CCLXIV – Tynemouth to Newcastle-upon-Tyne

TOWARDS the end of March 2026, I headed north from London to Newcastle-upon-Tyne at a fairly ungodly hour, arriving at the latter sometime mid-morning. I promptly left it again via the Tyne & Wear Metro, returning to Tynemouth, where I last left off.  From there, I planned to trek back up the River Tyne to Newcastle.  So, that’s what I did.

Tynemouth

Scott Clock & Fountain

My starting point was, of course, the end of my previous walk, as marked by the Scott Clock & Fountain.

The clock was gifted in 1861 to Tynemouth by another visitor from London – a man named William Scott – who had thoughtfully and helpfully foreseen that I might like a time-check before setting off upstream.

Castle & Priory

The clock was situated in front of the ruins of Tynemouth’s mediaeval castle & priory, a dual-purpose structure that came about when its prior was granted a licence to crenellate in 1296.

Note that fortifying your building without a licence issued by the King was not just a crime but could also be considered an actual act of rebellion, because why else would you militarise your home without proper authorisation?

The licence was issued by Edward I (1239-1307) and read in full:

‘For the prior and convent of Tynemouth.  The king sends greetings to all.  Know that we have granted for ourselves and our heirs, to our beloved in Christ prior and convent of Tynemouth that they themselves may strengthen and crenellate their aforesaid priory with a wall of rock and stone, and that they may hold it thus fortified and crenellated to themselves and their successors without risk or hindrance from us or our heirs or our justices, or our other bailiffs, or our ministers, or whomsoever.’

The arms of Tynemouth Priory bore three golden ancient crowns on a red field, each representing one of three kings who were buried within its bounds. These were Oswin of Deira (d. 651), Osred II of Northumbria (d. 792) and Malcom III of Scotland (c. 1031-1093), although the latter was later disinterred for reburial in his native Scotland.

Prior’s Haven

Immediately south of the ruins was Prior’s Haven, a small cove very handily located for use by the priory as a landing place.

Today, it is even more sheltered than it was in mediaeval times, on account of the 900 m-long North Pier jutting out between priory and haven. The pier was completed in 1910 as one of two protecting the entrance to the Tyne.

Prior’s Haven Car Park

Today, Prior’s Haven also lends its name to an adjacent car park, although the land that the car park occupies is actually the former footprint of an industrial railway depot built to support construction of the pier and which survived for pier maintenance purposes until the 1960s.

The car park sits at the southern edge of an actual park, i.e. a public green space. This, almost inevitably, is called Prior’s Park.

Collingwood Monument

I detoured up a track near the car park entrance, climbing atop a high green space overlooking the Tyne Estuary. The reason for my detour was a statue, which stood atop a columnar plinth flanked by a quartet of cannon. This was the Collingwood Monument.

The monument commemorates the Napoleonic-era naval officer and local boy Vice-Admiral Cuthbert Collingwood, 1st Baron Collingwood (1748-1810), whose body is buried in London’s St Paul’s Cathedral.

Erected in 1845 by public subscription, the monument is Grade II listed. It was positioned where it is to ensure that seagulls get a great view visibility of it from the Tyne. Collingwood’s statue was sculpted by John Graham Lough (1798-1876) and its plinth the work of architect John Dobson (1787-1865), whose work would also mark the end of my day’s walk in the form of Newcastle Station.

Battle of Trafalgar

Collingwood earned the fame that would merit such a monument when he served as second-in-command to Vice-admiral Horatio Nelson, 1st Viscount Nelson (1758-1805) at the 1805 Battle of Trafalgar.

In this role, he was fully briefed on Nelson’s battle plan and so, when Nelson’s flagship, HMS Victory, ran up her famous signal ‘England expects that every man will do his duty,’ Collingwood is said to have remarked ‘I wish Nelson would make no more signals; we all understand what we have to do.’

As a demonstration of this understanding, Collingwood advanced his own ship, HMS Royal Sovereign, to engage the enemy and not only made the first contact, attacking the Spanish warship Santa Ana, but had to fight for over an hour before the rest of the fleet caught up and came into gun range. Observing this zeal, Nelson is said to have exclaimed:

‘See how that noble fellow Collingwood takes his ship into action!’

Admiral Lord Collingwood’s arms comprised a black chevron between three black stag’s heads on a silver field, representing Collingwood.  Above these, as an augmentation of honour, were placed a wavy red chief (horizontal upper stripe) upon which was placed a gold lion wearing a naval crown and the word ‘Trafalgar’ above the lion.

Royal Sovereign

Royal Sovereign was a first-rate ship of the line, mounting 100 guns. By which I actually mean cannon, but they were traditionally referred to merely as ‘guns’ when aboard ship. Her Trafalgar opponent, Santa Ana, actually carried even more guns – 112 to be precise – but her gun crews were less practiced than Royal Sovereign’s.

Royal Sovereign was launched in Plymouth in 1786 and cost £67,458 to build. According to the Bank of England inflation calculator, that works out as equivalent to about £6.7 m in 2026 terms, which sounds like an absolute bargain; modern frigates (which are much smaller) cost over a billion apiece!

Blomefield Cannon

Royal Sovereign fought at Ushant in 1794 and Trafalgar in 1805 but came to the end of her active service in 1826, when she was hulked (i.e. dismasted and used as a static platform). In 1841, she was broken up but four of her guns were saved and it is they that now flank the monument.

The guns are 32-pounder Blomefield cannon, the Royal Navy’s biggest guns in use from the 1790s until the late 1830s. The four mounted on the monument were specifically chosen because they were survivors from Trafalgar and were actually fired in that battle.

