The walls of Berwick-upon-Tweed.

Let's get things straight from the start. The walls at Berwick-upon-Tweed are spectacular - on a warm sunny day I can think of few things finer than a leisurely stroll around their not-quite-two-mile circumference with the sun on your face and the cry of seagulls in your ears.

I wish I'd walked around them on such a day.

The reality of travelling in the UK of course, is that sunshine can never be relied upon. You can respond to this by remaining indoors whenever the sky turns the colour of slate, the temperature slides anywhere south of tropical or the wind rises beyond the gentle but to do so is to ensure you never get out and do anything; that makes the whole exercise of travelling utterly pointless. I can, after all, sit indoors at home.

So, I pulled on my jacket, strapped on my boots, clamped my Aussie bushman's hat on my head and strode out of the caravan. The Berwick Seaview site is on the opposite side of the Tweed to the walls half way up a hill above what is technically Tweedmouth rather than Berwick looking out to sea. I wandered down the hill to the river's edge - there's actually a pretty substantial beach there when the tide is out - and followed the road round past the rather grim looking port area towards the old Berwick Bridge.

This lovely little sandstone bridge is the smallest of the three Berwick Bridges, the other two being the larger "Royal Tweed Bridge" which now carries the bulk of road traffic over the river, and the immensely tall viaduct known as the "Royal Border Bridge" which carries the East Coast mainline. While the viaduct is certainly imposing its smaller seventeenth century counterpart has much more charm.

The honeyed yellow river crossing is the fifth bridge to grace this site, two having been destroyed by flooding , one in an English attack (presumably while Berwick upon Tweed was in Scottish hands) with the forth incarnation standing from 1376 until James I (or James VI if you're north of the border) ordered the construction of this final version in 1611. Comprising fifteen doric arches it links the north and south banks of the river and when it was completed in 1624 it carried the main road between Scotland and England.

Those glory days are now long past. The main England/Scotland road on the eastern side of the country is now the A1, which thunders by to the west of Berwick these days. Now the bridge carries a relatively small number of cars travelling south out of Berwick into Tweedmouth (it's a one way street) and foot traffic in both directions. I ambled across and turned right, following the banks of the Tweed towards the sea, just on the outside of the walls, taking a little detour along to the end of "Berwick Pier".

 

 It's not a pier at all, truth be told, it's a long harbour wall reaching out like a crooked finger and sheltering the mouth of the Tweed from the full force of the North Sea. Recently restored this early nineteenth century sea defence-cum-promenade is a great place to stand and look out to sea. There are clear views south towards the magnificent Bambourgh Castle and the Farne Islands. Grey seals are relatively common, and there are all manner of sea birds to admire. This part of the Tweed is also home to one of the largest colonies of Mute Swans in the country too, so you can be assured of some wildlife to look at.

At the end of the "pier" there is a small red and white lighthouse which, apparently is occasionally used to host artistic events but for most of the time merely acts as a focal point. I can imagine that on a fine summer's day with swans cruising around on the river one side and gannets diving spectacularly into the sea on the other a stroll to the lighthouse is a very pleasant thing. As previously mentioned however, this was most definitely not a fine summer's day. The wind was brisk, icy, and blowing drizzle down the back of my neck so I admired the view for about five seconds before turning on my heel and heading back to the shelter of the walls.

I made my way through a narrowish gate - just wide enough for a car to squeeze through, and found myself at the bottom of the high street, which ran up hill away from me. Thrusting my hands into my pockets I set off to explore.

To be fair, it was genuinely a wet Sunday afternoon but even so the place seemed rather oppressively grey and quiet with more than a couple of empty shops. Still, in these current rather harsh economic times the same could be said about many - if not most - high streets so it doesn't do to judge. The weather probably contributed rather a lot to the gloomy mood too. As did the discovery of the town's stocks by the wall of the town hall, which itself sits rather incongruously in the middle of the road.

According to the helpful little brown plaque fixed to the wall above them, the first record of these rather lopsided stocks in Berwick was in 1604 and although they may have remained in use until as late as 1857 their last recorded use was in 1849 when a woman was clapped in them for drunkenness and non-payment of court fines.  History - or at least that bit of history represented by the little brown plaque - does not know the name of the woman in question, but to be fair, that's not exactly the sort of claim to fame you'd dine out on at parties: "Oh, yes, I was the last person ever to be put in the stocks for being a pisshead who couldn't pay their fines..." In modern times of course such people are paraded not in the stocks but on the Jeremy Kyle Show. I know which I think is the most humiliating...

A short walk further up the hill brings you back to the walls, and the gate that takes you out of the town in a northwards, and Scottish, direction. This is where you'll find the largeish Co-Op and , more importantly for my purposes, a set of steps to get you up onto the top of the walls. You get a different perspective on the town from up there - although on the day I chose to make the walk I have to say nothing looked any less grey, although there was a rather good view down the high street to the Town Hall...

I wandered round in an anti clockwise direction, occasionally stepping down into the streets to see what there was to see. It's a fascinating way to explore a place - both enthralling and strangely disorienting. Whilst I can tell you that all of the things I'm about to show you were on or near the walls, I honestly have no idea where they are in relation to the rest of the town, and the only directions I can give you for most of them are "follow the walls and you can't miss it".

So. What did I see on the walls?

Perhaps the biggest tourist attraction in the vicinity of the walls are the Berwick Barracks. Now in the hands of English Heritage, they were designed by celebrated architect Nicholas Hawkesmoor, and when they were built in early eighteenth century they were the first purpose built barracks in the country.

I find this fact rather extraordinary. Up until then nobody had ever thought "we've got to station a lot of troops in an area. Perhaps we should sort out somewhere for them to live..." That when somebody did finally think of it, the fact that they needed to house a lot of soldiers in Berwick says a lot about the strategic importance of the town.  By all accounts it's a pretty cool place to visit, but I wouldn't know because despite being an English Heritage member and so entitled to free entry (and I do love free stuff) I was visiting on a Sunday, so it was shut.

Maybe next time...

Perhaps less impressive than the grand barracks was this little guard house I found further along the walls.

 

The not entirely helpful English Heritage sign which lured me from the walls informed me that "This eighteenth century guard house used to be in Marygate and was move here in 1815." All well and good, but it doesn't tell me why. Or where Marygate is. Or where "here" is for that matter. Still, it's a pretty little building. You'll be unsurprised to learn that it wasn't open when I visited, but the unhelpful little sign was good enough to tell me that the "Main Guard" is open from June to September. Presumably there are opening hours, but the sign didn't say. As I said, it wasn't the most helpful sign in the world.

 

There were a few cannon scattered around the place - presumably either to discourage the pesky Scots or - and this is no less likely - to serve to scare off the English if Berwick decides it want to rejoin Scotland in the event of that great nation deciding to vote for independence in 2014.

There was also this:

Probably my favourite public bench of all time. I can almost hear the conversation: 

"We should put a bench here - let people sit on the walls and look out at the view."

"Yeah. Problem with that of course is that you can't see over the ramparts if you sit down."

"No problem. We'll put the bench on stilts..."

Genius. Just genius. Much like the whole of the walls. They really are worth walking around. As you do, you can see that the gun emplacements are pretty cunning. They give pretty much 360 degree protection, there really was no way of getting close to the walls without getting your head blown off. As you stand on them you can clearly see how thick they are - even modern weaponry would have a hard time breaching them - cannonballs simply need not apply.

Even on a miserable, cold, wet, dismal Sunday afternoon the walls were full of interest and surprise. I'll certainly go back someday. Perhaps in the summer, and on a weekday, when things are open. And the weather is better.