The English countryside is pure history. Every district present its lovely villages and towns. Every settlement has its old church, mostly in different Romanesque architecture like the Normanic ones with their flat tower. Most districts also have their castles or ruined fortresses from ancient times. Everywhere you may admire monuments of ambitions, hard work, and dreams from the past.
Whenever I am going to England, I try to discover new areas of the country. This time I had chosen the road along the east coast from Harwich to Newcastle. Outside Newcastle I thought to go west along the Hadrian's wall. At Carlisle I would go south along the Cumrian coast down to Wales. In fact I was most eager to some detours into the mountain and lake districts of Cumbria.
Nevertheless I enjoyed the open countryside here on the east coast. It was rather relaxing, and I had made more than one interesting break this morning. I had left early - even for my hosts at the "B&B" in Hornsea. Still I had lost a lot of hours compared to my planning for the day - mostly because I got carried away at the scenery of Robin Hood's Bay. This old village that used to be a paradise for smugglers, was even a paradise fo me with its attractive jumble of cobbled yards, footworn steps, and houses that seem to cling to the main cliff from above down to a coastal view almost unequalled to all others. The setting was special and peaceful. I almost had the feeling of being an intruder in this little place between Scarborough and Whitby.
The time spend in Robin Hood's Bay meant I had to drive quite a way northwards to keep up with my plans for the day. Accompagned by some BBC station from my car radio I drove into the main road to Middlesborough. Only to discover that most lorries and tractors in this part of England headed the same way. Since my car was "continental" with the steering wheel at the left, overtake lorries was almost impossible when one is alone in the car. I had no idea of what was coming against us. Trying to put the car out to the right, would bring me in the opposite traffic lane - and put an abrupt end to me as to some innocent persons. In the few minutes when I had a view of what was ahead, naturally we met with a lot of cars driving south.
Listening to the radio I realized that I rather should have listened to my stomach before leaving Robin Hood's Bay. That was why I left the road when I saw "Whitby" on a sign. At the entrance to the main centre I discovered a huge traffic jam. Another opportunity was a to the right. I chose this alternative road. It went uphill with some sharp bends, and brought me to a ruined church next to a parking space. "Abbey Plain" was an appropriate name on the site. So I understood the ruin had only been a part of a monastery area and no cathedral - although the ruin was rather impressing.
I left the car and had a look downtown. The harbour was crowded with sailing boats, and in the bay a ship was moving under a bascule brigde that had opened. The reason for the traffic jam, I imagined. And Whitby seemed to be a town of some size. Every town of some size used to have a "Kentucky Fried Chicken"... That made me descend some stairs with innumerable steps towards the buildings below.
My taste-bud was prepared for a fried chicken, although the tast-bud was not the most suitable organ to prepare for a Kentucky Fried Chicken. My empty stomach was more important than some expectation for a culinary meal. Then I did not mind discovering that Whitby was more English than international. This place did not prostitute itself to American pre-coocked food. Here I was offered a decent "Fish'n chips" wraped in the traditional way - in old newspaper.
I returned with the meal to the plateau where I had parked my car. Unfortunately a biting wind had appeared when I was away down-town. I looked at the ruin area. There was an entrance fee to pay for entering the area, but I imagined I would find better sheltered there than out on the plain. And eating fish and chips soaked in vinegar within my car did not occur as a possibility.
Behind the fencing I noticed several benches. Exactely something after climbing some thousands steps. So I went for the entrance, payed the fee and had my lunch sheltered for the wind. Completely alone among the ruins.
"The Danes were responsible for a first demolition of the monastry in the 9th century," said the guy who had sold me the ticket, when I was about to leave. I nodded politely, and he presumed I was keen to listen to the rest of the story. Obviously he had been all alone up there the whole day, and was delighted to have a chat. "Fortunately the Benedictins raised this place after the Norman conquest..." But unfortunately for him, I did not care listening. I wanted to get further to the north. Even with some indigestion for having eaten my fish and chips too fast.
During the afternoon I managed to get all the way to Hexham by the Hadrian's wall. And then the days passed along the Wall and the westcoast. Until I reached Chester, my favourite English town.
Strangely enough the main discovery in my favourite town brought me back to Whitby!
The return to the place where I hardly passed time enough for some food, started in "The Rows". In the charming shopping area of Chester. Where most of the shops are situated on galleries above the street. There - in the crypt at the bottom of "Bookland" - I found an AA-guide to "Country Towns and Villages". I started to look at the places I had passed or stayed at. Always it is possible to realize my ignorance when staying somewhere just by hazard. The desciption of Whitby made me sit down in the middle of the stairs. I was absolutely not the only visitor to "Abbey Plain"! The Irish author Bram Stoker had did the same i the 1890s. Strolling around among the ruins where I did not even care to lsiten to the gatekeeper, Bram Stoker got his inspiration that made him world famous. He wrote "Dracula" when he stayed in Whitby! In a place I only had escaped into for a rapid lunch, completely ignorant for the assosiations of the setting!
