Showing posts with label UK-England-Yorkshire (North). Show all posts
Showing posts with label UK-England-Yorkshire (North). Show all posts

Monday 22 May 2017

Ripon and Fountains Abbey

Renewing the Bonds of Friendship from an American Exchange 34 Year Ago

Some Background

In 1983 I had been teaching for 11 years, our daughter Siân was two, Lynne was a full time mother and we felt up for an adventure. So, with an unjustified confidence in my abilities, I applied for a year's teacher exchange and was duly paired with Joel Wingard, a high school teacher from Gig Harbor, Washington, a small, pretty town nestled beside the Puget Sound, 45 minutes’ drive from Seattle.

Before taking over each other’s lives - jobs, houses, cars and even in-laws (Siân acquired a much-loved third granny) – the British and American exchangers gathered for a few days orientation at San Francisco State University. And there we met Joel and Lucinda Wingard and their three children, all eight of us about to embark on what had been a dream and was now becoming a pretty scary reality…

San Francisco State University, August 1983, l to r Gabe, Lynne, Siân, Me, Dija, Joel, Lucinda, Tyler

…and here are the adults thirty four years later. The children, now with jobs, families and lives of their own are far too busy to take time off in mid-May.

Kettlewell, North Yorkshire, May 2017
Siân is now older than I was in the top picture

We had met Joel and Lucinda at Manchester Airport two weeks earlier and once their heads and bodies had settled in the same time zone they set off north to walk a lot and drive a little of the Coast-to-Coast route with the Sierra Club.

21/05/2017 (or 05/21/2017 for J & L)

A Whizz Round York

Their walk heroically completed, though with Lucinda now hobbling with the same tendon damage that had ruined my SW Odyssey last month, we met again in York.

The National Railway Museum

After a look at the train museum,…

Stephenson's Rocket (replica), National Railway Museum, York

Bettys and a Fat Rascal

…. a visit to Betty’s for the obligatory fat rascal…

Lucinda and a fat rascal, Bettys tea Room, York

York Minster

…and a walk round the Minster,…

Inside York Minster

...we set off for Ripon.

Arriving in Ripon

City of Ripon

20 miles from York, Ripon (pop 17,000) is England's third smallest city. Founded, according to tradition, by St Wilfred in the 7th century it was first an important ecclesiastical centre and then prominent in the medieval wool trade. The city was noted for manufacturing spurs in the 16th and 17th century, but lost its importance when it was by-passed by the industrial revolution.

Passing the racecourse we discovered it was race day and our B&B, a pub just south of Ripon’s little River Skell, was catering for those preferring to watch the horses on television. We were warmly welcomed by the landlady, but the bar was loud and we wondered how long the noise might continue.

Tapas in Ripon

Joel and Lucinda had spoken of their difficulties in finding places to eat in 1983, particularly with three children in tow. It is much easier now, but not necessarily on a Sunday evening - my internet search had shown only two local restaurants whose day did not finish with Sunday lunch.

A quick exploration suggested there was more choice than expected. I do not know how many tapas bars there were in Britain in 1983, but I doubt there were any in places like Ripon. Manchega is there now and although quiet on a Sunday evening (so that is why so many places close) it served us well. We enjoyed nine tapas plus desserts and every one - old favourites like patatas bravas and pescaditos or new discoveries like Morcilla de Burgos (Castilian black pudding) and padron peppers - showed authentic Spanish flavours. One criticism, the wine list was dominated by South America with hardly a Spanish wine in sight; that said I enjoyed our Chilean sauvignon.

Outside Manchega, Ripon (photo: Lucinda)

The Ripon Wakeman

Well fed, we made our way to the market square, an expanse of cobbles and tarmac half given over to car parking. In the centre is an obelisk.

Obelisk, Ripon Market Square

At 9 o’clock precisely the Wakeman arrived to set the watch as he has done (allegedly) every single evening since 886. He blows his horn at each corner of the obelisk before announcing ‘The Watch is Set’.

The Wakeman sets the watch, Ripon Market Square

This done, the small multi-national crowd gathered round Wayne the Wakeman who explained something of the history.

Wayne the Wakeman explains, Ripon Market Square

According to the Ripon Hornblower website Alfred the Great visited Ripon in 886. Impressed by the city and its stand against the marauding Vikings he wished to give it a charter but lacking parchment he gave it a horn instead, advising them to appoint Wakemen to be ever vigilant against attack. Wayne did not claim the horn came from Alfred in person – he probably never ventured this far north – but he told us of the charter and how the original Charter Horn is still kept in the Town Hall.

