26 December 2005 – 2 January 2006
New Year at Ripon
December 30th. Half-past seven on a winter morning. I felt I had stepped into a picture postcard. I was spellbound by the scene. Snow was everywhere. The stillness was gripping and the silence was absolute – no traffic on the roads, no people on the paths, no bird call to be heard, no leaf that moved. The snow still fell, very lightly. The doors remained shut and the windows dark. The village of Malham was still asleep. I was the only soul to step out into the cold morning and wait for the Postbus to take me to Skipton.
The day I arrived at Malham I had found out that the only bus is the Postbus that operates a few times during the day. As the name suggests, it is meant for mail services but it also serves those in need of public transport. My original plan had been to walk to Grassington to catch a bus to Skipton. With the weather turning so much worse and the continued trouble with my knee, the Postbus came as a saviour. Perhaps not. The bus scheduled for 8am never turned up. I had waited for nearly forty minutes. The next bus was at quarter past eleven. So I headed back to the YHA where I was informed that even the next bus may arrive only after noon given the state of the roads. Fortunately for me I got a ride from a couple staying at the Buck Inn. Unfortunately for me I arrived in Skipton a few minutes after the connecting bus to Harrogate had departed. So I had two hours to kill in Skipton.
When I reflect on this situation I can understand how having a car would enhance my travels. Flexibility is a great plus. The variations are plenty. Many points of tourist interest could be covered in a short time. For example, while at Ribblehead I could have driven to Thornton Force during one of the days before commencing the walk for the day. Walking to the summit of Pen-y-ghent could have been accomplished more easily with Horton-in-Ribblesdale as the base. A combination of a personal vehicle and public transport adds more possibilities. While at Malham, I could have driven to Grassington, parked my car there and taken a bus to Buckden. From Bucken I could have walked along the course of River Wharfe by the Dales Way to Grassington and then driven back to Malham. With a vehicle my itinerary would not have been reshaped by availability of accommodation. And lastly, getting to Ripon from Malham would not have been such a long journey. On the flip side, with a car of my own, the beautiful walk from Settle to Malham and the matchless scenes that came with it would have been missed.
So to get to Ripon, I hitched a ride from Malham to Skipton, took the bus X59 the plies along A59 from Skipton to Harrogate, and finally bus 36 from Harrogate to Ripon. The wait at Skipton was by no means wasted. A short visit to the Holy Trinity Church yielded nothing memorable. Having seen numerous parish churches, abbeys and cathedrals, this church had little noteworthy. So I contented myself in sitting at the back pews and reading some hymns and psalms. Divinity is inspirational. Wherever there is a presence of the divine, creativity is a natural process, be it in art, literature, music or any other human pursuit. The Christian hymns and psalms are real gems of human thought, feeling and belief composed with meaning, music and rhyme.
Arriving at Ripon a little before sunset, I quickly located the B&B I had booked for the next two nights. This was no self-catering accommodation and I had to walk back to the market square to get my dinner. I was in no mood to spend 10 or more on a proper restaurant dinner. A day of little effort and no walking on the hills didn’t deserve it. So I opted for some salad and fruits from M&S. (When it comes to food in Britain, there are only three retail chains that are worth shopping – M&S, Waitrose and Sainsbury’s. Of these, Waitrose offers the best value for money. M&S is expensive and sometimes one pays more for the packaging than for the food.)
All market towns in England have been built on the same principles. I have observed this in Skipton, Ripon and many towns of the Cotswolds. There is a market square that forms the focal point of the town, the hub of business and activity. Market squares were previously meant for trading goods of local produce. Specific days of the week were designated as market days. These squares stand in the same place as ever but in a different time, selling different goods to people from a different age. Big cities expand and new town centres mushroom but market towns have retained much of the feel of the past. Many lanes converge at the square. If all roads lead to Rome, it is the same here. The Town Hall and the local parish church (in some cases a cathedral as in Ripon) are located close to the square. Retail shops, restaurants, pubs, banks, estate agents, post office, tourist information centre and many such necessary businesses of our day are all located within or near the market square. A monument honouring the men of the Great War, an obelisk erected by a wealthy benefactor (Ripon), an old market hall (Chipping Campden), a clock tower, a market cross or a medieval spire (Glastonbury) add to the interest of the square. Above all, the square is circumscribed by buildings in all directions such that if there is any sort of activity in the square it gets all the attention.