Spanish Battery

I could have taken a path from the monument directly down the riverside but I chose instead to backtrack and then venture onto the promontory known as Spanish Battery – today the site of yet another car park – and then to the mouth of the Tyne.

Spanish Battery takes the ‘battery’ part of its name from a fort built there by Henry VIII in 1545.  The ‘Spanish’ part is thought derive from a company of Spanish mercenaries who were employed to man its guns.

Watch House

As I descended from Spanish Battery to the riverside, I spotted a white, weather-boarded structure up above me, taking advantage of the same elevation as had been enjoyed by Lord Collingwood’s seagull.  This was the Watch House of the Tynemouth Volunteer Life Brigade (TVLB).

The TLVB is a voluntary shore-based coastal search and rescue service. It was the first of its kind when formed in 1864 and, after a subsequent rise and reduction in such organisations, is now one of just three remaining.  It has been based out of that same watch house for the entirety of its existence and still uses it today (although the building also now houses a small lifesaving museum).

The TVLB was formed after three particularly blizzardy days in November 1864 saw no less than five ships wrecked upon the Black Middens, a treacherous expanse of shallow rocks that lie pretty much right below the watch tower (the placement of which is no accident).  34 people died, all within sight of the shore, blizzard conditions permitting.

Black Middens

My path down from Spanish Battery joined a broad riverside promenade directly beside the Black Middens.

North Shields

The Flats

From the Black Middens, I made my way upriver.  The rocky shoreline thinned to reveal growing patches of silt and sand in the region labelled ‘The Flats’ on my Ordnance Survey map.  It was somewhere around this point that I passed out of Tynemouth and into neighbouring North Shields.

North Shields (pronounced ‘sheelz’) takes its name from the shiels or seasonal fisherman’s huts from which the settlement first grew.  The ‘North’ part simply differentiates it from South Shields on the opposite bank.

Sir James Knott Memorial Flats

Flats of a different kind loomed high on the bank above me in the form of the Sir James Knott Memorial Flats, constructed in 1939 and notable for what was, at the time, the biggest clock in the North East with a 12′ 6″ diameter face.

The flats are named for local shipping magnate Sir James Knott (1855-1934), who pursued philanthropic interests towards the end of his life. This included setting up the trust that funded these flats as housing for families displaced by slum clearance in the Fish Quay area of North Shields.

Knott became a baronet in 1917, hence the ‘Sir’. The Knott baronets of Close House were granted arms featuring a gold lymphad (galley) on blue between three gold anchors. However, two of his three sons died in WW1 and the third, Thomas Knott (1879-1949), had no issue, so the baronetcy died out with the latter.

Fashion & Fireproofing

The flats’ design was consciously modelled on the latest social housing designs then in use by London County Council and the architect was Charles Holden (1875-1960), who is most famous for his many modernist London Underground stations.

Because of the time when they were built (i.e. the late 1930s) and their conspicuous position above the shoreline, it was feared that the flats might become a prime target for Nazi bombers should the looming threat of WW2 materialise (which, of course, it did). With this in mind, fire-resistant materials were used throughout and cellars constructed that could also double as air raid shelters.

The Narrows

Fish Quay (whose slums were cleared) is located beside the Narrows, where the estuary funnels to become the River Tyne proper.  Following the arc of the shore of the Flats soon brought me to its eastern edge.

Fish Quay

As its name suggests, Fish Quay was once a thriving fishing port. It was originally established in 1225 as the collection of shiels that would later give the larger town of North Shields its name.  For centuries, it vied with the larger, more prosperous and politically powerful port of Newcastle, whose burghers and merchants did their best to try to keep North Shields in its place.

Nonetheless, it thrived as a herring port until the 1980s, when it could no longer resist the collapse of the fishing industry. Even today, although now much reduced in scale, it remains an active fishing port and still lays claim to being the largest prawn port in England.

Fiddlers Green

It takes a giant fisherman to deal with giant prawns and I found one sitting on the waterfront, staring out towards the river mouth.

The fisherman above is a sculpture titled Fiddlers Green, erected in 2017 as a memorial for fishermen lost at sea. It was created by local sculptor Ray Lonsdale in 2017, who adapted the design from a late 1950s photograph of a North Shields fisherman taken by local photographer Harry Hann.

Lonsdale’s work has an instantly recognisable style, making frequent use of corten steel, which develops a protective rust patina. I would be seeing more of his work before my trip was over.

A Fiddly Fate

The sculpture’s name refers to Fiddlers Green, a folkloric afterlife for sailors who had served fifty years at sea. It was said to comprise a verdant green, where fiddles never stopped playing and endless mirth was to be had by all who ended up there. The plaque on the side of the sculpture describes this in poetic terms:

To the fishermen lost in the cold North Sea
And the ones who will be so
I’ll be seeing you all on Fiddlers Green
Be steady as you go.

For Fiddlers Green is a place I’ve heard tell
Though no one really knows
Where the fishermen go if they don’t go to hell
And no Arctic wind will blow.

New High & Low Lights

To the right of the sculpture in the photo above, we can see three former harbour lights.

The two most obvious actually look like square lighthouses, and these were the New Low Light (left) and New High Light (right) in operation from 1810 to 1999.  Incoming vessels would line them both up to help steer up the safe channel.

The New Low & High Lights were designed by local architect John Stokoe (1756–1836) and were electrified in 1927. They were decommissioned when Herd Groyne lighthouse on the opposite shore (built in 1882) was upgraded in such a manner as to be able to take over their task.

The New Low Light still acts as daymark, though, seeing how it is both visible and distinctive.

Old Low Light

The black and white building to the right of the New Low Light is its predecessor, the Old Low Light, which served with a companion high light from 1727 until 1810, when a shift in the safe river channel moved it out of their alignment.

