Thanks for taking the time to visit my JustGiving page.

My son Alex had the most beautiful, natural laugh, the darkest brown eyes and the kindest heart.  But in his second year of college he went from a typical teenager to something like a caged, frightened animal, pacing up and down in his room. Shaking and with tears falling down his cheeks.

'What's wrong with me mum?'

'I don't know,' was all I could say. 

Eighteen months later Alex's mental state had deteriorated until he could bear it no longer and he ended his life.

This September is the tenth anniversary of that tragedy.  Inevitably it is a time for sad reflection.  

So I have decided to do something in my son's memory that will raise money and benefit others. My brother-in-law had walked 200 miles across Britain for a charity.  He was 35 at the time and I am 63.   Friends said I was not fit enough.  I have dodgy knees and am not very good at navigation.

A more sensible option was Hadrian's Wall Path,  a mere 84 miles, east to west across Northumberland.  And with a wall surely there was little chance of getting lost?

I will start the walk on August 28 and hope to complete it in six days, with all donations going to the Mental Health charity MIND.

MIND works to improve life for everyone who suffer from mental distress.   Its goal is to create a climate where sufferers can talk openly about their problems without the stigma that is so often attached to mental illness. 

Each day I will be writing a blog recording the progress of my walk. 

 

Many thanks for your support. 

 

Geraldine 

 

July 10:   Things do snowball - Pat a good friend who lives in Yorkshire says she would love to keep me company.

No going back now.  What was just a little idea seems to be taking off.  Peter, my husband, is offering to meet us at the end of the trek.  He keeps putting his arm around me, giving me a squeeze and saying how proud he is of me!

Have contacted MIND and they have sent me a support pack.  The last 'big' walk I did was about eight years ago, 17 miles in a day, part of the Jubilee trail in Dorset.  A lovely walk but it took me two days to recover.  The idea of waking up the next morning and doing the same again is worrying.

I have also started to read a book by Anthony Burton called Hadrian's Wall Path and it's clear that some of this is going to be far harder than I first thought (I must learn to do research before I open my mouth.)

 

July 11:  My first practice walk was around the island of Portland.  Can't get lost if you keep the sea on your left.  It was about nine miles long and took three hours and I was shattered.  I realise that if I am going to complete Hadrian's Wall I have got to walk slower and reserve energy for the next day.

 

July 12:  Woke up feeling slightly battered.  Went for a gentle swim in the local pool.  Will soon become obsessive about this and might even cut back on the odd glass of wine.  The longer this goes on the more I think of Alex and realise the real importance of the work of MIND.   We seem to take drugs and alcohol addiction seriously.  But talk about mental illness and it is always easier to say nothing or crack a joke.

 

July 18:  Pat is a lovely (outspoken) Yorkshire 'lady'.  Don't know how she will manage spending six days with a southern softie who actually uses walking sticks , and likes to wear make up and the latest fashion when walking.  Told her that I had to eat every two hours and would be bringing a massive fruit cake.  Pete says more like a Harrods' hamper.      I warned Pat about me talking too much.  She said:  'Don't worry...I'll soon put a cork in it.'

Pat also has a very good reason for this challenge.  We first met on holiday a year after Alex's death.   It came up that poor Pat too had lost her son in tragic mountaineering accident that same year.  

 

July 23:  Feeling I'm in danger of peaking too early (if that's possible).  All this training is all very well, but I feel a bit like I'm slowly filling a leaky bottle - you stop training for a few days and all the muscle you have built up slowly goes back to the good old flab.

Have discovered the local gym.  They have these incredible machines for building up leg muscle.  Some are similiar to equipment you find in the London Dungeon. 

When I told our daughter Eleanor about the walk her response was:  'Please don't do it you're far too old.'  Daniel, our son, wants to be my personal trainer and Peter keeps treating me like the favourite for the Derby!

I never in a million years thought I would have had such a brilliant response.  So much kindness and generosity.  .  For every pound that is donated just think of the help it will provide to so many distressed and desperate people, especially in the present climate.  Thankyou so much.

