by Pauline Lucy
The city of Oxford is spread out before me as I stand on the tower parapet of the Church of St. Mary the Virgin. The staircase is a narrow, twisting spiral, challenging to manoeuvre as I squeezed past people who were coming down. The climb is one hundred and twenty four steps to get to the walkway just below the spire, but once up there I can see a complete three hundred and sixty degree view of Oxford. The buildings are nestled very closely together, made of honey-coloured limestone lit up in the sunshine. It is breezy at the top. I tie my scarf more tightly so that it won’t blow off and flutter over the wall. The stone figures on the walls play tricks on my eyes and look like they are about to crawl down to the next level. They have postures like Gollum crouching, ready to leap from place to place.
My cousin, Kevin, and his family point out the famous landmark buildings of the university from the tower,
“There is Christ Church to the left.” Kevin points to the magnificent building surrounding a pristine green lawn. “We passed The Bridge of Sighs as we walked to St. Mary’s did you see it?” He asks.
“Yes, I did, is it designed like the one in Venice?” I reply.
He smiles mischievously. “It is actually called Hertford Bridge and looks more like the Rialto Bridge in Venice. They are often confused. When we get back down to ground level, shall we hunt for a place to eat?” Kevin suggests.
My cousin loves Oxford and has visited many times while his daughter attended the university. He likes to share many interesting details and gets very animated during his story telling.
He showed me a doorway near St. Mary’s that is said to have inspired C.S. Lewis’ “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.”
I walked with my family down the cobblestone streets to a charming pub called “The Eagle and Child”. The building is lopsided due to its age, and several additions have been made to it over time, so the rooms are angled in odd ways. The little nooks and crannies have intimate spaces filled with small tables and chairs arranged for private conversations and philosophical discussions. The walls are covered with paintings and sketches of famous personages like J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis. I was in awe that I walked on the floor and sat in the building where these creators of famous literature regularly met.
After lunch my cousin had booked a one hour tour of the Bodleian Library. It is a book depository, no one can take a book from the library, a person can request to see a book but it must be kept on the premises. The library opened in 1602 and the collection has expanded spilling over to many other buildings over the past four hundred years.
The Divinity School is connected to the Bodleian and that is where I wait for the tour to begin.
In those few minutes I gaze at the ceiling of the room. It has upswept cone-like shapes with tiny details etched into the stone. The window frames are massive and made of many small panes of glass. The guide gathers us together on two long wooden benches. She starts with a little history about herself.
“Good afternoon everyone and welcome to the Bodleian Library.” The guide greets us and beckons the group to come closer. “You are probably curious about my accent. You can tell that I am not from here, I am American. I came to Oxford for a visit several years ago and fell in love with the city.” She says with a warm smile. “I decided that I wanted to be a part of it, so I am a volunteer in the Bodleian and give tours. I am excited to begin and share as much information about it as I can in this brief hour. Let’s begin, this room was used as the hospital in the Harry Potter movies.” She keenly announces.
The tour continued and I visited the Duke Humfrey’s Medieval Library where Hermione Granger did much of her research. The books are chained to the shelves in keeping with the rules that the books cannot be removed from the room.
Across the square from the Bodleian is the Sheldonian Theatre built by Sir Christopher Wren. To my surprise the theatre is not used to perform plays, but hosts concerts and degree ceremonies.
Oxford is the home of many unique and precious objects, “The Messiah”, a virtually unplayed Stradivarius violin is protected under glass in the Ashmolean Museum. The most complete remains of a dodo found anywhere in the world is displayed in the Museum of Natural History. A day is really too short a time to see all of Oxford’s treasures.
The atmosphere in Oxford is a juxtaposition of time standing still and the frenetic energy of young students rushing around on bicycles through the narrow, crowded streets.
As I left Oxford I was impressed by the city, it is preserved and yet it is moving forward embracing new ideas and welcoming the brilliant minds of today.
