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

Heritage Open Day - Anchorites and Dolomites

The High Altar in the Cathedral Church of St Nicholas

This weekend was a nationwide 'Heritage Open Day', where historical landmarks throw open their doors to visitors in a celebration of architecture, culture and history. For me it meant another opportunity to combine my interest in the past with a spot of feelgood volunteering. In other words, Win-Win!

Church Of St Andrew

I had offered my services as a guide/steward/bouncer (don't ask) at the Cathedral Church of Saint Nicholas in Newcastle on Saturday afternoon, leaving me the morning to look at some of the other places of interest.

My first port of call was the Church of St Andrew on Newgate street. Dating from the 12th century, it's considered the oldest church in the city, and it has the scars to prove it. On display inside are three cannonballs, almost certainly souvenirs from the siege of Newcastle during the Civil war in 1644. The location of St Andrew's, just inside where the old defensive town wall used to run, would have made the church tower a useful platform to mount cannon on to 'discomfit' the besiegers. This cuts both ways however, and it's visibility would have made it a prime target for enemy artillery.

The font (note the cannonballs on the window-ledge)

Besides cannonballs, there's much to be seen inside, though since I don't want this post to be ridiculously long I'm going to opt for the edited highlights and maybe do a fuller account at a later date. To that end, top billing has to go to the font. The font itself is fairly plain but the cover, dating from the 15th century is marvelous, and still in use today.


 


  The other feature that really struck home with this budding medievalist was the chancel arch. Dating from the late 12th century, it has the classic roundness and zig-zag pattern of the period. It may just be my wonky eyes, but it also looks a bit squashed, though whether this was intended I have no idea.

A rather squashed arch

The font and the nave

 I left St Andrew's, having made a mental note to return when time is less of an issue, and made my way to my next destination, the Church of St John the Baptist on Grainger Street. Going straight from one church to another proved to be a good decision as it meant I could look at the second while the first was still fresh in my mind and so make comparisons. 

Church of St John The Baptist

St John's was started around 1130 so is roughly contemporary with St Andrew's, though both have changed a lot since then. One of the great things about Heritage Open Days is that there's often guides to explain details to you and this was the situation here, I was treated to an explanation of the building's history by a very knowledgeable gent. Indeed, were it not for him, I may have missed some of the finer details such as the Anchorite's window in the chancel.

Anchorite's Window

Medieval Stained Glass

An anchorite was a sort of religious hermit, someone who withdraws from secular life to live a life of prayer and contemplation in a cell (rather like a prison) adjoining a church. The window (cruciform or cross-shaped in this case) was there to allow them to view the Mass without being seen. I had no idea Newcastle had an anchorite and there was even a (modern) plaque giving their name as Cristina Umfred and the year of 1260. I did wonder if this meant it should be anchoress rather than anchorite but I didn't want to quibble.

 The main other standout feature is some medieval stained glass, something which is sadly in short supply in Newcastle due more to the excesses of the Scottish/Parlimentary army in the Civil War than the Reformation itself.

Neville Hall, home of The Mining Institute

After this, I had time for one more stop before duty called, so I made my way around the corner to The Mining Institute in Neville Hall. It's not an area of particular interest to me to be honest but I've heard it's a lovely building so I thought I'd pop in and have a look. As it happened, I got there just as a tour and lecture were going on so I joined in.
What followed was a fascinating talk on the history of the Institute and on mining itself, including an interesting anecdote about Lord Armstrong, former President of the Institute, selling weapons to both sides in the American Civil War. The building itself proved to be no disappointment, a Victorian extravaganza of iron and glass. In amongst the various documents and papers related to the mining industry, there were also various rocks and minerals for sale, hence the 'dolomite' in the title of this post. To be honest, I'm not 100% certain dolomite was there, but the fact it rhymes with 'anchorite' was too good to refuse. Call it artistic license.

