16 September 2016 - Willow House Caravan Park, York

Today, in theory, was to be our last sortie into York and so it may well be but if it is, there will still be places we have neglected. Heavy rain swept over the country overnight, disrupting traffic and peaceful nights. Down towards London, a slip came down derailing a train which in turn caused a collision, albeit very minor, and thankfully no one was hurt in either event. For ourselves, we woke to hear the worst of the rain, soon lulled to sleep again by the gentler aftermath. Unfortunately some rain was still about this morning when we set off into the city; however our day was to be all about museums and art galleries and so it was only access that was affected. 

Rain drenched view from Art Gallery entry

Our first port of call was the York Art Gallery, by ticketed entry unlike most city administered galleries. About half the gallery was undergoing change of exhibitions, so our entry price was adjusted accordingly.  

The Art Gallery together with the Museum, is situated in the Museum gardens, 10 acres of land beside the River Ouse which include the ruins of St Mary’s Abbey, once the wealthiest and most powerful monastery in the north of England. The Abbey was begun in 1089, catering for an order of Benedictine monks. This came to an end with the Dissolution, and it fell into unidentifiable ruin. It was only in the 1820s that the Yorkshire Philosophical Society excavated the area and uncovered the Abbey and no end of other treasures. Twenty years later, Sir John Naysmith was appointed by the Society to draw up designs for a pleasure garden, and it is in this the fine old buildings and the ruins stand today.

The gallery was created in the 1860s, but not moved into this permanent building until the late 1870s. York collector John Burton, a farmer and mine owner, left his extensive art collection in 1882 to the gallery and this formed the base of the collection. The City Council purchased the buildings in 1892 and they have had a chequered life, including being requisitioned for military purposes at the outbreak of the Second World War. It suffered bomb damage in 1942, no doubt in the same attack as that on Barley Hall, but was reopened six years later, then again after major restoration in the early 1950s. All of this messing about probably accounts for the fact that it has been a user pay institution, although it is free for under-16s. And that latter fact accounts for the number of school children about the gallery today, dozens of red shirted primary pupils so very excited by the prospect of a day out of the classroom.

Apart from the stairwell, there were only four rooms open to the public today, offering three separate exhibitions. The first revolves around the collection in the Burton Gallery, full of fine artworks, including a rather quirky work by L S Lowry of Clifford Tower, and several excellent paintings by Yorkshire artist, William Etty. 

The larger exhibition is all about ceramics, although that word seems too simple. Here is a seventeen long Wall of Pots with over a thousand ceramics from the galleries collection, arranged in rainbow fashion and with some very pleasing items. Then there is another room featuring more exotic pottery by selected artists, including an installation of 10,000 pieces of plain white pots by Clare Twomey, which stood out only because it towers right to the high ceiling of the gallery. Personally I preferred the other work set along the sides of the gallery.

Lunchtime view over the river

Then lastly there was “The Lumber Room: Unimagined Treasures” curated by artist and collector Mark Hearld. Certainly this is a curious exhibition, colourful and very different; pieces borrowed from museums, collages, stuffed birds, merry-go-round horses long retired and so much more.

We would have come away with warm fuzzy feelings had there not been the children; quite frankly, they detracted hugely from our enjoyment. One might be more forgiving if you really could believe that the children’s appreciation of the experience balanced with our annoyance, but I suspect it was little else but a distraction. 

In the pottery gallery I had remarked to one of the staff, that it must be quite a concern to have so many young children running wild in such an exhibition. She, who reminded me of Mary Beard, the Roman scholar, simply smiled and remarked that they were indeed lively. Chris had less diplomatic comments to make, and she tried hard to justify their presence. I imagine she had words to say about us to her colleagues.

By the time we emerged from this mixed experience, the rain had eased, but all was still very wet, and we wandered about the gardens seeking a dry covered spot to dine, finally settling on a bench beside the river, drying it off with a few tissues, then sitting upon a couple of plastic bags I happened to have in my handbag. As we huddled closely together, on our small patch of dry wood, enjoying our sandwiches, we watched the tourist river boats pull in and out, largely devoid of passengers. A flock of geese flew over in their V-formation, up and down the river seeking refuge, honking and distracting passers-by from their rain soaked misery, finally landing gracefully on the river. 

On the way up to the museum, we paused to admire the ruins of the abbey; its position amongst the gardens is quite delightful. As expected, we found entry here was on a commercial basis, with no discount for AOPs, although here again under-16s are free. And guess where the red shirted children were? Here in the gallery with their numbers swollen to double with twice the ruckus. They were amongst the Roman exhibits, then when we escaped to the upper floor to avoid them, rushed up to join us. In fact there was no escape anywhere and I suggested to Chris we leave and come back after they had left. Surprisingly he refused to budge, and we endured their presence, hijinks and noise. It is so hard to read and absorb detailed descriptive panels with so much distraction about. Perhaps I would have been less annoyed had entry been free, but we had paid dearly for this dubious privilege, or at least by comparison with other museum entry fees.

The Museum opened in 1830 which makes it one of longest established museums on England. It was refurbished and reopened just six years ago, with three permanent exhibitions: “Roman York – Meet the People of the Empire”, “Capital of the North” – Angian, Viking and Medieval York, and “Extinct: A way of life” which explores the ages of the earth and the various stages of extinction. 

Ruins of St Mary Abbey

It is well curated, although I think I would have appreciated it more had I not been spoiled with the exhibitions included under the Yorvik Experience in the last few days , and of course even better without the mobs of children.

The museum does have some rather special collections dug up in archaeological exploration, some arising from random metal detector fanatics. (I say this with tongue in cheek because our youngest has uncovered all sorts of sundry “treasure” with his detector, but New Zealand beaches will never render the treasures to be found in this country.)

By the time we emerged, two hours had passed and the children had been gathered up and removed by their laissez-faire caretakers. We were both exhausted even though we had spent less than four hours in town. We caught the bus back to the Park & Ride, called by the Tesco superstore for a few vegetables, then over to the Caravan Club Beechwood Grange campsite to pick up a gas refill and some toilet chemical. Back home, I did a load of washing, happy to find the washing machine operating with just two £1 coins, the cheapest machines encountered yet.

Relaxing over a glass of red whilst our sausages sizzled in the pan, we realised that we have only one full day of touring left here in and around York before we are scheduled to move on; we will have to see if we can extend, although tonight the camp is full and I fear our chances of that.