And that was not all! The ruins of this monastry had a special and disputed story to tell. The Synod of Streaneshalc, as Whitby was called in the year 664. When the Celts had to dispose of their version of the Christian belief.
On the steps in the bookshop I became painfully aware of where I had left some greasy newspapers with the leftovers from my tragicomic lunch in Whitby. In 664 the Pope in Rome wanted to christian The British Iles - although most of the inhabitants already were Christians - or rather, about to realize what it meant to be a Christian. The problem for the Pope was that he had no controll with the way it worked out. The Christianity of the Celts ruled in most of England, Wales and Scotland - not to mention on ireland. This was the gospe of charity and austerity. A gospel that did not apply to the Pope. This way of christtianity derived from Ireland with an origin from the first convents in the Palestinian dessert. Maybe the only influence the British ever have accepted from ireland...
King Oswy of Northumberland happened to have trouble with his wife around the 660s. She was a product a Catholic tradition in Kent - far to the south and far from the Celtic influence from Ireland. The main problem turned out to be that Oswy used to celebrate Easter according to the Celtic customs, while Queen Eanfled celebrated the Holy week according to her Catholic upbringing. This brought about the Synod of 664. There - in what was later to be called Whitby - the King submitted to the claims from the papal representative who returned victorious to Rome telling his master the British had "agreed in being baptized as supporters of the Catholic faith" as I read on a sign when i returned to Whitby.
Actually I returned to Whitby directely from "The Rows" in Chester. I simply could not accept that my only aim in Whitby had been putting bits of fish and chips dipped in salt and vinegar into my mouth sheltered from the wind. Without caring about sharing my humble meal with the vampire count Dracula, and the spirits from the Celts thar had to renounce in their belief.
I also happened to find the balcony in "Cresent House" where Bram Stoker hundred years earlier elaborated his ideas of transylvanien brutality. The ruin on "Abbey Plain" across the harbour had been more extensive in the days of Stoker, but destroyed almost completely by the Germans during the last war, my host in "Crescent House" told me. Because his pension became my whereabouts for the next week. I had no intention of creating a new vampire, but spent a lot of time on the balcony with the view across the harbour to the ruin on "Abbey Plain", while reading about the rites and fate of the Celtic Christianity.
Sometimes I strolled along the hillside close to the pension. There was another reason for visiting Whitby; the memories of James Cook. His statue is overlooking the bay below. And we had something in common, James Cook and I. He sailed away from Whitby to discover Australia. I went away, finding Whitby - in Chester.
Yours Thor Thorstensen
Nevertheless I enjoyed the open countryside here on the east coast. It was rather relaxing, and I had made more than one interesting break this morning. I had left early - even for my hosts at the "B&B" in Hornsea. Still I had lost a lot of hours compared to my planning for the day - mostly because I got carried away at the scenery of Robin Hood's Bay. This old village that used to be a paradise for smugglers, was even a paradise fo me with its attractive jumble of cobbled yards, footworn steps, and houses that seem to cling to the main cliff from above down to a coastal view almost unequalled to all others. The setting was special and peaceful. I almost had the feeling of being an intruder in this little place between Scarborough and Whitby.
The time spend in Robin Hood's Bay meant I had to drive quite a way northwards to keep up with my plans for the day. Accompagned by some BBC station from my car radio I drove into the main road to Middlesborough. Only to discover that most lorries and tractors in this part of England headed the same way. Since my car was "continental" with the steering wheel at the left, overtake lorries was almost impossible when one is alone in the car. I had no idea of what was coming against us. Trying to put the car out to the right, would bring me in the opposite traffic lane - and put an abrupt end to me as to some innocent persons. In the few minutes when I had a view of what was ahead, naturally we met with a lot of cars driving south.
Listening to the radio I realized that I rather should have listened to my stomach before leaving Robin Hood's Bay. That was why I left the road when I saw "Whitby" on a sign. At the entrance to the main centre I discovered a huge traffic jam. Another opportunity was a to the right. I chose this alternative road. It went uphill with some sharp bends, and brought me to a ruined church next to a parking space. "Abbey Plain" was an appropriate name on the site. So I understood the ruin had only been a part of a monastery area and no cathedral - although the ruin was rather impressing.
I left the car and had a look downtown. The harbour was crowded with sailing boats, and in the bay a ship was moving under a bascule brigde that had opened. The reason for the traffic jam, I imagined. And Whitby seemed to be a town of some size. Every town of some size used to have a "Kentucky Fried Chicken"... That made me descend some stairs with innumerable steps towards the buildings below.