Lecture Theatre in the Mining Institute

By now, it was time to report for my shift at the Cathedral so I quietly sneaked out before the lecture had finished. The Cathedral Church of St Nicholas dates mainly from the early 14th century and is the grandest of the four original churches of Newcastle. Of the other three, St Andrew's and St John the Baptist's are described above, while the fourth, All Saints, was demolished and replaced in the late 18th century.
My role as a guide was to assist with any visitor inquiries and make sure none of them run off with any of the valuable artifacts on display for the Open Day. These included some ornamental silver - communion plates and wine goblets and something intriguingly labelled as a 'temperance stick'- some ceremonial garments known as 'copes' and, best of all for me, a bible dating from the thirteenth century. There was also guided tours of the lantern tower (very popular) and  a group of harpists providing music in the nave while visitors browsed the cathedral.

Harp Action in the Cathedral

My shift proved happily free of incident and I was able to enjoy the music and my surroundings. My one almost moment of drama occured when I saw a disheveled looking young man heading toward the collection box for votive candles, where people can leave a small donation in exchange for lighting a candle and writing a note for an event or a person they'd like to be prayed for. The box carried the sadly obligatory 'no money is left in here overnight' warning and I kept a watchful eye as he hovered over the candles. Imagine my surprise when I heard the clink of coins going into the box as he lit a candle and wrote a few words on a post-it note. After he left I couldn't resist going over to  read what he'd left. The note said simply 'For my girlfriend to do well at uni'. I came away feeling happier about the human race and a little ashamed of my previous suspicions.

The Atatürk Memorial

I like to think that I'm a typical blokey bloke who can drink and belch and wench with the best of them. I like to think it but I know it's a load of codswallop (apart from the belching). The truth is that I'm a big wuss who's scared of his own doorbell and still can't get through the first five minutes of Watership Down without blubbing. The reason I mention this is because I wanted to share my latest cheek-moistening experience, something I stumbled across the other day. It's from a war memorial at Gallipoli in Turkey with a quote from Kemal Atatürk, an officer in the first world war and later President of Turkey. It reads:

"Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives… You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side here in this country or ours… 
You, the mothers, who sent their sons from far away countries, wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. Having lost their lives on this land, they have become our sons as well"

I bet I'm not the only one to shed a tear.

The Lindisfarne Gospels and Saint Cuthbert

The highlight of this week for me has been a visit to an exhibition centred on the Lindisfarne Gospels. The Gospels were written on a monastery on the island of Lindisfarne (also known as Holy Island), just off the Northumberland coast in about 700AD. They consist of illuminated manuscripts  of the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John bound together in a single volume to form one of the most important artistic, cultural and historic artefacts ever produced in the north east. Not only that but it's story is inextricably bound up with that of other pillars of regional Christianity, namely Saint Cuthbert and Durham Cathedral. It's only fitting therefore, that the exhibition should be based at Durham University library, literally a stones-throw from the Cathedral and the Shrine to Saint Cuthbert.

The story of the Lindisfarne Gospels goes back to 664AD and a crisis in the Christian community on the island of Lindisfarne. Prior to this time, English Christianity had been subjected to two different influences, those of the southern-based Roman church competing with the rival Irish tradition, stronger in the north and to which Lindisfarne belonged.
The biggest disagreement between the two churches was over the timetable of Easter, as each one used a different method to calculate the date. This dispute reached a head when the Bernician king Oswy, ruler of Northumbria and based at nearby Bamburgh, married Eanflaed who originally hailed from Kent. King Oswy, following the local Irish calender found he was celebrating Easter perhaps a week earlier or later than his wife, who favoured the Roman date. As a result, Oswy arranged a church council at Whitby in 664 to settle the debate once and for all, with himself as judge.

Durham Palace Green Library

The Roman church emerged victorious, perhaps suprisingly given that Oswy belonged to the Irish tradition. One reason may be that Saint Peter, who personally held the keys to heaven, was especially revered in the Roman church, and Oswy may have been reluctant to risk annoying him and thus jeopardising his own entry. Or perhaps Oswy simply wanted to keep his wife happy.

Whatever the reason, it was a severe blow to the Irish tradition that Lindisfarne belonged to. Its position within the Anglo-Saxon church was downgraded and many of its members, including the bishop, could not (or would not) compromise their beliefs and so returned to Ireland. The task of reforming and rebuilding Lindisfarne as a centre of Christian learning fell to a monk from the monastery at Melrose, now in Scotland but at that time part of Northumbria. His name was Cuthbert.