After its decommissioning, the Old Low Light successively served as an alms house, a fish warehouse and a training centre for the Deep Sea Fisheries Association. After being vacated in 2011 by its then-resident, the Maritime Volunteer Service, it was refurbished and opened as a heritage centre in 2014.

Provider

The ageing but active fishing boat in the above photo, registration AH-71, is named Provider. She was built in Arbroath in 1972  and has served as a fishing boat ever since. She’s almost as old as I am!

Clifford’s Fort

The Old Low Light was constructed within the grounds of something a great deal older than either Provider or this Helpful Mammal. Specifically, it was built inside Clifford’s Fort, a gun battery established in 1672 at the start of the Third Anglo-Dutch War (1672-1674).

The fort was designed by Anglo-Swedish engineer Martin Beckman (1635-1702) and named for Thomas Clifford, 1st Baron Clifford of Chudleigh (1630-1673), a prominent English statesman nicknamed ‘Clifford of the Cabal.’

The Cabal

The Cabal in question was a clique of Charles II’s ministers in power between 1668 and 1674.  In addition to facetiously recognising that they were acting in concert (as opposed to a singular royal favourite), the Cabal nickname was also a surprisingly early acronym, comprising the initials of its constituent members – Clifford, Arlington, Buckingham, Ashley, and Lauderdale.

The Third Anglo-Dutch War, which had caused Clifford’s Fort to be built, played a significant part in the Cabal Ministry’s downfall. Disputes over war financing contributed greatly to splits and infighting between the clique’s members, leading to its collapse. Clifford himself avoided the endgame by dying before it played out.

Lord Clifford’s arms aren’t particularly relevant, but I like their geometricity, so here they are: The Cliffords of Chudleigh (in Devon) bore a red fess (horizontal central stripe) on a checquered gold and blue field.

Molten Gallery

Also built within the grounds of Clifford’s Fort and occupying the site of its old guardhouse was Molten Gallery & Café. A glass sculpture gallery and workshop with attached café and gelateria, this was opened in 2022 and looked out eastwards past the Fiddlers Green sculpture.

The upper part of its building, erected circa 2017 on a much older building as its base, was certainly distinctive, with a glazing style some might find moving.

Thankfully, I didn’t realise at the time  that the café was also a gelateria or else I might have been lured inside and never got any further.  Instead, as the photo of the Low Lights and Provider has already betrayed, I quickly moved on past it.

Low Town

Beyond Fish Quay’s harbour, I entered the narrow ribbon of quayside buildings that had once been known as Low Town (as distinguished by the rest of North Shields, perched high atop the valley slope above).

Though still flanked by old warehouses and the ghosts of old inns and taverns – it once boasted over a hundred of those – the quayside today is more spacious than it once was, its slums long having been cleared (which was, you may recall,  why the Sir James Knott Memorial Flats were required).

Herring Girl

Beyond Herring Girl I found the way ahead at the riverside barred and was forced to divert onto an adjacent road, with buildings now blocking my view of the river. Fortunately, some of them proved interesting…

Prince of Wales

About 150 m along the road from Herring Girl and Ropery Stairs, I encountered one of the many ghosts of pubs past. The pub in question was the Prince of Wales, built in 1927 and closed during the COVID-19 lockdown, never to reopen. A bit sad not least because that site had faithfully been host to a pub for three hundred years before the current building was even constructed.

The Prince of Wales was also alternatively known to locals as the Old Wooden Dolly on account of this near-permanent patron:

Old Wooden Dolly

The ‘Old Wooden Dolly’ shown above is the sixth to grace that location since 1814, having become a well-known local landmark and reputed good luck charm. The original was the figurehead of a collier brig, Alexander and Margaret, attacked and ransomed by an American privateer during the American War of Independence (1775-1783).

The original sat outside the pub, preventing carts from backing up the alley and falling into the river, between 1814 and 1850. In that time, she became a good luck totem for sailors, who basically hacked her to pieces, carving off chunks to take with them as good luck charms.

A new Wooden Dolly was subsequently installed, and that the nephew of Alexander and Margeret’s captain became mayor in 1851 is probably not coincidental. This second Dolly lasted until 1864, to be followed by a third (1864-1901), fourth (1902-1957) and fifth (1958-1992).

The current, sixth, Dolly is a larger copy of the third.

Alexander and Margaret

The brig Alexander and Margaret was owned by local merchant Alexander Bartleman, the name of whose wife I leave as an exercise for the reader.  The vessel was captained by their son David Bartleman (1756-1781), who was in no mind to submit when the privateer Fearnought attempted to seize his vessel as a prize.

This was pretty impressively stubborn of David as Alexander and Margaret was a collier, not a warship, and only had a crew of ten and three measly 3-pounder guns with which to defend herself.  Fearnought, by contrast, was a fighting privateer, mounting eighteen 4-pounders and manned by a crew of about 100.  On the face of it, then, David’s resistance was doomed.

William Fall

We have heard of Fearnought before, however – she attempted something similar at Dunbar that same year but was quickly driven off by shots from just four guns mounted ashore. Despite the bold exhortation in Fearnought’s name, her captain – sometimes called William Fall, but also variously Daniel or John Fall or Fell (he apparently liked to switch aliases) – appears to have been rather timid.

This may help to explain why Alexander and Margaret’s spirited defence initially saw him driven off. Which is frankly ridiculous.

A High Price

Alas for Alexander and Margaret, Captain Fall eventually found a backbone and, perhaps reminded by his crew that he held a significant advantage, he pressed the attack again.

This time he succeeded in seizing the brig, a challenge that should have been a doddle the first time. She and her crew were then ransomed for 400 guineas (£420, equivalent to about £63 k in today’s terms).

