A Wander Around Newcastle Keep

Newcastle Keep

At the bottom of the Bigg Market (infamous local drinking area), looming 90 feet tall of worn stone,  lies the structure that gave Newcastle it's name. Actually, that's not true; It's the structure after the structure that gave Newcastle it's name but we'll come to that in a moment. The castle we see today is instantly recognisable to the cognoscenti as a quintessential Norman or Angevin keep, typical of the late eleventh or twelfth century. Here's a tip: If anyone ever shows you a picture of a keep like the one above and asks you which king was on the throne when it was built, say Henry II. You won't always be correct but it's surprising how often you will be. Anyway, on with the story.

Western View

Early Days
In the years immediately following the Battle of Hastings and the Norman Conquest the north of England was a wild and unruly place, a disputed zone with the newcomers vying for control with displaced Anglo-Saxons and expansionist Scots. The situation boiled over in 1080 when William Walcher, Norman Earl of Northumbria and bishop of Durham was killed in a skirmish with a local mob. Retaliation was swift and brutal, carried out in the customary Norman fashion of fire and sword. As part of this subjugation program, Robert Curthose, son of William the Conqueror, led a military expedition north to prevent Scottish intervention. On his return he built a fortress at the point where the Great North Road crosses the River Tyne. He chose an excellent site, protected by steep slopes to the east and south (The Romans thought so too, having built a settlement in the same place). This 'New Castle', built of earth and timber, would have been thrown up in a matter of weeks, no doubt with the help (willing or otherwise) of the local populace.

Commanding view from the battlements

Nothing now remains of this fortification so we can't say for sure what it looked like but typically such castles consisted of a timber palisade surrounded by a ditch. Housed within this protective perimeter would be the domestic and military buildings (watchtowers, kitchens, stables, living quarters etc) required for the castle to function. The net result is to allow a relatively small number of men to exercise control over a large area without having to worry too much about being murdered in their sleep. Such castles were a widespread feature of the occupation and it's very unlikely the conquest would have succeeded without them, given the interlopers were outnumbered by perhaps up to 100-1. The Norman knight in helmet and mail, sat astride his charger may have felt invincible in the day but the night belonged to the locals. And they were anything but happy.

Formidable as the earth and timber castle was it was not indestructible, being vulnerable to both fire and axe. Indeed the castle was captured in 1095/6 during a rebellion against William II by Robert Mowbray, 1st Earl of Northumberland, and had to be re-taken by siege. It was occupied again by David, king of Scotland, during the civil war (sometimes called 'the anarchy') between King Stephen and his cousin Matilda only to be surrendered after the two monarchs reached an agreement.

Set In Stone

The Black Gate with the keep in the background

The limitations of wooden defences were well known by the time the civil war was brought to a close by the accession of Henry II, and it was this most energetic of kings who (as hinted above) rebuilt the keep in stone between 1168 and 1178. It's believed the master mason and architect responsible for the project was Maurice 'the Engineer', who would later build the keep at Dover Castle. In the years that followed the keep was surrounded by a stone curtain wall and, finally, a barbican (later known as the Black Gate) was added to the Gatehouse in around 1250.

Fake!

The construction dates of the keep are interesting because in the years 1173 and 1174 the region was invaded by Scottish forces under their king, William the Lion, and it's tempting to speculate on how much disruption this may have caused to the building work. In particular I'm thinking here of the castle battlements, which are not what they seem to the casual observer. If the turrets appear to be in surprisingly good condition for 800 year old structures, that's because they're not 800 years old. They were added when the castle was given a makeover in the early 19th century and it's not known exactly what the original layout was. Drawings and paintings from before the makeover show a flat parapet, sometimes crenellated, but the raised corner turrets, a standard feature on keeps of the period are not present. Whether they ever existed in the first place is a mystery, though if they didn't, one possible cause could be that the completion was hurried after William The Lion's incursion and they simply never got round to finishing them. William, incidentally, got to inspect the castle personally, being brought as a prisoner after his capture at a battle outside Alnwick in 1174.

