Genevieve's Journeys

Contrary to expectations, Bolton Castle is not in Bolton, the Lancashire town. It's actually on the other side of the country, with the nearest town being Ripon, and the nearest large town being Darlington. Its main claim to fame is that Mary Queen of Scots stayed there for 6 months, though her retinue were obliged to live nearby, as the castle could not house her whole retinue. It's a good reminder; when you read accounts of her flight into England, the stories leave out those travelling with her.

It's also adjascent to the path of the first stage of the Tour de France this year through England.

Le Tour Yorkshire appears to have lots of public support with loads of cycle-related decor, invitations to watch the tour from the pub nearby, and general promotion on the route to the castle. We travelled on some roads featuring big signs about closures on 5 July for the tour. There's certainly some serious hills and hairpin turns to make the first day exciting.

Driving with Sir Vitus and HE Isabel's brother A, we travelled briskly; Vitus is comfortable at speeds on country roads that I'd never attempt, all the while remarking that it's insane that the speed limit is 60mph along here... as if the speed limit were mandatory not a limit. We succeeded in getting air over a humpback bridge that had no signs I could find at the bottom of a tight turn - on the downside I swear the Vitus-wagon was airborne.

The castle cafe, we found, was the one place not closed at midafternoon - pubs in the country close their kitchens between lunch and dinner, something unheard of in London. Fortunately the last few hot dishes (basically soup and sandwiches) were excellent and we all felt better for eating before starting to unpack and put up pavilions.

We were soon followed by jpgsawyer and edith_hedingham arriving with their pavilion, and we quite filled the small flat grass area to one side of the castle. Perched on a hillside, there are fine views from the castle, including over the maze garden and vineyard; just glorious.

The drawback of filling this space was that nusbacher and her eldest had no space, arriving very late that night - they opted to crash in the castle rather than try to find flat space in pitch black. They ended up staying in the castle all weekend.

The castle is delightful and looking at other peoples' photos I clearly didn't see half of it, but was caught up immediately in the business of the day. I missed the gardens, the forge and the maze, and can only hope we get another chance to visit in future.

With the tent and pavilion furniture up, I changed to visit the second half of the site, the Jonas Centre, a sort-of scout-camp-ish thing on the other side of the small town. This was accommodation for most of the guests, in cabins with a kitchen and shared dining space where many folks gathered on Friday evening and Sat night. I caught up with the Irish contingent, got a chance to chat with gothwalk and some of his household, who have useful insights about better serving newcomers online in the Society.

I quizzed them to find out if anyone has caught the irishman responsible for pogbody getting pregnant. Not yet, though I suspect they know, they just aren't saying...

Their highnesses had had an adventure: her highnesses' luggage had gone AWoL, with all her new coronation outfit, jewelry, accessories (handmade shoes, beaded gloves, the works) as well as all her personal stuff. Her party stopped in town to shop for overnight clothes and toiletries while her entourage and Brighthelm scrambled an outfit.

It was remarkable; in the end, though most people had heard of the baggage-train problem, you wouldn't have known to see their highnesses, then majesties, on the day. HRM Morrigan was beautifully and suitably turned out, and they opted to enter court bareheaded as is done in some other lands. (The one time they check the coronets...)

HRM Morrigan's luggage has since turned up...in Kansas City, apparently, acc to news I heard 25 June (10+ days later). Easy to mistake for Yorkshire!

It was fun to do court again; to be in on the discussion, to pick up where aryanhwy led to, to hear nusbacher's eldest speak so beautifully and crisply. A did a great job. nusbacher also had a speaking role reading the Albion tale and of course she did a fine job. The vibes were warm and friendly throughout; the goodwill for both Prothall and Cecilia and for Leif and Morrigan were palpable.

It was a beautiful day out, at a beautiful site, with fencing through the maze to watch, scribing to do, and a castle to take in. For the keen, you could help with the cooking in the castle kitchen; unfortunately the fire didn't draw well and the kitchen windows were limited to a small gap, so the castle gradually filled with smoke, including the gift shop. I don't think the gift shop staffer was best pleased!

The falonry display had a keen and interested audience, appreciating the splendid hawks that sat so calmly on the falconer's fist.

