Ghostly Gate House

I was in the village of Bolton Percy yesterday, about six miles to the south of York. It is a quiet little backwater and in parts, is one of those places where it seems not a lot has changed for centuries.

This gate house, glimpsed through the trees in the church yard, is believed to date from around 1467. It is now falling into disrepair, and is on English Heritage's buildings at risk register. Plans are underway, however, to conserve it by converting it into a holiday home to let. Much as I instantly dislike this idea, it does seem like the only way forward, as the money generated would pay for its upkeep.

Currently, the gate house is semi-derelict and one imagines it to be full of the ghosts of the past. Personally, I prefer it that way.

The Mutangular Tower

Here it is. The multangular tower. A rather nice piece of Roman architechture left in the Museum Gardens, once at the corner of the Roman military fortress of York. The small bricks at the bottom of the tower are the Roman ones. The top part with the larger bricks is from when the tower was rebuilt during the medieval period.


Here it is from the other side. You can see the difference in brick type more clearly here, that upper part with the "windows" being the later one. The red stripe in the Roman built section looks decorative but was apparently to cement the structure together


There are lots of Roman tombs all over this part of the Museum gardens. They have been brought here from other sites around York. Here, Little J is lamenting the fact that there is rubbish and graffiti around them. "That is someone's tomb, so why do people put rubbish in it?" he asked me.

Rowntree Park Lake

Rowntree Park is just near our house. I took the kids there yesterday afternoon, along with their friend and they played happily for ages in the playground. Then I looked round to find the lake and sky were pink, and managed to quickly grab this shot. The park closes at dusk, and the park keeper was already on the way over to us to say time up, jangling his keys, as I took this. 4.40 pm, if you wondered!

Ruby investigates Roman York in St Helen's Square - with "help" from Little J

My youngest son Little J is not particularly into historical stuff, unlike my eldest Erik who loved it when he was this age. Above is Little J on Saturday, pictured thwarting my attempt to photograph the location of the Praetorian Gate - the main entrance into the fortress of Eboracum (York) established AD 71. He had just bought a new game for his Wii with some Christmas money, and wanted to go home and play it. So he decided to pogo around me and my camera in protest.

Here is the same location, St Helen's Square, without Little J pogo-ing into the photo. The road you can see between the blue and black shop fronts there is Stonegate, and follows the line of the original main road into the fortress established by Roman soldiers who built the first city of York, all those centuries ago (there was nothing here before the Romans' arrival, at this strategic meeting point of two rivers, the Foss and the Ouse).

Nothing left of the Romans' gate here now, but five minutes away in the Museum Gardens stands a multangular tower that was part of the fortress's defences.

Ruby: Would you like to go and see it?
Little J: Oh, all right then! But can we go home, soon?
Ruby: Look, I'll do you a deal. If we can go see the ruins, we'll watch Mr Yellow juggling for a bit first.
Little J: Done!

Clock

When belting into York Station to catch a train, it's always a relief if it leaves from one of the lower number platforms, as you know the platform is right there near the staion entrance.

If, on the other hand you get something like platform 5 - like I did on Wednesday, you have to leg it up these steps, and down the the ones at the other side before you can look for your train.

I love this clock at the top of the first steps going up, as I can look at it and work out how many minutes I've got. In this picture though, unusually for me, I had plenty of time, as my train to London didn't leave till 10.29. But that was because Ruby Senior, who is Organised, dropped me off at the station ;-)

NB The rose in the metalwork of the clock is the white rose of Yorkshire :-)

Ankle Boots and Chewing Gum at York City Station - and London!

I was very pleased with myself for wearing my posh ankle boots to go to London in yesterday. That's why I photographed them at the station, while waiting for my train. Look how the chewing gum splodges on the station floor match the pattern on my skirt. I didn't notice that when I took the picture, but it's actually quite cool.

Ruby Senior was doubtful about my choice of footwear for London. The boots have a heel, and I don't do heels, as a rule. She was also alarmed by the fact that I was still trying to zip the boots up when she took me to the station in the car. I had to push the passenger seat back to the max, rest my feet on the front dashboard, then give each zip an almighty prolonged tug to get

them up.

"It's not like you'll just be able to slip them off if they're uncomfortable."

"I'll be fine!"

London is crazy, and big. My feet were fine. To begin with. I was a bit teetery with the heels when getting on and off trains, but it was all going well, until I stood up after being seated during the meeting ... and felt like I was standing on knives.

I hobbled out in the direction of the tube station, with the gait of an old lady. I should have been brandishing my umbrella at the crowds, saying; "London is for the young! Make way! I need to get home!" I passed a couple of shoe shops, and cursed myself for not buying a sensible flat pair instead of the ones I was wearing. Then I saw the entrance to Marble Arch tube, which involved stairs, so I hobbled on along Oxford Street instead. I would get a bus! But none of the buses were going in the direction I needed.

