Extracts from The Great Wall of Britain

Newburn, Newcastle

Apart from the blisters, the bruised soles of my feet, the being woken up in the night (more later), the rain on the more exposed parts of the Wall and various other small tortures, the one thing which was difficult to take during my walk was my constant exposure to very bad music in pubs. Every pub seemed to have a decidedly dodgy 70's compilation tape, which always featured classics such as "Save All Your Kisses For Me", "Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep" and the likes. There was also occasionally a "the Worst of the 80s" compilation. Now I am a child of the 1980s and some of the best music every produced came from that decade, from Adam Ant to ZZ Top (well the videos anyway). This was the decade of Duran Duran, The Smiths, Jesus and Mary Chain and many other great bands. The stuff I heard ignored all of these, concentrating on Nick Kamen, Sonia, Sinitta, Marillion and the undisputed worst song ever written: Cliff Richard's "Carrie Doesn't Live Here Anymore".

I decided to use my alcohol-anaesthetic to walk back to the Hotel, but nipped into another pub, just opposite and just as grim, "The Boathouse". From the outside it seemed quiet and indeed I was relieved to find that there was no music, so I sat in the corner with my drink. Ten seconds later, out boomed the opening bars of "I've Got a Brand New Combine Harvester (and I'll Give You The Key)", which was then followed by CD2 of the Bad 70s Collection. Clearly the people who run these places think that this is the sort of music which "strangers" or those from the "outside world" listen to all the time and they are just trying to be welcoming. The other theory is of course that they are trying to get rid of you.

As I sat reading my book, I felt the eyes of half a dozen men staring at me. These men were not in a group and were not really threatening, although most were quite large and all had tattoos. Every time I looked up, the eyes were there, unflinching, unblinking. I began to fantasise - sorry, that's the wrong word - I began to wonder if I had entered Newburn's gay bar. However, the place did not seem to be one where there would exist a thriving homosexual community, and I think they were probably just being curious as to why someone would want to sit down and read in a pub, rather than stand at the bar, drinking slowly, staring into space and saying absolutely nothing to anyone else.

One thing of note about the Boathouse was that it was the only one of the three pubs which did not warn you "Do not place cigarette butts into the urinals". Clearly a big local problem, and one which, judging by the evidence, was in no danger of being overcome.

I hobbled back to the Hotel and went to bed, where I immediately fell asleep, only to be woken up by the drunken antics of some fellow guests at around 4am. After that it was hard to get back to sleep again, and worryingly my feet were still aching although there was no pressure on them. When I eventually got up, I covered the blisters in plasters and put on three pairs of socks. These felt quite buffeted now and I was reasonably content as I went down to breakfast.

Breakfast was served by a couple in their 60s, perhaps 70s, and was very good indeed, marred only by the assumption that I would be drinking tea rather than coffee. I detest tea, but in that polite British sort of way, found myself pouring a small amount into the cup to give the impression that I had drunk some, even mixing in a little milk. I then felt rather guilty that the old couple, on seeing the still full teapot, would realise that I had tried a little and refused to drink any more, or worse still, she would pick up the pot imagining it to be emptier and thus spill some of the boiling liquid onto her frail body. I thought about pouring some more down the sink (breakfast was in the bar room). There was no-one else around - the other guests were presumably and hopefully very hungover- so I picked up the teapot and walked towards the bar. The old man entered and I did an about-turn, trying to hide the teapot with my left hand, my fingers splayed out and for some odd reason, waving gently, hoping to hide it. He watched me sit down, his eyes glued to the pot and my idiotically waving hand which partially covered it, no doubt thinking I was trying to steal it. Hide it behind the bar and pick it up later.

"I'm looking forward to the match today, like. See ya later"

Foot and Mouth

Unfortunately the village of Heddon will forever now be linked with the terrible outbreak of Foot and Mouth Disease which devastated so much of the country's farming and tourism industries in 2001. On 19th February of that year an outbreak of the disease, which has a debilitating, though not usually fatal, effect on a number of farm and wild animals, was suspected and later confirmed at a farm in Essex. The procedure for containment is to slaughter and dispose of the animals as quickly as possible, and that farm in Essex lost 2 cattle and 308 sheep the next day.

Epidemiologists have subsequently traced the origins of the outbreak to a pig-fattening farm near Heddon (where the disease was confirmed on 22nd February). A farm four miles from there was also confirmed with the disease and, worryingly, it was believed that its movement through the Wall country had been wind-assisted. The connection with Essex was the livestock which had been sent from Heddon to an abattoir down there.

The spread of the disease and its rapidity makes for a macabre study. 40 sheep from the second Heddon farm were sent to Hexham Market, a few miles away, where they were bought by a Devon farmer. Before travelling back to the West Country, the Devon Farmer had made a short stop at Longtown Market, just north of Carlisle. On 21st February (only one day after the confirmation in Essex, and two before that in Heddon), some infected sheep were transported to Wiltshire, Herefordshire and Northampton.

A large part of the country had now been tainted, but despite this, it was the north which suffered most in an outbreak which lasted until the end of September and spread as far as Ireland, Germany, France and the Netherlands. In Essex there were eventually 11 separate confirmed cases; in Northumberland, the total was 87; in County Durham, 93; North Yorkshire 135; Dumfries and Galloway 176; and in Cumbria, a heartbreaking 893. By the end of the year, some six and a half million animals had been slaughtered - mainly sheep, but also pigs and cattle and a few goats and deer.

