Jacqueline P Vincent

Part 2: Up to Whitby and Back.

My son and his partner both work and the two children are at school or nursery, so mum and I explored for the day. We toured the north-east coast of Yorkshire, because once again, we’d heard of these small seaside towns but never visited. Leaving early in the morning, we arrived at the old part of Bridlington, a narrow street filled with quaint independent shops selling local art, crafts and antiques, plus a cafe. We always love a cafe.

After walking to the Bayle(Bailey Gate) built in the 1388, which was locked and chained, we walked across to the church, also closed. We were too early to visit. So instead of visiting ancient buildings, I took a photo of a giant puffin who stood in front of this grade 1 listed edifice. Disappointed, we walked back up the high street to the cafe and consoled ourselves with a pot of tea and a scone. The cafe was on the ground floor of an antique emporium and the loos, which we needed after a pot of tea, were on the first floor. A wonderful opportunity to browse the myriad of collectables on offer. On the shelves there were many pieces of Hornsea pottery, made locally at, you’ve guessed it, Hornsea, but this small town wasn’t on our list to visit, perhaps another day.

I drove from the cafe on the look out to find the sea. We followed signs, smelt the air for clues and used my sat nav to no avail. I couldn’t find the famous sandy beaches which I’m told Bridlington is famous for. Giving in, we drove north to Scarborough.

Now Scarborough we found. The wide, freezing cold sandy beaches and a parking space on the front. Mum needn’t walk too far today, thank you, blue badge. It’s a fabulous place, with amusements, slot machines, flashing lights, ice cream parlours and loads of people. The sun came out for the first time in two weeks and families with small children, dog walkers, runners, and oldies, were making the most of the sunshine.

Along the front there are also rock shops, traditional, first, oldest, best and biggest ones dotted between the amusements and cafes. We couldn’t leave without buying a stick or two to give us a sugar rush. After lunch, we returned to the car and wound our way through the Dales to Whitby. By this time, everyone was out and about, except those who worked, and we drove into Whitby through the port and over the bridge and out the other side. Every single parking space on or off double yellow lines was occupied and mum wouldn’t let me drop her in the middle and for me to find a space further out of this beautiful ex-whaling town. Instead, I suggested we drive up to the Abbey ruins, where Dracula once haunted. Not really, it was only a story. We drove into the empty carpark and I parked in a disabled bay and walked three steps to the machine. I needed an app to pay the £2.40 an hour, because even with a blue badge, we have to pay for parking.

I didn’t have a signal, so I couldn’t download the app. Searching for a solution, I saw a high wall which encased the abbey, and the entrance was a small glass building. I walked over, pushed the door open, glanced at the entrance prices, and swallowed hard. Adult visitor, £17, although this price included a guide book. £17 to wander round a ruin that was visible for miles? I thought, as we might not come back again, we’ll visit, so I asked mum if she’d like to walk round the abbey. Although I felt mean, I was glad when she said she was weary and could we return to Hull and my son’s home. As a substitute, I drove to a high point so she could get a good view of the magnificent abbey before we turned for home back through the Dales. And once more, mum snoozed.

To York and Back

We returned to Hull, or to be exact, Hessle, in time for dinner. My son, who was already home from work, told us he and his partner had a day off work tomorrow, and would we like to go to York? Yes, we would love to and I was relieved, as the hours of driving were telling. My eyes were swivelling in my head, my shoulders ached and a migraine wasn’t far below the surface.

That evening, as everyone was tired, for dinner we ate two of the pork pies from Melton Mowbray, and for dessert, the victoria sponge we bought from the same lovely market.

The following morning, after the children were safely ensconced in their respective learning establishments, the house tidied and the dog walked; we set off for York. My son parked as close as he could to the centre, once again £2.40 per hour even with mum’s badge.

We explored the old part of York at mum’s pace. Wandered past the lovely independent shops. Then on to Betty’s tea rooms, for a cup of tea and a cake. Although we had to queue for ten minutes, it was divine. The staff were friendly, all ages, and didn’t hover or clear our table until we’d finished. A thoroughly pleasant experience.

Full of tea and cake, we wandered through the Shambles, peering into quaint shops, admiring the contents, but not necessarily the prices. We wound our way to the Minster, an impressive building. Unlike Lincoln. I asked if mum wanted to visit, but she had no interest in going in, as the walking had worn her out.

Our next stop, lunch. Because my son and his partner put us up for three nights, I said I’d buy a pleasant lunch. We went to the Ivy, an off-shoot from the London Ivy. Where I knew I wouldn’t get change from £50 for the four of us. I hate being right. Although we ordered off the set menu, we started with a cocktail, small, which mum thought was part of the deal. Ate our two courses, cocktails, drank two bottles of water and although admittedly there was enough food, the bill was £170. Eek! In reality, we were paying for a waiter who never hurried us, the beautiful surroundings, good food, and the amazing ladies’ toilets. I must admit to feeling a little faint when I handed over my credit card. In all, it was a wonderful experience, and it’s rare I’m with my son and his family, so well worth the money.

Tomorrow we’ll be returning to Dorset, a long journey mostly on motorways and the forecast doesn’t look great.