Car returned to safeholding at the top (not too many people squished, but the clutch got a year's worth of work) and a walk back downhill and a chance to relax in the bar and watch the tide come in...
The diagonal ridges on the beach became more separated...
And then disappeared altogether...
Showers from time to time emptied the streets and filled the bars. The locals seemed friendly enough...
Narrow streets (this is the only one you can drive on- and then only with a good excuse - and a better handbrake)
A traffic jam, RHB style...
A bit of local history (should be legible if you click on it)
Excellent fish and chips for tea.
The next morning, and the hoped for sunrise over the North Sea didn't happen, but with and hour to kill before the Full English, a photo of the hotel...
There was a slight glimpse of the sun...
Breakfast and the long walk to the car (towing the suitcase noisily through the streets), and then off to Ravenscar (formerly called Peak). The sun came out and a wonderful view back to RHB (the hotel is about dead centre )...
Ravenscar is, of course, the town that never was. Sometimes styled as the grand vision of a Victorian grandee, it could also be viewed as one of a stream of attempts to generate a property boom that turned into a burst bubble.
The railway platform is still there and with some quite nice sculptures and a nod to its history. It closed, along with so much else in 1965 at the hands of Beeching.
I assume that this last is to mark the evacuees, although I didn't see any text explaining this. Quite touching to stumble upon and think about.
The rail bed (cinder, not stone) is now a long distance track...
A lovely little break.
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