204 pkesidestt's addkess. 



Whitburn Bay indicates the outlet of an old pre-glacial valley, 

 which seems to have communicated with both the old valleys o£ 

 the Tyne and "Wear. From the rocks near Boker to the fishing 

 village of Whitburn, the bay is bounded on the west side by a 

 low cliff of drifted clay, much newer than the lower-seated 

 boulder clay which fills the deepest part of this old valley; and 

 which upper drift bed, for distinction's sake and from its con- 

 taining chalk flints in some places, may be considered " Scandi- 

 navian drift." The depth of this old pre-glacial valley has been 

 proved at the Sunderland Water Works, on the south side of the 

 old valley, and also at the Brockley Whins Coal Pit, both very 

 nearly west of the bay. Before this valley was filled up with 

 glacial, boulder clay, the Cleadon Hills and adjoining land 

 formed a large insular tract of land. And even since that time, 

 and when the land was a hundred feet lower than at present, 

 there is indisputable evidence to shew that part of the Cleadon 

 Hills was an island in the later glacial period, having its sea- 

 cliffs and sea-formed caves, and this is proved by the existence 

 in many places, inland, of large accumulations of sea-worn stones 

 forming raised beaches of considerable extent. 



The tide was at its lowest ebb as we reached the tawny, 

 ripple-marked, wave-beaten sands, and a delightful stroll along 

 the water's edge, where the waves were sportively curling over 

 and resounding in never-ending symphonies, soon brought us to 

 the neat village of Whitburn. Here a halt was made for lunch, 

 much required after the appetizing morning walk. The fine 

 autumnal morning changed at noon with the flowing tide, and 

 threatening rain defeated our intention of following the sinu- 

 osities of this remarkably picturesque coast to Marsden. A 

 sharp walk soon brought us to our long-lost companions in 

 Marsden Bay, where, with tea and talk the time passed so 

 pleasantly away, in the caverned rooms of Peter Allan's Grotto, 

 that we quite forgot the darksome walk that intervened between 

 us and the nearest railway station. But a start was made, and 

 through rain and darkness we merrily tracked, as on many former 

 visits, our unseen way to Shields. 



The extensive quarries of the Whitburn Coal Company were 