I sat in on a meeting of the Insulae Draconis Inc group - the little group of folks involved in planning the move to incorporation and afiliate status. It was very productive and planned to meet, um, last weekend on skype. Whoops...

Feast was delightful, sitting with jpgsawyer and edith_hedingham, who arrived well supplied with red wine, yum. Further down the table were a Lochac couple and their two daughters; they are living in the UK for another year(?) and decided to lash out to visit an event in a castle, though they'd mostly planned not to play while abroad. They seemed an excellent fit and Dame Marguerite and Thomas F had lots of shared memories.

Second court at feast was well received. The good vibes continued, the food was excellent, the impromptu AoA was very welcome and very apt. I was happy to be involved.

Robert engaged in some profound silliness during court: while someone ran to fetch a recipient at court leaving an awkward gap, he broke out the so called coconut shells (2 wooden bowls, really) and enacted the search on horseback for the missing recipient, playing out searching, leaping over logs, ducking through rivers. It was very silly and very funny.

For some reason, this was the event that I got a half-dozen compliments on my gown. It's a gown I've worn for several years, one I 'made new' (adding a new lining, redoing all the lacings) 2 years ago to wear under my Tudor gown.

It must have been the summer air, or else just the whole outfit with the coronet.

Robert swanked about in his princely-stepping-down outfit most of the day, just adding coronet in the evening (unfortunately my matching outfit is in the shop with the sleeves in the UFO pile).

The pic looks like all the peers have been drawn together by a 4 year old in the middle.

In the evening I drifted over to the Jonas centre to help tidy up - hobbitomm was shlepping pots and pans and serving ware back from the kitchen mostly alone, so Catherine Weaver, nz_bookwyrm and Catlin and I pitched in for awhile. Nothing's more gross than waking up to piles of dirty dishes in the morning.

Sunday was soggy; the sheep in the field looked like extras from the old Looney Tunes cartoon, where Ralf wolf and Sam sheepdog are competing for the sheep. Sheep really do have these tiny sticklike legs under huge coats.

Breakfast gave me an excuse to feed up (alas, without Turkish coffee as Sat morning courtesy of nz_bookwyrm) before tackling the pavilion, and chat to Barun Pol about archery, among other things, and gradually the weather lightened. We still had to pack down wet canvas, but fortunately Vitus has a big conservatory that is warm in summer and is excellent for airing canvas, and he takes good care of our collective kit.

The last treat of Bolton was spotting their family of boars across the paddock. The boars have piglets, not the tiny stripey cute stage but a bit bigger, but still fascinating to us city slickers.

One more good meal in the castle cafe (special meal for Father's day! very apt with Vitus surrounded by his family) and we set off.

On the return trip we saved a couple of hours journey by having Isabel drop us off at Luton airport parkway, which is a train stop on the northeast corner outside the M25, from where we could change and get to a station near us. Saved the trek round the M25, hurrah.

Haggis was very glad to see us, of course, but showed every sign of having been pampered by her new contract staff the neighbours.

Though it's a trek, this site shows every sign of being a lovely venue for fair-weather events. Many people remarked on how pleasant it was compared to in February! which isn't a great surprise. In heavy weather it would not have been so charming but we were blessed this weekend, and I think we made the most of it.

 For our last day Ooop North (now armed with OS maps borrowed from Haakon's dad) we started out with a ride along the coast to the village of Craster and Dunstanburgh castle. Craster is tiny, and has basically been consigned to the tourist industry, lacking a real fishing industry anymore. It feels a bit sad to me - fishing villages shouldn't be retained simply to remain 'quaint' entertainment for others.

It's maintained partly because it's en route to Dunstanburgh, a huge ruin on a shore peak, built by Thomas of Lancaster, one of the cousins of Edward II, as one-fingered salute to the king. It's within sight of his Bamburgh Castle, further up the coast.

We couldn't quite make it to Bamburgh, much as I wanted to - my Dad was evacuated to the town during WWII, and remembers it very fondly. It's now flogging itself as the premier wedding venue of the North East. 

Dunstanburgh requires a half-hour + walk from the village parking lot (no parking within the village, at all), past the houses, through the two cattle gates (freeing a couple who were trapped by a bullock who was blocking the gate,  using it as a scratching post), past the grazing cattle and the sheep, up up up the hill. Building this pile must have been a hell of a lot of work, hauling stone out to the point.