In time the Wakeman (elected for a year) and the 12 self-appointed constables who elected him came to control the city, not always to the benefit of the ordinary citizens. It was time for a reboot, and in 1604 James I granted a new charter with a more democratically elected mayor tasked with employing a Wakeman. And so, more or less, it has continued. Today’s Wakemen (two of them job-share) may serve the town’s tourist industry rather than ensure its security, but they maintain a tradition which is, they claim, unbroken for over 1100 years.

Psalm 127, verse 1 says (in the Authorised Version)

Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it: except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh in vain.

To give their Wakeman some divine back-up the city chose as its motto a modified version of the second part of the verse and emblazoned it across the Town Hall at the end of the Market Place. St Wilfred, the city’s founder can be seen keeping vigil from a niche (some locals call it his bath) on the wall of the NatWest Bank, the regrettable 1960s building to the left of the Georgian Town Hall.

Ripon Town Hall with St Wilfrid half way up wall of the bank next door

Ambling back to our B&B we found the pub, like everywhere else, had closed early and a restful night was had by all.

22/05/2017

Ripon Cathedral

Ripon’s former importance has left it with a huge Gothic cathedral and to visit we again had to cross the River Skell. The bridge has a 7.5t weight restriction, and a warning sign telling you so. Lucinda found the sign amusing, if not downright funny and insisted on photographing it. I do not understand the joke, but here it is anyway.

Hilarious sign (Photo: Lucinda)
note to self: try not to turn sideways when you know there are people with cameras nearby

Perhaps American readers are now breaking out in loud guffaws while Brits are saying ‘yes…and…?’ with furrowed brows. Or maybe not. ‘O wad some Power the giftie gie us, To see oursels as ithers see us!’ to quote the wise, if occasionally incomprehensible Robert Burns.

The huge Early English west front was added in 1220 to what was the fourth stone church on this site. The first, constructed by St Wilfrid in 672 was one of the earliest stone buildings in the Kingdom of Northumbria while the fourth, started in 1160 by Roger de Pont L’Évêque, Archbishop of York, incorporating parts of earlier churches and took 400 years to complete. The cathedral is now one of the three co-equal cathedrals of the Diocese of Leeds (none of them actually in upstart Leeds).

The west Front of Ripon Cathedral

Though not as elegant as York Minster, it is an impressive cavern surrounded by soaring stonework.

The interior, Ripon Cathedral

I have read that the cathedral has a fine organ, but it was being tuned during our visit and hearing its complete range at full volume was sometimes excruciating.

Organ, Ripon Cathedral

St Wilfred's Chapel, Lewis Carroll and a Rabbit Hole

Beneath the quire, is a stone corridor...

Towards St Wilfred's Chapel, Ripon Cathedral

…leading to a small chapel – all that remains of St Wilfred’s original church.

St Wilfred's Chapel, Ripon Cathedral

The quire has some fine carving….

Choir, Ripon Cathedral

…the 35 misericords were carved between 1489 and 1494 by the Ripon School of carvers who were active - and not just in Ripon - as stability returned after the Wars of the Roses. A member of the cathedral staff kindly pointed us towards one depicting a gryphon hunting rabbits. The rabbit’s backside disappearing down the hole, top right, and the corridor to St Wilfred’s chapel were, she suggested, the inspiration for the opening of Alice in Wonderland. Charles Dodgson was appointed a Canon of Ripon Cathedral in 1854 when his son, also Charles but better known as Lewis Carroll, was 20, so it is possible, though our informant fair-mindedly admitted that there are other claimants.

Gryphon hunting rabbits, misericord, Ripon Cathedral

She also told us that later that morning Ripon would be standing in for Westminster Abbey for the filming of the new series of Victoria and that was why the modern candle holders were being removed.

Removing the modern candlesticks for the filming Victoria, Ripon Cathedral

Before leaving the cathedral we visited the exhibition in the transept. There was church plate, some interesting jewels and a small library, but my eye was caught by a series of models of the cathedral. From 672 to the 16th century each successive version showed enlargements and improvements. The last showed the cathedral with pepper pot spires, like those at Southwell, topping the towers. The only alteration since has been to remove those spires. The building has been lovingly maintained but not enlarged or expanded in any way - I am uncertain what conclusion to draw from this observation.