If You Go:
♦ Oxford University’s official site
♦ Oxford City Guide
♦ Oxford Bulidings
3-Hour Private Oxford Guided Walking Tour
About the author:
Born in England, Pauline Lucy grew up in Quebec after her family immigrated to Canada. After finishing her Bachelor of Education Degree at McGill University and teaching in Quebec, she moved to British Columbia. Pauline taught primary classes in Burnaby until 2013. She loves the imaginative world of children’s books and enjoys rich, figurative language. Since retiring she has cruised through the Panama Canal, toured in China and recently visited her birthplace.
First Oxford photo by David Mark from Pixabay
All other photos are by Pauline Lucy.
Arriving from the south, Robin Hood’s Bay is visible miles away; from a jutting limestone headland just past Ravenscar, one of a few villages on the walk. The approach to Robin Hood’s Bay at low tide is on a long stretch of sandy beach, with some rocks and pools along the way. The sea covers most of the beach at high tide; reuniting with the high cliffs in the evening like a blanket being tucked between bed and wall.
The age of Robin Hood’s Bay is unknown, as it was a thriving village of fifty cottages when first recorded in 1540 by Leland, King Henry VIII’s topographer. In the following century it was recorded on Dutch sea charts, which omitted Whitby; RHB’s now much larger northern neighbour. The origins of RHB’s name are also unclear, with no recorded reference to the famous outlaw of Sherwood Forest. That legend did become popular in the 15th century though, with the first recorded ballad dated to 1450, around the same time that the Yorkshire village was thought to be growing. If Robin Hood was the John Lennon of his time, then it seems likely that people would want to name things after him. However, the local history society believe it is more likely that the name derived from ancient woodland spirits, such as Robin Goodfellow, who preceded the now more famous Medieval rebel, and may have played a part in creating the green Sherwood Forest legend, rather than Hood influencing other contemporary things.
The area does seem to have thrived on independence from outside control and taxes, as the legendary Robin Hood did, with the local history society writing there is no doubt that Robin Hood’s Bay was the busiest smuggling village on the Yorkshire coast by the 18th century. That coastal culture was made famous in the 
and television series. I watched the original series as a child in the 1970s, and maybe that is why I have been so excited by Robin Hood’s Bay. I also first watched the Kidnapped film around that time, which is another seafaring story set in the 18th century.
Smuggling was not the only activity dividing village and rulers, as on the other side there was something that looks even more evil in history: Press Gangs were sent into villages such as Robin Hood’s Bay to find and kidnap men for the Royal Navy. Those pressed into service were unlikely to return. It is easy to imagine the drama of the 18th century in the compact steep closely-knit village that still structurally exists, with contraband passed through windows from harbour to hilltop without touching the ground; or the women banging drums when Press Gangs were spotted, and the men running to hide.
When I finished my walk from Scarborough I had to find the campsite a couple of miles farther north of the village. After stopping to take too many photos it was totally dark by then, but I was compensated by a clear night providing an amazing countryside view of the sky, after becoming used to inner city light pollution skies. Looking upwards at regular intervals for long periods of time delayed me further, but as Downhill showed, it’s not all about keeping to time, but what you see and learn along the way.
Instead, I walked back to Whitby, completing another section of the Cleveland Way. Staithes is ten miles above the town famous for Dracula’s fictional landing in England, while Robin Hood’s Bay is five miles below. As with my walk from Scarborough, I took too many photos and made slower progress than planned. Thankfully, I reached Whitby fifteen minutes before the last bus back to Leeds.
That was the last hiking I did, but watching Downhill has made me want to complete both The Cleveland Way and Coast to Coast walks. Hopefully I will one day hike both, finding more short uphill peaks on my long winding downhill descent into old age.
Ilkley is a picturesque town in the Wharfe Valley, with the Wharfe river on its eastern side, and a rock plateau rising above the western. The latter is known as Ilkley Moor, and is the subject of Yorkshire’s unofficial anthem, On Ilkla Moor Baht ‘at. The song is about a man courting a woman while questioning her decision to walk on the moor without a hat – bar hat. The first published version of the song dates from 1916, so it is a century old this year; although it is thought to have been sung as a folk song for a couple of generations before being written down. The Cow and Calf rocks on the southern edge of the moor are popular landmarks, as well as providing small sheer cliff-faces to climb.