Polygonal Tower

Another oddity is the fact that three of the four corner towers are square yet the fourth is polygonal, for no obvious reason. The only similar setup I can think of is at Rochester Castle, which features three square and one round tower, but here the disparity is easily accounted for; the round tower at Rochester is a rebuild after the original was destroyed by undermining in a siege, a round design being adopted because they were better able to resist projectile strike than the earlier square type. Perhaps this evidence of technological enhancement is a clue to the mystery tower at Newcastle. An experiment in new building design and techniques? It's an intriguing thought.

How many doors?

If that isn't enough to get you thinking, a quick skirt around the rest of the exterior walls will surely have you scratching your head. Like most castles, windows and openings are relatively sparse, a few windows on the upper floors and narrow arrows slits lower down. No mystery here, this is obviously to prevent would-be aggressors from smashing there way in. So why are there large windows at ground level on the eastern side of the keep? Something that would take a couple of burly lads with axes about 30 seconds to break through doesn't fit in with the rest of the keep so what are they doing there? The obvious answer is that they weren't that big when the keep was built but were widened centuries later when security was less important. This is very possible but doesn't account for the door at (shock, horror!) ground level, just under the main entrance. This door has clearly been modified (check the bricked up arch) but it looks like there's been some sort of entrance there all along, which would severely compromise the defences. Come to think of it, why would you even want a second door right next to the main one?

Postern Door

It's quite common to have an alternative means of entrance/exit in a keep in case you need to make a quick getaway or mount a surprise sortie on your foe, but you wouldn't want it on the ground floor and you wouldn't want it next to the main door. Such doors were known as posterns or sally ports, and there's a prime candidate for one on the West wall, notably off the ground and accessible only by a ladder to make for easier defence. It's the sort of door you can imagine sneaking out of in the dead of night. So where does that leave our mystery door? To solve that riddle you have to see what's on the other side...

Main Entrance 

 The main entrance, as shown above, is up a steep set of stairs and through imposing wooden doors, framed by a battered looking round arch. Once inside, there's a door to access the keep on the left but this is a modern creation. Originally, you would have to ascend another set of stairs to reach the entrance proper. And quite an entrance it is, a set of double doors surrounded by ornate carvings and pillars that look too good to be true (you know what's coming next). Sadly, they are too good to be true, dating only from a reconstruction carried out by the famous Newcastle architect John Dobson in 1848. Fake it may be, but at least he was faithful, the round arch and chevron pattern being typical of the period.

The Garrison Room

Whichever entrance you use, once inside it's a veritable rabbit warren of chambers, staircases and passageways. The principal rooms have grand names such as King's Chamber, Queen's Chamber, Great Hall and Garrison Room but it's important to remember these are modern inventions. In particular, the ground floor 'Garrison Room' suggests it was used to house troops but there's no evidence this was the case. The most interesting feature of this room for me is the vaulted ceiling with ribs supported by a central column, the whole arrangement looking like a stone palm tree. Remarkably, the column also has a secondary, less obvious role, in that it contained a lead pipe through which water could be supplied from a well on the third level. A reliable source of clean water would be key to survival in the event of a siege and could make the difference between surrender and holding out.

The Chapel

On the same level as the Garrison Room is a chapel, and it's here we find the answers to the problems of the ground level door and large windows noted earlier. These days you can walk from the chapel to the rest of the keep without leaving the building, but that wasn't the case when first built. Thus the ground level door was required to access the chapel and if an enemy was to break through either here or through the large windows, so what? There was still a wall between them and the remainder of the keep. It's even possible that the chapel was deliberately provided with large windows and external doors in order to provide a soft target for a besieger to attack. Too late would they discover that their exertions availed them naught. The interior of the chapel has, like the entrance, been the subject of restoration work though they've made a pretty decent job, the arches and rib vaults make a nice comparison with the contemporary Durham Cathedral.


The next floor up features exhibition rooms and above this is possibly the most important room in the whole castle, appropriately called the Great Hall. It's the largest open space in the building and it's tempting to imagine what great meetings and ceremonies took place here. John Balliol, ill-fated King of Scots, supposedly swore fealty to Edward I in this hall on Boxing Day 1292. Within four years the agreement was in tatters, largely due to the English King's excessive demands, and Scotland formed the 'Auld Alliance' with France against England. In the long years of war that followed Newcastle became a vital strategic town, used as a mustering point for English armies campaigning in Scotland and playing host to the great and the good. Edwards II and III both stopped here on their way North and, less willingly, David II of Scotland came as a prisoner after the battle of Neville's Cross in 1346.