In Ripon, on the facade of the Town Hall are to be found these words: “Except Ye Lord Keep Ye Cittie Ye Wakeman Waketh In Vain”. This is said to be taken from Psalm 127. There is a tradition in Ripon that has a link to this psalm. A Wakeman is someone who keeps watch over the town during the night. He is responsible for the safety of the town and has full powers to apprehend and punish those who break the laws. Every night since AD 886 a horn has been blown at the market square at 9pm to “set the night watch”. This tradition of blowing the horn is still carried on to this day although policing has changed. To be a hornblower in Ripon is no mean position. He is a public figure, well-known and respected. He is a trained musician and of good education. It is his responsibility to sound the horn every night at precisely 9pm, in every season and in any weather.
I had the satisfaction of observing this age-old tradition. The current hornblower is Alan Oliver who has performed this role since 1983. While he is on vacation his deputy fills the gap, as was the case when I was at Ripon. The hornblower drives to the market square. He is dressed in a crisp suit. He wears the official coat on top of that. The horn is slung on his left shoulder while he puts on his gloves and a hat of a rather curious shape. He then walks to the obelisk at the centre of the square. He checks the tuning of the horn. He takes his position in one corner of the obelisk. As the clock strikes nine, he steadily draws out the deep sound of the horn for about five seconds. Then he moves to the other three corners of the obelisk to do the same. He then describes to the inquisitive audience the significance of the act and the tradition that shaped it.
On New Year’s Eve I observed the hornblower once more as he ushered in the New Year. The ceremony started an hour earlier with the Mayor and other officials starting from the Town Hall for the cathedral. They were dressed in the town’s regalia that included the silver-gilded horn of AD 886. The Watchnight Service at the cathedral was short and simple, everyone being mindful of the time. The prayer consisted of no more than a seeking of blessings for the needy, the youths, the town, its businesses and trade. It was a beautiful gathering to celebrate their shared beliefs and welcome the New Year in a style that suits the history and tradition of this small town. Their love of Ripon was almost inspirational and spoke much of their pride in what they have. Then the crowd proceeded to the market square. The usual candles of previous years had been replaced this year with glow sticks. Once assembled at the square it was a wait of ten long minutes before the Mayor led the final countdown to the New Year. Fireworks followed. It was a strange gathering for me. I knew no one in town. I wished none. None wished back.
The day I left Ripon, the bus to Leeds was in the afternoon and I had to checkout from the B&B by 10am. Cathedrals have always been a refuge for the traveller. I made more than one visit to Ripon Cathedral and spent considerable time within its walls on the last day. Much is to be said about Ripon Cathedral. The arches at the crossing are lopsided. The vaulting in the nave and choir are wooden, not stone. The nave, crossing and choir are all at the same level. The altar is two steps higher. The lancelet west windows are clearly Early English. There are fascinating misericords in the choir. Among them is one which is said to have inspired Lewis Carroll – a griffin pouncing on a rabbit that tries to escape into a burrow. One of the most colourful group of stained-glass windows was the depiction of Faith, Charity and Hope. These are the three theological virtues. Likewise, I have discovered in Clandon Park the four cardinal virtues of Justice, Prudence, Fortitude and Temperance. But when shall we practice what we so highly regard? Or is it merely lip service? The Saxon crypt is a lot smaller than I had expected. It is not for the claustrophobic. The passage is no more than 2.5 feet wide. It leads to the main chamber and a smaller one adjacent to it. The crypt is kept empty to signify the resurrection of Christ and the whole cathedral stands in celebration of this resurrection. The Victorian stained-glass windows have been installed in someone’s memory by the parish, family and friends. Likewise, cushion seats and kneelers have been the contribution of the locals of our time. The cross-stitch on seats that line the aisles celebrate Ripon, its history, its churches, buildings, businesses and trade. They also depict the people, their work, amusements, beliefs and progress. The bellman who opens the market at 11am on a Thursday morning is mentioned. Neither is the hornblower forgotten. Historically and artistically, these seats are now just as much a part of the cathedral and the town as the subjects they depict. In this manner, every generation leaves something behind and leaves an imprint to the growing history of the place.
Cathedrals and church worships have been transformed in these modern times. At Ripon Cathedral mention is made of fashion shows being held within the cathedral. One may question if this is appropriate. Many cathedrals and churches regularly organise music concerts. These are rarely religious. Evensongs occasionally include unconventional songs that are boldly rendered by the choir. But such changes may well be needed to bring in the youths and the next generation of believers. Methods of worship can change. Worship can evolve to integrate with the social customs of an age. The role of the Church can change too. Ultimately, the individual’s belief of the divine should be preserved. The hope of salvation should be strengthened. In the four hours I sat at Ripon Cathedral, there was a constant activity of choir worship, sermon, discussion and prayer. The primary purpose has not been lost after all.
