A Chilly Easter Sunday

When I was a child, Easter Sunday would invariably mean being decked out in new sandals and a summer dress. The youngest returned home for Easter this year but, apart from the fact that she'd never let me choose shoes or clothing for her, the temperature was such that there was no way I would even have dared suggest we wear such items. 

Instead layered up in a multitude of fleeces we visited Bylands Abbey (one of the many monasteries scattered around the Yorkshire countryside that have been in ruins since Henry VIII embarked on his policy of dissolution and plunder). 

 

From there and despite the low temperature we made our way to the White Horse, a renowned landmark carved out on the hillside to the east of Thirsk in the 19th century by, according to some accounts, a local schoolmaster and his pupils. Sadly it was looking rather grey and supports erected to prevent slippage of the stones were doubling as a collection point for wind borne litter. It's due a re-paint and spruce up this year but apparently in the interests of health and safety the Forestry Commission, rather than the group of volunteers who have been caring for it, are to carry out the work in future, suitably dressed, harnessed and tethered. I do wonder if some of those school children who helped in its construction (no ropes or harnesses involved presumably) wore sandals and dresses, of the Victorian type of course. Nevertheless, at the bottom of the hill, we spotted their hardy descendants queuing for ice-cream despite the 4 degree chill!

Does age (as well as more than 150 years of Health and Safety) bring commonsense or wimpishness? Not only did I seek to be cocooned in layers on the outside but the idea of removing gloves to devour frozen fare held no appeal. My nose alone was icy enough for my taste.

The benefit for us of walking in the cold was reaped instead when we re-entered the warmth  of indoors and conjured up a pot of tea.