In my semi-incapacitated state, I was also a sitting target for the army of distributors of a free newspaper called London Lite. Avoiding eye contact was useless. It was thrust in my face at regular intervals along Oxford Street, but a loud, assertive "No thank you" seemed to make it disappear again.

Then suddenly, I needed to sit down. Immediately. But there was no-where. So I staggered across Oxford Street, and got on a bus to take me back in the direction I'd just come from. I didn't know what to do with my London travel card on bus - whether it needed swiping or what - so I held it up cheerily at the driver who glowered at me and growled "Just get on." Charming. Then I found all the seats in the bus were taken. Aaargh, I couldn't even sit down in here!

Trying to distract myself from the knife like pain in my feet, I stared through the bus window, and found myself looking at an irate fireman in a fire engine whose siren was blaring. He was yelling and gesticulating and trying to move the engine. My mind blotted out these superfluous facts, as I am rather partial to men in unform, especially where rescue scenarios are involved.

A daydream was imminent. Help me, handsome fireman! I am stuck on the top of a tall pair of shoes, with knives in my feet. Carry me to safety, and away from this godforsaken metropolis, back to my home town!

The fireman turned and looked at me. Eek, had I been thinking out loud?

Then I saw him mouth: "Tell the driver to move the bus." He probably wasn't talking to me. I looked away. Then I looked back at him. His face was angrier now and there was no mistaking his nasty glare was directed straight at me. "TELL the driver to MOVE THE F*ING BUS and TELL HIM NOW!"

Aaargh, what a nasty fireman! His scary order propelled me straight down the bus on my painful feet and I stood in front of the driver's cab. The driver turned and glowered at me. Up until this moment I think I had been considering yelling the words "Move the f*ing bus!" but one look at his face told me this was a very bad idea. What I actually said, was "Excuse me. The fireman driving the fire engine has told me I have to ask you to move the bus." The bus driver looked at me with a reptilian grin, indicated the gridlocked traffic around the bus and said. "Ask him, 'Where to?'"

I decided that I wouldn't bother.

Opposite Marble Arch tube, I flopped out of the bus and onto a low sill outside a shop. I let out a scream of relief as I took the weight off my feet. Within seconds, a London Lite newspaper was in my face

"Have a paper, please darling."

"No thank you."

"Why not? It's free."

"I don't want it."

"Please, have a paper."

"No thank you."

"Take a paper."

"No."

"Take it."

"No."

"Why you don't want take it? I am just doing my job."

"If I took a paper from everyone who offered me one, do you know how many I'd be carrying by now? About six."

"Sick? You are sick?"

"NO, I said six"

"Take a paper."

"I don't want one. PISS OFF!"

"OK darling, have a nice day."

Yes, I thought, I will have a nice day. So I went in the shoe shop next to Marble Arch tube, and bought a pair of padded slip-ons, a size too big, because my feet were too swollen for anything else. Wearing them was bliss, and probably the highlight of the day.

Ee, it's grand to be back in York.

View Through a Window

This is the view through our back bedroom window, taken just now at 5 to 9 am, Southbank, York.

When I lived away, and used to come up and stay here in my mother's house, I used to sit and look at this view and dream of coming back to live here. It is so very Northern, and feels like home for me. Although I can see why it wouldn't appeal to some (I also like mills, and cooling towers :-D).

And having just waxed lyrical about the North, I am now off down South for the day. London is calling, and I have a ticket to ride (how many more song titles can I get in?), leaving shortly and back late this evening. I've just joined a professional association that has about 7 meetings a year there, and today will be the first of those for 2009. I lived and worked in London for about 3 years - it'll be good to be back for a visit.

Squidgy Bits Rule!

Look! The council wants us to join the gym, and is telling us to say NO to our squidgy bits! Frankly, I am quite at peace with my own squidgy bits. I am sure we should all have at least some, anyway. It's probably when you're squidgy all over that it's time to start worrying. Nice red posters at least, but Ruby isn't joining the gym - I'll stick to riding my bike, thanks :-D

News about Terry's

A leaflet came through the door this week about the disused Terry's factory, seeking our opinions as nearby residents on the amendments to the council's brief for would-be developers.

Terry's is currently owned by the developer Grantside, who bought the factory in 2006 for £26 million. They put in a proposal to turn the place into loads of homes, a luxury hotel, offices and workshops, but the plan was thrown out by the council's planning department.

So the amended brief from the council says the developers may submit proposals for: a high quality hotel, conference and leisure facilities, shops, restaurants, and specifies that the development must benefit local people and have a "communal" feel.