What's left of Dunstanburgh is the perimeter wall and the barbican tower. The sandstone used for all these sites has eroded in wonderful sculptural shapes, gradually giving way along the lines of the layers of stone.

Robert noted that the barbican wasn't very well fortified; the one portcullis was positioned at the inner end of the arched entryway, well within the walls of the barbican, and there was no sign of hinges or attachment points to hang an outer door. Perhaps there had been wooden doors hung on wood posts outside the walls; without them, once any attackers had gotten inside the archway, they could attack the portcullis unhindered. We wondered if it had actually seen any action, or if it had been mostly symbolic.

Even on a mild autumn day, it was pretty bleak and windswept; I couldn't see anyone staying there willingly.

One of Craster's features is its kippers, and the Jolly Fisherman pub has a firm reputation for its crab soup and kipper pate. The pate was off, but the crab soup (with cream and whisky) was brilliant, and the pub was packed at lunchtime. 

Back onto the bikes (groooooan!) and off, slowly, back to Alnwick, this time to take in the castle. Alnwick is a pretty town, but is also driven strongly by the tourist trade, and has preserved a lot of its Ye Olde Towne Looke with low-rise shopfronts and old-fashioned streetlamps. 

Alnwick castle is not cheap - £25 for two adults for the castle alone. It's owned by the Earl of Northumberland, has been the set for Harry Potter and many other films, and by God, there's money to be made from family days out, parents towing kids who arrive already wearing their knights and princesses costumes.

If they didn't bring one, they can borrow one from the Knight's Quest area - a courtyard set aside to show kids how squires trained to be knights, but mostly an excuse to dress up in a tacky costume, and beat your brother up with a boffer sword. The display armour was rusty, and the 'magic potion' area had no staff this late in the day. Maybe it does meet the demographic it's aiming for, but any SCA kid would be pretty disappointed.

There are big display boards to illustrate the glories of the Northumberland dynasty. It begins with a hiss and a roar when the first Percy bought the castle in the 14th c (absolutely no mention of when it was actually built, who owned it, or how it came to be for sale, though I see the website provides a teeny smidge more detail). The intros emphasised the heroes and the benevolence of the family; always portrayed as being considerate of their underlings, looking after their peasants, training them in militias, supporting local charitable works. Apparently Percys are still held in high regard locally, as the family is still the biggest landowner in the NE.

The main residential hall, which is promoted as 'still used as a family home' was just about the tackiest interior I've ever seen, 'lavishly decorated'  by a Victorian-era Italian designer. Picture the worst combination of Victorian -over-the-top decor with hunting-lodge accessories (a lifetime supply of 19th c weaponry, powderhorns and stuffed heads), and you begin to touch it.

Creepiest of all: the stuffed pet dogs sitting on the chairs in the entrance hall and the library - I counted at least four. I know that tastes were different in the past towards taxidermy, but I don't understand why you'd keep these reminders of past dubious choices, when you're trying to present your family as hip and with-it modern royals. Talk about ghoulish - ick ick ick.

One gem in the hall was a small display about the gardens, that included a 15th c grant from Northumberland, giving the local priory the right to keep bees and to sell bee products. It was a beautiful document, with a huge great seal that was stitched into in its own leather pouch to protect it, and a great swishy Renaissance signature of 'Northumberland' at the end.

So Alnwick was, at the end, a bit of a let-down. It's in good shape, and is probably paying for itself, but seemed to cater to a slightly different market than the average English Heritage/National Trust pile. 

Our last northern ride was getting from Alnwick back to the train station. Alnwick doesn't have its own station, it was closed in 1968 (madness, leaving a town this side with no direct service!) - the nearest is Alnmouth, about 4 miles NE. The ride, though hilly (another push up the biggest hill required) was not as bad as I feared. Either I was adapting rapidly, or it was improving with familiarity. 

Haakon and his dad came to see us off (and bring our biggest bag), and our train home was peaceful, finished with one last 20 minute ride from King's X to our flat. The bike paths are better lit than I expected at night, and are almost deserted. 

Next trip: Robert needs panniers, and we have to arm ourselves with our own OS maps. They're works of modern art all on their own.