My taste-bud was prepared for a fried chicken, although the tast-bud was not the most suitable organ to prepare for a Kentucky Fried Chicken. My empty stomach was more important than some expectation for a culinary meal. Then I did not mind discovering that Whitby was more English than international. This place did not prostitute itself to American pre-coocked food. Here I was offered a decent "Fish'n chips" wraped in the traditional way - in old newspaper.
I returned with the meal to the plateau where I had parked my car. Unfortunately a biting wind had appeared when I was away down-town. I looked at the ruin area. There was an entrance fee to pay for entering the area, but I imagined I would find better sheltered there than out on the plain. And eating fish and chips soaked in vinegar within my car did not occur as a possibility.
Behind the fencing I noticed several benches. Exactely something after climbing some thousands steps. So I went for the entrance, payed the fee and had my lunch sheltered for the wind. Completely alone among the ruins.
"The Danes were responsible for a first demolition of the monastry in the 9th century," said the guy who had sold me the ticket, when I was about to leave. I nodded politely, and he presumed I was keen to listen to the rest of the story. Obviously he had been all alone up there the whole day, and was delighted to have a chat. "Fortunately the Benedictins raised this place after the Norman conquest..." But unfortunately for him, I did not care listening. I wanted to get further to the north. Even with some indigestion for having eaten my fish and chips too fast.
During the afternoon I managed to get all the way to Hexham by the Hadrian's wall. And then the days passed along the Wall and the westcoast. Until I reached Chester, my favourite English town.
Strangely enough the main discovery in my favourite town brought me back to Whitby!
The return to the place where I hardly passed time enough for some food, started in "The Rows". In the charming shopping area of Chester. Where most of the shops are situated on galleries above the street. There - in the crypt at the bottom of "Bookland" - I found an AA-guide to "Country Towns and Villages". I started to look at the places I had passed or stayed at. Always it is possible to realize my ignorance when staying somewhere just by hazard. The desciption of Whitby made me sit down in the middle of the stairs. I was absolutely not the only visitor to "Abbey Plain"! The Irish author Bram Stoker had did the same i the 1890s. Strolling around among the ruins where I did not even care to lsiten to the gatekeeper, Bram Stoker got his inspiration that made him world famous. He wrote "Dracula" when he stayed in Whitby! In a place I only had escaped into for a rapid lunch, completely ignorant for the assosiations of the setting!
And that was not all! The ruins of this monastry had a special and disputed story to tell. The Synod of Streaneshalc, as Whitby was called in the year 664. When the Celts had to dispose of their version of the Christian belief.
On the steps in the bookshop I became painfully aware of where I had left some greasy newspapers with the leftovers from my tragicomic lunch in Whitby. In 664 the Pope in Rome wanted to christian The British Iles - although most of the inhabitants already were Christians - or rather, about to realize what it meant to be a Christian. The problem for the Pope was that he had no controll with the way it worked out. The Christianity of the Celts ruled in most of England, Wales and Scotland - not to mention on ireland. This was the gospe of charity and austerity. A gospel that did not apply to the Pope. This way of christtianity derived from Ireland with an origin from the first convents in the Palestinian dessert. Maybe the only influence the British ever have accepted from ireland...
King Oswy of Northumberland happened to have trouble with his wife around the 660s. She was a product a Catholic tradition in Kent - far to the south and far from the Celtic influence from Ireland. The main problem turned out to be that Oswy used to celebrate Easter according to the Celtic customs, while Queen Eanfled celebrated the Holy week according to her Catholic upbringing. This brought about the Synod of 664. There - in what was later to be called Whitby - the King submitted to the claims from the papal representative who returned victorious to Rome telling his master the British had "agreed in being baptized as supporters of the Catholic faith" as I read on a sign when i returned to Whitby.
Actually I returned to Whitby directely from "The Rows" in Chester. I simply could not accept that my only aim in Whitby had been putting bits of fish and chips dipped in salt and vinegar into my mouth sheltered from the wind. Without caring about sharing my humble meal with the vampire count Dracula, and the spirits from the Celts thar had to renounce in their belief.
I also happened to find the balcony in "Cresent House" where Bram Stoker hundred years earlier elaborated his ideas of transylvanien brutality. The ruin on "Abbey Plain" across the harbour had been more extensive in the days of Stoker, but destroyed almost completely by the Germans during the last war, my host in "Crescent House" told me. Because his pension became my whereabouts for the next week. I had no intention of creating a new vampire, but spent a lot of time on the balcony with the view across the harbour to the ruin on "Abbey Plain", while reading about the rites and fate of the Celtic Christianity.
Sometimes I strolled along the hillside close to the pension. There was another reason for visiting Whitby; the memories of James Cook. His statue is overlooking the bay below. And we had something in common, James Cook and I. He sailed away from Whitby to discover Australia. I went away, finding Whitby - in Chester.
Yours Thor Thorstensen
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