The Black Gate

The castle itself saw little action, far less than its wooden predecessor. This can be partly ascribed to the deterrent effect, stone walls twenty feet thick being sufficient to quench the fire in the boldest of hearts.  The army of William Wallace approached Newcastle during his invasion of 1297 but were repelled, possibly after a brief skirmish, and looked for easier targets elsewhere, such as Hexham Abbey. In addition, from about 1280 the town of Newcastle began to be enclosed in a new stone wall so after little more than a century the castle was effectively redundant. It was used as a prison and, reflecting its lack of importance, gradually allowed to fall into ruin. It would stare an enemy soldier in the face on precisely one more occasion...

The Civil War
During the civil wars of the seventeenth century Newcastle was a royalist town and the walls were surrounded by a Scottish army allied to the parliamentary side in 1644. The siege dragged on for months but eventually, the medieval walls proved no match for cannon fire and under-mining and the Scots broke through. Up until this point the castle had made use of its great height and strong foundations as an artillery platform - 'the enemy from the castle doth mightily annoy us with their great guns' - and now it was to perform one last service by being used as a final redoubt by the defenders. I would love to report that they held out long enough for help to arrive, like John Wayne in frills and a natty hat, but it wasn't to be. After four days the inhabitants were forced to surrender and, ignominiously, were almost lynched by a mob of townspeople who blamed them for the hardships the town had suffered.

Modern Times

A train scrapes past the keep

Having outlived and seen off disgruntled Saxons, invading Scots and humourless roundheads, it's ironic to think that the castle almost met its end at the hands of modernity, progress and the iron horse. Unbelievable as it sounds today, the fortress was almost demolished in the mid-nineteenth century to make way for a viaduct for the new fangled railway. Fortunately for us, reason prevailed and the track passed between the keep and the Black Gate. Phew!


In more recent times the castle has served as a museum and tourist attraction. For many years the Black gate was inaccessible to the general public but has itself been recently refurbished and opened up for viewing. I'm particularly proud of the fact that I play a very small part in the modern castle story as an event volunteer and steward. It's an honour to be associated with such a splendid building and always a pleasure to take part. Every time I visit I see something new.
The Castle is open every day between 10am and 5pm. For further details, see their excellent website

Icons old and new. The Keep and The Black Gate with the Tyne bridge and The Sage concert hall

Against Pegida, or why fundamentalist religion is like a bumble bee

Nothing to add

 On Saturday February 28th 2015 I went on my very first political rally. Normally I don't get involved, I place my cross in a box every four or five years and leave it at that, content that I've earned the right to moan about the government when it goes pear-shaped. This time felt different. This time was Pegida.

Pegida is a movement that began in Germany as a protest against, as they saw it, the 'Islamization' of the west. I file this sort of talk in my mental 'aye, righto' box alongside its polar opposite, the notion that being a Muslim in Europe these days is akin to being a jew in 1930s Germany; Exaggeration by groups who want to paint themselves as victims.

Gathering

What got my goat in particular was the location for the first UK Pegida rally. Newcastle. My Newcastle. In the days before the march I asked why Pegida bothered me so much. After all, the EDL have marched several times in Newcastle and I never so much as raised an eyebrow. Having thought about it I believe it's because the EDL (and the BNP) are well known and quite easy to dismiss as the usual crowd of knuckle-draggers. Pegida on the other hand is new, and in the context of a stream of ever-increasing bad news (British-born fighters joining ISIS, Charlie Hebdo murders in Paris, beheadings on Youtube, female genital mutilation, burqas, etc etc) it's perfectly reasonable to have concerns about 'Islamization'. And this is what picks at me. That there's a possibility that Pegida, without the baggage of the EDL/BNP, could have genuine mass appeal. If we ever find ourselves in the sort of 1930s Germany scenario I've always poo-pooed, a movement like Pegida will be at the heart of it. So we need to expose it and stop it before it starts.

Having made the decision to attend a counter-march I dutifully turned up at the part of Newcastle known as Gallowgate, joining a burgeoning, bustling crowd in preparation for the planned 10:30 march. This is going to sound a bit cliched but the best adjective I can think of to describe it is 'colourful'; the drums, the flags, the clothes and the haircuts were all a sight to see. All ages, races, genders and religions were in evidence, some carrying amusing banners, my favourite being 'Stop it, alright? Just stop it!'.

