Normally at this time of
year, the winter sun struggles to rise above the horizon with much enthusiasm.
But today, the ramblers were off on an adventure, and right on cue the
sun shone. So, off we flew, up the Great
North Road to the mysterious heart of Northumberland.
Hexham is one of those small but perfectly formed places. Lunch materialised in a friendly little café run by the Mental Health Trust, which seemed to improve the mid of staff and diners alike, and then it was time for history.
Our tour of Hexham Abbey took in all of the sights; the widest night stairs still in use, an altar tomb of someone who may or may not have been a Saxon king, a chantry with carvings of a triple goddess and a comical bagpiper, and of course some posed photos in St. Wilfrid's seat. Then down to the old crypt to finish; lost for centuries, it could almost have been a film set for The Life Of Bede (not that anyone's planning to produce that any time soon, but you get the point).
Hexham is one of those small but perfectly formed places. Lunch materialised in a friendly little café run by the Mental Health Trust, which seemed to improve the mid of staff and diners alike, and then it was time for history.
Our tour of Hexham Abbey took in all of the sights; the widest night stairs still in use, an altar tomb of someone who may or may not have been a Saxon king, a chantry with carvings of a triple goddess and a comical bagpiper, and of course some posed photos in St. Wilfrid's seat. Then down to the old crypt to finish; lost for centuries, it could almost have been a film set for The Life Of Bede (not that anyone's planning to produce that any time soon, but you get the point).
So on from the crypt down some
entertainingly winding road to Ninebanks, and a beautifully remote hostel
surrounded at night by the hypnotic bleepings of low-flying lapwings. Time to
light the fire and unfold the maps.
