12 September 2016 Willow House Caravan Park, York

Again with a relatively short transfer distance, we left our departure from Whitby until late yesterday morning. The day had dawned as a superb autumn day; cold on rising but with clear skies. We travelled south on the A169 across the heights of the moors, through Pickering and on toward Malton, where we turned westward onto the A64, the main Scarborough to York route. Our camp is only just north off York’s northern ring road, very near an excellent retail centre which we checked out after setting up camp.

This morning we set off to the nearby Park & Ride and caught the bus into the town disembarking near the Minster. According to our tour literature, there is so much to see in York that we will again find ourselves too short of time; however York Minster seemed a good place to start.

York Minster

York sits at the confluence of the Rivers Ouse and Foss in North Yorkshire, which will come as no surprise. The population is over 200,000, a fact that did greatly surprised me, because I had imagined it to be a little like Durham; a concentrated island of history with an unimportant urban periphery. In Roman times it was known as Eboracum, in Viking times as Jorvik and today the tourist industry embraces both names as part of its historical wealth.

The city was founded in 71 AD when the Ninth Legion conquered the Brigantes and constructed a large wooded military fortress, the foundation of which is now well buried under the Minster. When Constantius I died in 306 AD, his son Constantine the Great was proclaimed Emperor by the troops based here in York, or Eboracum. It was this Constantine who ended the persecution of the Christians and it is appropriate that the city, in time, became the seat of the Archbishop of York.

But between the founding of the Minster and the departure of the Romans in about 400 AD, the Vikings came a-raiding and captured the city. Under their rule, York became a major river port, part of the extensive Viking trade routes throughout northern Europe. They remained here until 954 AD when King Eadred drove them out in his attempt to reunify England. Interestingly this incident was the subject of a television programme we watched this evening.

Constantine and the Masons

 The Minster, Britain’s largest Gothic building, was started in 1080 although the oldest remaining part only dates back to 1220. Here is to be found an estimated half of England’s medieval glass; whether that boast is correct or not, it is certainly impressive. The existing building was built over a two hundred and fifty year period, and is quite the loveliest we have seen, but then you have read that before, haven’t you? 

We joined an hour long guided tour where we learned much of the architectural history and related stories such as the damage caused by fires, both accidental and deliberate, and the collapse of the spire tower because of the unstable foundations, here found to be undermined by the Roman ruins lying below.

Later we spent time checking out the exhibitions of stained glass restoration and glass manufacture, and another all about calligraphy in the Chapter House. Down in the Undercroft is another brilliant exhibition mainly about the Romans and other history of the site, covering military, political and theological matters.

We took a break from this plethora of information, retiring to the sunny steps outside to eat our lunch, and then wandered around the exterior before continuing our exploration. I thought the exterior seemed far larger than the interior, even though I had found that quite massive; this the reverse of the Tardis.

Around the exterior was evidence of on-going restoration; masons constantly replacing stones placed centuries ago. There are apparently over fifty tradesmen employed on the maintenance team, and the Minster is doomed to spend most of its life sheathed in scaffolding.

It goes without saying that we enjoyed our visit to the York Minster immensely and ended up spending most of our touring day there, however we did take some time to call into the nearby Treasurer’s House.  This also shared the location of the old Roman Fort however that was not realised until less than fifty years ago. 

Up until 1547, when Henry VIII’s wreckers came through, the building served as office and resident to the Treasurer for York Minster, although only the external wall of that original house remains. In the early 17^th century it was almost entirely rebuilt by the Young family, and then it was split into two houses, then three, and then fell into rack and ruin.

In 1897 the third generation of local industrialists, in the person of Frank Green, purchased the place and embarked on an ambitious plan of restoration, but one with a difference. He wanted it as a home for his collection, furniture and art, rather than for himself, as well as setting out to preserve the city’s history. So each room was recreated in his version of various period styles. Sometimes he missed the mark rather, such as the Grand Hall that was created by demolishing the upper floor of the middle of the house. There are all sorts of errors in the decoration, but you cannot help but admire the effort and sentiment that went into the restoration.

Treasurer's House

But most interesting were the two little tours, or talks, we took advantage of; the first a trip down into the cellars wearing bright yellow hard hats to ghost spot. Here apparently an electrician working in 1953 observed a troop of Roman soldiers trudging through the passage; the archaeological facts which came to light later gave credence to this ghostly sighting and rise to a good tourist attraction.

    

Equally interesting but very different was a quick history of the house and the dissection of the personality of the eccentric bachelor Frank Green, who should be given credit for saving this house which would have surely ended up demolished like so many other grand houses of the county were. He gifted the house to the National Trust in 1930 with strict instructions that the furniture and decoration should stay exactly as he left it, even to the point of having tacks tapped into the floor to place the furniture legs. He retired to Dulverton on the edge of Exmoor, where we stayed when we spent time in that part of the world, and even from his death bed was still checking that everything was spick and span and tickety-boo back in York.

By the time we emerged into the lovely garden, and out onto the streets leading past the Minster, the afternoon was well on; we caught the bus back to the Park & Ride then spent quarter of an hour wandering around the car parks looking for our car.