We're off

The march set off slightly later than planned but was still in very high spirits as it wound its way through Newgate Street to the finishing point, about a hundred metres from the Bigg Market where the Pegida rally was occuring. It was here, I assume, that speeches were made by such luminaries as George Galloway and local Labour MP Chi Onwurah. I say 'assume' because I couldn't see or hear a bloody thing, but that's the price of popularity.

So a success then, and to that small, nagging voice in my head concerned about Jihadi John moving in next door, I say this: Religious fundamentalists are like bumble bees.

Newgate Street

If that requires an explanation, it's that as a child I was terrified of bees, particularly whopping great bumble bees. If one got into the house and proceeded to buzz about as it angrily collided with the windows I would play merry hell until it was removed. Or until I was removed, whichever was easier for my parents to do. And while it cut no ice with me at the time, I've never forgotten their advice. Bees are much more scared of you than you are of them. The same goes for religious fundies; just as we might be scared of being forced into a burqa or the day Gregg's is banned from selling sausage rolls (Nooooo!!), religious extremists fear our loose morals and lax standards. And that's the crux of it. If it comes down to a clash of ideology, my moneys on the side with bacon, Stella Artois and casual sex.

Hobnobbing

The Alnwick Garden

A while back I posted that I'd started doing some volunteer work in my spare time, for a local charity that runs a social group for people with learning difficulties. It turns out that it was even more rewarding than I expected as I received an unexpected invite to a party last week. It was, by my standards anyway, a high class affair but then I'm more used to a sausage roll and a can of vimto at my parties.

Our Hostess, The Duchess of Northumberland

The occasion was the first annual Lord Lieutenant's Garden Party for Volunteers and Carers in Northumberland hosted by the Lord Lieutenant herself, who also happens to be the Duchess of Northumberland. Such a prestigious gathering demands a venue to match and luckily enough the Duchess knows of one - The Alnwick Garden, just outside her house, and a pet project of hers.

Garden Sculpture

Naturally I was allowed to bring a guest along and I could think of no more deserving person than my own dear mother, who's recently recovered from a painful knee operation. I always get a bit stressed on what to wear for occasions like this and the invitation letter gave only subtle hints on this subject. For instance it's never a good idea to tell someone like me to 'please wear what you feel comfortable in' or there's a good chance I'll turn up in my boxer shorts. Similarly when it says 'ladies may wish to wear a hat' is that a discreet way of saying 'WEAR A HAT!!'? One can never tell with posh people. The final hint was that 'a 'Garden Party' theme is very much encouraged' but I guessed that didn't mean I could wear my Hawaiian shirt. In the event we decided on a 'smart casual' look, me in a decent shirt but no tie, and mam in a hat but with an option to leave it in the car.

Water features

In the event mam's choice was wiser than mine (no surprise there). The Duchess herself was wearing a hat so that validated mam's decision instantly. I on the other hand was probably the scruffiest bloke there, with pretty much everyone else wearing a morning suit or at least a tie. Bah.

Fountain Rainbow

Poor wardrobe choices aside, the rest of the day was great. The weather was dry and sunny, there was free grub and we had a lovely stroll round the gardens enjoying the various water features, plants and flowers. The only thing we missed out on was talking to the Duchess as she circulated among the various guests. This was an unfortunate consequence of me prioritising food over socialising, though anyone who knows me will cheerfully admit I'd cheerfully barge HM The Queen over if it meant getting my paws on a cream bun.Who knows, perhaps one day I'll get the chance to?

Garden

Whoosh

The Late Shows 2 - The Geek in The Keep

Newcastle at night. As seen from the roof of the Castle

 If it's May it must be time for The Late Shows, the annual 'culture crawl' around Newcastle, when the city's galleries, museums and historical attractions throw open their doors late at night. The Late Shows has been around since 2007 in Newcastle but this was only my third year of being involved as a volunteer.  For the previous two I was based in St Nicholas' Cathedral but this year I got my dream gig of being in the Castle Keep, just down the road. For a castle-lover like me, there couldn't be a better place to spend a Saturday night.

