Reeeeeally old stuff

When I was small - 9 or ten - the thing I always told people when they asked what I wanted to be when I grew up was "historian". For years I was obsessed with historical novels, and I dragged my patient parents and sister into every Historic Places Trust house we came across when we were away on holiday somewhere.

I've always been a bit of a history geek. And here I am in some of the most historically significant places in the world and I'm sure you can imagine; I am a pig in mud. Sandy is being very patient. "It's SO OLD!" I keep naively exclaiming. But I can't help it; my little brain is truly blown by the thought that I am walking around buildings and institutions where for eight hundred years or more, have walked before me.

The first place I came over all geeky was Trinity College, at Cambridge. It was a happy accident that we decided to visit this college and not any of the others. It was founded by Henry VIII, top of my list of fascinating Tudor monarchs. He started building in 1546 (out of several older colleges dating from the 1300s!) but bits of it weren't finished until Elizabeth was on the throne, or even later. Imagine if he'd known the daughter of the first wife he grew to despise and got rid of by executing would end up taking over his throne. Ha! Take that, Henry.


In the chapel I looked down at my feet walking on the smooth stones and wondered what Elizabeth's little Tudor shoes would have looked like stepping here, and if she'd walked where I was walking. The Chapel was home to statues of some of the notable members of the college, Sir Isaac Newton chief among them. I preferred Francis Bacon, though. He looked very comfortable as he reclined casually on his marble chair. "He's pissed after dinner", said Sandy. He wore some funky shoes, too.

The courtyard at Trinity is the one made famous in the movie Chariots of Fire, when they raced around its perimiter. We discovered this never actually happened as in the movie (isn't that always the way) but Lord Burghley did actually make the run on his own in 1937.

Walking around Cambridge, if you mentally blocked out the hordes of tourists, was very atmospheric. The river Cam, the people punting (although this was something of a zoo; punt collisions were common) and the pretty gardens were all extremely pleasant. The lawns were incredibly beautiful, and I was dying to take my shoes off and walk around on them. Except there were little "please keep off the grass" signs everywhere. What do they think people are going to do to the grass, I wonder? I know from experience that grass does spring back after you lie on it.

If I babbled on about the amazing history at Cambridge, at York Minster I was stunned into an awed silence. The sheer scale of this magnificent building, the incredible designs on the windows and the craftsmanship of the stonework; it was really too much to take in on a single visit. And the age... again, the age. It truly blows my mind that here is a building that was started in the 1200s (1200s!!) and that eight hundred years ago people were walking around, praying, talking, just as I was now. People who didn't have sanitation, penicillin, newspapers; stood where I was standing, and their Medieval city sat outside where now there are shops and internet cafes.

In the Undercroft they have a really fascinating audio tour which takes you into the background and history of the Minster. I totally love audio tours, ever since I did a great one once at Alcatraz. You get so much information in such an accessible way. Here we learned York Minster stands on the ruins of an ancient Roman ruin and a Norman cathedral as well. So for a thousand years, people have been praying here on this site.

As we were finishing in the undercroft, Evensong started in the Quire. Monday is the only day when evening service is sung; it was quite spiritual, really, standing and listening to the beautiful voices raised in prayer as the light faded and the tourists dissipated.

Sandy and I - although neither of us is religious - have an ongoing banter about Protestant versus Catholic practices. I was forced to point out in my best know-it-all fashion (after reading the entire brochure) that this magnificent church was of course originally a Catholic church, all the way until old Henry VIII decided he really needed to conceive a son and he needed a new queen to do it. It was a shame, I continued to lecture Sandy later at the pub, that in Tudor times they blamed the woman for not delivering sons. No-one thought to question whether the problem may have been not with the multiple unfortunate wives but actually with the bloated and spoiled Henry. Way to go Elizabeth, I say.