Thirteen Hundred Years of History

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 596, 23 February 1929, Page 18

Thirteen Hundred Years of History

KHE quaint old county town of Durham is built on a hill in the midst of grassy undulating country. Even its central square is at a eteep angle, and the little byways and nlleys leading from the Cathedral Close and the Castle are precipitous end twisted. These narrow winding ways are cobbled, and remind one of the days when jolly apprentices in leather jerkins barricaded the streets with their staves when a pretty wench tried to pass by. The houses aud inns possess overbanging upper storeys round which the bleak north winds groan. Little gusts come swirling up the streets, tossing the dust high into the air. But iu the open space between the Castle and the Cathedral, all is still. Xlere the short grass, and one or two forgotten graves, feeling no disturbing blast. The sacred spot is guarded by two great facades, aud even the wild dare not frolic there. Inside the church all is silent until the air vibrates with the full tones of the clock in the belfry. This tower pi oue of the newest parts of the

ancient group of buildings. It was reconstructed “as recently” as 1470, when the original tower was destroyed by lightning. Those who have never seen one of these mighty cathedrals can scarcely imagine the extraordinary feeling that stones and mortar can produce. In the dim aisles, "lighted only by the soft glow from the high stained-glass windows, even thoughtless visitors instinctively liush their voices, while those more seriously inclined, experience a breathless sensation of awe. Durham Cathedral, perhaps more than any other in England, has this peculiar uplifting atmosphere. Its gigantic pillars, high arches aud dark chapels are steeped In sanctity. In the Galilee Chapel is the tomb of the Venerable Bede, that lovable old man who finished the last chapter of his translation of the Bible the night he died. The ceiling of the chapel is frescoed, and is said to rival in grandeur the lovely frescoed chapels of Italy. Randolt Flambard was another man associated with Durham. To him belongs the honour of having built j the beautifully proportioned nave. He is supposed, too, to have made vast ]

improvements to the fortifications of the Castle. These, it might be mentioned, were very necessary to Flambard’s safety. He was a great favourite of William 11., but was detested, by the people, and went in constant fear of his life. Oliver Cromwell was no lover of cathedrals. The beauty of an edifice, and the glory of tradition were lost upon him. In the belief that buildings were meant for use, he ordered that the soldiers who were captured at the Battle of Dunbar should be detained in Durham Cathedral. The damage that was done to the beautiful oak doors, the nine begemmed altars and the wonderfully carved oak choir-stalls, has never been properly repaired, though the Bishop of Durham, at the time of the Restoration, dill splendid work in this direction. There is a winding staircase iu the choir that leads into the wall of one of the turrets, a wall about 14ft thick, aud from a leopard squint can be seen the clear, swift waters of the Wear, which, at evening, appears like a stream of saffron, pink and crimson, hurrying to the sea. The majestic Castle on the other

side of the close was once the oflicial residence of the Bishops of Durham. The fortress that in days of old commanded the valley of the Wear, and blocked the way to Scotland, is now a stronghold of learning, the Durham University. The present palace of the bishop is at a small village some six miles away, named Bishop Auckland. In the vast oak-pannelled hall of the Castle were once held councils of war, banquets and church pageants. Now the blackened rafters ring with the joyous sounds of students’ capping festivities, amateur theatricals and frivolous debates. . The gardens where once grave prelates walked, and secret duels were fought, are now transformed into tennis courts and croquet lawns. At one time, a blast on the trumpet at the gate would bring 100 men-at-arms hurrying into the courtyard, but now, the only guardian of the fearsome gateway is a spectacled person, who quietly inquires one’s business.

There is bustle in quaint Durham nowadays. Motor-buses honk on their way through the narrow streets, and on market, days, farmers’ gigs and herds of fat cattle mingle with the motor-cars of the country folk. Ofttimes the skies are grey, for here and there tall chimneys rise, creating a smoky pall. Gone are the coach and four of yesterday, gone the archers who were the terror of the town, gone the real importance and grandeur of Durham. Yet the north country folk who live there are just as proud of their Cathedral and Castle as were their ancestors. Human nature changes little with the passing of the centuries, and this generation of Durham folk are as warm-hearted, open-handed, good-humoured aud contented as were their forbears. They go their way serenely, undaunted by the fact that from these walls, 1,300 years of English history look down upon thefu.