Busy

The role of the volunteer is simple - welcome visitors, answer any queries and hand out the Late Shows speciality (and very popular) glowsticks. I arrived at the castle as requested at 18.30, ahead of the scheduled opening at 19.00, and got a taste of how intimidating the building is as I climbed the first set of stairs to knock on the large locked door.
Once inside I had a quick scurry around to see what lay in store for our visitors. In addition to the building itself, as a special Late Shows treat there was a band playing in the Great Hall and an art installation on the roof. Speaking of the roof, I knew the opportunity to see Newcastle at night (see the above picture) from one the highest points accessible would be a big draw in itself. Once I'd satisfied my own curiosity I took up station at the entrance and awaited the grand opening.

Still busy

The next four hours are pretty much a blur. For a large building, the interior can be quite cramped (mainly due to the thick walls) and there was a joyous, if slightly claustrophobic, atmosphere as hordes of people descended on us. At times it felt like we were under siege so great was the tide, and we were forced to regulate the people coming in due to overcrowding. Come chucking-out time at 23.00 I was still turning people away.




 


When I left the Keep there was still one suprise in store, the entire side of the building was lit up by a projection especially for The Late Shows. A spectacular end to a breathless night.

A projection on the castle walls

Hexham Book Festival 2014

So spring is here and I've emerged from hibernation to start blogging again. Rejoice!
The subject of this particular blog is a book festival I've been attending in the nearby town of Hexham, where various authors have been giving talks on the books they've written . It first came to my attention last year but I never got round to attending any of the talks so I promised myself this year would be different.

I wasn't expecting to find that much of interest to me, thinking most of the books would be about detectives, boy wizards or kinky sex, and my own area of interest, medieval history, would be ignored. How wrong I was...

What better setting for medieval history?

The first talk I found of interest was given by Alison Weir, who wrote the first account I ever read on The Wars of The Roses so I owe her a lot. Even better, the lecture was to be given in Hexham Abbey, which has it's own connection to the Roses War, as it's believed Henry Beaufort, 3rd Duck of Somerset and Lancastrian commander, is buried there after being executed after the Battle of Hexham in 1464. The subject of the talk was Alison's latest book, an account of Elizabeth of York, daughter of Edward IV, whose marriage to Henry Tudor united the warring factions and ushered in the Tudor age. Elizabeth is far from my favourite character in this period but I found the talk entertaining and the Q & A session that followed was quite lively; Alison didn't come across as a great fan of Richard III and I think some of his fans were in...

I then attended a talk on the 1513 Battle of Flodden, which saw the biggest ever Scottish invasion of England. This was in the less evocative setting of The Queen's Hall, the local theatre, given by author George Goodwin. This was less well attended than the Alison Weir lecture but I found his style very engaging and thoroughly enjoyed the talk.

The Yurt, location for badger-chat

 Next up was a talk given by Phillipa Langley, who sprang to fame last year during the discovery of the body of Richard III in a car park in Leicester. Phillipa, of the Richard III society, was the key figure in raising the funds and directing the operations of the dig. I saw a documentary on the excavation and Phillipa came across as a determined, if slightly bonkers, character but that was more to do with tv editing I think. In the flesh she was as passionate as I expected but (thankfully) not as intense.

A nice young man from The Guardian

I also attended a bonus talk (if you bought tickets for three you were able to choose a fourth for free) so picked a subject I have a passing interest in - badgers. A friendly young man from the Guardian, Patrick Barkham, was promoting a book he'd written on everyones favourite black and white mammals so I popped in to the yurt (yes, a yurt) to see his talk. Once I'd overcome my hilarity at seeing a guardian nature writer who actually did feature glasses, a neat beard and a jumper (I didn't check to see if he was wearing sandals), I became engrossed in the talk and came away both enlightened and entertained. At one point he asked for a show of hands, confirming at a stroke my suspicion that I am indeed the only person in Hexhamshire who's never seen a badger :-(

Here's to Bookfest 2015!

The Reluctant Atheist

Since some of my posts have been about the history of Christianity or places of worship, I thought I'd clarify my stance on religion. Or try to clarify it, which isn't easy when you're not sure yourself. In fact one of my reasons for writing this post is to help my thought process, so hopefully by the time I reach the end of it I'll know a bit more (I'll let you know how I get on). My position right now is that I'm not but I sort of wish I was, an attitude that would amaze and horrify the me of a few years ago.

