strange to behold the stone of this wall, broken by fate

[ashlyme]

 

We spent this last weekend in York, staying with old friends of B.  I've not been in forty years; the Jorvik museum wasn't open then. Saturday morning we walked through the old grounds of St. Mary's Abbey and St. Olave's Church. We'd just caught the final days of the "Ghosts in the Garden" installation: forty-five wire spectres scattered across the green space of the city; a few shades brighter than the dove-grey sky. I think they're lighted at night. Amongst the ones we found were: a Saxon monk, a beekeeper, an archbishop, a peacock. I would have liked to meet the fiddle player but it wasn't to be. (The website also lists "a stereotypical ghost"!)

 

A circuit along the city walls towards the Minster - which we properly strolled round on on Sunday morning as the bells pealed. I've recently become interested in sundials (enough to buy a set of 1920s cigarette cards on the subject) and was happy to find one outside the cathedral. Several pictures later, we went on in search of two of my favourite things: second-hand books and ale. Minster Gate Books may be the busiest shop of its kind that I've seen (narrow landings, made narrower by bookcases, narrower still with people like me who crouch down - or even sit cross- to scan the shelves) but in lieu of traffic lights the customers are all very polite. B collects the Edwardian Bell's guides to English cathedrals and found three that day. I would have needed two or three hours longer (and ideally a couple of hundred quid) than I actually had to properly browse; but came out with a recent paperback of Alan Garner's collected folktales; a Mervyn Peake biography; and an edition of The Natural History of Selborne from the 1880s, which I think is the oldest book I own. Lunch, then a pint of vanilla porter with B and our host.

 

It wasn't til Sunday that we took a stroll round the Minster. We both had pastries: C, a cinnamon bun, a sweet potato and feta roll for me.The bells were in full peal (it seemed apt that I found a pamphlet on bellringing - written by one John Camp - at Oxfam a bit later). The first leg of the journey home was okay, if cramped; then we got to New Street, which is always cursed if you're trying to get to Coventry. One train cancelled due to lack of staff, three minutes before it was due to arrive; the next trying to carry two loads of passengers; people trying to push their way on before the carriage had even emptied - always a dick move. In comparison walking back from Cov station was bliss.