David Bartleman was freed on payment of the ransom but he had sustained wounds in the fight that killed him a fortnight later. His grieving father kept the damaged brig’s figurehead, initially in the garden of his home at 23, Front Street in Tynemouth but then moved it in 1814 to Custom House Quay (i.e. where the Prince of Wales is).

Low Dock

A short distance further on, I passed by Low Dock.  This was built in the early 19th century as a graving dock – a small dry dock used for cleaning a vessel’s hull – but today pretty much serves as a water feature between modern blocks of flats.

Its exact date of construction is unknown, but it was already in situ in 1826 when cartographer John Wood (d. 1847) drew up his Plan of the Towns of North Shields and Tynemouth.

A footbridge across its riverside end tantalisingly suggested that it was possible to walk closer to the river, but that particular promenade was fenced off as private land pertaining to the flats. I was thus, for the time being, restricted to a public road with buildings between me and the river.

Crane House Vaults

At Low Dock the river bent southwards and the road I was on – now called Clive Street – followed suit.  I ambled along it for a little less than quarter of a mile until another obvious ex-pub caught my eye. Tiled signage named it as having been the Crane House Vaults and it was located in what had once been the Market Place.

The original Crane House was  part of a collection of buildings comprising houses, shops and pubs and existed from 1833. In 1838, after the death of their owner Ann Kirby, they were acquired by William Allison (1827-1917), who operated a brewery on the site.  He sold up in 1890, when his brewery was absorbed, with others, into the newly-formed Newcastle Breweries which, in 1927, would invent Newcastle Brown Ale.

William Allison’s elder brother, James Allison (1826-1899) used these arms but then died without issue, which means that William would have inherited them late in life.  They feature a red fess between three blackbirds proper (i.e. in natural colours) on a silver field, all surrounded by a red bordure.

Rebuilt & Repurposed

Newcastle Breweries had the old Crane House and its associated maltings demolished in 1905 and rebuilt set back further from the road. Their replacement was designed by the breweries’ favourite architect, Joseph Oswald (1852-1930), who not only designed many of their pubs but also their head office in Newcastle’s Haymarket.

 Renamed the Crane Hotel in the 1920s and the Chain Locker in 1986, the pub closed for good in 2004 and was converted into flats the following year. But, while the flats behind were an entirely new construction, the Oswald frontage was retained as nod to heritage.

Ferry Mews

Almost directly opposite the old Crane House Vaults was a gated alley called Ferry Mews. A sign on the gate informed me that the Shields Ferry was closed, denying me use of the most downstream pedestrian crossing of the Tyne. Fortunately, I had not planned to use it.

Market Place & Direct Ferries

Ferries have plied the Tyne since 1377, although the modern Shields Ferry service was established in 1828 as the Market Place Ferry, steaming between North and South Shields.

A competitor – the Direct Ferry – started up next door in 1847 with a lower price and shorter crossing but its smaller boats proved uneconomical, and it merged with the Market Place Ferry two years later.  This combined operation was then acquired by the Tyne Improvement Commission (TIC) in 1863.

The TIC – established in 1850 to improve and manage the river – ran both ferries until 1954, when the Direct Ferry ceased running.

Shields Ferry

The Market Place Ferry continued to operate, passing to the Port of Tyne Authority, which superseded the commission in 1968. 

In 1972, it was transferred to the Tyneside Passenger Transport Executive (TPTE), which renamed it to Shields Ferry.  Local government changes in 1974 saw the TPTE replaced by a larger Tyne & Wear Passenger Transport Executive which, now branded as Nexus, still runs the ferry today.

The ferry’s northern landing stage had been badly damaged by Storm Chandra in late January, forcing Nexus to close it throughout February while they dealt with the damage.  This had turned out to be more extensive than first thought, hence it still being closed when I passed it in late March.

UKD Orca

South of where the old Market Place had been, Clive Street became Duke Street for about 120 m, at the end of which was a roundabout that more-or-less marked the end of Low Town.  Adjacent to this were two modern blocks of flats – marketed under the name Smokehouses – and I found to my joy that I could briefly regain the riverside at the back of them.

My return to the riverside, momentary as it was, coincided exactly with the passing of this vessel:

She is UKD Orca, a suction hopper dredger operated by UK Dredging (UKD). Built in 2010 in Stroobos in the Netherlands, she is 78 m in length and has a gross tonnage (a measure of total inside space) of 3,087 t.  She can chug along at 10.6 kts but wasn’t doing anything like that as she ambled slowly past.

UK Dredging

Her owner, UKD, operates Britain’s largest British dredging fleet, which isn’t really much of a surrise when you learn how it came to be.  It was established in 1996 as a division of Associated British Ports (ABP), the privatised (in 1981) version of the previously nationalised British Transport Docks Board.  In other words, UKD was set up to dredge most of Britain’s major ports.

Today, ABP operates 21 ports but not the Port of Tyne, which belongs to the Port of Tyne Authority. I can only presume that UKD doesn’t restrict itself to dredging ABP ports. But then, why should it?

Smith’s Dock

The Smokehouses development was situated right next to Smith’s Dock on land that had once been part of its industrial dockside

Smith’s Dock Company had been a prominent shipbuilder, established in 1810 when founder Thomas Smith bought William Rowe‘s shipyard at St Peter‘s in Newcastle.  That site lay further upstream and I would reach it before my day was done. This dock was opened by Smith’s in 1851.

Smith’s merged with Swan Hunter in 1966 to become part of Associated Shipbuilders (later renamed back to Swan Hunter, leaving the Smith’s name defunct).  The whole company became defunct in 1987, causing Smith’s Dock to fall derelict.  Though de facto disused, it was officially still operable until 2000, when the dock was finally formally decommissioned.