REPENT THY SINS!

It was much simpler when I was growing up. As a Catholic you only really have to remember one thing - God is always watching and always judging. In those days nice people didn't get divorced, gay meant happy and there was no such thing as abortion. There was nothing remotely strange about a man being born of a virgin (not that I knew what a virgin was) and rising from the dead, or there being only one man and one woman on the whole planet, or that they lived in a lovely garden until they were tempted into eating an apple by a talking snake. Likewise parting the Red Sea, the great flood or slaying the first born of all Egypt (which always struck me as being unnecessarily cruel for a loving God). Then, without any apparent warning, something changed. I remember sitting listening to a discussion in an R.E. lesson in school about how the Resurrection must have happened because the stone in front of Jesus' tomb was so big that it couldn't have been moved without an enormous fuss, and it suddenly struck me. This is a load of bollocks.

After that it unraveled quickly. I'd finally figured out what a virgin was (thanks to those videos in biology) so that was another nail in the cross coffin. I stopped going to church and devoted my full attention to other things, things that normal young people are supposed to do, like making friends, getting drunk and snogging people. The fact that I was no good at any of these things and would normally end up watching an old football video on a Friday night was neither here nor there, I didn't miss God at all.

And that's how it stayed for twenty years or so, I watched the decline of religion with an air of disinterest, or even mild approval. I remember reading a newspaper column (Johann Hari I think) saying it was time to place God and Jesus alongside the likes of Thor and Zeus and thinking it sounded like straightforward common sense.

Then two things happened. Firstly I developed an interest in history, especially medieval history, and some of the best places to visit if you're a medievalist are churches. All those hours spent in magnificent old places of worship, marveling at the statues, carvings and stained glass, imagining the love and devotion of the artists and craftsman who created them have had quite an effect on me. Call it the power of suggestion or maybe I'm just gullible but it's definitely re-awakened my spiritual side. Secondly I've got old. Well maybe not 'old' old, but I can no longer claim that my best years are ahead of me. As such I've increasingly been wondering what life's all about and finding that my previous reasoning - there is no point, just enjoy it while you've got it - is not good enough. I want there to be more, to know that I'm not just a tiny tiny piece of dust in the great void. In short, I want to believe.

Now this is easier said than done. For starters I'm not just a skeptic, more like a complete cynic. In everything I come across, I look for an ulterior motive, an easy answer, qui bono. On top of that, thanks to my work life as an engineer I think in a very logical manner so any sense of mystery or wonderment feels just wrong to me. There must be a rational explanation, be it propaganda, superstition or mental illness.

I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to square that circle but maybe it won't matter. The way I see it is that if life is all about enjoyment, and believing in God helps you enjoy life, then believing in God is fine. If nothing else it's cheaper than a therapist...

A Wander Around Hexham Abbey

Hexham Abbey

Hexham Abbey has been the site of Christian worship for over 1300 years. It's seen Saxons, Vikings and Normans, withstood Scottish raids and protestant reformers, been a monastery, a cathedral and a priory church. It's survival and continued existence today speaks for the importance of faith from the pre-medieval age through to modern times.

The original church was founded in 674(-ish) by Bishop (later Saint) Wilfrid, part politician, part papal enforcer. This period, which saw the creation of The Lindisfarne Gospels and figures of the stature of Saint Cuthbert and Saint Bede, is often referred to as the 'Golden Age of Northumbria'. The original church no longer survives, except for an underground crypt, so we aren't sure what it looked like but we know that the builders made extensive use of stone quarried by the Romans. This makes sense as there was a Roman settlement at nearby Corbridge and there are many Roman artefacts dotted around the present building.

The south transept and entrance

 Like many great churches and cathedrals, Hexham Abbey is built in a cruciform (cross-shaped) plan, with two short 'arms' called transepts, then a main body on one side of the transepts called the nave and a shorter section on the other side called the choir.

The entrance is via the south transept and as you step through the door you're struck by the expanse of the interior, your eyes drawn upward by the soaring arches. It's also very quiet whenever I visit. Unlike the more famous Durham Cathedral, which attracts visitors from all over the globe (justifiably), Hexham is less well known and thus less visited. I have mixed feelings about this; it would be nice to see it teeming with tourists and visitors from near and far, but it does feel nice to have the place almost to myself and makes for a more contemplative and reflective experience.