One cannot leave Ripon without a visit to the neighbouring National Trust property, a World Heritage Site called Fountains Abbey and Studley Royal. I had started the day, the last day of 2005, with an ambitious scheme of walking all the way to Brimham Rocks and returning by bus to Ripon via Harrogate. I ended up spending the entire day at the World Heritage Site and it was time well spent. It is rare for me to sacrifice a natural wonder in preference to something man-made. This day has been one of those rare days. Yet we must realise that the wonders of man do not rise on their own. They proceed from the wonders of nature.
This Cistercian abbey started to redress the growing disillusions within the Benedictine order. They aimed at a simpler lifestyle. However, Fountains Abbey grew quickly into a large establishment. Like in the Cotswolds, wealth was made from sheep wool. To what extent their piety was preserved at the height of their wealth and richness is not known; but they certainly built a splendid building that in its present ruinous state stands or falls for our admiration.
If among castles, Corfe Castle lies indecisive between standing and falling, so is the case with Fountains Abbey among abbeys of the land. It is in a ruinous state but there is perfection in it. It represents a balance of what is there and what is not, of what still stands and what has fallen, what is old and what is newer, what has withstood the test of time and what has not. It is better than the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey which are too sparse and requiring much from human imagination. It is better than the great cathedrals that still stand today for they expose themselves openly, give little food for the imagination and hold little romantic aura.
The east window is a bare skeleton without flesh. It stands open to the sky, the trees and the meadow. It towers above you with its emptiness. Yet it is this very emptiness that frames beautifully the landscape beyond. The Cellarium is yet another example of this balance between ruin and preservation. The monks themselves would not have seen it thus. In their time it would have been broken up into smaller spaces. But now we see its entire length and are awed by the grand scheme of the medieval architect. The nave too is open to vision. One can see from one end to the other, through the choir and to the east window. The perspective is stunning from any angle you look at it, inside, outside, up or down. The Cistercian monks no longer walk these ways. The lay brothers no longer perform their daily duties. The continual prayers do not sound the walls. The abbey bells do not ring as before. Nature claims what was once hers. Moss is on the stones. Grass is on the floors. Ferns grow in crevices. Birds roost in the tower.
The old mill continues to work. It serves little of its original purpose but it is of educational value. The exhibition at the mill is worthwhile. The life in a Cistercian abbey is well related by a humorous video. It tells the tale of a novice going through the rigours of the system, learning to adopt the disciplined lifestyle that’s no more than simple necessities. It is a life dedicated to prayer, study and service. Who is to say it is not a better lifestyle than my own?
From the abbey grounds I wandered into the water gardens of Studley Royal. These are formal gardens but formality alone cannot succeed. If these gardens appealed to me it was only because of the informality of the abbey that preceded it. The same informality succeeds it. For example, the river flows by a winding course into the gardens where it is conformed to lines straight and rigid. Once the flow leaves the gardens it once more resumes its graceful course as it drains into the lake. Man may restrain nature only on the surface and for short moments only.
One of the most interesting aspects of the gardens is the dichotomy that is symbolised in the movement of water. Along the canal is the constant flow of water, always on the move. The ponds that surround it are still without even a ripple. This stillness was heightened by the surface ice on the ponds. There are two sides to everything and one is necessary to complete the other. Perhaps in summer there is a bit more colour on the ponds with blooming water lilies.
On the whole, I must confess that I was disappointed with the water gardens. The problem was not in its beauty but in the enjoyment of it. The formality comes with a design that could only be appreciated from a high viewpoint. Unfortunately, even in winter when the trees were bare of foliage, no clear views could be had from any of the paths on the hills. The Surprise View showed the abbey in the distance and the placid river but not the bridge, the falls or the artificial ponds. I couldn’t climb the Octagonal Tower for it was locked and there was no view from its base. Perhaps, in the 18th century the place had less trees and better views. If such views are to be seen again we would need to undertake the sad task of bringing down a few trees.
