I managed to make my way into town on Saturday at which time I visited one of York’s historic sites that was very familiar in passing but had eluded my prodding eyes during the rest of the year: Clifford’s Tower. I actually have quite an intimate history with the tower because of certain York tradition that I most naturally had to partake in, rolling down the tower’s grassy hill at an hour when most of you are tucked away safe in bed. However, this day I planned only to pay the £2 entrance fee and look around the interior of the great tower that was once part of York Castle, the royal residence for the north of England back before King Henry VIII. It was also the site of a tragic massacre of the Jews living in York in the 12th century. They were forced into the tower by a group of blood blinded Anglo-Saxons and instead of facing the prospect of a humiliating torture, the group of Jews committed suicide. It is a tragic tale, one of many in York’s bloody and treacherous history that contributes to York’s title as the most haunted city in Europe. It was a lovely day and after climbing the dark spiralling staircase to the upper battlement I was rewarded with a glorious view over the city that took my breath away and I daresay I nearly began to cry at the though of leaving it.
Since I had gotten a late start I didn’t have time for any more tourist pursuits but did wind my way to the Old White Swan on Goodramgate, one of my favorite pubs and one of the first pubs that I ever went to in York. There I nestled in a chair at my favorite table, tucked away between the self-service bar area and the seated dinning room it’s a small round table for two with deep-set leather chairs. There I perched with a pint of green goblin cider and read my book, Sovereign, while waiting for my traditional Cumberland sausage sandwich. After my filling meal I lingered as long as I dared before leaving the establishment. Since the day was so lovely and it was going to be the last time that I ventured from town back to the university I simply had to walk the familiar route one last time. The sun was lowering in the sky casting the medieval stonewalls in a golden bath that I can still picture now. Down Lawrence street taking the shortcut through the churchyard to Heslington Road and on up through the field that sometimes holds horses. I walked slowly, trying to soak it all in but at the same time not actually believing that this would be the last time I would walk this path, though in all likely hood I’m sure I’ll do it again someday just for nostalgia’s sake. So I found myself in my room for the last night but it didn’t feel the same with bare walls and silent halls, no, I had already said goodbye to my room when I took down my photos, postcards, and posters and when Ellen and Martin left flat number 5. So I tucked myself into bed and awaited Sunday when I would relocate to the heart of the city in order to best spend my time seeing every bit of the city that I’d already explored and those that still managed to elude me.
Sunday found me busier than I expected and the next thing I knew I had finished cleaning the kitchen, disposed of those belongings I would no longer be needing and formed a sizeable pile of things that I was bequeathing to the Coombs’ twins for Ellen to pick up that night when she came to get all of her belongings. I somehow hauled my two pieces of luggage and large back packing pack down the stairs and to the taxi pick up point. This is always the most hellish part of any journey and I do not recommend it to anyone if it is at all possible. You’d think I would have learned from doing it two summers ago but no, it doesn’t work that way, maybe next time I’ll bring one very small bag and wear the same clothes everyday. I checked into the Lamb and Lion Inn where I had a single room on the first floor, which for you Americans is actually the second floor, with a view out to the beer garden and the medieval city wall at Bootham Bar. I went out for a walk on the wall now while deciding where to eat dinner as it was getting on in time and I had decided to go on a ghost walk in the evening bringing my grand total up to four different ones, about half of those on offer in the city. Before I could decide however, I suddenly realized that the Wimbledon Men’s final was still going on and if I hurried I could make the end of it so I headed straight to the Terrace, a sports bar where I had a pint of Magners and watched the incredibly nail biting final between Andy Roddick and Roger Federer, I’ll tell you that match went on forever and I thought I might have to miss out on dinner and then suddenly it was over and Federer had won it again, I must say I was rather disappointed having been rooting for Andy but what can one do? So I went in search of food and found myself walking straight into a restaurant called Gert & Henry’s located just at Newgate Market behind the Shambles in an exquisite Tudor framed building that I have passed many times. It was still very early and there were only about 6 other people in the restaurant all older couples enjoying the early bird specials I imagine. I didn’t even need to look at the menu for I knew what I would be having, a Sunday roast, and my last of the year. And it was superb, came with all the fixings and was one of the cheaper roasts I’ve run into. So with a full belly and a smile on my face I walked through the winding medieval streets to Exhibition Square to meet the ghost walk.
As I mentioned, I’ve been on my fair share of ghost walks in this city so I like to think of myself as a sort of authority in the field. I found this particular walk, which was recommended by Rick Steve’s apparently to be rather a bore. Many of the stories were of people who had come on the walk in previous years who encountered ghosts of their own instead of the solid stories of ghastly murders and tragic tales of lives cut short. Perhaps, too, it was that by this time I had heard most of the tales more than once. While walking between stops I started chatting with an American woman who was also on the tour. She was a teacher in Portland who decided to take a vacation to England on her own, I did not prod her as to why she came alone, and was visiting York after spending a week in London and a few days in Stratford-Upon-Avon. We talked about the city and about studying abroad, she had been to Germany when she was in college and loved her experience. She had even been to York, briefly, many years before and remembered the cathedral fondly. At the end of the tour she asked me for recommendations of places to eat in the city or places of general interest so I told her of some of my favorite pubs and restaurants and because we were heading in the same direction to our respective hotels, we walked together in the fading light and I thought how funny to spend one of my last nights walking through my favorite English city with a fellow American. It was pleasant.
