LOOKING AT JEWELS

An imposing, exceptionally tall figure stood at Dunstanburgh Castle, deep in thought. He stared at a roaring North Sea, contemplating ancient history, with its invasions across those raging tides and those never-ending conflicts in the land of Border Reivers and fortresses from glorious Bamburgh to a ruined Barnard Castle.

A slim, blond-haired character sat near a waterfall at High Force, almost deafened by the noise of the ceaseless cascade making its way to the mouth of the Tees, where he had earlier marvelled at the incredible engineering feat of the Transporter Bridge. He moved on -  to roam the harsh, wild, moors of Weardale, land of lead mines, and Methodism.

A vivacious, beautiful, young woman partied in a city, absorbed the buzz and atmosphere, stood for a moment in awe at the Big River with its accompanying bridges, and jumped into a taxi. She glanced out of the window at the football Cathedral on the Hill, as the driver took her home.

A couple, rekindling their first flush of romance, sat in a South Shields cafe, next to a bustling market, eavesdropping into the machine gun fire of a dialect, remnants of an old language. They wandered out to see a small memorial to Kirkpatrick, an emigre to Australia, a celebrated national hero Down Under, after his feats amidst the Anzac blood of Gallipoli in World War One.

A lone figure stared out from Penshaw Monument, aware that the astounding view used to be dominated by pit wheel after pit wheel spinning. He later  explored the Causey Arch Bridge, and toured some of the old wagonway routes near the Bowes Railway Museum in Springwell Village. He thought of the sheer volumes of the Black Diamonds, , which used to trundle along those paths on their way out of the region, to provide the coal for the country and beyond.

A dark-haired woman, with fierce dark eyes to match, sat with her boyfriend in Washington Village, so intrigued by the Old Hall there and its history.

A small group trailed along the northern outpost of the Roman Empire, looking over a Wall, thinking of how the frontier peoples must have lived, and then returned to Wallsend itself, where those Hadrian remnants met up with a rich shipbuilding past.

A married couple stood captivated, on a hot July day, gazing at Durham Cathedral, as the Seat of St Cuthbert watched over a Miners Gala parade marching past with brass bands , painted banners, accompanied occasionally to the wonderful echo of Northumbrian pipes. One of many festivals representing Northumbrian defiance and culture.

 A solitary figure sat in awe at Holy Island, Lindisfarne, drove down to Jarrow and Monkwearmouth ,  and wondered why she could not find Bede's Gospels in this ancient kingdom.

Yet another couple explored the beautiful Tyne Valley, stopping off at Stephenson's Cottage, and looked up the old railway streets of Jack Common's Heaton.

That  imposing, exceptionally tall figure back up at Dustanburgh Castle had long since gone home, after a taste of Craster Kippers, and a tour of the isolated Cheviot Hills.

Before he left, he whispered to his friend. You should keep quiet about all these Northumbrian Jewels, he said. Otherwise, you will be invaded again, this time by tourists from all over Europe.

He was German. And the others? Spanish, Swedish, Italian, Danish, and American friends of this writer. All  fell in love with a proud, resilient, kingdom. All shared a common view that this Northumbrian land was unique.

And their host? He shared their opinion. He still does.

BRIAN HALL

BRIEF NOTE

Brian was born in Penshaw, then part of old County Durham, in 1957. Aside from student days in Liverpool, and London, along with a spell working abroad, he has spent most of his life in his native region. Brian can be contacted on 0191 265 5576 or mobile 0755 166 4060.