 

August 3:  Training is now in earnest.  Daniel accompanied me on a beautiful 10 mile coastal walk to Lulworth Cove in Dorset.  He keeps telling me I walk far too fast, and if I am going to spend six consecutive days on my feet then I must conserve energy.  He also doubted my map reading skills.  'Lots of people read maps upside down,' I say.

Have spent the last three days, morning and evening, soaking my feet in witch hazel - supposedly used to toughen the skin - only to be told it should have been surgical spirit.  I now have very clean feet.

Carlie - the keep fit teacher at our local gym -  has been a great help.  She has explained the importance of doing stretching exercises every evening after walking - even before we get to the pub.

I have had long conversations with the buy from the local Black's which caters for outdoor pursuits.  Everything from supersonic innersoles.  One gallon water bottles and these incredible t-shirts which allow the body to 'breath'.  His enthusiasm was lovely.  Eventually he asked me to hang on a moment and disappeared to the back of the shop, returning with a t-shirt in hand.  'It doesn't smell,' he said, handing the garment to me.  I dutifully buried my nose in the garment only to be informed:  'I wore that 50 hours cycling without washing it once'   I said:  'Simply amazing,'  stifling the urge to gag.

Having serious worries about Pat.  She frets that we will get lost.  'What about buying a Satnav.'  I've told her that I have a compass (though I must remember how it works exactly).  She has also mentioned special blankets for emergencies just in case one of us sprains an ankle and has to be left.   Phone reception is poor - but I reassure her that I have a whistle!

I try to lighten her concerns by remarking that my only real worries are which ointments and beauty treatments I have to take as excess weight is so important.

Pat is preparing well with the convenience of having a steep hill outside the back door of her Yorkshire home. 

 

August 20:  A neighbour and friend, Ian, asked to come on a 'training' session.  Six miles of switchback coastal path to Lulworth Cove, Dorset.   An incredibly beautiful day, the sun illuminating the crystal blue sea.  Peace and total tranquility for our three hours walk.  We only met a handful of other walkers until we arrived at Lulworth Cove where 50,000 day trippers were sunning themselves. 

Ian is a lifeboat volunteer and has attended many rescues off this stretch of coast.  He pointed out local landmarks including treacherous semi-submerged rocks, one call the cow, the other the calf.  The first of these is the larger, but it is the second which is virtually hidden from view at high tide, where he and his fellow lifeboat crew have had to pull of a distressed sailor.

These last few weeks of hiking around has made me realise just how beautiful this country is.  And once you are off the beaten track how intensly peaceful life can be.

I am amazed at my stamina.  The days of painful training have been worth it.  I no longer see stars when I climb a hill. And although today's six miles is well short of the daily average of the Hadrian's Wall Path, it was a good test of whether my knees would survive a steep descent.   I did learn two things - firstly I suffered a really bad headache in the evening due to dehydration (I forgot the basic rule of lots of water) and secondly why is it that men always have to be the first to the top of any hill?

I am continually overwhelmed at peoples' goodwill and kindness.   Near strangers come up to me and wish me well, offering to donate to the MIND charity.  I feel I will not only be walking for Alex but also for many others.

Thankyou again for reading this and please keep telling your friends. 

 

August 22:  I'm starting to pack.  Normally I could cover the area of a king-size bed with all the different outfits, shoes, various creams and lotions 'necessary' for six nights away.  At the moment I am looking at a space about the size of a newspaper with five items of clothing and one small bottle of all purpose liquid soap which will wash both myself and any smelly clothes. Face cream has been transferred to a small film cannister.  There will be no room for sketch books, novels or even a hairdryer!  Ray Mears would be proud of me - although I will have a credit card just in case we stumble across a nice little boutique.

It's been a funny old summer and I am not sure what the weather will do.  So I have to pack for a heatwave as well as torrential rain.

 

August 24:  Visited  Alex's grave where I placed flowers picked from our garden.   It is a beautiful sunny day and the cemetery is an incredibly peaceful place.  There is a bench where Peter and myself often sit and as the walk and the anniversary of Alex's death approaches I can't help but reflect.  It confirms the importance of the walk both for myself and MIND.

Many sad and terrible things happened to Alex during the 18 months of his illness.  Mistakes were made and there will always be so many 'ifs'.