Places for People

In 2006, Smith’s Dock was bought by property developer Places for People (est. 1965), which erected Smokehouses and neighbouring terrace The Plateau in a joint venture fellow developer, Urban Splash (est. 1993).

Wolsington House

With the actual dock fenced off, I was forced to take to a Link Road that curved around its perimeter, and which the developers had helpfully provided to mitigate that exact problem.  This was fairly dull, flanked as it was by industrial dereliction on the one side, and ongoing industry on the other.  Well, mostly.  There was also another disused pub, with some rather fancy detailing:

This pub – Wolsington House – was built in 1902 and its detail-loving architect was a local man named John Spencer.  As usual, it was a rebuilding rather than a new pub, there having been one on this site since 1834, when it was John Veitch’s Alehouse.

Although the alehouse predated Smith’s Dock, the dockers and sailors came to provide much of the clientele for both it and its Wolsington House successor – popularly known as ‘the Woolie’ – which proved a bit of a problem when the dock closed and went derelict.  Bereft of custom, the pub closed in 2001.

In mid-2025, planning permission was sought to convert it for use as a veterinary practice but, judging from appearances, nothing seems to have come of that.

Riverside Diversion

The link road connected to Dock Road, which in turn led to Prince Consort Way. The England Coast Path (ECP), which I was vaguely sort of following, continued merrily along the latter but I espied a side path that returned me instead to the riverside.

Soon finding myself upon a paved promenade, I could see ahead the former Albert Edward Dock, now Royal Quays Marina, and beside it the towering bulk of the cruise ship MV Balmoral.

MV Crown Odyssey

MV Balmoral was built in 1988 in Papenburg, West Germany, and was launched as Crown Odyssey for Greek cruise operator Royal Cruise Line (est. 1974). 

The following year, that company was bought by Norwegian Cruise Line (NCL, est. 1966) and, although it initially continued to operate the former as a separate subsidiary, it merged it out of existence in 1996, at which point Crown Odyssey was renamed Norwegian Crown.

In 1998, NCL acquired Orient Lines (est. 1991) and a confusing period followed, with Norwegian Crown first being transferred and renamed back to Crown Odyssey and then transferred back again, reverting to Norwegian Crown.

MV Balmoral

In 2006, Norwegian Crown was sold to Fred Olsen Cruise Lines (est. 1848), which renamed her Balmoral after the royal estate. They also had her undergo a major refit that included lengthening her hull by cutting her in half and inserting a new mid-section. This increased her passenger capacity at the cost of speed and handling.

In her current configuration, she is about 218 m in length with a gross tonnage of 43,537 t. She can accommodate 1,325 passengers on nine of her eleven decks and has 530 crew. Her top speed is 15.5 kts so, even in her enlarged state, she’s still faster than UKD Orca.

Royal Quays Marina

The marina that Balmoral was moored next to had been built as the Coble Dene Dock in 1883, but was officially opened the following year by the then Prince of Wales (the future Edward VII), at which point it was renamed Albert Edward Dock after him. 

It had been built to increase the available goods and coal shipping facilities on the Tyne’s north bank and served admirably in this purpose until the 1980s, when a downturn in its fortunes saw it closed to commercial traffic.

Falling derelict, the dock was redeveloped by the Tyne & Wear Development Corporation and reopened in 1990 as the Royal Quays Marina.  Today, it is full of leisure craft and surrounded by flats but the odd reminder of its industrial heritage still persists.

Coble Dene Park

Having crossed the lock gates and done two and a half sides of Royal Quays Marina, I found myself led by the ECP through Coble Dene Park.  This was a pleasant green space that not only featured ornamental rocks (which was not too unusual) but also a series of numbered groynes of the sort that typically prevent longshore drift on beaches.

Coble Dene

The park was sited in, and so named for, the actual terrain feature called Coble Dene.  Prior to the construction of Albert Edward Dock, this had been described in the relevant OS Name Book of 1857 (used to help compile the 1st ed OS maps) as:

‘A valley with a small stream at the bottom of it flowing into an estuary of the River Tyne.’

After the dock was constructed, the stream was filled in and the valley became a track bed for part of the complex industrial railway system that was built to serve it.

A187

At the far end of the park, the ECP deposited me onto a cycle path that ran alongside a road also called Coble Dene.  This was a busy dual carriageway connecting the A187 with the North Shields international ferry terminal.

Since I wasn’t trying to go to IJmuiden in the Netherlands, I let the ECP lead me away from the ferry terminal, to connect with the part of the A187 that bore the name Howdon Road.  There, I encountered a road sign that gave me pause.

Howdon Road ended at a roundabout where the A187 forked. To the north, a short spur connected to the A193, while to the south, its main arm turned west to head for the edge of Heaton. I shunned both these options, instead heading west on a foot and cycle path.

NCN 72

At this point I was no longer on the ECP, which had broken off southwards at some point that I missed, but was instead following National Cycle Network route 72. This curved around to meet a bridge over the A19 Tyne Tunnels approach road.

Tyne Tunnels

There are actually four Tyne Tunnels all next to each other. Three of them were authorised by the Tyne Tunnel Act 1946 but, thanks to post-war austerity, were delivered in stages after construction delays.

The first two to open were the foot and cycle tunnels, which were opened in 1951 to coincide with the Festival of Britain, followed by a road tunnel in 1967.  With traffic having subsequently exceeded the latter’s capacity, a second road tunnel was added in 2011.

It was not lost on me that, since the Shields Ferry hadn’t been running, that the foot tunnel was the lowest Tyne crossing that I could have used.  That, however, was not my plan at all.