Fountain's Abbey

We made the short drive to Fountains Abbey where we were redirected from the main to the west entrance to avoid a steep descent – particularly irksome to those with heel tendon problems.

Fountain's Hall

By the gate, as a sort of hors d’oeuvre, is Fountain’s Hall.

Fountains Hall, near Ripon

Built as a country home in 1597, the sandstone (including a complete staircase) was quarried from the abbey. Now also owned by the National Trust, the ground floor is open while parts can be rented as holiday accommodation.

Inside Fountains Hall

In 1132 Thurston, Archbishop of York, granted land to 13 monks who had left the Benedictine abbey of St Mary’s in York after a dispute. The site for their new abbey was a sheltered valley beside the River Skell where water, wood and building stone where readily available.

The buildings were initially wooden and it was not until after the monks had joined the Cistercian order that the first stone church was built in 1143. In 1146 a dispute over who should be the next Archbishop of York led to the abbey being torched by a mob. The next 25 years saw a great reconstruction and some of the stonework we could see as we walked across the sward dates from this period, though the quire is 13th century and the Huby Tower was built when Marmaduke Huby was abbot, not long before the dissolution in 1539.

Fountains Abbey

We detoured right to walk along the wildflower bedecked bank of the Skell; though it becomes less attractive when you realise that the river’s main function was to carry away the monks’ waste!

The River Skell above Fountains Abbey

We walked through the hospitium where hospitality was offered to travellers….

The hospitium, Fountains Abbey

…and the cellerium, or store rooms, with their fine medieval vaulting.

Cellerium, Fountains Abbey

A walk through the cloister…

The cloister, Fountains Abbey

…took us into the main church….

The nave, Fountains Abbey

….with the Huby Tower in its unusual position to the side of the nave.

The Huby Tower, Fountains Abbey

Leaving the abbey we followed the River Skell towards Studley Royal Water Gardens, which together with the Abbey make up a UNESCO World Heritage Site. In 1984 the Wingard family had pitched their tent (actually, come to think of it, our tent) in a nearby camp site and gone for a walk. They knew nothing of Fountains Abbey, but following the water meadows of the Skell they had rounded a bend and been confronted with this totally unexpected sight. Our 2017 trip could not hope to recapture the excitement of that discovery, nor could we recreate the reading of a Shakespeare play (and I have forgotten which one) which they attended that evening in the abbey grounds, but I hope it stirred some pleasant memories.

Fountains Abbey from the West

Studley Royal Water Garden

Continuing to Studley Royal Water Garden we found a garden where form and reflection outrank plants and flowers.

Studley Royal Water Gardens

At the café we paused for a National Trust snack lunch. With two aching tendons between us it seemed wise to whistle up the site minibus which took us across the deer park and back to the west entrance.

In an ideal world we would have stopped at St Mary’s Church. Consecrated in 1878 it was designed by William Burges, gothic revivalist and drinking buddy of the Pre-Raphaelites. Lynne discovered his over-the-top fantasies in Castell Coch as a child and they have long been a source of delight and amusement.

St Mary's Church, Studley, Photograph by Alison Stamp (borrowed from Wikipedia)

In an ideal world we would have stopped at St Mary’s Church. Consecrated in 1878 it was designed by William Burges, gothic revivalist and drinking buddy of the Pre-Raphaelites. Lynne discovered his over-the-top fantasies in Castell Coch as a child and they have long been a source of delight and amusement.

We returned to Ripon before heading on to Masham, Wensleydale and Wharfedale.

I should not finish a post on Ripon without mentioning its trio of Museums, the Courthouse, the Prison and Police, and the Workhouse, collectively known as the Yorkshire Law and Order Museums. After listening to the Wakeman I am sure they are worth a visit, but you cannot see everything in one trip, so we didn’t.

Saturday 4 January 2014

Reeth, the Arkle Beck and the River Swale

A New Year Visit to God's Own County

North Yorkshire

Some places make you feel better just for being there. Everybody has a personal list, but mine includes the Mekong Delta, the Backwaters of Kerala, Corsica, the Algarve and the Yorkshire Dales.

Like everywhere else, these places look their best in the sunshine. We arrived in the Dales on Wednesday, a midwinter day when the rain had been continuous and daylight hardly bothered to put in an appearance.