The current MIND campaign is all to do with promoting tolerance and understanding of the one in ten people who will suffer some form of mental illness in their lifetime.  I hope this 'Walk For Alex' will go a little way, through your donations, to support this.

I walk a fair bit, but usually with Peter.  And like most men he automatically takes control.  And, while I hate to say this,  he is pretty good at it.  But this trek is all down to me.  I've fixed overnight accomodation and worked out how long we should walk each day.   I know I will miss Peter on the walk - not least because it is someone else to blame if something goes wrong.

 

August 28:.   We overnight in Wallsend and set off at nine.  Big breakfast and Pat produces great wedges of cheese she has bought to snack on en route.   And then the walk finally begins through  grey museum pieces of cranes and along the path that follows a sombre Tyne to the easy open countryside and off into what seems like an  endless head butting by a fierce easterly wind.   It's mostly old railways tracks, hard underfoot but generally easy going.

You can't help be struck by the grim beauty of the desolate shipyards.  A bygone age lying virtually idle on the banks of the wide expanse of rivers with its strong, warning currents.  We set off high in spirits and within minutes we come across two locals - a pair of rats, scuttling about, oblivious of our approach.   I wonder aloud if this is a bad omen but Pat says far from it.   They are survivors in a bleak landscape.  A symbol of our determination to push on whatever. 

Our  senses are regailed by a fantastic smell.  Fresh bread.  It happens two or three times as we push on passing  the scattered factories and turns out to be from working bakeries.  Then the rivers takes us through Newcastle, a place I have visited only once before, which, today, as we approach along the river,  looks stunning.. Bridges, memorials to the industrial revolution and great Victorian engineering and other modern, shiny steel constructions, the vanities of the recent boom years.  We are totally  shattered by the headwind.  The book says it is 15 miles to Heddon on the Wall but Pat says that if we were walking the other way from the west to east we would  do the whole ninety miles in two days.  I reckon that with the wind against us all day we are entitled to mentally clock at least 20 today..   

We are passed by four men, determined, blokish, who seem to be treating it like a stroll to the local pub.  But from the other direction there must be 60 people going east to west who have clearly studied the weather patterns and chosen their direction wisely.  We are knackered.  Richmond Park it aint.. 

But the pub where we eat in Heddon definitely is.  You could be in Barnes High Street.  Great food. The Swan  does roasted vegetables, goats cheese, Parma ham the lot.  We have decided to eat with a pint of local beer each night.  The Swan has Wylams which is lovely..

A call to Peter who says that being in the north of England we should expect dodgy weather and that we are lucky not to have been savaged by packs of wild whippets.  Not funny.  He says that people have been calling, asking how we are getting on.  It is all so touching.

I have opened a letter from Peter that he has tucked into the guide book.  It describes his pride at the walk.   He says that when I am flagging I should remember our son and recall Alex's laugh, which came from somewhere deep inside him, so big and infectious.

 

August 29:  We both woke very tired.  Today's haul is about the same as yesterday's, around t 17 miles, but it's mostly grass covering a road that was built on top of Hadrian's Wall.   The track is actually the B6138 which is alongside a vallum which, as you will all know, is a defensive rampart which the Roman's were particularly good at erecting.

The landscape is more and more striking.  The wall takes a high path through lush pastures which gives us great views  at least 50 miles south while looking north you feel you can see Scotland.  Already looking forward to supper.  No goats cheese this time.  Both got the yummies for proper grub in gravy. 

Lets just call her 'someone I know' dived behind a bush for an urgent call of nature.  Unfortunatley she forgot what she was carrying on her back a heavy rucksack,  and fell backwards, arms and legs in the air, trousers down, just like an upturned tortoise.

On a more worrying note Pat has damaged her toe.  Maybe her boots are too small, but she is clearly in some distress.   The vallums are deeply impressive - Emperor Hadrian knew what he was doing.   We come across the 7th century church of St Oswalds.  We climb and cross a stretch of land known as Heaven's Field and it is  easy to understand why is bears the name.  We sit in  the church which gives off a quiet spirituality. A light rain is falling outside.  This is a special place.

