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Travel Story

The Northumberland Coast

England's northeastern corner is a wealth of rugged seascapes, fascinating history, and intriguing myths

Before leaving Newcastle Upon Tyne and heading north we checked the tide tables and decided to make a run for Holy Island. It's only 50 miles but the old coastal road, the scenic route that runs parallel to highway one, winds through a picturesque clutter of tiny villages – Amble, Lesbury, Craster, Bamburgh – each set against the windswept beaches of the North Sea and each beckoning to be explored. By the time we got to Craster, still 20 miles from our destination, it was clear we weren't going to make it.

Rather than chance the fate of many drivers who had been caught by rising tides on the long causeway leading to Holy Island we pulled in to the Jolly Fisherman, a Craster Pub that specializes in mouth-watering smoked herring, ordered lunch and revised our plans.

The Northumberland coast of northeastern England stretches from the eastern end of Hadrian's Wall north to the Scottish border. For more than a thousand years its sweeping, dune-covered beaches and rocky headlands were a no-mans-land between warring armies, and rival cultures. This is where the Romans, intent on pushing their empire northward, met the wild and independent tribes of the Highlands, who forced them to retreat behind the protection of their wall. The isolated Northumberland coast provided a sanctuary for monastic settlements but its beaches were also a favourite landing site for Viking raiders who came to plunder, pillage and head back to sea. And still later the Normans attempted to defend the coast by building massive fortified castles on strategic headlands overlooking the sea.

We decided to slow down and take in some of the historic sights along the way.

Leaving the car at Craster we set out on a narrow footpath leading to Dunstanburgh Castle. The blustery mile-long walk follows the coast past sandy bays and up to a basaltic crag where the wind-ravaged ruins overlook miles of deserted coastline. Once among the largest and most heavily fortified border castles in England, Dunstanburgh was built in 1316 as a defence against Scottish raiding parties. It was further enlarged and strengthened in the 14th century, during the War of the Roses, and then abandoned. But, even after six centuries of battering by North Sea storms the original wall and Gatehouse Keep are still a formidable presence.

From Caster we continued north along route 1340 and found a homey B&B in the village of Bamburgh. No more than a cluster of two-storey, red-roofed houses surrounded by green farmland, the village is dwarfed by its medieval castle. The massive, multi-towered structure sprawls across the entire top of a steep-sided rocky crag facing the town on one side and the ocean on the other. Built by the Normans after their conquest of Britain in AD 1066 the Keep, or inner stronghold, has walls up to 12 feet thick. During the Border Wars it was repeatedly besieged but never taken. But the invention of the cannon spelt the end for rock-and-mortar defenses. During the War of the Roses Bambrugh took a pounding and at the end of that conflict in AD 1486, like many other castles, it was abandoned and left in ruins for nearly 400 years.

The original Norman Keep, still standing in the centre of the complex, is now surrounded by an interconnected array of lesser towers, multi-leveled ramparts and grand hallways that were restored by the 19th Century industrialist, Lord Armstrong. His descendants still own and live somewhere in those great halls, though we saw no evidence of them among the vast displays of their personal possessions. The lavishly appointed interior rooms exude an over-polished opulence as inhospitable as the vast armoury full of medieval implements of war – almost as cold and uninviting as the dungeon itself.

But the battlements on the outer ramparts of the castle provide stunning views of the Northumberland coast. The broad surf-pounded beaches, backed by rolling sand dunes, are as wild and blustery as they were 1,200 years ago when Viking raiders surfed ashore here in their dragon-headed plank boats. In the far distance we can see the outline of Holy Island and, slightly closer, the barren, treeless rock of Farn Island where St. Cuthbert spent a good part of his life in solitary meditation.

The next morning when we drove out to Holy Island, better known as Lindisfarne, the narrow causeway linking it to the mainland was still littered with patches of seaweed and other flotsam abandoned by the receding tide. Because accommodation on the island is limited we secured a room at Britannia House, a traditional B&B, before setting out to explore the island's rich historical heritage.

Often referred to as the Cradle of England's Christianity, Holy Island has been an important religious centre since medieval times. Today its sandy northern half is set aside as a nature conservation area that abounds with seabirds. The 11th century Lindisfarne Priory and 13th century St. Mary the Virgin Church, share the rocky southern half of the island with a tiny fishing village, a scattering of rural houses, and flocks of grazing sheep. Half a mile away, looking for all the world like a picture from a fairy-tale, tiny Lindisfarne Castle stands high atop a slender crag of rock.

We spent hours rambling through the ruins of the Priory whose elaborate red and grey sandstone pillars and arches offer endless photo possibilities. But the history of Lindisfarne’s monastic community predates these 11th century ruins by hundreds of years – a story that is told in the nearby museum.

St. Aidan established the first monastery here in AD 635. He and his cadre of Irish monks set up a school to spread the Gospel among the "Pagans of Northumbria." But it was his successor, St. Cuthbert, whose name is most closely linked to Lindisfarne. His strange life and bizarre death have become a legend that continues, even now, to draw religious pilgrims to his final resting place in Durham.

Born to a wealthy English family in AD 635, the same year that Aidan founded his Lindisfarne monastery, young Cuthbert started life as a soldier-in-training, but at age 17 a career-altering event changed his life. While tending a neighbour’s sheep, he saw a bright light descend to earth and then return into the night sky. Convinced that he had witnessed a human soul being escorted to heaven Cuthbert set aside his cutlass and opted for the life of a monk.

He served several monastic roles before, at age 30, becoming the prior of Lindisfarne. For the next 10 years he ran the monastery and became an immensely popular spiritual guide and healer. But at age 40, believing he had been called to a life of solitude, he rowed off to the remote, storm-swept "Inner Farne," and set up a hermitage. Despite this seemingly anti-social behaviour his popularity never diminished. Those able to make the treacherous voyage continued to seek his blessing and ask for healing.

When Cuthbert died in AD 687 the monks carted his body back to Lindisfarne, stuffed it into a coffin, and set it aside to cure. They allowed 11 years for the remains to become a skeleton prior to holding an "Elevation" ceremony declaring Cuthbert's sainthood. But lo! – 11 years hence, when the coffin was opened they found, not a skeleton, but old Cuthbert's undecayed body staring out into the world – indeed a sign of great sainthood.

His grave became a shrine and his followers a cult. For the next century pilgrims flocked to seek his mute blessing. Then, in June AD 793, Lindisfarne was sacked by Viking raiders. Many of the monks were killed but those who escaped managed to cart Cuthbert's miraculously preserved body to safety on the mainland and ultimately to Durham. The magnificent 12th century Durham Cathedral was built as a shrine for his remains. And in 1104, 400 years after his death, his coffin was given a place of honour behind the High Alter. The Durham monks took a final peek under the lid and declared that St Cuthbert's worldly remains were indeed still intact. Thus assured of a continuous flow of gift-bearing pilgrims the coffin was sealed. And so it remained until 1827 when, after mouldering for more than a thousand years, Cuthbert was found to have finally become a skeleton.