At ground level the perspective is quite different and not all that exciting. The truth is that at ground level the design is not seen to its advantage. The geometric shapes are morphed. The composition as could be seen from above is compressed, the balanced scheme lost to the eye. The only consolation is the monuments that are seen better by being closer. Neptune stands on a rocky island in the middle of the Moon Pond. Wouldn’t Diana be symbolically a better choice? Certainly, there are monuments that add to the beauty but it is not landscape gardening as in Stowe or Stourhead.
St Mary’s Church is visible from the village of Studley by a long straight road. The road cuts through the deer park. Sika deer were visible in plenty with their eye-catching posteriors. A pleasant walk through this park led me all the way to Ripon. It was a fitting end to a year filled with many fine walks, a year filled with many fine days, for a fine walk makes a fine day.
Farewell to Leeds
Returning to Leeds, I stayed at Headingley, just next to the church of St Chad. There were no buses on New Year’s Day but at least there were trains. It was a rather long walk from the station to the B&B. Worse still I didn’t have a detailed map of the area. It was only the accurate directions from the landlord that enabled me to find my way to the accommodation. Being next to the church, I was constantly reminded of the quick passing of the hours. The bell tolled every 30 minutes and time was short indeed. At this rate the year will be over soon although this was only the first day of the first month.
The room was comfortable. If there had been no books in the room I would not have noticed the absence. Instead, there was one book in the room, purposefully placed on the table – The Holy Bible. I was staying with an elderly couple who were Christians. They informed me that they were travelling to Calcutta in a week’s time. Their purpose was to help some Taiwanese understand how Christianity could be made to sustain and develop in a culture where it’s a minority.
I didn’t have a great deal of hope for the last day of my trip. It was a Bank Holiday Monday and I knew that most places would be closed. True to my anticipation, the City Art Gallery was closed. The Royal Armouries Museum was the only place that was open. With so much construction going on around the museum, it was a long taxing walk to get to it.
This museum is indeed a splendid place to visit. It displays a vast array of weaponry from ancient to modern. It covers the contribution of every civilisation that we have known. The sole realisation was that every civilisation has excelled in something, has contributed something to the art of weaponry, has influenced in some way weaponry as we know it today. I admired with great interest the swords and daggers from India. The 19th century powder flask of nautilus shell carved with flowers and foliage is a masterpiece. The medieval armours including the Lion Armour is craftsmanship at its best. The museum was too much for one short visit.
Leeds has some lovely buildings. One of them is the former building of the Leeds and County Liberal Club. It was opened in 1891 and is decorated on the outside with red brick and Welsh terracotta. Patterned motifs and stylized Ionic capitals keep the facade interesting even today. The Corn Exchange, now a shopping arcade, was closed for the day but it looked an attractive building on the outside. The Town Hall is an imposing building. There are some beautiful modern buildings too of concrete structures, glass facades and decorative sculptures.
After such a splendid time in the Dales, it is a pity to end my trip in Leeds which I view as rather boring and lifeless. At least, that’s the impression on a Bank Holiday. Occasionally, one may pass by a few pedestrians but mostly the streets are deserted and the shops are closed. It’s a strange feeling. When I am in a crowded city I yearn for the quietness of the mountains or the expanses of the countryside; but today I prefer the familiar face of a bustling city. A city that’s deserted is eerie. Worse still, I may have to pass by Leeds for my next trip to the Dales.
Expenses
| Accommodation £ | Food £ | Transport £ | Others £ | Total £ | |
| Fri, 23 Dec | - | 20.00 | 30.00 | - | 50.00 |
| Sat, 24 Dec | 08.50 | 02.50 | 10.00 | 01.00 | 22.00 |
| Sun, 25 Dec | 08.50 | - | - | - | 08.50 |
| Mon, 26 Dec | 08.50 | - | - | - | 08.50 |
| Tue, 27 Dec | 08.50 | 07.50 | - | - | 16.00 |
| Wed, 28 Dec | 09.00 | 01.00 | - | 01.00 | 11.00 |
| Thu, 29 Dec | 15.50 | 17.00 | - | 01.50 | 34.00 |
| Fri, 30 Dec | 32.001 | 08.00 | 06.00 | - | 46.00 |
| Sat, 31 Dec | 29.00 | 06.50 | 02.00 | 07.002 | 44.50 |
| Sun, 01 Jan | 22.501 | - | 05.50 | - | 28.00 |
| Mon, 02 Jan | - | 02.00 | 08.00 | - | 10.00 |
| Total | 142.00 | 64.50 | 61.50 | 10.50 | 278.50 |
| 1 With breakfast 2 Guide books at Fountains Abbey and Studley Royal |
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