Reeth is the main centre of population of Upper Swaledale. It has 750 permanent residents, but seemed much busier this week as the village’s plentiful supply of holiday cottages were doing good business. Presumably, it will be even busier in the summer, but the next few weeks may be quiet indeed.

Francis had rented Fellsman Cottage and we joined him there along with Trevor and Mike and Alison. The cottage is a mid 20th century link built between two older buildings, but we only knew that because it does not exist in the 1920s photograph on the cottage wall. It looks tiny, but so does the TARDIS, and it accommodated 6 adults in reasonable comfort.

Fellsman Cottage, Reeth

Like many Dales villages Reeth is built round a large village green, which would make it difficult to photograph even if the green was not a sloping plateau and the roofs of the houses on our side were level with the basements on the other.

Reeth Village Green

01/01/2014

New year Fireworks

A firework display filled the green on Wednesday evening. The rest of the world had set off fireworks the previous night to welcome the New Year but Reeth preferred an early evening show on the 1st. They do things differently in Yorkshire. I had watched them setting up in the afternoon drizzle and feared the event could be, literally, a damp squib, but when the time came the rain eased and we joined the rest of the village, visitors and residents, to watch half an hour of loud and colourful pyrotechnics.

Fireworks, a day late but dodging the rain

02/01/2014

A Walk up Arkengarthdale

On Thursday, as storms and huge seas battered the west coast, Swaledale awoke to a morning of watery sunshine. We donned our boots and headed for Arkengarthdale, the most northerly of the Yorkshire Dales which conveniently joins Swaledale at Reeth. Arkengarthdale is a wonderful word, somehow capturing the essence of Yorkshire in four syllables.

We walked to the edge of the village where a used car showroom (or more accurately showfield) stands incongruously beside the fine old stone bridge over the Arkle Beck (for photo see end of post).

Crossing the river, we walked alongside the beck which risesat the head of Arkengarthdale and discharges into the Swale a few hundred metres downstream from the bridge. According to the map there are several paths which make their way up the dale, but few seem to be signed.

Lynne and Francis beside the Arkle Beck

We soon realised our path beside the river – or fallen into the river at one point – was too low, so we climbed the valley side. At this point the sole of Francis’ left boot detached itself. The boots - expensive and of a well-known brand - were not that old and he was less than delighted. The leather casing, though, continued to keep his foot dry and he decided he could press on despite one leg now being a centimetre shorter than the other and with no grip on the slippery mud.

Higher up the valley side, Arkengarthdale

The sky above us was blue, but clouds hung over the far side of the valley and waves of drizzle were blown across our path. We came as near to the end of a rainbow as I have ever been, but nobody else wanted to bother searching for the pot of gold.

Nearly at the end of the rainbow, Arkengarthdale

Today, agriculture and tourism support the dale’s small population, but things used to be different. The population peaked in 1811 at around 1500 when coal and lead mining were thriving. Lead has been mined here since Roman times. An ingot stamped with the name of Hadrian was found in the early 19th century and given to the British museum, who have subsequently lost it. Lead mining was conducted by 'hushing'; dams were built on the hillside and when sufficient water had collected they were broken causing a deluge that stripped off the topsoil and exposed the deposits below. The results can still be seen on the valley side. Lead mining ended in 1914, but a little small scale coal mining continued until 1940.

The effects of hushing can be seen on the top of the hillside opposite, Arkengarthdale

There was some suggestion we might take the bridleway up to Langthwaite near the head of the dale where the pub may or may not still be functioning, but to the relief of some (Lynne notably) the plan began to fade as we kept losing the path and having to track up and down the valley side to find it. Eventually even Francis admitted he was unsure where we were and after spotting a footbridge we made our way down to the beck. After some discussion we decided which bridge we were at, crossed it and climbed up the less complicated side of the valley to the minor road. We then discovered we were not at the bridge we had thought; our wandering up dale and down dale meant that in an hour and a half’s walking we had made remarkably little progress along the dale. The walk down the minor road back to Reeth took much less time.

Francis plods up the 'less complicated' side of Arkengarthdale

Dinner at The Buck, Reeth

Reeth is barely bigger than Swynnerton, but where we have a post office and a struggling pub, Reeth has a post office, three pubs, two general stores, a gift shop, an outdoor shop and a Christian bookshop, not to mention a café and museum, though they were closed for the winter. One end of the village green even forms a mini central business district.