That era was brought to an end about 2000 years ago, when a large local force known as the Brigantes fought with the Romans in the area. The Brigantes are thought to have been a conglomeration of smaller tribes, and the unified organisation of the Romans meant they subdued the local warriors, although there were constant rebellions against the occupiers. There is evidence of a Roman fort in Ilkley dated to about AD 80, although the town has been built around it. Ilkley became a popular spa town in the nineteenth century, and Victorian architecture still provides a window into that world.
Skipton Castle was built in 1090 by Normans who had recently defeated Anglo-Saxon King Harold at the Battle of Hastings in 1066. Hastings is in the south of England, and one of the reasons for Harold’s defeat is that many in his army had only just returned from defeating a Viking invasion led by Harald Hardrada and Tostig in the east Yorkshire Battle of Stamford Bridge.
The last Clifford, Lady Anne, planted the yew tree that still stands in the Tudor-era Conduit courtyard. It is a fine sight on a sunny summer day, with its greenery rising high enough atop a twisting trunk to feel the warmth of sky above the castle walls.
Skipton is the local gateway to the Yorkshire Dales National Park, with buses weaving out from the town along country lanes to picturesque stone-built villages. A few miles from Skipton is Malham. The small village is famous for its 260-feet high limestone cove and paving, which was the setting for a scene in Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows Part 1.
There is evidence of 4000-year-old buildings on Ingleborough, and the second part of its name derives from burh, an Old English word for a fortified place. It has been assumed for years that it was a hillfort village, but an information board on one of its paths advises that a newer theory argues it could have been a special location for spiritual occasions, like Stonehenge in the south.
Renowned hiker and writer Alfred Wainwright considered the hike around Ingleborough from Clapham to Horton-in-Ribblesdale his favourite in the Yorkshire Dales. The last time I looked in that direction, crepuscular rays fell from thick clouds over the valley in the distance, while snow brightened the foreground fields. Limestone pavements decorate large areas of greenery, with lonely hawthorn and rowan trees, or big boulders, sometimes ornamenting them.
Photo credits:
by John Thomson
I’m in Glasgow visiting relatives, recalled to the city by blood ties and circumstance. Glasgow is Scotland’s largest city, a little shabby in parts I must admit, its once busy dockyards replaced by a shopping mall, an amusement centre and a transportation museum. Thankfully, many of Glasgow’s magnificent sandstone buildings remain intact, a reminder of its better days when the city was flush with pride and Scottish architect Charles Rennie Mackintosh was at the top of his game. The Mackintosh story, like the city itself, is a bittersweet tale of success, decline and ultimate redemption. Not familiar with the name? You’ll recognize his furniture. His straight, high-backed chairs are cultural icons often associated with the British Arts and Crafts movement and although I’m not a fan of his chairs – too rigid for me – I have to acknowledge their importance.
I start my Glasgow tour on Sauchiehall (pronounced Sock-ee-hall) Street and work my way west. Glasgow converted its two main downtown thoroughfares, Buchanan and Sauchiehall Streets into pedestrian malls years ago and getting around the central core is a pedestrian’s dream. A gentle rain sprinkles the pavement but as soon as it starts, it stops. I’m barely wet. I climb Scott Street to the Glasgow School of Art considered the pinnacle of Mackintosh’s architectural career. Completed in 1909, it’s an imposing structure with a domineering command of its surroundings. It reminds me of a fortress. The western wall is tight and dense with narrow loopholes from which I imagine the inhabitants, if they were medieval archers, could shoot arrows if the city were under siege. The northern wall on the other hand has lots of large windows giving it an airy feel and letting in lots of light too. After all, this is an art school. Form follows function.
Mackintosh was not only an architect but a designer too and the original Willow Tea Room on Sauchiehall is a prime example of his handiwork. Recruited by local businesswoman and teetotaller Catherine Cranston in 1896 to dress up her establishments, Mack designed everything – tables, chairs, room dividers, wall decorations, napkins and cutlery. The Tea Room, one of two in the city, has been preserved as a Mackintosh museum with the original stained glass door and replica furniture and yes, they still serve tea. Angularity is the prevailing theme – there are those high backed chairs again – and everything conforms to Mackintosh’s singular, unifying concept.
