Durham, Always in my Heart

Long, long ago, back when the Pope was an altar boy, I was invited by Durham University for an interview to study for a degree, dependent on my A-Level results. I travelled there by train alone, having never previously been north of Birmingham, and as I looked out of the window I increasingly realised that I was in what felt like another country. Once you get past Darlington, the appearance of the countryside and the buildings is very foreign to a southerner. More stark, raw, tough, uncompromising – and that’s the nature of the people there as well. I thought it was wonderful, and fell in love with the city as I alighted from the train, greeted by the sight of the wonderful Norman cathedral and castle. I felt that it was a magic place, and I still do.

Last week, visiting my sister who lives in the area, I went to Durham on a day trip. We had lovely weather for it. Here is the River Wear, where we walked along the riverbank on the way to Prebends Bridge, just by my college, St. Cuthbert’s, named after the patron saint of Northumbria, associated with the monastery of Lindisfarne. Durham is one of the very few collegiate universities in England, the others being Cambridge, Oxford and London.

The view of the cathedral from the riverbank

The university boathouse, bearing the graffiti ‘uni students are puffs’. The eternal town/gown conflict is alive as ever!

Me, walking in the footsteps of my youth

At the top of Prebends Bridge is St. Cuthberts, with its imposing doorway.

My room at the top, when I stayed in college. It was between the main building and the bar. All the colleges in this road are old houses, it’s a lovely place.

You can see St. Cuthbert’s through the archway

And so to Palace Green, home of the castle and the cathedral, with its famous door-knocker whereby one could claim sanctuary.

My sister Terry in the foreground

The bones of the Venerable Bede are laid to rest here

When I first went to Durham University, the city had the 1970s ‘right to work’ posters everywhere, and many of the shops and pubs were run by ex-miners – very much the north of Thatcher’s Britain. It was not unusual for some pubs (like the Shakespeare, above!) to only allow women in to sit in a little room called ‘the snug’, which they would enter via a side door. Women were not allowed to go to the bar to order drinks in these pubs, and had to bring a man with them to do so. Now, I can enter through the front door if I want to!