Northern England

Kedleston Estate

Sarah and Molly

Kedleston Estate

Just back from a visit north, first to Beeston/Lynley Mills to see Sara, a colleague of Mike’s from the U of Nottingham. Sara took us and Molly, her lopping Great Dane, on a slog through the grounds of Kedleston Estate. Literally a slog. Through three miles of wet grass, mud and sheep doo in a steady cold drizzle. Very stiff upper lip and all.

Kedleston is the estate of the prestigious Curzon family, who has owned the place since the 12^th century, but they pulled down the ratty old earlier structures to build this neoclassical mansion in 1758. At the same time, they relocated all the rabble in the village so as not to spoil their view. The place is now an English Heritage site and can be rented for weddings and private events, but sheep still graze the rolling hills and meadows and the grounds are full of hares and pheasants and the occasional red fox (Molly was delighted.). The pseudo-wilderness was a little too sculpted for me, the waterfalls and ponds placed just so, but it did have a real English flavor, and it was nice to be out of the city for a while and see another side of the county.

In short, it was beautiful, but after about an hour I’d pretty much had it. I was muddy wet though my shoes and socks and rain wet from the knees down. Luckily, I’d brought another pair of shoes and determined to dump the mucked up ones before we left England rather than have to declare the contact with livestock at US Customs.

We made our way back to Sara’s cottage after lunch and errands in Mattock and Derby. Your muddy presence is apparently perfectly acceptable in these country towns, not an eyebrow raised, and the food is much cheaper than in London…and better! Sara’s cottage in Lynley Mills is a beauty. Some of her neighbors’ homes date from the 1700s, but Sara’s is new—it was built in the 1870s. It’s a charming little cubby nestled between two others with acres of meadow behind and a traditional cottage garden with lots of birds. And there was a fire in the grate and a kettle on the boil, thank god.

York

The next morning we took the train up to York to continue our weekend in a place that makes the 1700s look recent

The first night we wandered around some ruins near the old city walls without really knowing what they were. Lots of picturesque gothic arches and some remnants of foundations labeled "nave" and "apse," etc. I insisted they must be a Victorian recreation, perhaps built over a medieval site, since it was clear that people routinely climbed all over the ruins with kids and dogs, and judging from the debris, lounged among the crumbling walls to drink and make-out. As it turned out this kind of activity is completely appropriate, as these are the 13^th century ruins of St Mary’s Abbey, founded in 1089 by the carousing King William Rufus, and the Abbey quickly acquired a reputation for, well, let’s say "worldliness." We found out that the best examples of stonework from the Abbey have been brought indoors to the York Museum, which was a great relief to us.

Close by the Abbey ruins are the 13^th century city walls, including the Multangular Tower, a Roman tower with a Saxon Tower, then a Norman Tower built on top of it. You can easily see the layers that distinguish each subsequent renovation. Behind the tower are clusters of Roman sarcophagi (unearthed during excavation for the railway station), sections of Roman road and a little heap of Saxon stone that is the oldest roofed structure in York.

Parts of the city wall are, in fact, Victorian recreations: the bartizan (cylindrical battlements with slots from which to shoot arrows) on these sections are purely decorative, too small for use. But much of the walls is authentic, and you can walk them from 8 am until dusk for wonderful views and a sense of trodding history. Some of the gates, such as Mickle Bar, off a road called "Micklegate" have been Disney-fied to emphasize the ghosts and heads-on-pikes sort of thing. " (By the way, the locals say: "All the streets are ‘gates,’ all the gates are ‘bars,’ and all the bars are pubs.") But many of the best sites are understated to the point that you’d miss it if you weren’t attentive.

One afternoon I dodged under a sheltered area in the old city wall to get out of a drizzle while waiting to meet Mike. I perched on one of the many stone boxes scattered about just to have a place to sit. Simulated Roman sarcophagi, I was sure, or they wouldn’t just leave them lying around, would they? Well, yes, indeed they would. I found out later that the space was an 11^th century hospital, and the sarcophagus I used as a bench was just another of the many Roman tombs unearthed during expansion of the railway station. The sarcophagi weren’t particularly fancy, so they just stacked them there to get them out of the way.

Happy Valley, a Chinese restaurant where we had lunch was in a 1316 apartment building. Past the dangling paper lanterns and waving cats, the original timbered walls were still visible. The gravel driveway next to the Treasurer’s house that we passed on the way to Yorkminster was a section of Roman Road, the Via Praetoria, one of the two main roads into York. The very street names, Swinegate and Goodramgate, signify Viking roads where animals were herded to market. And there’s a wonderful Roman bath under one of the pubs in the center of town, which you can tour for a mere 2 pounds. We bought a Roman coin and a couple of trinkets there that are purported to be authentic, but the prices were comparable to the cost for quality reproductions, so I don’t know. In any case I have a pretty "Celtic" brooch with a leaf pattern and a "Roman" strap end with circular designs. The proprietor acknowledged they were not from York, but bought from a distributor based in Norfolk. This country is lousy with Roman trinkets, so I suppose it’s possible.

