Although it is tempting to stay on Holy Island between tides, it's worth not staying to see the Spectacle of the Advancing Waters. And for an event that happens every day it draws quite a crowd. As anyone who has been there will know Holy Island is reached by road, called the Lindisfarne Causeway. This floods twice a day, cutting off the island for about five hours at a time. At each end of the causeway there are prominent signs and details of the tide times but (you will not be surprised to read) on average one car a month gets stuck somewhere on the road. We didn't take any chances and left at the time specified by the tide tables. Where the road reaches the mainland there is a small car park and an expectant crowd.
To begin with nothing much happens. You look hopefully out to sea. From this vantage point you can see the waves hitting the northern side of the island. It's a strange sight. From here they look almost like people, or ghosts, hovering on the horizon. But the promised rush of water is nowhere to be seen. Near to a refuge (to help those who didn't read the signs) there is a raised bit of road and it slowly becomes clear that the water underneath this is, very slowly, getting nearer to the road. But, still no sign of a deluge. In fact, just when you think this is starting to get exciting, an ice cream van turns up.
Clearly they've seen it all before. They park
up on the side of the road and an orderly queue quickly forms.
The water has finally started to creep over the road. Either side of you the muddy creeks are filling up. Children stand on small mounds of earth eating ice creams until their little islands are submerged under the relentless tide.
During all this time traffic still appears from either side. Those coming from the mainland are put off by the crowd and the fact that there is an ice cream van in the middle of the road but those coming from the island are not so easily deterred. Eventually, just when you think no more cars are going to risk the trip, along comes one more. This time it was a plucky Peugeot (containing a family of four). The crowd watches as increasing amounts of spray appears on either side of the car. Will they make it? What would be more fun - them not making it, or them reaching safely? It's difficult to judge the mood of those watching. The car seems to stop briefly by the refuge. Are they stuck?
No, on they come! When they reach us a round of applause breaks out. The driver winds down his window and lets out an audible sigh of relief. The kids in the back look slightly shellshocked. And don't even get an ice cream.
The road is well and truly submerged by now. At the far end of the causeway a motorhome has stopped, deciding, very sensibly that they don't want to appear on the evening news. We move slowly back to the car park. Walking with the water as it slides up to us. Despite the people, the ice cream van, the water, it's all very quiet. People seem very happy with this simple pleasure of waiting for the water. Perhaps we are reassured by the predictability of it? Perhaps it's the mild sense of danger? Or perhaps it's just because we really, really like water?
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