Acca's Cross

On the right, just past a small chapel, are two ancient-looking stone monuments. Anglo-Saxon in origin, the taller one is known as Acca's Cross and is reputed to be a headstone from the grave of Acca, friend and successor to Wilfrid as abbot and bishop. Acca collected many religious relics and artworks during his leadership and was highly praised by his friend, the great early historian Bede. The cross itself is battered and worn, it's mid-section showing evidence of repair, but it's still a fantastic memorial.

Turning the corner takes you to the south aisle of the Choir, the oldest part of the building (above ground) and my favourite.

Anglo-Saxon Chalice

Set in the wall behind protective glass is a tiny copper chalice dated roughly to the tenth century. According to the guidebook it was discovered in a coffin during renovation work in the 1860s and would have been used to hold communion wine. I love the fact that something as fragile as this (it's not much bigger than an eggcup) has been lying around for a thousand years and makes me wonder what other romantic treasures could be lying in a hidden underground vault somewhere.

Gilbert De Umfraville, famous one-legged knight

Opposite the chalice are two effigies of medieval knights, hands clasped in prayer and legs crossed in the classic tomb effigy pose. There's a persistent myth that a knight having his legs crossed indicates that he went on crusade to the Holy Land but it's sadly untrue. In fact no one knows the reason for sure, it may even be simply due to the fashions at the times.
The first knight is thought to represent Thomas of Tynedale and the second Gilbert De Umfraville, whose family built nearby Prudhoe Castle. Both knights have seen better days and are missing some of their finer details, and a lower leg in the case of poor old Gilbert, but they're still a fascinating sight. You can feel the individual links of chainmail and the curious heraldic designs on their shields.

The high altar

The Choir is dominated by the magnificent high altar and, behind it, the great east window. Most of the choir dates from the 12th-13th centuries but the east window is a 19th century replacement. I'm not a big fan of reconstructions generally but in this case they've done a magnificent job, complementing the superb gothic arches on each flank to form the aisles. The term 'gothic' was first used in the Renaissance period and was intented as an insult. Just as the original Goths were a barbarian tribe during Classical Roman times, so this style of architecture was seen as barbarian compared to the classical style of Greece and Rome. The 'Romanesque' style is characterised by thick stone columns and rounded arches (Durham Cathedral is a great example of this) but can make for a cramped, chunky and gloomy appearance. Architects and masons wanted to explore ways of making the columns slimmer, leaving more room for windows and thus more light, and the pointed arch allowed them to do this, using a thinner column to support the same weight. Personally I think it's simply gorgeous.

The Frith Stool

Also in this part of the abbey is an old and worn-looking stone chair known as the Frith Stool. Carved from a single block of sandstone, this may well date from the early days of the building as a bishop's throne. 'Frith' is an old English word for peace, and the story goes that in medieval times an outlaw on the run from the authorities could claim sanctuary by touching the Frith Stool.

The Dance of Death (note the girly cardinal)

There's all sorts of other things to gawp at in this part of the abbey, my favourite being a series of painted wooden panels to the left of the altar. The top row of these panels show seven of the eight canonised bishops of Hexham and below are four panels showing the Dance of Death, where a skeletal figure  dances before a cardinal, a king, an emperor and a pope, presumably to show that even the most powerful earthly men are helpless in the face of death. The cardinal figure in the leftmost panel has a curiously female appearance to my eye.


 On the left and right of the altar are two chantry chapels. These are small, enclosed spaces containing the tomb of an important individual, who would pay for the chapel to be built and for priests to pray for their soul after death. It was thought this would speed up the process of the dead person gaining access to heaven and lessen the time they would have to spend in purgatory, a limbo state between heaven and hell.
The sums of money involved inevitably led to the process becoming corrupted and this, combined with the idea of purgatory becoming discredited in the new protestant thinking, led to chantries being banned during the reigns of Henry VIII and Edward VI. The wealth thus seized was supposed to go to charitable causes but most ended up in the hands of the king and his advisers. Funny that...


The right hand chantry chapel contains the tomb of Rowland Leschman, prior of the abbey from 1480 to 1491 and is most notable for the carved stonework figures on the side. These are comical, gargoyle-like effigies, my favourites being the bearded figure who is either playing the bagpipes or smoking a woodbine, and a figure in a hoodie squatting down while doing something unspeakable to a small donkey. Or at least that's what it looks like to me.

