Across the border

Sunday 17 June – Byrness to Jedburgh

Borders are funny things. In some parts of the world, they need passports, or are heavily defended, and it takes some effort to cross them. Others are not.

Take today, for instance, the day we crossed from England into Scotland.

We’d left Byrness bright and early, the Pennine way rising steeply out of the valley, almost a scramble at times. Soon we were atop Byrness Hill, with great views back over the valley to the south, before the path took us on a rolling up-and-down journey. To our east lay defence land, signs sternly warning us of the dangers of unexploded ordnance, open and wild moorland. To the west we could see the northern part of the Kielder Forest. And to the north? That way lay Scotland.

On the map we could see roughly where the border lay, and as we got closer we thought of what might have been had the independence referendum gone differently. Would we have been entering the Free and Independent State of Scotland? Would there have been a border post, manned by burly men trying to keep out the uncultured heathens (not that the Scots would ever call the English that, of course…).

In the absence of all that, while we weren’t exactly expecting a lot, we did at least think we’d see a sign alongside the Pennine Way, perhaps proclaiming ‘Welcome to Scotland’ or something similar. But… nothing. No opportunity to stand with one foot in England and the other in Scotland. Just another step on the Way.

We abandoned the Pennine Way very shortly afterwards. It would wind a further 30km northeast to its end in Kirk Yetholm. But our path lay northwest, so we descended off the hills, down into a valley and to a minor road by a stream.

The rest of the day took us along a succession of minor roads, tending northwest, through small hamlets. After three weeks of largely hilly terrain, it was a relief to be in relatively flat country. At one point the road followed the line of Dere Street, a former Roman road, straight like most Roman roads. To one side lay the former Roman camp of Pennymuir, just a grassy field now, and thus hard to picture it two millennia ago when it was a large bustling garrison town.

The only village of any note we passed was Oxnam, lying sleepily on a mid Sunday, no shop of any description to create any diversion (an icecream would have been just grand right then!). Our legs and feet tiring, it was with great relief that we finally got to the border town of Jedburgh and our accommodation for the night, Allerton House.

This is a grand old stone house that Peter had stayed in three years ago while walking St Cuthberts Way (a 4-day walk) and was keen to revisit. It did not disappoint, with a lovely big bedroom, a great dining room/lounge, and a whisky decanter to finish the night with. (Given the name of the blog site we had to celebrate our arrival in Scotland in appropriate fashion!) Surprisingly, we were the sole guests – and later we learned why: it turned out the proprietors had sold the business after a number of years and we were actually their last guests ever! It was only because we’d booked so long ago that we’d been able to stay; after confirming the sale of the business they’d decided to turn away others.

Dinner in Jedburgh took more effort than we’d bargained on, with both the two reasonable eateries booked out. The reason? Father’s Day. Choices being rather limited, our first dinner in Scotland was an average Indian in a decidedly average (and rather odd) Indian restaurant….

Distance today: 32km

Last of the boggy patches!

The border is here… somewhere