Of Northumberland and Scotland: Chapter 2. Castles

Once the sheep had passed, we drove on to Bamburgh Castle (pronounced BAM-b'ruh). I had an agenda in mind for this trip, beyond the joy of meeting Master William (shown at right with his doting Aunt P...isn't he the most adorable little kidlet? We think so), spending lots of quality time with David and Jane, and generally enjoying the hell out of the United Kingdom. I wanted to see castles.

We don't have castles in the the US. Castles are old. Very old. We're not an old country. Oh sure, people in New England would like you to think we're so historic, but that's just absurd. The longest we go back is the 17th century. The "castle" referred to in the city name Newcastle is a Norman Keep that dates to 1172. That's old. David took P and I to lunch one day, to a restaurant called Blackfriars in Newcastle. It traces its origins to 1239, and stands as the oldest dining room in England. In the United Kingdom, "old" isn't the time of George Washington, or even the Virginia Colony. Old is defined as "was this thing around before the English language existed." I had already seen Stonehenge on a previous trip, and that pretty much defines the term Antiquity. I had circled a couple castles on my list I wanted to see. David added many more.

First was Alnick Castle (pronounced "annick," rhyming with panic). Alnick may not sound familiar, but if you've seen any of the Harry Potter movies, that was the setting for Hogwarts. It was quite a sight, but in retrospect it was probably the least interesting castle we saw all week. Being a backdrop for a movie is fun, but that was about it. The adjacent town is quite lovely, intimate, and looks like a classic postcard of Olde England.

Between Alnick and Bamburgh was The Sheep Incident. Bamburgh Castle is more or less the prototype of what I always have in mind when I think "castle." It's enormous, is set way up on a hill with a commanding view of the surrounding countryside, and conveys an unmistakable and eloquent message: Go ahead. Try to attack me. I dare you. I am impregnable. I shall vanquish you and destroy you. Try anyway. I shall enjoy watching you die.

It has a presence that's both grand and intimidating, impressive and daunting. It probably helped that we saw it on a grey, damp, blustery afternoon. The skies were leaden, and it seemed to make Bamburgh seem even more imposing. The first vantage point was from the ocean front, with the cold North Sea biting at our faces as we climbed through the rough, tall beach grass to view Bamburgh sitting atop a rocky basalt ledge. No doubt about it, Bamburgh is an incredible sight. Imagine how it must have looked to anyone approaching the Norman behemoth in the 11th century. Later in the week, we met a lady whose daughter was married in Bamburgh Castle. Great spot for a wedding, don't you think?

After that, we drove up the coast, just outside of the town of Caster. There, we got out of the car and walked across a dramatic, nearly barren and desolate coastal headland landscape toward the remains of Dunstanburgh Castle. Dunstanburgh isn't your run of the mill structure, or even your garden variety castle. It was built in the 14th century, but within a couple centuries had already been abandoned and quickly devolved into a ruin. It's decayed over time, sitting alone in the middle of a nearly pristine oceanfront bluff, directly facing the North Sea. In its day it must have been truly enormous, and even largely destroyed it's impressive. However, I didn't like Dunstanburgh at all. To be more specific, Dunstanburgh scared the hell out of me.

It's very hard to describe, but I think my friend David put it best. Whereas Bamburgh threatens to destroy your body, Dunstanburgh, even centuries later, seems to emit a malevolent air of evil that isn't interested in killing you physically. It wants your soul. We approached it from a few miles away, and although the thing looked eerie from a distance, the closer we got to it, the stronger the air of something being not quite right seemed. In print, it probably sounds childish without experiencing it first hand, but I can honestly say I've never felt so anxious near a building (much less a ruined one) as I did Monday at Dunstanburgh Castle. I wasn't just chilled by the wind, rain and cold. Weather is weather, and it doesn't bother me. This was different. Something thoroughly awful happened there a very long time ago. There's a spooky reverberation, an echo if you will, that hasn't gone away over the centuries. I'm very glad we made that walk. Spending time with David is always a treat, and we had a great time along the way, but I never want to go back to that spot as long as I live. What I said that day (and I still believe) is that Dunstanburgh is the kind of place that will give you nightmares. Some things are better left abandoned.

Next chapter: Durham and Scotland