Yorkminster, Sunset

Multangular Tower

Yorkminster

Of course Yorkminster is York’s gem. The present cathedral was built between 1270-1480 but a church has stood on this spot since 627. The builders of Yorkminster recycled rubble from Roman ruins and the ruins of St. Mary’s Abbey nearby. Pieces of the older structures are often found when the cathedral is repaired, usually mixed into the fill for the foundation or in the massive stone pillars that seem solid but are hollow inside.

A tour of the cathedral’s undercroft, its basement level, reveals part of the Roman garrison that was on that spot in the 4^th century. And there is a pillar from the Roman headquarters and a statue of Roman Emperor Constantine in front of the cathedral’s main entrance. We happened to be visiting York during the 1700^th anniversary of his coronation in York in 306. Constantine is often credited with being the first Christian Roman emperor, though it’s pretty clear that he saw the Christ as just another god in a pantheon of useful deities for special occasions, like his victory over the forces of rival Maxentius in 312. Constantine did recognize Christianity as a legal religion in 313, which enabled the faith to spread unimpeded, and he was supposedly baptized on his deathbed.

Yorkminster Cathedral’s center tower soars to 264 feet, and you can climb up to the clerestory level if you wish. We didn’t, but experienced vertigo anyway from below looking up. I have long since given up expecting to take good photos of stained glass, and the small stone carvings that are the highlight of the chapter house section of the cathedral were too difficult to reach to get proper pictures, so I bought loads of postcards instead. I would love to learn to decode these quirky little stone images. What is the significance of the recurring "green men" for instance, those faces emerging from clusters of leaves each one distinct and individual? Why the monkey? The dog? I know the figure with his hand on his head and mouth open is meant to signify lust, so the placards say, but why? More lifetimes than I have to learn it all, but I expect I’ll pick up some bits and pieces along the way.

We were lucky enough to hear part of a choir service in Yorkminster on Saturday and then again on Sunday when we made a second visit to the church. Even with two visits it’s hard to get enough of Yorkminster; there is always something you miss. And the space is so clear and cool and meditative, it’s tempting to spend the whole visit here. But one does not live by art alone.

Other York Sites

York restaurants have my vote for many of the "bests" of our trip. We had traditional English fair at Russell’s a roasted meat and veggie place specializing in Yorkshire pudding (of course) and a selection of good beers. The best Indian food we had while we were in England was at Bombay Spice in York. The service was chaotic, and that didn’t bode well, but when the food finally arrived, it was fabulous. Not only the best Indian food we’ve had in England, but maybe ever. The scones at the Castle Museum (short on Castle, big on Victoriana) were the best we had…not a bit dry and served with clotted cream, black currant jam and a nice robust cup of tea. The perfect boost after a climb up to Clifford’s Tower across the street, the only remaining portion of York castle.

We did a lot of other sight-seeing, too: a boat trip on the river Ouse and a tour of the Merchant’s Adventurer’s House, a stately timber guildhall from the 1300s with beautiful furnishings from the 16^th century onward and fine gardens. And although Yorkminster is the star of the show, we kept running into 15^th and 16^th century churches everywhere. Holy Trinity Church on Goodramgate is mostly 15^th century, and though its foundations date from the 13^thcentury, additions continued until the 1800s. The place really looks its age, unfortunately, but the glass was lovely and some of the 17^th century box pews are still here.

My favorite church was St Martin Le Grand, a 15th century church, which wasn’t very authentic at all, since it had been severely damaged by German bombings in WWII. Its 17^th century clock has been restored, and the west window had been removed before the war so it has been reset. But no attempt has been made to duplicate the glass that was lost. Portions of the surviving glass have been integrated into clear glass, and new glass designs have been added to replace those that were irretrievable. As a result, you are always aware of what has been destroyed. But although we often heard about the German bombings at other sites in York, this was the only church that acknowledged that they had been in retaliation for British attacks on two historic German medieval towns.

St Martin is the patron saint of soldiers, so perhaps it’s apt that the church was repaired and rededicated as a chapel of reconciliation in the 1960s after laying abandoned for over 20 years. There’s a plaque that identifies it as a "shrine of remembrance of all who died in two wars, a chapel of peace and reconciliation between nations and men," and German donations helped replace the church organ. St. Martin’s emphasis on peace and community made me feel I could be a part of this church if I lived in York and was a believer. I especially liked the hand-printed sign on the exit door that read: "If there is peace inside you, there is at least peace somewhere in the world. Go home and love your family." Sounds good to me.

Susan and Friends

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