Christmas in York
Winter. Magical and melancholy, especially when Christmas is stretching its tingly icy fingers towards you. It’s a magical time for children full of excitement and dreams of Santa, but the adults seem to see it as drudgery and extra work. If only they could remember what it was like to be wrapped up warm, staring through the lights on the tree imagining a whole world of elves, and fairies that live in the flames of the fireplace. Okay, maybe that’s taking it a bit too far, but am I the only one who melts when they hear the faint toffee-silk voice of Nat King Cole singing us our way around Boots? Maybe I am. But, you know I think winter and Christmas is the best time to take a step back and enjoy it. It’s even a great time to go away and get away from the hum drum of life. Who needs sun and San Miguel when you can enjoy the icy blue skies and the silvery shard of a slight moon on a wintry night?
We decided we would take a motorhome to one of the most magical places I’ve ever heard of. Take a guess. Narnia? Hogwarts? Lapland? No, of course not, we don’t go anywhere where there aren’t campsites, toilet disposal points and pubs. So we chose York. I know there are no fawns or lions or broomsticks or magical train platforms but we like it and it is the most amazing place in winter. The whole city is like stepping back through time, slipping back into some Dickensian book. The streets are cobbled and the shops lean into each other like huddled old people passing the time of day. Every where you look there is the reminder of a long-ago Christmas, almost close enough to touch as if it is still happening behind a shifting curtain of time. These are the Christmas’s we never knew but long to experience. They are the Christmas’s our great, great Grandparents had.
They say York is one of the most haunted cities in the UK and the Golden Fleece is the most haunted pub. I know this and can also vouch for it. So can my husband, poor thing. After a few drinks he made his way bravely to the toilets – after I refused to wait for him outside (of course I did, I don’t make a habit of hanging around men’s loos). He emerged some time later rather shaken and kind-of ‘whimpering’ in a puppy dog way. “Get your bags” he ordered and we were off. Apparently whilst he was in there the chandelier began to swing and the lights went off. He wasn’t drunk and he is not disposed to fantastical imaginings. I believe him, so unless the pub staff have a wicked sense of humour -be aware.
I know you might think going camping in winter is a bit weird, but waking up to the snow in your cosy motorhome is one of the delights of doing it. Pulling on your wellies and coat and visiting somewhere new is what it’s all about.
We visited the market in the centre of York. It’s a continental type affair that smells like a German Kristmarkt with its pretzels and gingerbread and cooked sausages. You could be forgiven for believing you are in Nuremberg or the Mosel Valley at the little markets they have there in the windy snow covered streets. There are marquees with tasters of Scottish Malt’s and Christmas cheeses and all the things that take you back to Christmas’s long ago. It’s good to get a little glimpse and enjoy the nostalgia.
After the markets you can do a ‘ghost walk’. This was great, except my husband thought he was now better qualified than the guide, remember the Golden Fleece? It was really good fun and quite creepy. Later on we sat at a table in a tearoom outside the Minster. The night was really crisp and there was a purple haze around everything, the whole evening felt mauve and misty and still. Suddenly through the stillness and echoing around the ancient spires we heard a choir rehearsing. It must have been evensong and everyone seemed to fall quiet and become part of the singing. It felt like we had slipped through a passage where there was no passing of time, just that moment alone. It was a moment in my life I will never forget, filed away in my memory like someone would file photos in a secret box under the bed.
After days packed full of memories and reminders we stayed snug in our motorhome drinking mulled wine from the Christmas market and eating spicy chilli, watching the rain through the dark and wishing the weekend would go on, if not forever, then at least for a few more days.
So, winter is not that bad. It doesn’t need to be written off, let’s face-it if you do you are wasting half of your life- literally. We can still go and enjoy it and do all the things we feel we can only do in the summer, well apart from sunbathing on the beach. I regard myself as an optimist but even I wouldn’t be THAT daft. Winter just means it makes camping more exciting and interesting. It’s nice to be a bit crazy sometimes and remember being a kid.
