Yorkshire Heart Vineyard in Nun Monkton

Grape to glass
The second of two minibreaks near York saw Sally and I nestled in the jigsaw-puzzle-picture village of Nun Monkton near York. We stayed in a cosy AirBnB Garden Cottage – a tucked-away paradise for two with luscious gardens to enjoy. Nun Monkton is a village with a Maypole on The Green and a sense that Agatha Christie's Miss Marple could be living in one of the houses overlooking the main road. Our “main event” was a tour and wine tasting at a successful local business – Yorkshire Heart Vineyard and Brewery. Who knew that a grape to glass vineyard was operating so close to home? The bluff host affably took us through his family’s journey to where they are now and illustrated some of the processes involved from the complexities of vine growing to the personalised bottling. We were with a friendly group and needed a lie down after the generous samplings of fizz, white, red and rosé.

Alice Hawthorn Inn and Beningbrough Hall
A delicious meal (or two) at the Alice Hawthorn Inn (walkable from our AirBnB) meant we were geared up to wander round the miles of walks at nearby Beninbrough Hall and enjoy both the house and the exhibition of portraits of “Yorkshire Achievers”, including folk as various as Simon Armitage, Alan Bennett, Charlotte Brontë, Nicola Adams, Patrick Stewart and Jodie Whitaker.

Fair and gracious daughter

Harriet's birthday in June

"Good morning to you, fair and gracious daughter"
Thus speaks the Duke in Measure for Measure to Isabella, sadly a complicated relationship riddled with ambiguities and power struggles in a play that over 400 years after it was written still causes an audience to gasp in shock at Me Too moments…. Thankfully no such complication exists between my youngest daughter and me whose spirit reminds me more of Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing:

There’s little of the melancholy element in her, my lord: she is never sad but when she sleeps; and not ever sad then; for I have heard my daughter say, she hath often dreamt of unhappiness, and waked herself with laughing.

Maybe Harriet’s not quite as deliriously optimistic as Beatrice, but she can certainly spin life’s twists and turns into a way forward, the next step, a target, a plan….

Cora being patient....

The Walls of York

The Walls of York, Clifford's Tower and the Parisi Hotel

York
And so, to the first of two minibreaks with Sally, presents for her 2019 birthday – both in or near York and both culminating, I have to confess, in the partaking of wine. The first, in early June, found us in a beautiful boutique hotel in central York, the Parisi, with a book-lined library and a room with a roll-top bath. We’ve been many times to York, so some events were reenactments of previous activities: for example, the National Trust’s Treasurer’s House and Garden (one of our top spots in York.)

The Parisi Hotel and sites in York

Spring Light
York is particularly lovely in the Spring and the light was stunning as it fell on The Minster and the Walls of York as we circumnavigated the astonishing remaining sections of the medieval defences punctuated by evocative landmarks: Robin Hood Tower, Monk Bar, Harlot Hill Tower, Fishergate Bar, Micklegate Bar, Barker Tower, Multangular Tower, St Mary’s Tower, Bootham Bar…. Clifford’s Tower is the remains of a 13th century tower built to replace an earlier wooden Norman keep which was firebombed in horrific Anti-Jewish riots in 1190, resulting in the deaths of at least 150 Jews. The existing quatrefoil tower was damaged twice more in the 17th Century during the Civil War and later in an accidental explosion. It’s a miracle there’s anything left.

The Minster, the Walls of York, Clifford's Tower

My Life in a Museum
Jorvik is worth a return visit if you haven’t been for a while. It was revamped recently, and its time capsule tour of “Viking York” is famous for good reason. Aside from the headline-grabbing poo smells, there’s plenty of intriguing information about the nature of archaeology and its astonishing and intricate methods. Like much of York, the Castle Museum is a building that has had multiple uses throughout history and there are original signs of the Debtor’s Prison from the early 18th century as you meander through the presentation of rooms from different periods of history. What I like about the York Castle Museum is that the focus is on social history and the lives of ordinary people. It’s a sobering experience to see objects from your childhood and teenage years being displayed in a museum attraction!

York Castle Museum and the Jorvik Viking Centre

The Charlotte Stone

Brontë200
The past five years have been a bonanza for admirers of Haworth’s Brontë family with the Brontë200 five-year programme of bicentenaries: the Reverend Patrick Brontë’s invitation to become Haworth’s leading minister in 1819 and the births of Charlotte, Emily, Branwell and Anne (1816, 1817, 1818 and 1820.) As part of the celebrations, author Michael Stewart has devised a series of walks to visit monumental stones positioned in key places across Brontëland and Sally and I recently went on a pilgrimage to find The Charlotte Stone.

bog-burst of pain, fame, love, unluck.
The walk begins in Thornton near the remains of the Bell Chapel where Patrick was curate from 1815 to 1820. Over the road, the current St James’ Church contains an interesting exhibition about the Brontës. You ascend on tracks that pass Thornton Hall, probably the inspiration for Mr Rochester’s house in Jane Eyre. The wild and surprising views above Thornton carry you along high ridges that then descend to the Great Northern Railway trail where you cross the awesome 20-arch Thornton viaduct. The walk ends (inevitably) at the Brontë birthplace, now Emily’s café, and the site of The Charlotte Stone with a poem by Carol Ann Duffy. Officially “Easy,” I would describe the walk as “Strenuous” and we took all day, but that’s cos we included a lengthy picnic stop (or two) with hot bevarages and time to take in the Yorkshire views. 

Charlotte by Carol Ann Duffy
Walking the parlour, round round round the table,
miles; dead sisters stragglers till ghosts; retired wretch,
runty, pale, plain C.Brontë; mouth skewed, tooth-rot.
You see you have prayed to stone; unheard, thwarted.
But would yank your heart through your frock,
fling it as a hawk over the moors, flaysome.
So the tiny handwriting of your mind as you pace.
So not female not male like the wind’s voice.
The vice of this place clamps you; daughter; father
who will not see thee wed, traipsing your cold circles
between needlework, bed, sleep’s double-lock.
Mother and siblings, vile knot under the flagstones, biding.
But the prose seethes, will not let you be, be thus;
bog-burst of pain, fame, love, unluck. True; enough.
So your still doll-steps in the dollshouse parsonage.
So your writer’s hand the hand of a god rending the roof.