I get off at the Kelvinhall stop and walk to the Hunterian Art Gallery on the grounds of the University of Glasgow. Mack’s 1906 residence or at least parts of it – the hall, dining room, living room and the main bedroom – have been moved from their original location and reassembled here for public display. It’s breathtaking in its simplicity. Mackintosh and Margaret have designed everything themselves right down to the fireplace decorations. They even knocked down interior walls to create more space, a radical innovation at the turn of the nineteenth century. Sunlight bounces off the stark white walls accentuating the open plan. The angular motif that I first saw at the Willow Tea Room, lots of right angles and variations on the square, is repeated in the floor, the furniture and the wall decorations. Everything is co-ordinated. A bit too co-ordinated. I feel like I’m in a museum piece, which of course I am, and long for the remains of a half-eaten breakfast on the dining room table or a pile of dirty clothes at the foot of those oh-so-perfect matching beds. I wonder if Mack and his wife ever felt the same way. Probably not. I have to admit the duo were ahead of their time though. Their turn-of-the-century digs look like they belonged in the 1930’s.
I learn that young Mackintosh was quite the celebrity when he completed the Glasgow School of Art in 1909 but when he left his employers, Honeyman and Keppie, to strike out on his own, tastes changed and his business faltered. He and his wife Margaret retreated to London to concentrate on textile design. And when that didn’t pan out the couple eventually retired to southern France where Mackintosh renounced architecture entirely and spent the rest of his life painting watercolours.
Today he’s Glasgow’s favorite son and the city isn’t shy about promoting him. He’s been immortalized, idolized and commercialized. It’s impossible to leave Glasgow without hearing his name, his handiwork or for that matter, a Mackintosh souvenir. One can’t have too many coffee mugs.
As I board the plane to return home, I ponder the Mackintosh phenomenon. Yes, his buildings are stunning. Built to withstand the Scottish climate, they’re solid, substantial structures in contrast to those flouncy neo-classical buildings in vogue at the time. Scholars have called the style Scottish Baronial, tying Mackintosh and his ideas to the Scottish Renaissance of the early twentieth century when there was a creative surge in Scottish arts and letters. Perhaps he deserves his fame because he stripped away superfluous decoration in favour of detail that complemented the building’s integrity, paving the way for Modernism. Perhaps it’s because he involved himself in total design – integrating architecture with wall treatments, light fixtures and furniture. Mack pre-dated future “starchitects” like Frank Gehry by decades. Perhaps it’s all of these things, a combination of accomplishments both historic and aesthetic.
About the author:
If you love Wuthering Heights devoutly, the words “bed and breakfast” can inspire fear. Would the broad beamed ceilings and mossy walls be protected, or would they be swallowed up into an upscale conversion? Bronte’s “Thrushcross Grange”, or as it is known in reality, Ponden Hall, is exactly as its hero and heroine would have it.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take your bags,” he said as he stepped out the front door. I ushered my daughter into the long, narrow hallway lined with wellies and jackets. It is still a family home. We entered the sitting room to the right and met the home’s other half- Julie Akhurst, a warm and inviting hostess bearing tea and cookies.
We were upgraded you to the Heaton Room, the first of many kindnesses Our room was as if a home of its own. Two twin beds were at opposite ends of the room while a large four-poster graced the interior wall. Stephen had built a warm fire in the hearth in front of the chairs and sofa, and the ceiling reached up to a height that made the room grander than a suite. It was quiet enough to hear the cows chewing the grass outside our window, and when we went to bed, a slight wind rattled the windows occasionally, but seemed to promise calm.
Despite the protective comfort of our warm duvets, we eagerly came down for traditional British breakfast. The Akhurst-Brown family invited us to join them at dinner because it would be late for us to take a taxi to the local pub the previous night and Julie proved she is an excellent cook with a delicious squash soup. Julie came in and out of the kitchen juices, fresh eggs, and warm homemade bread. Stephen pulled two large pillows in front of the stone fireplace so my daughter could sprawl out on the stone floors and watch cartoons. Listening to the family move behind us in the daily lives added more warmth to the room, aside from their heated stone floors and their giant Aga stove, than I ever could have imagined. Indeed it felt as if the haunted souls of Wuthering Heights had been set free.
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