Grosmont, you say? Grosmont, was it? How do you spell that? Gro... sm... ont?

Day 3 - Aidensfield revisited

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Yes, I know Aidensfield doesn`t exist, but I`m still going there.


Wouldn`t you know: Waiting for the train at York, Inger was accosted by a youngish girl asking: Is that you, Inger?
Inger meets colleagues everywhere. Skagen, Denmark - Washington DC - York, England - Istanbul, Constant-in-Opel - Hurghada, Egypt - it makes no difference. This time, Yolanda Tubeless had worked under Inger at an archaeological dig. If that`s what it`s called. But it surely shortened out waiting for the train.

On our way to that strange place Grosm- Growm- Grosem- GROSMONT(!) we decided to take note of the stations we passed. (Check list below!)

The ticket collector told us to change at Grosmont, but we knew that. At Battersby only one person left the train, but the row of carriages wouldn`t start. The slow-moving gent on the platform opened a blue box and started fidgeting inside it. Once he was happy with what he`d achieved, he waddled merrily back to the engine and reboarded it. All of a sudden the train started moving again - going backwards...

We soon found out the slow moving gent had switched the tracks to send us in a new direction. All trains that come to Battersby have to make this switch, as the rest of the line was removed 25 years ago!

Not knowing how many stations we had to pass, we didn`t dare shut an eye, and stared relentlessly out the window, checking the names of each station. One place I noticed the sign Hutton-le-Hole, wondering if it was misspelled. I know Bryan Robson was born in Hetton-le-Hole, and thought that was near Sunderland. I hoped we weren`t around Sunderland, Wear and Tear, as that would have brought us far adrift!

But in the end we were able to unboard the train at Grosmont, and what a lovely little place, too! My mind harked back to Ivor the Engine and Thomas the Tank Engine, Ringo et al. Weren`t it for a threatening downpour, it would have been very cozy. A nice little station cafe, "Sorry, out, be back in a whiff". A much needed toilet. Across from the station a nice little grocery, and look they sold "Greengrass Beer". I was photographed next to it, as I look a bit like Greengrass!

Not within a long ago, some puffing and huffing was heard in the distance. A steam train was in the coming. And coming. And coming. Slowly but slowly, the black steam rail puller pulled in and filled the station area with white clouds... and finally it came to rest next to the platform. People rolled out, bags and cameras, mountain boots and high socks, tall orders and short tempers.

Our turn to enter the train. "Last three wagons only" said the ticket man. We entered the thrird last wagon only and sat ourselves down in the first compartement, not a very modern one, and one that could do with some refurbishing. The line is privately run and could use some sponsorship. Maybe you`d like to make a donation?

I could have run along with the train, as it pushed southwards up some steep hills. Not within a long time, it managed to get some speed, but very soonly and perhaps a bit suddenly, an annoncement said "GOATHLAND" and everybody became abuzy. "Oh, Harry Potter!!!" "Gee, Peggy Armstrong!!!" "Aye, Aydansfield!!!" People with glary stares and eyes wide shut were stopping and starting as the cameras were close to overheating and everybody was in somebody`s way. Inger and I agreed to flee the station and rather come back when everybody wasn`t in somebody`s way! So we did.

We climbed a very steep road up from the station and turned a slicght curve - there was the "Aidensfield Arms" to our left, and anew the cameras were aflashing. Pretty soon we found ourselves in Bernie Scripps` Garage and Funeral Palour, slalåming through police Anglias and rusty old Morris Minors. Souvenirs abounding, and an ice cream cone to go? We remembered we hadn`t a room, and entered the Goathland Arms (it changes name as you come to the front of it!). At the check in desk we asked if they had a room for honeymooners. "We have rooms", Gina said, but didn`t look exactly like the Gina we knew. We filled in a form and was handed the keys to room number 3. With a window right above the main entrance. And a view of Scripps` Parlour! What a treat!

Sightseeing the entire Aidensfield took just a few hours, including a stroll up the hills and a half hour shedding inside the Goathland Church. When the rain comes they run and hide their heads. Having raided the Aidensfield stores, we dined in Gina`s bar and was able to order "the local brew" which wasn`t at all bad. And then the dark grew!
I was able to lay my hands on my favourite chocolate bar, the CARAMAC. I thought it`d gone out of production, but no! Thank you!


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The stations on the way:
Thirsk
Northallerton
Yarm
Thornaby
Middlesbrough
Marton
Gypsy Lane
Nunthorpe
Great Ayton
Battersby (shifting track, going back)
Kildale
Commondale
Castleton Moor
Danby
Leaholm
Glaisdale
Egton
Grosmont (change for steam-engine)
Goathland (Aidensfield)


Ordering the local brew at Gina`s bar.



Meeting colleagues in a foreign land...


Passing Nunbridge.


Changing the tracks at Battersby.


Passengers to Middlesbrough this side.


Steam trains at Grosmont.


Aidensfield station, otherwise known as Goathland.


Inger outside Bernie Scripps`.


Aidensfield Stores.


The Arms.


Aidensfield`s church.


Checking in at the Aidensfield Arms - getting room number 3.


View from our bedroom window.


Our first taste of Yorkshire Pudding.



Planning the adventurous journey.


North Yorkshire Moors.


Steamtravel between Grosmont and Goathland.


Train pulling in at Grosmont.


Grosmont station.


A nice ride in a train from a distant past.


Three sheep outside Aidensfield Stores.


Still three sheep.


Trying to hijack the Heartbeat police car.


Outside Mr. Scripps`garage.


Outside Aidensfield Arms.



Aidensfield viewed from the other side.