Reeth 'Central Business District'

Of the pubs, we selected The Buck for dinner on Thursday, though largely at random. Trade was roaring, as was the log fire. The fare was standard pub food, but done as well as it can be and reasonably priced. Gammon steak, fish and chips and sausage and mash count as comfort food (see Dandly’s personal, idiosyncratic, unscientific and deeply prejudiced food classification system.), Mike’s Thai fish curry might be sliding towards pretentious but was redeemed by evident customer satisfaction and Lynne’s steak and ale pie, completely encased and cooked in short crust pastry, ticked the boxes for good food. It was substantial and she needed a little help to finish it. I didn’t mind.

Dinner at the Buck Inn, Reeth
Alison, Francis, Lynne, Mike Trevor

02/01/2014

A Market on the Green

The green was home to a market of sorts on on Friday morning. Only three stalls, but at the butcher's half a dozen substantial slabs of local lamb looked perfect for our dinner while the greengrocer provided the wherewithal for an accompanying salad. The cheese stall offered a range of cheeses from across Europe as well as local favourites. Although my preference is for strong flavours, I appreciated the subtlety of the Wensleydale. Alison said that as pale, mild, crumbly cheeses go she preferred Cheshire, though there might be an element of native pride in that judgement – and why not (and I’ll put in a word for Caerphilly, the mild, crumbly cheese from Lynne’s native heath). Despite a willingness to appreciate subtle flavours, the Swaledale goat’s cheese – even paler than the Wensleydale – convinced nobody that it had anything to offer beyond a pleasing texture.

The Little Yorkshire Cheese Stall at Reeth

Later we went to Richmond, which is far too fine a place to be paragraph in Reeth's post. One day I will return for an in-depth look. [Oct 2020: still waiting. Once this Covid thing has gone, maybe]

A Walk Beside the Swale

Friday afternoon seemed an appropriate time to make the acquaintance of Reeth’s 'big' river. The River Swale rises at the head of the dale and has been joined by a multitude of side streams by the time it reaches Reeth. The name derives from an old English word for ‘rapid and liable to deluge’ and the river lives up to its name being capable of rising as much as 3 metres in 20 minutes. The village is set well above the flood plain and we walked some way to reach it. There was no rain, but it was bitterly cold with a biting wind.

The flood plain of the Swale, Reeth

The river occasional changes its route across the flood plain, and the tumbling mass of water resulting from the week’s downpours seemed to be busy seeking alternative channels to the current overworked mainstream.

The 'Swing Bridge', Reeth

A couple of hundred metres upstream is a footbridge. The ‘Swing Bridge’ as it is called for no obvious reason, was first built in 1920. It survived many floods but in 2000 was demolished by a large tree carried down in a torrent. The new bridge is identical to the old one.

Mike crosses the 'Swing Bridge', Reeth

Over the river we crossed the flood plain to a path on higher ground. Here it was sheltered and felt much warmer. Francis was making good progress in his wellies, but Trevor slipped over and dived gracefully into the mud. I had my camera raised, but waited for him to get up, I am far too much of a gentlemen to take advantage of a temporary loss of dignity – though not so much a gentlemen as to overlook it entirely.

Trevor is back on his feet

Just over a mile later we reached Grinton with its fine stone bridge over the Swale, welcoming pub, which we did not visit, and its long low sturdy church.

Past Grinton Church to Grinton Bridge

Once over the river we took the path across the flood plain back towards Reeth. Some of this path was above water, some of it not and various approaches were taken to deal with this.

One way to deal with damp conditions

We soon found ourselves walking along the bank of the Arkle Beck, which had joined the Swale between the Swing Bridge and Grinton Bridge.

Back to Reeth beside the Arkle Beck

Reaching the road we re-crossed the Swale over another of the stone bridges which are so plentiful in the region and made our way back to Fellsman Cottage. Nothing else remained of our New Year break other than to cook the excellent slabs of lamb and make a small but determined dent in the world’s wine lake. Saturday offered only packing up and the long drive home.

The Arkle Bridge, Reeth

A good time was had by all, and some thanks are due:

to Francis for organisation
Mike for cooking bacon and eggs for breakfast every day
Alison for ‘The Boer War’ and an excellent dessert
Trevor for the mud-surfing exhibition
and Lynne for the clean-up while the rest of us were walking along the Swale..