Cumbria was a strange place to live during the spring and summer of 2001. Living in a village to the east of Carlisle, we had to put up with the stench of burning funeral pyres - one of the main methods of carcass disposal. In other places, especially to the west of Carlisle, huge mass burial pits were dug and the bodies bulldozed in and covered up. I remember passing fields on the way to work at the side of the road where sheep and cattle carcasses lay piled up for days awaiting for the overstretched services (including the Army which was soon brought in to help out) to take them away for disposal. Schools were closed, sometimes for days where staff and/or pupils were unable to get off the farms where they lived; schools with animals were closed while the animals were slaughtered; other schools, like all farms and a number of shops, had nauseating, disinfectant-soaked carpets placed at the entrances - some are still there today and I saw a few on my walk.

I would not have been able to do my Wall walk a couple of years earlier, as all of the footpaths were closed. Tourism was decimated and there was an inevitable, but still ugly, conflict between the farming community and the tourism industry. The Lake District was largely closed, despite the official line of "Cumbria - still open for business" and a frightening number of hotels and other business were in danger of going under. The farmers, these people argued, were being compensated for every animal that was slaughtered, but there was no compensation for the much larger tourism industry.

Fell runners had to train by splashing through the sandy shallows of the Solway. Fox hunting was temporarily banned - and this time there were few protests. Arguments raged as to whether the animals needed to be killed to fight this non-fatal disease. People at work would await with horror and anticipation the first trickles of the scent of burning flesh through the office windows. Hysteria broke out in a few places, especially when it was feared at one point that the disease had been passed over to a human - a false alarm in the end.

Those who were most affected by it all of course were the farmers who watched their herds and flocks being piled up in mounds on their land and the farm gates barred from public access. For many, their way of life just suddenly stopped. Some couldn't cope and there have been various reports about mental health issues and suicides. The vets and those whose job was simply to kill the animals all day long must also have suffered terribly. One incident in a slaughterhouse near Carlisle resulted in the death of a member of the wrong species, of a human.

In 2002, Bobby Waugh, owner of the pig-fattening farm near Heddon, was found guilty of failing to notify the authorities of the outbreak at his Burnside Farm, and of various other charges including feeding unprocessed waste to animals, failing to properly dispose of animal by-products and of causing unnecessary suffering to pigs. I have spoken with members of the farming community whose opinions are divided. Some see him as the perpetrator of something which has changed their lives forever; others see him as a scapegoat and that others (usually the Government, the NFU, the EU or the consumer demanding cheap food) are to blame.

As I walked through Heddon-on-the-Wall I was reminded of those terrible times and this is unfair to the village. For hundreds of years it has been known mainly because of its association with the Romans, but Foot and Mouth is a disease which can break out at any time. Hopefully, when it next does, we will have learned a few lessons from the tragedy of 2001.

The Music-loving Cows

My feet had now begun to hurt again, quite badly and as well as the blisters, my toes were now being crushed by the extra layers of socks squeezed into my boots. I had had these boots for a couple of years and done numerous walks in them, though not I admit of such a length. As I left Rudchester, I had my first poisonous thoughts of giving up, but I pushed on, at a very slow pace of one and a half miles per hour. My spirits were raised as I saw my first fellow walker coming towards me. Perhaps we would sit down together and swap stories? I would be able to rest my feet and have a conversation with someone again. I promised to myself to let the other person also speak this time.

But he said "hello" and kept walking. The pain in my feet and shoulders, coupled with this rejection, actually brought me close to tears. I had to keep plodding on and began to sing to myself. Being in a field, this brought the attention of a herd of cows who moved rapidly towards me. One cow stood in my path and did not seem to want to let me pass. It was just like when you are in a busy street and face-to-face with someone, you both try to get out of each other's way, but unluckily keep choosing the same direction, until one of you decides to just stand still. With this cow, however, I'm not sure it was accidental. After a while I decided to try and body-swerve past and sell the cow a dummy. However, with my body going one way, and the momentum of my rucksack pulling me the other, I ended up flat on my back, fortunately landing between, and not in, three large cowpats. The thud scared the cows and they scampered off. I began to giggle again, happy that at least the cows had liked my singing.

The Romans and Religion

The Romans were remarkably tolerant when it came to religion. As well as worship of the old gods, borrowed from the Greeks, of whom Jupiter (or Jove) was the "greatest and best" (Optimus Maximus), as the empire spread a number of local gods were adopted. One of these was the Persian warrior god, Mithras, whose cult was confined exclusively to men of officer rank and offered a happy life to its followers, including secret rites and various stages of initiation. Mithras was said to have captured and slaughtered a bull which had been born at the time of the world's creation and which represented evil. From the dead bull came forth vital life forces which had been contained in its blood. Incidentally, Mithras had been born on the 25th of December - a date of celebration subsequently borrowed for another religious festival.

The Romans did have issues with two of the main religions: Christianity and Druidism. The problem with Christianity (before the Romans adopted it and spread it throughout the known world) was its intolerance of other religions. Calling itself the one true faith was seen in a similar way to how we view racism or sadly, as some religions still surviving may be seen today, including branches of the Christian Church whose intolerance of others has caused no little strife during the past 2,000 years. As regards the native British religions which the Romans found on their arrival, persecution of the human-sacrificing Druidism, is more understandable, although the religion may have acted as a focal point of opposition to the occupation.