Poor Oswald had his hands and legs chopped off by marauding Picts.   Pat considers her foot and says she knows the feeling. 

No people, a gorgeous light and always the bloody wind.  We talk of our boys of when Alex would ask me come to his room, to  listen to something he had put together on his guitar,  ask my opinion on something he had painted or the  poems he wrote.  Sadly, some of those poems I read all too late.

We arrive at the bunkhouse at Greencarts Farm in Humshaugh where Pat bathes the damaged foot in a bowl of hot water.

The pub does us proud.  A  huge steak pie and a pint of Steeltarn beer which is very malty.

 

August 30:  The wall was the northern most frontier of the Roman empire and the vallums and deep ramparts bear witness to what must have been a formideable reminder of their power.  Today we walk higher and higher over the Penine Way.  It is steep, very steep, up and down half a dozen times or more, and although  steps have been cut out of the hills it is more demanding than my training ground on the switchback coastal walks of Dorset.  Sometimes we look up and think: 'Hell, I'll never do that.'   But you do.  Sometimes on all fours.

But the reward is worth it.   The views are simply stunning.  Every Roman mile (1.48 ks) we walk there are the remains of forts, or Mile Castles as they are called, where pedestrians were allowed through the wall.  

We stop and chat with a Northumberland National Park volunteer ranger who tells us that each fort has a different story.  The scenery gets bigger and bigger and to the north we see the Cheviot Mountains marking the Scottish border.  Breathtaking.  The weather is turning against us.  The wind has dropped which is great but as the day wears on the sky darkens and the forcast for tomorrow is heavy rain.  

We stop at the beautiful Persian temple of Mithras, an evocative site,  while the large fort of Vercovicium actually has a tourist shop and car parks.  The first real  crowds on the walk.  For three days we have encountered hardly a soul.

I hate to be repetitive but the entire vista is breathtaking.   Even when overcaste it is still beautiful and  would be lovely to revisit in the spring when it is carpeted with wild flowers.   Pat is walking in sandals, her toe an angry dark red.  I feel sure the nail will come off.

For those of you who have just got back from the Tuscany villa let me sing the praises of bunkhouses   You can doss down with as many people as you like in the dormitory.  But  I'm too old for that and for £20 pounds we had our own en suite room and a massive breakfast which you have to cook yourself.   Pat managed to cause the fire alarm to go off, which went down badly with other residents.

Haltwhistle is our stop for the night, a pretty remote place with a youth hostel called Once Brewed, and, just a few hundred yards down the road, a fantastic pub called the Twice Brewed with its own ale of the same name.  Heavenly.  And superb grub.  I had lamb shank with mash.  Pat, who is vegetarian, had a superb nut and mushroom roast.   It's pathetic how important food becomes when you are so knackered.  Pat says the highlight of the day is intravenous Northumberland beer.  Everyone very chatty.  Tomorrow, they assure us, it is going to bucket down.

 

August 31:  I wake us an hour early by mistake thinking we are late for breakfast.   Rushing around in and out of the shower only to find we are left twiddling our thumbs until the smell of frying bacon. Derr... We have handed most of our luggage over to Hadrian's Haul, who, for a fiver, who transport our heavy luggage on to the next accomodation.  A godsend which I wish we had done earlier.  Will do the same tomorrow but not on the last day because it is too complicated.

Today we walk for nine hours, the first six of which are magnificent in the pure length and depth of what you can see.  It is much steeper than we thought it would be, and for the first time, with the battering headwind, we feel that scrabbling up these inclines is not a little dangerous.    

This part of the six day trek is proving a bugger.  We are both feeling weary and in the first three hours of steep climbs and equally taxing drops we cover only two miles.  By three in the afternoon it seems we have a day's walk still in front of us and are pleased that we sent our packs on ahead.  Despite this, and it being overcast, occasional breaks in the cloud allows the sun to pick out hundreds of miles of stunning vista.  

The book tells us that we should thank John Clayton for preserving the wall.  He was a wealthy businessman who, in 1834, realised that the historic site was in danger of being removed by locals who wanted the stone to build their houses.  Clayton dedicated himself to preserving what remains of the Roman structure, buying up vast tracts of land then excavating the area. 

