditch is here only 35 yards to the south.

As I entered Heddon, my thoughts began to turn towards refreshment, but the only available place for a meal looked so uninviting that I passed on. It was early-closing day in all the villages I had come through, so no shops had been open {53} after one o'clock, and I had let that hour slip by without knowing what a crucial hour it was.

At Heddon a road turns off on the left, leading to Horsley and Corbridge.

John Wesley was preaching near Horsley in 1755. It was a noted centre of Nonconformity, because it fulfilled the necessary condition for meeting-places (required then by law) of being "more than 5 miles from a parish church."

Wesley writes in his diary:

"_Wednesday_, 21 May 1755.--I preached at Nafferton, near Horsley, about 13 miles from Newcastle. We rode chiefly on the new western road, which lies on the old Roman Wall. Some part of this is still to be seen, as are the remains of most of the towers, which were built a mile distant from each other, quite from sea to sea. But where are the men of renown who built them, and who once made all the land tremble? Crumbled into dust! Gone hence, to be no more seen, till the earth shall give up her dead!"

The next fort on the line of the Wall is VINDOBALA, and the farm-house of Rudchester stands close to its site.

When I was only a mile from this place a large motor-lorry passed me, going at full speed. To my surprise, it stopped suddenly in front of me, and when I came up to it, the driver kindly offered me a lift. I was indeed sorry to decline. The hill {54} was steep in front of me, and I had already walked about 16 miles, not counting digressions; but in any case I could only have travelled as far as Rudchester, for I did not want to miss seeing Vindobala. And then, I _did_ want to walk every foot of the way, from sea to sea! So I resisted the tempter, though thanking him sincerely, and he was soon out of sight.

The road was very much pleasanter here, shaded by trees or by high green hedges, and with grassy strips to walk upon.

At Rudchester the house and farm-buildings lie a little way off the road, on the left, and are all well to the south of the site of the fort. A lane crosses the road at right-angles, and the entrance to the farm is a little way down this lane. Buoyed up with hopes of tea, I made my way there first; not to the "big house," but to a smaller one, where I found the farm-bailiff (as I suppose) and his sister had just finished their tea. They most kindly asked me in, and the sister said the kettle was boiling, and she could soon "make some fresh." They had only just moved in, and had no idea that there was any special archæological interest attached to the place. When I inquired about the Roman "Station," the sister said: "Would it be Wylam Station ye're wanting?" referring to the nearest railway station, 2 miles to the south. When I had had tea (and how welcome it was!) she took {55} me to the "big house." The master was away, but the housekeeper showed me the drawing-room fireplace, where a centurial stone from the Wall forms what was once the actual hearth on which the fire was kindled. It plainly shows the marks of fire. Now a modern grate has been fitted in above it.

Like most of the houses along this line, on the south it has a sunny garden sloping towards the Tyne valley, with a glorious widespread view, such as one would not expect on seeing the house from the road.

They took me through the garden, and then through a plantation, to see the "Giant's Grave," a trough cut out of the solid rock, 12 feet long, 4½ feet wide, and 2 feet deep; and the housekeeper held stoutly to the opinion that its original purpose had been the brewing of beer. "Giant's Grave, indeed!" said she; "better call it the Giant's Bath!"

Before leaving, I traced the general outlines of the fort. With its southern gateway and ramparts, {56} it can be easily made out, between the farm-buildings and the road, the road itself probably representing its _via principalis_. The house, farm-buildings and field-fences are mostly built of stones from the Wall and fort. A mediæval pele-tower was the nucleus of the present house.

I took my leave of Rudchester much refreshed, and grateful that my experience had been the exact opposite of old Hutton's, for this is the verse with which he commemorates his visit:

"I saw old Sir at dinner sit,
Who ne'er said, 'Stranger, take a bit,'
Yet might, although a Poet said it,
Have sav'd his beef, and rais'd his credit."

The site of another mile-castle is recognizable by the gate into a field a little farther on; and then comes "The Iron Sign," once an inn, with Roman-inscribed stones built into the front. The old lady who lived here had recently been killed by a passing motor-car, while crossing the road, so I was told.

