Eleventh

I had plenty of time to re-acquaint myself with the delights of historic York, while poor Jess had to make the short journey up to the University on a daily basis to earn her crust. My personality is not really suited to full-time labour, or any work come to that – I just like to wander the streets and reflect on things, like a vagrant of the mind.

Thanks to the small inheritance left by my dad I’d escaped one of York’s major employers, the City Council, and what I considered to be the nonsense of targets and worksheets. If I had any kind of definite role it was now that of the traditional ‘housewife’, with the vague expectation that I would conjure from a few fresh and not so fresh ingredients, an evening meal for my beloved.

It’s impossible to live in a place like York and not be aware of all those that have inhabited the city before – to some these are literally ghosts marching as Roman soldiers in the basement of the Treasurer’s House, but mostly the awareness comes from the surviving architectural history, or the rubbish excavated from places like the famous Viking dig.

‘And what did you do today dear ?’

‘I like to forget about my job when I get home’ said Jess wearily.

‘Does any real work go on at that campus ? Apart from folk like the cleaners and cooks.’

‘I guess it’s not heavy engineering or traditional manufacturing; the cutting edge of science and thought perhaps.’

‘I thought it was all students getting pissed and jumping in the lake.’

‘I can’t deny that’s part of it. What have you been up to anyway ?’

‘I strolled across Ouse Bridge, explored the streets off Micklegate.’

‘Sounds exciting.’

‘Not many shopping opportunities where I went; wouldn’t be any good for you.’

‘I once went in the Cock and Bottle over there, it’s supposed to be haunted.’

‘So they say.’

‘Don’t you believe in all that ?’

‘I think most apparitions come from the person’s imagination.’

‘Maybe.....I’m not so sure.’

Even though we had somehow got onto the subject of haunting, Jess seemed a little more cheerful, though always reluctant to talk about her work, as if she was employed at a top-secret military research establishment.

‘This concoction is interesting. Is it yesterday’s lamb ?’

‘Sprinkled with some of those spices we got mail order.’

‘Yes, I can definitely taste something exotic.’

‘That might be the Marmite.’

Fourth

In the early part of our relationship in York I vividly remember the Sunday we walked around the entire city walls, not that they are entire, but still pretty substantial remains stretching for about four or five miles. You can get some fantastic views of what’s left of old York, and particularly the massive Minster that dominates everything – architecturally, not spiritually any more.

These kind of small adventures seem so easy when you’re just starting out with somebody, it’s only later on when it becomes difficult to rouse yourself from in front of the bloody telly. Happy memories of exploring York as a child are so powerful in the mind that at some point you will always go back and walk the walls again, even if there’s a gap of twenty years.

Jess is from Milton Keynes, which means she doesn’t have any childish thoughts stored away about Romans, Vikings, the Middle Ages, and all the way through to the age of steam and beyond. She is good at showing a polite interest though, while always at the back of her mind harbouring guilty ideas about visiting a new fashion shop or trendy bar.

‘This is one of the best views you’ll ever get.’

‘What, anywhere ?’

We were standing on the walls not far from the railway station, looking back over the Ouse towards York Minster.

‘In England anyway.’

‘My legs are tired. Why do they have all these gaps in the walls that mean you have to keep going up and down steps ? And they don’t even have fences to stop you falling off in some places !’ complained Jess.

‘Just try and enjoy yourself; at least the sun is shining. We can stop for a coffee in a little while.’

I knew that Jess was secretly enjoying our long walk, or that’s what I half-believed; and I was planning a surprise visit to the posh cafe Betty’s, even though we were heading in the opposite direction towards Micklegate Bar (one of the places they used to impale the severed heads of enemies).

Those were the days when we didn’t even feel the need to go abroad for stimulation – a clear, bright Sunday morning and an invigorating stroll with the beloved was more than enough. It was quite fun walking too close to tourists on the walls as well, so they almost toppled-over onto the grassy banks below. Round Old York Green Banks I View – that’s how we learnt the colours of the rainbow, in the days before Internet and mobile phone.

We did eventually duck into Betty’s when it started spitting with rain, and shared a Fat Rascal with some rich, strong Peruvian coffee. I couldn’t help noticing how good the waitresses looked in their black dresses and freshly laundered white pinafores – perhaps something we could try at home !