Riverside Branch Line

It was extremely obvious to me that the bridge by which NCN 72 crossed over the A19 was an old railway bridge (though sadly not one at all interesting to look at).  I assumed therefore that it was (a) related to the dock lines and (b) a survivor from when its line was built. This made me doubly wrong.

The line that had crossed there was actually the 6½-mile Riverside Branch, opened in 1879 by the North Eastern Railway (NER) to serve communities along the north bank of the Tyne.  This involved numerous tunnels and bridges but since the Tyne Tunnels were still 88 years in its future, not the one I’d just crossed. Indeed, that had been one of the few pieces of level ground where such engineering was unnecessary. 

That bridge was added when the first road tunnel was constructed, thus requiring its approach road to dive under the track.

Armstrong Road

The Riverside Branch had fully closed to passengers by 1973 and to freight by 1988.

Today, several parts of its alignment are used by NCN 72 and I would be meeting it again before my walk was over. But not just yet – once across the bridge, the cycle path veered sharply away, taking me with it. It then dropped me into Armstrong Road, a residential backstreet in the suburb of Willington Quay.

Albion Inn

At the far end of Armstrong Road, a dedicated cycle path branched off to re-join the Riverside Branch alignment, skirting around an industrial estate to emerge on Western Road. 

There, NCN 72 turned right, heading north but, before I did likewise, a building immediately south first drew my attention.

The Albion Inn first opened in 1853 although the building now mouldering is slightly less venerable, having been erected in 1914.  It was supposed to be demolished in the late 1960s as part of the Tyne Tunnel works but somehow managed to escape that fate and live on until the 21st century, which finally killed it dead.

Willington Dene Viaduct

Western Road headed north then curved westward up the valley of Willington Dene. On my left was the industrial site of wire rope manufacturer Bridon Bekaert, while to my right stood residential housing. Neither of these were remotely as visually interesting as what lay ahead however, that being the Willington Dene Viaduct.

The viaduct as seen was built by the NER in 1869 and carries the railway line that the Riverside Branch branches off from. 

Newcastle & North Shields Railway

It was opened by the Newcastle and North Shields Railway (N&NSR) in 1839, which spanned Willington Dene with a wooden bridge of very similar design. 

A series of mergers saw the N&NSR  become part of the NER in 1854 and, when they came to replace the bridge with something more durable, they pretty much rebuilt it as was except in wrought iron. It is Grade II listed.

The line was electrified in 1904 as part of the Tyneside Electrics network, then de-electrified in 1967 as British Rail could not afford to renew the ageing electrical infrastructure. In 1974, the line was closed and re-electrified, reopening in 1982 as part of the Tyne & Wear Metro, which it still is today.

Wallsend

Wallsend Burn

I blithely assumed that I’d pass under the Willington Dene Viaduct, but no, NCN 72 had other ideas.  Instead, it turned left down the foot and cycle path that was shyly hiding behind a bin in the photo above (a rubbish attempt at concealment).

This crossed Willington Gut by means of a rather less impressive footbridge but then the stream itself was also underwhelming, being little more than a muddy ditch.

The gut is actually the lower, tidal stretch of the Wallsend Burn. This arises near Heaton Cemetery, about three miles upstream from the viaduct, but is culverted for the first third of that, emerging in Wallsend Golf Course.

On the far side, I re-joined the A187 close to Hadrian Road Metro Station.

Hadrian’s Various Nouns

The station is obviously named for the road it’s adjacent to. This, in turn, is named for Publius Aelius Hadrianus (76-138) – also known simply as ‘Hadrian’ – who was Emperor of Rome from 117 until his death. 

It was he who commanded the construction of Hadrian’s Wall in 122 to fortify the northern border of what was then the Roman province of Britannia.  The eastern end of that wall was in Wallsend, which town I had now entered and whose name is likewise pretty obvious in meaning.

A little further on, I encountered his other, somewhat less famous endeavour:

Hadrian’s Cycleway

Hadrian’s Cycleway is actually just an alternative, more touristy, name for NCN 72 on account of sticking quite close to the course of the wall. From here into Newcastle, it would also stay on or beside the track bed of the Riverside Branch.

Segedunum

The actual, physical eastern end of Hadrian’s Wall was marked by the fort of Segedunum, the remains of which the cycle path soon brought me to.  These could be viewed from above thanks to a viewing tower gallery in the attendant museum.

I do not recommend shunning the lift and running up the stairs in order to do so.

Numerical Map Labels

As you can see, one side of Segedunum’s footprint – the infantry barracks – has been obliterated by the A187. Most of the rest is numbered on the map for our convenience.

These include (2) the cavalry barracks, (3) the Praetorium (commanding officer’s house), (4) the Principia (fort headquarters) and (5) the Horrea (granary). According to the key, (7) was the hospital.

The element labelled ‘7’ on the map was actually a water tank, added in the late 3rd century, which the key indicated should have label number (6).  I can only assume the labels fell off the map and the ‘7’ was put back on in the wrong place.

The Branch Wall

Also missing from the map is (1), the branch wall, which was a final stub of wall running south from the fort to the bank of the Tyne. A small amount of this is visible on the ground, although not actually in the same place along its alignment as where it was found. The rest did not survive the creation of Swan Hunter’s neighbouring shipyard.

Builders of the Wall

73 statute miles in length (or 80 Roman miles), Hadrian’s Wall was mostly completed in a six-year period by a workforce of about 15,000 legionaries. These were supervised by their centurions, some of whose names have been discovered from ‘centurial stones’ set up by the work gangs  to record their work on a section of the Wall.