Despite being educated in the Irish tradition, Cuthbert accepted the  ruling of Oswy at Whitby and successfully overcame opposition to reform Lindisfarne, first as Prior and later as Bishop. He managed to combine his responsibilities with his own preference for an austere, hermit-like life and when he died in 687 it was not long before miracles were being reported at his grave.

It's at this point, around 700, that the Lindisfarne Gospels were produced and it may not be coincidence. The monks were advocating Cuthbert as a candidate for sainthood and producing a deluxe version of the most sacred books of the early church may well have been part of the effort. And some effort it was. It's believed the book was written by only one man over a period of five or six years. This man was probably Eadfrith, bishop of Lindisfarne from 698 to 722. Around 960, a priest at Chester-le-Street called Aldred added an Old English (the language of the Anglo-Saxons) translation (called a gloss) written word-for-word above the latin original. How do we know this? Because Aldred tells us! He added a personal note (a colorphon) at the end. He wrote:

"...Eadfrith bishop of the church of Lindisfarne, in the beginning wrote this book for God and St Cuthbert and for all the holy ones who are on the island. And Aethilwald, bishop of the Lindisfarne-islanders, bound and covered it without, as he well knew how.

And Billfrith the anchorite forged the ornaments which are on the outside, and bedecked it with gold and with gems, and also with gilded silver - pure wealth.

And I, Aldred, unworthy and most wretched priest - born of Alfred, Aldred I am called, the outstanding son of a good woman, I speak - with the help of God and St Cuthbert wrote a gloss above it in English."

Durham Cathedral. A Resting Place Fit For A Saint

Cuthbert was buried on Lindisfarne and made a saint. The story may have ended there were it not for the arrival of those perennial bad-guys - the Vikings. Monasteries were a favourite target for Scandinavian raiders due to their wealth and lack of defences and Lindisfarne holds the distinction of being the first recorded victim of a Viking attack on England, in 793. Continued raids and invasions forced the monks to abandon Lindisfarne, temporarily at first but for good in 875. They took with them their prized possessions, including the body of Saint Cuthbert and the Lindisfarne Gospels. For the next seven years the monks and their precious cargo wandered around the north of England, before settling at Chester-le-Street in 883. They remained there for around one hundred years, before more Viking threats forced them to flee again, this time to Ripon in Yorkshire. They had intended to return to Chester-le-Street when the danger receded, but finally settled in Durham, thanks, if legend is to be believed, to a cow.

Shrine to St Cuthbert in Durham Cathedral

The story goes that as the community of monks headed north from Ripon, the cart bearing the body of St Cuthbert came to a sudden halt and would not move. The monk's leader had a vision of Cuthbert demanding to be laid to rest at a place called 'Dunholme' which none of the monks had heard of. At that moment two young women passed by and the monks overheard one woman ask the other if she'd seen a lost dun (brown) cow. The second woman replied that she'd seen the cow heading towards Dunholme and when the monks set off in the direction she indicated, they found the wheels of the cart became miraculously unstuck. The road took them to Dunholme (Durham) and despite the inconvenience of Norman conquerors and protestant reformers, Saint Cuthbert has been there ever since. Having visited Durham Cathedral many times I can testify to what a fitting resting place it is for the north east's premier saint. As for the Lindisfarne Gospels, I'd love to say they also have a permanent home in the cathedral, or at least in the region. Sadly that's not the case and they are only here temporarily, on loan from the British Library, to give us locals a chance to see them. I heartily recommend you do.

The Blood Donor

For the first time ever I've been turned away from the blood donors. And it's nothing to do with having sex with men before you ask*. Far more mundanely, my blood failed on 'iron level' which sounds like a manfail if ever there was one. Why couldn't I fail a less butch test? "Sorry sir, but your blood wasn't pink and fluffy enough for us" never happens to me.
Naturally I was downcast. "I'm sorry" I flustered "This has never happened to me before. I've been under a lot of stress lately, with work n' that" Of course, the nurse was very understanding and insisted it wasn't my fault and we could always try again later, albeit in 3 months time. I enquired if it would help if I ate more bananas. No, she said, though red meat might improve things (RED MEAT?? I KNEW IT! MANFAIL!!!) and I slunk off home, head bowed. I did consider asking if  I could have the cup of tea and biscuits while I was here but thought that would be a bit cheeky so had a kitkat (mint) when I got home.