Harlow Hill then came into sight, and glad I was to see it, for I hoped to spend the night there. It was Hutton's first stage from Newcastle. I had written to the Temperance Hotel there (mentioned by Dr. Bruce), asking if I could have a bed, and enclosing a post-card for reply; and although I had received no answer, at least I had not had an unfavourable one.

The Wall-ditch showed very clearly ahead, running {57} up to Harlow Hill, on the right of the road; and the Vallum, diverging from the road, could be seen on the left.

Arrived at the village, I inquired at once for the Temperance Hotel, only to be told I was several years too late! It had been closed during the war. A day or two later I received my post-card, which had been pursuing me. It bore no signature, and only this sad legend: "No temperance at Harlow Hill."

The hotel, where Hutton had spent one night, was still there, a substantial stone building, but it was now occupied by a private family. I made inquiries from end to end of the village street, but no one could give me a bed, so I found I must walk on a mile or so farther to the next Inn, the "Robin Hood."

Passing the Whittledene Reservoirs, I noticed the houses of Welton (Wall-town), and turned aside to the south for half a mile, to try my chance there.

The road runs along the very brink of the reservoir. Several anglers were seated on the steep banks, very much preoccupied, and their cars were waiting for them in the road.

Welton Hall is pleasantly situated, overlooking the water. It is built entirely of Wall-stones, and the oldest part is a pele-tower. The initials and date--"W.W.--1614"--over the lintel of the back-door, commemorate the building of the more recent {58} portion by Will of Welton, a sort of modern Samson. Sitting outside the tower one day, when old and blind, he called a ploughboy to him, and wanted to feel his arm, to test its strength. The boy, afraid of being hurt, held out the iron plough-coulter instead of his arm, and Will promptly snapped it in two, remarking, "Men's banes are naught but girsels (gristles) to what they were in my day."

A servant-girl was sitting sewing outside the back-door as I drew near. In answer to my inquiry, she said there was no village, only a farm, but I might perhaps get a bed there. Outside the farm-gate was a little group of boys, playing quoits with large rusty iron rings. Inside the yard I found a busy scene. Several women were occupied in painting, beating or cleaning furniture of various kinds, which was all spread out in the farm-yard. One of them was painting a kitchen bench and table Indian red. Very tentatively I made my request.

"Don't ye see that we are busy spring-cleaning?" was the reply, but in no unkindly tone.

Indeed, I did see, only too well; and I also saw, with my mind's eye, another mile and a half of road stretching out before me, and the night coming down, so I beat a retreat as quickly as I could. How tiresome I must have seemed to those busy women!

I passed a pleasant-looking house before reaching {59} the Robin Hood Inn, and, seeing the front door wide open, I walked up the garden, gay with pansies and polyanthus, and knocked. No reply. I went round to the back-door, which was also wide open. Still no reply. So I came away. Then I tried a farm-house. The woman who answered my knock told me she was housekeeper to two old bachelors, one of whom was ill, so she could not help me. Lastly I came to the Robin Hood Inn. An uncompromising notice hung in the front window: "CLOSED;" and a motor-car stood outside the door. However, I knocked, and a girl of about fourteen, very neatly dressed, answered my knock. She told me that their family was so large that they never had a bed to spare; that her sister was ill (it was the doctor's car outside), and they could not possibly take me in. I asked for lemonade or aerated water. No; they had nothing at all. "Well, a glass of plain water?" Yes, I could have that, and welcome. When she returned with it, I inquired how far it was to the next inn. She could only tell me of Matfen, nearly 3 miles away. I had already walked more than 20 miles, not counting the distance covered in my explorations so in desperation I mentioned the house with the open doors, and said: "Do you think the lady of that house would give me a bed?" She brightened up, and answered: "Why, perhaps she would; she's very nice. I'll ask her; she is upstairs helping {60} with my sister." So she came down, and she _was_ very nice. She was, indeed, a good Samaritan, for I hardly felt I could walk much farther. She gave me the kindest welcome, and her husband did the same when he came home and found me enjoying a good supper with his wife. Never did a guest-chamber seem more attractive than hers to me that night. Remember, I had spent the previous night in the train, travelling from London; I had started on my walk at five o'clock that morning, and the walk for a great part of the day had been on an unsheltered high road, and in a temperature of 81° in the shade.

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