Today, those centurions are commemorated by a sculpture and a memorial set up to mark the eastern end of the Hadrian’s Wall Path National Trail (HWP).

Sentius Tectonicus

The Sentius Tectonicus sculpture depicts an ‘architectural man,’ a fanciful strange hybrid of centurion and four-storey Roman building.  Sentius was one of the names found on a centurial stone and, more specifically, one close to Segedunum.  The Tectonicus part of its title is Latin for ‘architectural.’

Sentius Tectonicus was erected in 2017 to mark two important anniversaries: that year was both the 30th since Hadrian’s Wall was designated a World Heritage Site and the 1900th anniversary of Hadrian’s accession to the imperial throne.

Signa Latine Scripta

Wallsend is pretty proud of Segedunum and its place at the end of the wall.  So much so that nearby Wallsend Metro Station is the only railway station in Britain with bilingual signs in Latin! 

The signs marking the boundary when entering Wallsend had also been keen to name the fort.

Fingerpost Sign

As you can probably tell from my need to source a photo of the station’s bilingual signage from elsewhere, I decided not to detour just to take a look at it.  Instead, I continued westwards, though a nearby fingerpost sign soon presented me with multiple other options.

I’d already been to Bowness, Ravenglass and Segedunum, so that really only left one possible destination, at least according to this sign.

Roman Baths

The bathhouse ruins were about 150 m south of the fort, down their own side-path.  I made the most of gazing upon them and then, thirty seconds later when I’d seen enough, I resumed my westward progress with a plan to stop well before Bowness.

Newcastle-upon-Tyne

Not Quite On Track

The path beyond Segedunum fort was mostly flat, screened by trees and either straight or gently curving. This was, of course,  because it generally ran either on or right next to the Riverside Branch alignment. 

The reason it didn’t stick exactly to the track bed had a lot to do with its bridges, many of which had long been removed.  In consequence, the path kept off the embankments that formed their approaches, preferring to cross roads on the level as it veered south into Newcastle.

Newcastle’s coat of arms, as seen on the sign above, has been in use since at least the 14th century. It features three silver triple-towered castles upon a red field because they really, really wanted you to know they had one – a ‘new’ one, in fact – just in case you hadn’t realised it from the city’s name.

Walker Riverside

Hadrian’s Cycleway conveyed me to Walker Riverside Park, which occupied the inside bend of a meander in the Tyne.

The park was created in the 1980s, mostly incorporating land reclaimed from two defunct industrial sites: St Anthony’s Lead Works (1846-1932) and Thomas Ness Tar Works (1919-1981).  The park was green and rather lovely, so long as one kept off the shoreline, where signs warned that dangerous industrial contamination still remained.

I had no plans to get into the water (or toxic chemicals), but right next to it suited me fine. That being so, I dropped down from the cycle path to a riverside path below.

St Peter’s Marina

St Peter’s Yard

The marina was previously was a shipyard operated by William Rowe between 1756 and 1810. He sold it on to Thomas Smith, under whose ownership it grew to become the largest yard on the river during the first half of the 19th century. 

After Smith’s Dock was opened downstream in 1851, St Peter’s became less important and so was sold on again in 1871, this time to steam engine and locomotive manufacturer R&W Hawthorn (est. 1817).

Hawthorn amalgamated in 1880 with shipbuilder A Leslie & Co. (est. 1853), to become Hawthorn Leslie & Co., which developed the site as a marine engineering works specialising in steam turbines for the Royal Navy.

Closure & Redevelopment

The yard continued to build boat engines for over a century but eventually closed during the 1980s.  The St Peter’s basin then became the focus of a redevelopment scheme by Barratt Homes and, in 1991, the marina was opened by Diana, Princess of Wales (1961-1997).

St Lawrence

As it turned out, the bascule bridge, though cool, wasn’t actually all that helpful. I was now following signs for a path that was simultaneously the ECP, the HWP and the River Tyne Trail, and these directed me inland up the western edge of the marina anyway.

When it resumed its journey upstream, the path had become separated from the river by variously a housing estate, several industrial buildings and an enormous, largely empty, car park.

Glasshouse Bridges

Things improved when I reached the mouth of the Ouseburn, a small tributary of the Tyne, which was crossed by the Glasshouse Bridges.

The original Lower Glasshouse Bridge was a small arch at the burn’s mouth and took its name from the proximity of several glass-makers on the burn’s eastern bank. It was first built in wood in 1609, then rebuilt in stone in 1669, rebuilt again in 1727 and demolished in 1908 when the quayside was extended.  A steel bridge was then built to replace it.

A second, higher, New Glasshouse Bridge was built in 1878 and comprised six brick arches of unequal span.  This bridge still stands today.

Unattributed Poem

The writing on the side of the New Glasshouse Bridge is an unattributed poem added in 2018. It has since been partly obscured by graffiti but reads:

Stone holds the bird
Air and water sing the song
Steel becomes an angel's shape
And you are all these things.

Right, yes. Of course you are. That’s just so you, I expect.

The Baltic

Once across the Ouseburn, I was on a riverside promenade the rest of the way into the city centre, which was nice.

The Baltic Centre for Contemporary Art, more popularly just known as the Baltic, is an art gallery that opened in 2002.  It is housed in a converted flour mill that was built for Joseph Rank (1854-1943), whose company (1875-2007), rose to become Britain’s largest flour mill under the name Rank Hovis McDougall. 

This particular mill was started in the 1930s but, thanks to WW2, not completed until 1950, seven years after Rank’s death. It closed in 1984 and regeneration commenced a decade later.