By my logic it's their fault anyway. If they didn't keep bringing in all these tests I wouldn't keep failing them. It was different when it all began, back when I was a callow youth of twenty-something (began for me I mean; I would imagine the blood donation service had been a thing for a while). There was no particular reason that prompted me to do it, no life-saving blood transfusion on a family member, I just simply decided I was going to be a nicer person and giving blood is what nice people did. So off I toddled to the local hall and gave the traditional pint (or armful if you prefer). It was a doddle, a fair trade I thought for a cup of tea and some bourbons, and the knowledge my blood might be helping save a life gave me that lovely warm glow you usually only see on porridge commercials.
It was also how I came to find out what blood group I am, having previously been in a state of blissful ignorance. Around Christmas-time every year I get a letter asking me to make that extra effort to donate because demand for my blood-type is so high. Is that because I have an incredibly rare type, due to my descent from Nordic Superheros? Sadly no, it's because any Tom, Dick or Chavvy can accept my disappointingly unexceptional blood. All I can say is at times like this I'm glad I'm not a Nazi or I'd be escorting myself to the gas chambers.

Anyway, over the years that followed I've given blood whenever I can, excepting illness, work commitments and that one time where the nurse missed my vein. Twice. During this time I've learned a great deal about the importance of drinking a glass of water beforehand, of squeezing and unsqueezing the fingers on your donating arm, and, of course, periodically clenching and unclenching your buttocks. But I've never failed the iron test until today. I wonder if it's an age thing, something that will occur more often as the grim hand of death gets ever closer. I suppose I'll get another clue in three months time...

*Disclaimer: There's nothing wrong with having sex with men if that's what you're into. It just so happens that I'm not, especially when I've just had my tea.

The White Queen. A Chance Missed

So I've been watching The White Queen on television, the BBC's adaption of the cousin's war (Wars of the Roses to you and me) series of books written by Phillipa Gregory. I wasn't sure whether I'd like it or not when I first sat down. After all, the period it's set in is one of my favourites in all history, with plenty of battles, political intrigue, double-dealing and larger-than-life characters. On the other hand I don't consider the books to be that great, not a patch on Hilary Mantel's Wolf Hall or Bring Up The Bodies, even though the latter are set in the reign of (urgh) Henry VIII.

I came away slightly disappointed but not susprised. The Wars of the Roses is not something you can fit into a ten episode series without sacrificing a lot of the detail. They began the story, as Gregory's books do, with the meeting of Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville (the eponymous 'heroine', if that's the right word, of the title). This means ignoring all the events that had taken place beforehand but I don't suppose you can blame anyone for this. After all, when should you begin with the Wars of the Roses? The first battle in 1455? The loss of France which fuelled the discontent and rise of factionalism? Or perhaps we go back earlier to the usurpation of the throne by Henry IV, the first Lancastrian King? The more I think of it the more I feel you can only do it justice with the full Game Of Thrones style multi-episode, multi-series, mega-show.

My second gripe concerns the show's female-led focus. I have no problem with this in principle, historical women being too often ignored amidst the blood and guts as medieval history is boiled down to a succession of chainmail wearing thugs doing unspeakable things to each other. My issue is that the most formidable woman of them all, Margaret of Anjou, is a mere background character. For me, she should have been front and centre from episode one as the key Lancastrian. Much as I enjoyed mad Maggie Beaufort and her 'saint's knees' or Elizabeth Woodville's icy beauty (Anne Neville did little for me one way or another), none of them come close to Margaret of Anjou's iron will as she battles to secure the throne for her son, despite the disadvantages of her sex, her foreign birth and her ineffectual husband. She, not Margaret Beaufort, is the real Red Queen.