Having a sly ciggie?

I'd really rather not comment on what's going on here

Female effigies

Leaving the Leschman chapel and walking up the north aisle of the choir leads you past more carved stonework, some dating back to Roman and Saxon times. There's also another series of wooden panel paintings, this time depicting scenes from Christ's Passion. It's amazing to me that something as delicate as this could have survived from the 15th century. There's also another pair of life sized tomb effigies, women this time, but little is known of them, a plaque simply describing them as 'unknown early 14th century women'.

 As you turn the corner from the north aisle of the choir into the north transept, the sight is truly breathtaking. Like the choir it has the delicate looking rib vaulting, slender columns and pointed arches that are characteristic of English Gothic, but the undoubted highlight is the window arrangement. Two ranks of three lancet windows, thin and pointed (hence 'lance'), filled with Victorian stained glass. Unlike the choir, but like the south transept, it has only one aisle. It's much less cluttered than the latter though, creating a useful open space to appreciate the structure as a whole.

The North Transept and aisle

The North Transept

The remaining 'arm' of the cross-shaped building is the largest one; the nave. This was originally constructed in the 15th century but was largely rebuilt in the early 20th century. Some of the earlier wall remains however, visible as a darker section on the lower left wall (looking from the central crossing, toward the font).

The Nave. Note the older, darker section of wall on the left

Font Cover

 The most striking part of this section is the  great west window, designed in 1917 and featuring Northumbrian saints. Running a close second though has to be the font, or more specifically, the font cover. Font covers are fast becoming a 'thing' of mine. They were originally required for very practical purposes, to preserve the cleanliness of the water within and also to prevent the water being swiped for illicit purposes such as magic rituals. As time went by, craftsmen took the opportunity to create more elaborate designs, turning what could have been a very mundane lid into an intricate, multifaceted ornament requiring a hoist and pulley system to raise and lower it. The guidebook states that this particular example dates from 1916 and was made by a Belgian refugee re-using 15th century woodwork. It doesn't say what happened to the original but I'm guessing Henry VIII and his reformation agents may have had something to do with it. Unless it was those pesky Scots...

The Nave, with the font in the foreground

 Underneath the cover, the font is a history lesson in itself. It consists of a 17th century lid over a Roman bowl mounted on a medieval stone base.

Such are the visual distractions in the nave it would be easy to miss the oldest surviving part of the building: a set of stone steps that descend to the underground crypt, which dates from the seventh century when the original Saxon church was founded.

Flavinius administers a good kicking

Leaving the nave takes you back to the south transept. On the corner is a Roman tombstone found nearby, a memorial from the first century to a horse soldier named Flavinius. The stone depicts a horse and rider, presumably Flavinius himself, trampling on an unfortunate individual below. I think the message is 'Know your place, Britons!'


'Scoti combusserunt Hexcelsham cum tota Patria'
So says medieval chronicler Walter of Guisborough, which roughly translates as 'The Scots burnt the whole country of Hexham'. The border wars of the late 13th and early 14th centuries were hard times for this area and Hexham received attention from both William Wallace and Robert The Bruce at different times, amid much 'incendiis et rapinis' (fire and looting). An account in The Lanercost Chronicle tells of nuns being violated and churches being burned, with a crowd of schoolboys being herded into a Hexham school, the doors blocked, then the school burnt to the ground with the unfortunate scholars inside. The aforementioned Walter of Guisborough tells an entertaining tale of William Wallace in Hexham priory (as it was then) in 1297, with Wallace angry and embarrassed at the behaviour of some of his men in looting precious relics. He had previously granted the building immunity and the acts of his compatriots in ignoring his orders led to him admitting to the priory canons that the Scots he led were a wild and unruly bunch, who could not always be controlled. Some would say not much has changed, not me though...

Visiting Hexham Abbey
The abbey is open every day, services and events permitting, and the town of Hexham is a delight to visit. It's easy to reach, being located on the main A69 road between Newcastle and Carlisle and there's also a regular bus and train service. The abbey is (amazingly) free to visit, though donations are of course welcomed. No excuse not to visit really.

Hexham Abbey