The Number Field

Whenever we visit a place that had its heyday long ago, when the life of the people who lived then and there was very different than the life we lead today, I wonder about the way in which technology has progressed through history. Why wasn’t the printing press invented in Roman times? Why wasn’t electricity harnessed much earlier? Could it have happened? What would life have been like if one or more of these advances had come about earlier? Would that have allowed the wealthy and powerful–those with the means to build castles and cathedrals–to gain even more wealth and power, or would there have been social upheaval, leading to a much earlier establishment of the middle class?

Skipton Castle is one of the oldest castles in this area, having been built in 1090. Part of it is still in use as a private residence, but much of it is open for tourism. It’s close enough for an impromptu excursion, so we headed over there on a sunny Saturday morning when we didn’t have any other plans. We were in luck; there happened to be a troop of English Civil War reenactors encamped at the castle for the weekend. On our way in, they informed us that there would be some demonstrations and exhibitions later in the morning. Within the castle, some of the most interesting features were the giant cooking fireplace, the ancient yew tree, and the turret (called a “Princess tower” by Elena) where the effects of the English Civil War are still visible–the wall was partially deconstructed during that time and rebuilt differently afterwards. As we looked out on the castle grounds from above, we could tell that the troops were gathering for their activities. We hurried through the remaining rooms and out to where the reenactors were starting their demonstration. We were standing pretty close as they lined up, pointed their guns forward, and pulled the triggers in unison. I didn’t realize how much the boom would frighten and shock Roman and Elena. They started crying and ran towards Jenny, who guided them to the safety of the castle gift shop. I followed them a few minutes later. We browsed through the gift shop until it seemed like there was a break in the action, then emerged. As we were deciding what to do next, Jenny noticed that the barrage was not quite over. She yelled “run for the exit,” and they managed to be outside the gate before the next boom. It was still pretty frightening for the children, but Jenny’s promise of treats helped them forget their fears pretty quickly.

One weekend of every fall is designated a heritage open day, which means that many of the historic sites don’t charge admission on that day. This year, we decided to visit Temple Newsam. According to Wikipedia, the estate is ancient; it was included in the Domesday Book in the late 11th century. The house itself dates back to the sixteenth century. It’s impressive, of course, but doesn’t have the same sense of grandeur as many of the other mansions. The audio tour of the house was unusual, because it criticized the design choices of one of the owners. In one sitting room, the wallpaper was a prized gift from the Prince of Wales, with a hand-painted Chinese design. The lady of the house wasn’t happy with that, and had bird illustrations from Audubon’s The Birds of America cut from its pages and pasted to the walls, making it both less attractive and much less valuable. The tour was very modern; some of the servants’ quarters were on display. Elena and Roman’s favorite part of the house tour was the room where they got to dress up in period costumes, but their favorite part of the day was when we returned to the nice playground that was adjacent to the car park.

Bolton Abbey is another nearby place we visited on a whim one Saturday when we needed to get out of the house. It was one of the many casualties of the Dissolution of the Monsastaries by Henry VIII, but unlike Fountains Abbey, part of Bolton Abbey has been restored and is currently in use as a church. There was even a wedding in progress when we visited. A ruined abbey is a good place to be with the children, because they can run and jump around, and we don’t have to worry too much, although we do keep them away from the crypts, graves, and anything that has a “no climbing” sign. But after half an hour of looking around and taking pictures, we had exhausted all the angles of the Abbey and were ready to explore the grounds. The stepping stones looked interesting, but the water was too high for us to take a chance. Instead, we found a good picnic spot on the riverbank, where there were plenty of rocks for Roman, Elena and me. Sometimes they don’t think about whether there’s a person in between them and the river before they release the stone. I’d like to think that children many centuries ago did the exact same thing, throwing rocks in the river, while their fathers worked on building the on the hillside up above. After a leisurely lunch mixed in with the rock-throwing, we decided to try a walk on the trail that went upstream from where we were. It was two miles in total, which is ambitious for us, and not long after we set Elena warned us that she needed to use the toilet. We pressed on, hoping to find restrooms at the halfway point. It was not an easy walk but there were distractions on the way, including some physical activity stations and a very interesting money tree. Elena did a great job, as did Roman, and we made it without incident. We rewarded ourselves with ice cream before the walk back, during which we had some more nice views of the abbey.

I guess we had the appetite for one more abbey, this one on the coast in Whitby, with a beautiful view of the North Sea. This one had a different architectural feel, very Gothic; it’s easy to see why it was an inspiration for Bram Stoker’s Dracula. We met up with some friends there, and after the standard drill: touring the abbey, learning about its history–archaeological digs have recovered artefacts from as far back as the first abbey (established in the seventh century), eating lunch, running around, and taking lots of pictures, we descended into Whitby town, a charming seaside resort. It was hard to find parking on a Saturday afternoon, but we eventually found a spot near the monument to Captain James Cook, a son of Whitby who went on to be the first European to visit Hawaii and other parts of the Pacific isles. We did some of the traditional Whitby activities: walking out the quay to the lighthouse, playing on the beach and wading to the waters edge in our boots, eating fish and chips and ice creams, window shopping along the cobbled streets amidst the jewelry shops selling locally-produced jet bracelets and earrings. Much to Elena’s dismay, we abstained from some of the other attractions. She really, really wanted to go on one of the carnival rides, and repeatedly made her voice heard on that topic. We also wouldn’t let her ride on the ponies, and we kept making her walk and walk and walk. She was not always a happy girl. After an interlude during which we watched the swing bridge open up for a ship to pas through, we managed to coax her up the hill back to the car. I let her take a few pictures with the good camera, and she cheered up enough for us to have somepictures taken of all of us under the whalebone arch, with Whibty below and the abbey in the distance. The drive home in the failing light seemed long, especially when we encountered a very serious thunderstorm along the way. It was a relief to arrive home; I think we all slept well that night.