Yesterday we went off to Byland Abbey, not quite sure as to where it was and we called in at The Temples and Rievaulx Abbey on the way. We were actually heading for Old Byland village, which had had the abbey there for a short time in the 12th century. In this quiet village we asked the postman, and he gave us explicit directions as to where to go. So we travelled along the tiny lanes, only to have him chasing after us because he thought we might have meant Rievaulx, kind person that he was.
| Old Byland |
The countryside at its radiant best, the steep wooded hills enclosing small valleys and old cottages. Very different to where we live in Yorkshire, both abbeys are only a few miles from each other, and yet are defensively hidden below these hills. Of course not from King Henry and his need for money and divorce in 1538 at the Suppression of the monastic houses.
Byland is a large abbey, but its early beginning was as a Savigniac foundation and it only later changed to the great Cistercian order that it became and became one of the largest Northern abbeys up here.
Imagine a small town, for this is what these abbeys became, self reliant, bringing its food in from the surrounding granges, there would be a bakery, brewery and infirmary for all the pilgrims that arrived, divided between the proper monks and the lay monks who did all the work.
Looking now at what remains and the size and sheer effort of work strikes you, the stone was carted off to build cottages and houses for the rich, the times were not so different to now, the 'fat cats' moved in, took over the wealth, whilst the monks were disbanded with small pensions, if they were lucky enough and escaped the hangsman rope.
The ruins were once roofed, the monks moving silently amongst the rooms, walking round the great covered cloister, warming their hands in the warming room, perhaps after working in cold conditions scribing books. A peaceful life, the life of the farms chugging steadily along. We excavated a priory once in Norfolk, returning each summer to excavate, the area down by a canal that had been dug to bring the boats up with their goods to the barns. A round brewery with kilns was excavated, just scars on the surface of the soil, the spill of stone from old walls. And if you have ever drawn a metre thick medieval wall accurately you will know that a straight line was not necessarily aimed for.
The ruins were once roofed, the monks moving silently amongst the rooms, walking round the great covered cloister, warming their hands in the warming room, perhaps after working in cold conditions scribing books. A peaceful life, the life of the farms chugging steadily along. We excavated a priory once in Norfolk, returning each summer to excavate, the area down by a canal that had been dug to bring the boats up with their goods to the barns. A round brewery with kilns was excavated, just scars on the surface of the soil, the spill of stone from old walls. And if you have ever drawn a metre thick medieval wall accurately you will know that a straight line was not necessarily aimed for.
| the half moon of the great rose window |
| capitals lovingly carved so long ago |
| The warming room |
| The sacristy |
We also saw the only white horse in Yorkshire, very disappointing. Can you make it out on that steep slope, think the original must have been painted on hanging from ropes.
http://www.english-heritage.org.uk/visit/places/byland-abbey/history/