Poor Pat.  She bought new boots and wore them in before our trek.  Nevertheless both her feet are blistered and she is in some pain.  She is a real hero.  I have been fixed on fundraising for MIND.  But anyone who has any spare then Pat's website is under pat dew at www.justgiving.com/upperwharfedalemountainrescue.  My feet have also swelled and are tender.  I conclude that, however much you prepare, it's just an age thing. 

Daniel, our son, has given me some prayers flags he brought back from Nepal which I had intended to leave somewhere along the way.  Now question the wisdom of this.  Fine in the Himalayas but in this stunning, unspoiled beauty,   I am doubtful.     Eventually we find a lovely little tree, just off the path and sheltered from the wind, a glade, which I have marked on the O/S map. 

Here we hang the flags and I place a picture of Alex.  There are a few tears.  It is, at least for a short while, a private garden, and it does not really matter if one of the rangers removes my picture in a day or two.

The promised rain arrives at the end of the day.  We arrive at Quarryside Banks, Brampton, a bed and breakfast.  Luxury.   We are received by Paula with huge chunks of chocolate Swiss roll,  four lovely butter biscuits and tea.   Pat dives into a bath to soak her blisters.   She has been incredibly gutsy in the face of constant stabbing pain.  Paula takes us to the local pub, The Belted Will, where we eat fish and chips and get violent indigestion.  Tonight's pint is Golden Plover.   We wear newly purchased Hadrian's Wall sweat shirts with pride. 

Fourteen miles tomorrow, our penultimate day, and everyone says it is a lot easier. 

 

September 1:   Just outside Carlisle after a fine day's walking .  Hilly to begin with but then flattening  out, enabling us to make a good pace.  Sunshine for the most part with a complete drenching in storms and lightning during the late afternoon.  Arrive at the bed and breakfast like two of the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse.  Hoods up, raindrops dripping from the tiips of our noses prompting the woman who answers the door to takes one look and say:  'Would you mind entering through the back door?' 

Our evening begins and ends with a pint of Cumberland Ale and a curry at the local pub.    Telephone Peter who is walking towards us on the final day which promises to be muddy, but otherwise pretty straightforward. 

 

September 2:  I can't believe this is the last day.  Torrential rain last night, but fortunately the day seems fine.  We are walking alongside the River Eden on the lip of Carlisle, a two hour trudge during which we see evidence of flooding.  Eventually we turn inland across sodden fields.  Mud, mud, mud everywhere, feet actually disappearing into the sludge, making the going slow and tough.

After five hours we eventually come to Burgh-by-Sands, and there, sitting by a statue of Edward 1, the bloody skirge of the Scots, sits Peter.  We sit and eat cheese rolls and regale him with our stories of the journey.   The finale three hours are quite painful, simply because, as in the first hours of this trek, we are back on hard, ungiving roads.  Pat politely refuses Peter's offer to carry her heavy rucksack..  She is clearly still in trouble with her feet.  But she says that the bag has been with her all the way and she wants to carry it to the finish. 

And then Bowness-on-Solway and we are there.  A sign says that we have completed the 86 miles of the Hadrian's Wall Walk.  Photos taken and cuddles, but in truth it is something of an anticlimax.  Exaustion hits home as we take Pat to Carlisle station and bid farewells.

I got so much out of the walk.  I will never forget the dramatic, ever changing skies, the contrast of colours and sudden shafts of sunlight illuminating the distant fields.

The farm smells, the grass, the peat and the smell of bread from small bakeries.  The sounds of birds.  And the incredible, spiritual silence.

When I first thought of this challenge I never dreamt I would have such a good response.  I planned it, booked accomodation, and then set about getting a lot fitter than I was.  This whole experience has been wonderful and fulfilling.  Money has been made for the MIND charity.

Friends and family have rallied around, and Alex was my inspiration.  I know Alex was with me in spirit and I would not have missed a minute of this walk.  I would like to thank Pat for keeping me company. 

Thankyou once again for giving so generously.  And, if ever you think of something you really would like to do, grab it with both hands and go for it.