St Bees

After a long day's travel and a walk, what do you do in the evening?
Go for a stroll, of course.

So, on the first evening of our Coast (Half-Way to) Coast, we pottered through St Bees to the Priory. It was dusk, the first streetlights appearing, and the birds ceasing to sing as we walked around the pink stone church. The 12th century Norman door is worn but magnificent, and out of habit and interest, we tried to open it. Much to our surprise, it wasn't locked, so we tip-toed inside.

It was (I think) the first time that I had been alone in a dark church, with no lights inside and only a dull nightfall outside. It was quiet, hushed, anechoic. The church is plain inside, Spartan, bare stone walled with little decoration: a style which I prefer over the rococo ornamentation of High Church and Catholic places. My gods are of simple things and high places. As we moved forwards, single spotlights clicked on and showed us where to walk in the deserted aisles. The semi-dark and quiet made it a spiritual place, much more so than if we had seen it lit or in daytime.

Then we heard footsteps.
We were by the door, when a rumpled, flushed forty-ish man pushed open the door. We guessed that he had seen the lights and had arrived to investigate, but that wasn't the case. He almost jumped when he pushed open the door and found us there, but calmed when we turned out to be middle-aged greying oldies rather than young vandals. And, since he turned out to be the Priory organist and rather drunk, he insisted upon showing us the whole building, which was rather wonderful with its old memorial brasses and tombs. In fact, it was difficult and embarrassing to extricate ourselves from his over-enthusiasm, but we did so and were most grateful for the tour. So we walked slowly back to our B+B, to be fresh for the second stage of the walk in the morning.


:o)