Gateshead Millennium Bridge

The approximate year of construction for the Gateshead Millennium Bridge ought not to be too taxing to work out. Indeed, it was supposed to open in late 2000 but was actually completed a year late.  Its name being Gateshead-specific apparently upset Newcastle City Council but, since Gateshead Council stumped up some of its funding and they didn’t, they don’t actually get a vote.

The bridge was designed by architectural practice WilkinsonEyre (est. 1983) as a tilt bridge, i.e. one that can rotate about fixed end points to raise its deck out of the way of shipping that would otherwise be too tall to pass beneath.

Swirle Pavilion

Just before reaching the Gateshead Millennium Bridge, I passed the Swirle Pavilion, a sculpture and folly that is also known as the Golden Globe Monument.  Created by artist Raf Fulcher in 1998, it is adorned by the names of cities from which Newcastle regularly received trade ships.

The ‘pavilion’ gets its name from Swirle Burn, which used to be the boundary between the once-separate towns of Newcastle and Byker but was culverted at some point in the 19th century.

Exactly when this happened, I’m not sure but it was already mostly gone in the relevant 1st ed OS map for the area (publ. 1862), with only its mouth visible and even then, only if you know that’s what you’re looking at.

The Glasshouse

My confusion over what the Swirle Pavilion might mean was quickly supplanted by bafflement over a strange, organic shape blobbing about on the south bank.

This glass-sided caterpillar is the rather too obviously named Glasshouse, or in full and rather more informatively, the Glasshouse International Centre for Music.  That is, it’s mainly a concert venue.  It was opened in 2004 under the name Sage Gateshead, and adopted its current appellation in 2023.

I was not particularly surprised to learn that it was designed by Foster & Partners (est. 1967), the architectural firm responsible for London’s 30, St Mary Axe, widely nicknamed the Gherkin.

Several Bridges

There are six bridges immediately upstream of the Glasshouse and, having passed it, I could see four of them:

The closest bridge (the through-arch bridge) is simply known as the Tyne Bridge and is an unofficial symbol of Tyneside. It was opened in 1928 and was designed by Mott, Hay and Anderson (1902-1989), who also designed the Tyne Tunnels, the Forth Road Bridge and the Severn Bridge plus many others.

The low, red bridge behind the Tyne Bridge is the Swing Bridge, opened in 1876 at which time it was the largest swing bridge ever built. It occupies the site of the original Roman bridge, the Pons Aelius (erected in 122) and its various successors.

Behind that is the High Level Bridge, a Grade I listed double-deck road and railway bridge opened in 1849. It was designed by railway engineer Robert Stephenson (1803-1859) and built by the Hawks family, who were prominent local industrialists. One of them, George Hawks, was Mayor of Gateshead at the time.

And finally, behind that, is the Queen Elizabeth II Bridge, opened in 1981 to carry the Tyne & Wear Metro. It was designed by the engineering consultancy Fairhurst (est. 1902).

Dean Street

I passed underneath the Tyne Bridge and then veered inland, where my legs suggested I might have made a terrible mistake.

The reason that most of the bridges seem quite high is because that’s the elevation of the surrounding terrain that’s not within the Tyne’s valley. In other words, heading inland meant climbing a steep hill, specifically the one that forms Dean Street.

When I saw the name ‘Dean Street’ I blithely assumed that ‘dean’ referred to the head of a cathedral chapter, as the street is close to Newcastle Cathedral. But, no.  Etymologically, it’s ‘dene’ as in valley. Specifically, the street runs up the valley of Lort Burn, a stream culverted out of sight in 1784.

Grey’s Monument

In truth, while it was a bit of a shock after so much level ground beside the Tyne, the hill wasn’t all that terrible an incline so much as my legs were just tired.  The gradient eased off as Dean Street became Grey Street and this conveyed me more gently up towards Grey’s Monument.

Built in 1838, the monument stands 41 m in height and takes the form of a fluted column atop which stands a statue of Charles Grey, 2nd Earl Grey (1764-1845), who was prime minister from 1830 to 1834.

The statue was sculpted by Edward Hodges Baily (1788-1867), who specialised in such things (he also did Nelson atop Nelson’s Column in London’s Trafalgar Square). The column was the work of local civil engineer and architect John Green (1787-1852), who would also submit a design for the High-Level Bridge across the Tyne (but which lost to that of Robert Stephenson).

Earl Grey

Earl Grey got a surprising amount of meaningful legislation passed in his four years as PM including the Reform Act 1832, which greatly expanded the voting franchise, and the Slavery Abolition Act 1833, so it’s nice to see him properly commemorated.

Today, despite his pivotal role in British political history, most people only know of his name in connection to the blend of tea that he allegedly liked.

The Earl’s family, the Greys of Howick, were a branch of the Greys of Chillingham, which were in turn a branch of the Greys of Heaton. They retained the mullet (star) added as a mark of difference by the Chillingham Greys to the Greys’ silver lion and engrailed bordure but then further differenced the arms by changing the mullet to gold.

Newcastle Railway Station

From Grey’s Monument, I turned about and headed downhill along Grainger Street, so that I was describing two sides of a triangle.  This eventually brought me to Neville Street and Newcastle Railway Station.

The station was opened in 1850 and served two railway companies, the Newcastle & Carlisle Railway (N&CR) and the York, Newcastle and Berwick Railway (YN&BR), which would both be later absorbed into the NER.

It was designed by N&CR appointee John Dobson (the architect of the Collingwood Monument’s plinth), although he was required to work in conjunction with the YN&BR’s chief engineer, Thomas Harrison (1808-1888) and also Robert Stephenson.  They obviously did something right as it’s not only still in use but is also Grade I listed.

End of the Line

This seemed a good place to end my walk. Not least because my hotel was close nearby.

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This time: 13 miles
Total since Gravesend: 4,759½ miles

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