Then there's the biggest disappointment of all, the portrayal of the Battle of Bosworth. I see this as more than just a battle, and not just because there is one King at the start and a different King at the end. It's also the end of an era, as the medieval age gives way to the modern, and this is symbolised by the defining moment of the battle, the doomed cavalry charge led by Richard III as he vainly seeks to come to blows with Henry Tudor in person. He got suprisingly close, personally killing Tudor's standard bearer, William Brandon, and it's tempting to speculate how different history would have been had he succeeded. This episode should have been portrayed as a medieval version of the charge of the light brigade, Götterdämmerung, a romantic death ride of perhaps a thousand  knights on horseback, banners streaming and armoured helms gleaming in the sunlight. Perhaps budgetary restrictions meant this was always impossible but surely they could have done better than what we got, which was a brawl in the woods. Harrumph.

Despite these whinges I enjoyed it enough to sit through all ten episodes, and if they made a sequel or, even better, a prequel, I'd watch that too. Average medieval drama is still better than no medieval drama. Hell, I might even invest in the DVD if I see it for a reasonable price.

A Day At The Cricket, or When Opportunity Knocks...

A confession: I am a sociophobe. Or at least I think I am anyway. I've never actually been diagnosed with anything, unless you count the school/workplace diagnosis of 'a bit of a wierdo'. I am the sort of person who is generally happiest at home with a good book or a film or even a documentary on BBC Four about religious architecture. When I venture out it's usually for a solo jog or a lone wander to a local landmark or place of interest. For the most part I enjoy it, though I do wonder about the toll it takes on my mental health, especially in my current job which also involves spending a lot of my time on me tod.

"I love you Keith"

I've talked to myself for as long as I can remember so I have no worries on that front, but I'm a little  concerned about a more recent development which has seen me discussing potential grocery purchases with the items themselves. For instance, the other week I had a long conversation in the crisp aisle of Asda involving the McCoys ("you're too expensive this week, I'll wait 'til you're on special again"), Skips ("you don't last five minutes"), and Walker's Ridges ("your ridges are too big!"). Admittedly, none of the snacks talked back at me but it can't be long in coming.

Respect My Authority!

For this reason I decided a while ago that I was going to become more outgoing, I was going to say "Yes" to every opportunity where previously I had hesitated. In practice I haven't said "yes" so much as "What? Me?? Now???" but it has partly worked. As a result I now volunteer at a local group for people with learning difficulties and also do 'one-offs' such as being an 'ambassador-supporter' at last years Olympic football matches held at St James' Park in Newcastle. I still can't always actively enjoy the experience but I do come away with fond memories, which helps me to summon up the courage for the next opportunity.

The reason I mention all this is because last Friday an opportunity came my way that I wasn't expecting. A friend on Twitter (who I'd never actually met in real life) mentioned that she had a spare ticket for the Ashes on Saturday and did I fancy it? For the uninitiated, the Ashes is a series of five cricket test matches played between England and Australia and the match in question was being held, for the first time in history, at nearby Durham.

My view of the cricket, with Lumley castle on the right

As is my wont, my first reaction was to think of all the reasons why I couldn't possibly go: I have to get up for work on Monday (the day would have been finished by 18.30 on Saturday), I have plans on Saturday (the plan in question being to go for a sandwich and a coffee, possibly a jog later, same as I do pretty much every Saturday), I couldn't afford it (money is the least of my worries right now) and so on and so on. What swung it the other way was the knowledge that if I didn't go I'd regret it, now and forever, so I took the plunge and said yes.

Naturally I spent the rest of Friday and the early hours of Saturday worried sick. Anything that involves travelling, large crowds and people I don't know very well turns me into a quivering jelly but from the moment I found myself safely onboard a number 21 bus from Newcastle (I had planned to get the train but it was utterly utterly crammed) the day went remarkably well. The crowd was large enough to create a great atmosphere without ever feeling claustrophoic and the people I met turned out to be lovely. The cricket itself was as compelling as I was expecting and there wasn't any rain. I even engaged in a bit of celeb-spotting: Mike Gatting, Matthew Hoggard and Jeff Thomson (I had to google that last one as he's before my time) were all seen milling about. I managed to stand in queues without panicking and got a seat on the bus back with no trouble at all, largely thanks to a speedy exit and cunningly walking to an earlier bus stop so as to beat the crowds (no flies on me).

All in all my best weekend in ages, just ready for another week of twelve hour shifts at work...