Breakfast was an incredible spread, cooked by Karen (the owner) and a woman who may have been her mother. It began with enormous cups of coffee and tea; brown-bread toast with homemade preserves; fruit salad topped with local yoghurt; AND the option of cereal. Karen's mother then plied us with plates of sausage, bacon, tomatoes, mushrooms, and egg. Conversation went something like this:
Karen's mother: Ahh y'raaaht f' tohhhst?
Dad: Fine, thanks - I'm very full.
Mum: Thankyou, but I've had plenty already.
Karen's mother: Raaaht, then - aah'll bring y'aaht soohm mooore!
It was an extravaganza: the English ur-breakfast. Afterwards we rolled placidly out the door and up the hill towards "inner York", and walked around a section of the city walls. The reason they're so well-preserved is apparently thanks to an Archbishop who threw a wobbly when someone widened part of a gate to make room for horse-drawn traffic; he was so incensed that he banned any further changes to the structure. Hence, there aren't even any handrails, and it's a fair way up.
They are beautiful walls with their weathered stone... even though their original purpose was far from ornamental. From the battlements we saw grey squirrels, English magpies (nothing like Australian ones), blackbirds, a coal-tit, and even a robin. It's surprisingly disconcerting to be in a country where I have difficulty recognising even the most common birds...
We eventually climbed down and headed off to the Jorvik museum, which is built on the site of 1970s excavations which unearthed a Viking-era settlement under York ("York"... "Jorvik"; I see the connection). The presentation of the museum is very flashy (animatronics, holograms, guides in costume, even synthesised Viking-y smells) but when you arrive at the section with actual information content, it's fascinating. They've based all their tableaus on "real evidence", and from what I could tell, they really mean it. Even the dummies are based on facial reconstructions of skeletons found on the site - which is an imprecise science, but you can see they're making a huge effort, and it pays off. The display cases on tools and trade were particularly fascinating, as were the human remains showing disease and medical practices of the time.
We spent the rest of the morning wandering The Shambles and bits of Old York, peering in windows of obscure shops, and taking lots of photos. Then Pip and Dad set off to collect our luggage and car, and Mum and I met them outside Micklegate Bar.
We drove out of York, and through the Yorkshire countryside. An attempt was made to visit the battleground at Stamford bridge (an exciting prospect to a girl who has watched Simon Schama's "A History of Britain" at least thirty times through) but the site appears now to be in the middle of someone's farm, under a transmission tower. We carried on through villages with delightful names until we entered Lincolnshire. A stop was made at Cleethorpes in order to witness one of the most depressing beaches I've ever seen. It had sand - that was about the only resemblance it bore to what I think of as "beach". The bitter cold, drizzle, and stench of chimney smoke from coal fires urged us back into the car quite quickly, but now I understand why the English are so mad-keen about Australian beaches.
We carried on to Brinkhill, which is where we are staying for tonight and tomorrow night, with Barbara and Malcolm - two of dad's friends from when he lived in Sheffield. They are absolutely lovely people, and incredibly eager hosts (I have been ladled full of lasagne, salad, and "surprise pie" with berries and cream). Barbara in particular is very chatty. Their house is called "The Manor", and is a big Victorian house that they've done up over 11 years or so, including the garden. The only appropriate word I can summon up is "oppulent"... I had heard legends that told of carpeted bathrooms, and it turns they were true.
I feel that in this case, the pictures (though blurry) really will do a better job than I at explaining...
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2 comments:
Oh dear buddha, carpeted toilets, that's funny. What previous generations did in Holland was place a piece of carpet on the table as a table cloth and there are still some old-school pubs in Amsterdam that do the same thing,
The only other thing I remember about York, apart from what you've already described, is another museum just outside the dense inner bit, which contains reconstructed streets from various eras. It was very cool to see the inside of a Victorian candle-maker's shop, for instance. I loved Jorvik though. And the bulgy buildings. And funnily enough I can't remember much more than that (six years'll do that to ya!)
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