I've been trying to get my head round it for a day or two now. It isn't stated on the information given to me why the last proposal was chucked out, and how the amendments will prevent that happening again - which surely, it the key piece of required information here. I think, if I remember rightly from what I read in the paper at the time, the main reason was the traffic congestion that it would supposedly cause in the area. I can only assume this must have been because there were too many homes planned as part of the last proposal (?). Why am I having to assume things? It would be nice if it was all made a bit clearer After all, this article in the Press yesterday tells us:

"It's one of the biggest and most crucial developments in York's recent history - and now the people of the city are getting their chance to reshape its future!"

Communicate to us clearly about it, then!

After residents have given their opinions, which we have until Feb 22 to do, the brief will be revised, and presented to the council's planning committee in March or April, according to the article in yesterday's Press. Then I suppose Grantside will have a look at it and submit another proposal. If they can still afford it, and if they aren't too p*ssed off by now.

Hockey in Halifax

Today in York, it is one of the most miserable days imaginable. Dark, cold, windy and raining hard. I just got drenched on the school run, and am now warming up with a cup of coffee while looking through the photos I took of Little J playing hockey for York City Under 10s yesterday in Halifax. We had sun, and lots of it, hooray!

Halifax is about 35 miles to the south west of York, on the edge of the Pennines, in my home county of West Yorkshire. It was good to see some hills - the area immediately around York, known as the Vale of York is completely flat. It was even better to the see the sun.

On the way there and back, we passed signs to Brighouse and Rastrick, famous for the Brighouse and Rastrick Brass Band which scored a pretty massive hit in the late 70s with the Floral Dance.

Angry Tree on Bishopthorpe Road

This piece of graffiti is on Bishopthorpe Road. Look at the photo below, to put it into context.

Building with whopping great hole in roof. Tree leaning over it in an aggressive stance. Did the tree actually inflict the damage? Or was it another tree, now gone? I really don't know, but one thing's for sure: Tree 1, Building 0!

The Knavesmire - a closer look

Knave - a rogue, a rascal - from the old English, cnafa
Mire - an area of wet, swampy ground; bog; marsh - from the Old Norse, myrr

The Knavesmire is a large area of undeveloped ground in York known as a stray. It is the haunt of dog walkers these days, and is low lying, flooding easily when it rains.

The York Races take place on the Knavesmire, with the racing track (not pictured) occupying a large part of it. Between 1371 and 1801 public executions took place here too, as I mentioned the other day. In fact horse racing in York started as a side show event for the crowds who came to town to watch the knaves being hanged. It didn't surprise me when I found that out. There is still a motley crew coming to town for the races these days too, with restaurants and pubs in the city centre hiring extra bouncers for the occasion.

But the Knavesmire has a strong character all of its own, which for me overrides the unpleasant aspects of its history. It is very atmospheric, especially in the early morning mist, and a great place for a walk - preferably with wellies.

Ruby's Morning Bus Ride #3 - Bishopthorpe Palace

The bus ride is nearly over. We stop at York College of Law while an early student gets off, and then continue on up Bishopthorpe Road, to Bishopthorpe. Since thorpe means a place in Old Norse, I guess "Bishopthorpe" means the place of the bishop. In fact bishops have been living in Bishopthorpe for centuries. And one still does. Not just any old bishop, either. This is an Archbishop.

Yes, Archbishop John Sentamu, the Archbishop of York, lives in Bishopthorpe. We go past his palace every morning, and as we do, it has become a bit of a tradition to call out a greeting and enquire how he is getting on with his daily routine (please take note, I am with my young son when I do this).

The bus is going fast, but here comes Bishopthorpe Palace ... "Good morning Archbishop Sentamu! How are you today?"

"Are you up yet? Have you cleaned your teeth yet?"

"Or are you in your office already? Good-bye!"

Why do I get the feeling that this is going to be one of those posts you regret doing the minute it's up?

Ruby's Morning Bus Ride #2 The Scary Statue of St Chad's Church

I tried to leave a cliff hanger yesterday, saying I'd post a mystery exciting scene which I pass on my daily bus journey to take Little J to school. But my cliff hanger was upstaged when I mentioned in passing the creepy statue outside St Chad's Church, which looks like a giant insect, and which scares me.

You wanted to see it ... Are you sure? Are you sure sure sure? Too late to change your mind now anyway, here he is :

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!

I told you he was scary!

The first time I did the bus ride to school with my son, I was pointing out interesting things to him, to try and get him to enjoy the journey. As I glanced up at the statue above the church's main entrance, I was going to tell him to have a look - then I saw it properly from myself and my pointy finger went right back down, I can tell you. He has never noticed this and I shall not be showing him, either. *Shudders.*

I don't know what it reminds me of exactly. A fly? A half-hatched pupa ? I had a look at the church website to see if it said anything about who the statue is meant to be (St Chad himself?) but they make not a mention of it. I don't blame them!

Tomorrow, the mystery special place we pass on the final part of our morning bus ride, which also involves a special ritual ...