The ‘Kynren’

Recently we took a holiday to the North-East of England, a land of castles and cathedrals; myths and legends.   It was a holiday that turned out to be memorable for many reasons.   First we were practically drowned at Housteads Roman Fort when the heavens decided to fill the reservoirs of the North in one morning;.  Wet through took on a different meaning when it really did mean getting your vest soaked!!  Secondly, two people went down with Covid so that masks and sanitisers came back into our lives.  Our precautions didn’t give us much defence though as twelve people succumbed in total!!

We awed at the magnificence of Durham Cathedral, we wandered through the quaint Shambles area of York, we saw the sun as we explored Alnwick Cathedral, we thought about queuing at Betty’s in Harrogate but sat on a wall and had an ice cream instead and we leant on walking sticks and wheelies as we chatted and laughed with friends. But came then possibly the best history lesson you could ever  have.  The piste de résistance, the reason why we were here, the pearl in our oyster, the crème de la crème; our trip back in time.

We were at the Kynren!  Armed with waterproofs, hats, gloves and the occasional rug we set off ready to be mesmerised as England’s story unfolded in front of us. Taken by the hand by young Arthur we were led through the annals of time in a whirlwind of colour, dance and music.

We watched our island being invaded by the Romans, the Normans, the Vikings and the Scots. We saw knights on white chargers jousting at full tilt & medieval ladies dance with quiet dignity.  Henry VIII stood in his magnificence gazing into the future as Elizabeth I sailed into sight on a Royal Barge.

We saw the Renaissance, the Reformation, and marvelled as our country became the leader of the world’s development during the Industrial Revolution.
Victoria (who did look amused) waved greeting from her Royal Landau, a stern Albert alongside her. Edward and the Georges came next and we watched the heartache of the wives, mothers and children who waved their menfolk off to war.

Poppies adorned the faux castle behind the players and changed subtly to a more recent loss as our Queen’s face smiled down at us.  The fireworks began, shooting stars into the sky with ooohs and ahhs taking us back to childhood days and our own bonfire parties.

It was 90 minutes of pure magic and well worth the long walk back to the coach.