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Published: December 5th 2007
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Whitby Abbey
The beautifully carved and decorated bones of the Abbey are a fantastic backdrop to the graves in the churchyard. Catching the early morning bus quite literally by the skin of my teeth, I found an empty seat amidst the press of people and sat back to regain my breath. By the time we got to the edge of the National Park, I'd calmed down, breakfasted from the hastily assembled sandwiches thrust into my bag on my whirlwind dash out the door, and was pressed against the foggy window to enjoy the view across the famous scenery of the
North York Moors.
Unfortunately the drizzly rain which had been persisting down all morning showed no sign of lifting, and the moors were covered with mist, making the journey an atmospheric ride through an invisible up-and-down landscape - an adventure, but not so handy for viewing landscapes.
We reached the tiny port of Whitby, the end of the route, without having seen more on the way than a few bushes by the sides of the road. This discouraged me from doing any walking: I would certainly have the trails in the area to myself, and walking in the Wet Wild Woods on my wild lone, with the fog ensuring all places were alike to me, didn't really appeal. I decided to explore
the town instead.
The wind coming in off the sea blew a little of the mist away to paint a bleak view with a limited palette. The little town, immortalised by Bram Stoker’s gothic masterpiece,
Dracula, was bustling with weekend tourists - but despite the scrums of shoppers in the twisting market lanes, Whitby manages to retain a powerful air of isolation.
Something in the pale winter light and the closeness of this spartan town to the sea gave it an eerie feel, and it seemed to me an eminently reasonable hangout for a vampire. It's a far cry from Cornwall's cheerful St Ives, which would be Whitby's twin town on paper, but now seems like it belongs to a different planet. The town is divided down the centre by a river, and strapped back together by bridges. The estuary opens into a natural harbour, severely enclosed by the pincer-like arms of two stout stone piers. Gulls wheel and mew above the narrow streets barely visible between the houses, which seem to be seeking safety in numbers, they're so tightly crammed together.
I climbed the hundred and ninety-nine steps from the town up to the headland -
All change!
Trains in Pickering Station, end of the line for the NYMR. the same steps which Stoker's heroine Mina Murray toiled up, only to find her friend Lucy in Dracula’s embrace at the top. The steps lead to the architectural hodgepodge of St Mary's Church - an odd building added to in almost every style imaginable. The squat church is surrounded by centuries of gravestones, the inscriptions on most lost to the harsh weather long ago. In the background the ruined Abbey rises up like the bones of a sunken ship, crowning the headland with a spectral reminder of the town's prosperous religious past.
The Abbey was founded in 657, as the religious centre of the Anglo Saxon kingdom of Northumbria. Meetings there helped shape the early English church, and it was a burial place of Kings. The original Abbey, likely built of wood, was raided by Vikings and abandoned, but re-founded in later years of peace. The visible ruins date from the early medieval period, but the site is full of remains still to be excavated. Dissolved in Henry VIII’s fit of religious pique, it was abandoned, stone was pilfered for nearby houses, and the Abbey fell into slow rot. Part of the remaining structure was demolished by a Nazi
Putting out the fires
During the "air raid" an incendiary caught the station building. The a team of three volunteers was immediately in action with the stirrup pump to put it out: one directs the hose, the second pumps the water, and the third dashes back and forth refilling the bucket from the river. bomb during WWII, but the bones which still stand are beautiful and entirely worth the trip. I do not recommend the patronising and partly fictional audio guide to the site, though!
Stumbling back down the headland against the tide of tourists forcing themselves up the steps, I put myself on the early afternoon train across the North York Moors Railway. Lately the railway has been most famous for providing the steam trains used as the Hogwarts Express in the Harry Potter movies, but it's also a hugely popular summer destination for tourists visiting the moors, due to the excellent views from the tracks. Unfortunately the views had closed for the winter - the weather was not much better than it had been in the morning, but as it turned out, there was plenty to look at.
The railway is run by enthusiasts, and runs several categories and types of restored locomotives along the line. By chance, my trip had coincided with an annual event, and the steam trains were in service - all aboard for the Wartime Weekend! Taking everyone back to 1943, the Wartime Weekend celebrates the men and women who served Britain by keeping the railways
running during the war.
Actors and enthusiasts alike were dressed up in 40s regalia, from dresses, furs and seamed stockings, to volunteer uniforms and sensible civilian dress, to American and British armed forces personnel of various ranks. The stations all had different exhibits and wartime food was on sale (although I am sure there was far too much sugar available than was authentic.) At Pickering Station I witnessed an air raid, before leaving the railway for a chocolate shake in the window of a diner. I reluctantly left town at dusk, as the strains of Glenn Miller drifted through town, marking the start of the evening's dances.
And once more, I turned my thoughts north...
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