It’s July, so clearly, it must be Time To Read Informative English Heritage Panels at a historical site somewhere.
In other words, it’s Emily’s birthday…. And post-lockdown who could resist the siren lure of the sea washing on a northern shore? Dracula called from not so many miles away…. or, more precisely, Abbess Hilda and the poet Caedmon summoned us from West to North Yorkshire to Whitby Abbey…. An unexpectedly blue sky gave the ruins a bright vibrancy and it was easy to imagine the disruptive (Saint) Wilfrid and the gossipy “historian” Bede bustling about the place.
It was necessary, if not compulsory, to buy Fish n Chips from The Magpie and enjoy them on the beach, in spite of the keen seagulls. And it was necessary to visit The Whitby Bookshop and revel in the town’s independent quirkiness. Face masks came on and off easily and most shops had clear sanitation procedures. Visitors were by and large sensible and conscious of protecting fellow citizens from the current global pandemic.
The Bolton Abbey Estate has had plenty of practice at organising large-scale responses to annual events so their one-way nature trails (to The Strid, to Bolton Castle, to the Valley of Desolation) are welcoming and well organised. So, for Day Two of the Birthday Season, although we didn’t venture into the Abbey ruins themselves, we had a yomping walk through rooty forest trails with a picnic under the canopy of trees. Another year, another birthday. Good food, good drink, good company, three venues: Whitby, Bolton Abbey and home. Where the heart is.
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