Summer Vacation - Day 3

I am in the customs line at the Manchester Airport when a woman about my age strikes up a conversation as we patiently wait. “Excuse me,” she says, “but I notice that you are wearing hiking boots. Are you planning on hiking while in England?” “Not really, “ I reply, “ but I plan to be tramping through old graveyards and hiking into remote areas searching for dead ancestors.” She said she couldn’t help but notice that I seem to be traveling alone. I confirm her observation and she says how glad she is to find another woman, such as she, traveling alone. Her father, it appears, was aghast at the notion of her traveling solo. To me, it was no big deal. My husband was invited along, as was my father and his wife – but all declined for various reasons. And I wasn’t really going to be alone the whole time as I was meeting up with cousin Dale at the end of the week in Scotland. But for the first couple days, I would be by myself in York.

I had booked a room for 2 days in York which travelers reviews had reported was in an old private home converted to an inn. “Old, shabby, and in need of sprucing up” was how it was described but I found it to suit my taste completely. I certainly did not want to stay in a modern or artistically stale hotel and I found the old style decorations charming.

After locating my accommodations, I set off down the road towards the medieval city of York. I had visited York in 2005 with Aunt Janet and had felt at the time that our visit was too abbreviated to satisfy me. The first thing I did was locate Micklegate Bar – one of the ancient entrances into the city and the one traditionally used by the reigning monarch. As luck would have it, my hotel was on the road that led directly to that ancient entryway into the walled city. I was keen to see the gate where King Richard III’s father and younger brother Edmund’s severed heads had been displayed after losing a battle for Yorkist control of the throne. This event, of course, was very early in the struggle for the throne, known as The War of the Roses, which pitted the Lancastrians against the Yorkists – both sides of the family being descended from that great English King, Edward III.

The guard tower of Micklegate Bar had been converted to a tacky little museum which I cheerfully paid 5 pounds to explore. The gatekeeper was a wonderful old fellow who engaged me in a conversation about The War of the Roses – having no other visitors present and obviously glad for the opportunity to expound upon his theories as to who he thought killed the “Princes in the Tower”. We both agreed that a likely candidate was the Duke of Buckingham who had both opportunity and motive.

After quitting Micklegate Bar, I walked atop the city wall over to the ruins of St. Mary’s Abbey – once the wealthiest monastery in the north of England. It was a beautiful, sunny afternoon and the park and gardens surrounding the abbey were filled with young people lying in the grass and picnicking. I determined this was an ideal spot for me to relax for a while and eat a sandwich. I then visited the Yorkshire museum which was on the grounds and learned more about the abbey itself and the excavations which had revealed a Roman occupation of the spot long ago.

By the time I finished with the museum, I was in desperate need of a nap. So I returned to the Inn and took a cold shower and slept. I would have preferred a warm shower but that option was not available to me…only cold water would come out of the tap! After 2 hours sleeping, I returned to the streets in search of a simple supper – which was not to be found. I settled for McDonalds – of all horrible things! I never willingly choose such a ghastly meal – but it was getting late and most places were closed or did not offer the quick bite I was looking for! I had visions of my daughter and husband ridiculing me and vowed silently that I wouldn’t tell anyone!