The next day I had planned a very full schedule of tourist activities and realized that the weather was not going to be cooperative, I suppose that would have been asking too much. I woke up fairly early and found myself walking to Fairfax House through streets that had yet to welcome the summer tourist crowds for which I was thankful. Finding that Fairfax House would not open until 11 I walked down to the river Ouse and noticed that one of the riverboat cruises was about to leave. Having never seen the city from the river I paid the £8 and hopped on while the weather seemed to hold out for the time being. Seeing the city from the river was a different experience as we slowly glided past familiar buildings and some that weren’t as familiar but called out to me none the less. In particular the Guild Hall, which is only partially seen from Coney Street possesses a great, Cambridge worthy riverside façade. By the time we had come full circuit I had discovered about a dozen things I wished I could explore but did not have the time, another visit will find me exploring those corners I’m sure.
I returned to Fairfax House that was open by this time and brought out my Barley Hall volunteer card that granted me free entry. Fairfax House is a great red brick Georgian mansion set near the city center that was built for the daughter of Sir Fairfax at some point in the past. Since then it has been a museum and a cinema before falling into the hands of the current owners who have restored the original furniture thanks to one of the Terry’s of the chocolate fame. It’s one of the best small, great town houses that I have visited and in excellent condition. After touring the open rooms I walked back into the small gift shop/reception area where my attention honed in on a shelf of old looking books, something I seem never to resist. After looking through four or five I found one that I knew I must have. It was reasonably priced at £20 for a second edition of Romances of London, published in 1883 with a gilded red cover that looked very grand and decorated page ends. So in an effort to spend the last of my money I purchased the book, walked to the door and discovered it was chucking it down with rain, lovely. Hearing that it was supposed to rain that morning I had looked everywhere for the umbrella that I knew I left in an easily accessible place but to no avail and I’d be damned to buy a new one with just under a week left in the country so I braved it out by hurriedly making my way to the Roman Bath Museum located in St Sampson’s square underneath the Roman Bath pub, what a creative name!
It is exactly as it sounds, the ruined remains of a genuine Roman Bath. It was found in the 1980s when the pub owner was redoing the plumbing or something like that and the workers stumbled upon something they hadn’t quite expected. So the little pub was sitting on a tourist goldmine of history which is now a very nice, and fairly cheap, museum telling about the Romans in York and about their use of baths including maps of where the two baths of York were located and I’ll tell you they were huge! The common bath for the civilians of the community was a good three city blocks and contained various spa treatments. It was here that I ran into my American friend from the ghost walk. We chatted amiably for a moment and then went our separate ways. After learning all about the Romans I found I was getting hungry so decided to make my way to the Guy Fawkes Pub, where they serve an exquisite gravy soaked roast beef sandwich and they also have one of my favorite cider, Green Goblin. On the way I stopped in at Barley Hall to say goodbye to my co-workers and have one last look around the hall. At Guy Fawkes I settled in at a table by the fire in the back dining area, sipping my cider and looking over the book I’d purchased earlier.
The weather again changed its mind and the sun broke through the stormy clouds, I could only assume that the city was trying to give me every weather opportunity available as a sign of farewell. I headed to the museum gardens where there was a walking tour of “secret York” leaving at 2pm. There were only two of us that showed up and the guide was a rather eccentric man with a black coat and hat and a ring in one of his ears he seemed to be a cross between a pirate and a western bandit. We spent most of the walking tour on the opposite side of the Ouse where I hadn’t spent as much time and I learned quite a lot but then the tour seemed to just keep going until I thought we’d be stopped by darkness, well no that’s not true it was only 2.5 hours, but it felt like longer. I walked to the minster for I had planned on attending Evensong at 5:15 for one last time only to find that there wasn’t one because of some concert being put on by the Minster School, I needn’t tell you how disappointed I was. However, I did run into my American friend again and after running into each other so often we finally introduced ourselves by name and talked for 10 minutes or so before wishing each other luck on the rest of our journeys. I now had an extra hour to fill, it was 5:30 and I had plans to meet my friend Rachel at 7 for dinner. The clouds were gathering again but I decided to ignore that fact and walked around the back of the minster to the Dean’s gardens where I laid out on the moist grass and looked up at the hulking mass of stone that formed the central bell tower and the northern face of the aging building. I shouldn’t have been surprised when about five minutes later I felt a splash on my forehead followed by another and another. The heavens had opened while I lay looking up at one of the architectural masterpieces of Europe and I just couldn’t tear myself away, for a moment at least. The rain was still semi light so I followed Petergate to Bootham Bar where I climbed onto the city walls and walked on the slippery stones. The rain become steadier and I thought the only thing to do was duck into a pub for a drink before meeting Rachel so I found myself running under cover in the Golden Fleece and sipping a half pint of Centurion’s Ghost.
I met Rachel at Pizza Express and we had a lovely time chatting over a lovely dinner. Rachel is one of my friends from gospel choir who doesn’t actually go to York Uni but works for the York Archaeological Trust, the same organization that runs Barley Hall. It was lovely having someone to hang out with for my last night in York and especially someone as sweet as Rachel. After dinner we went for a hot chocolate at Deans Court Hotel next to the Minster. Then we walked together as far as my hotel through the darkened streets with the lamp light shining up from the wet cobblestones and I breathed in the air trying to soak in everything I could about the place and trying not to think about leaving it the next day.
