Whitby: Mind your head! I did not hear that often enough. I did not think it often enough. And I left half my scalp on doorframes in Whitby. Anne and John Robert threatened to get me a hard hat, but the only one they could find was a replica of a 14th century hard hat -- re-constituted in cloth by the English Heritage. That did not seem quite to the point.

Our abode in Whitby had low clearance doors. They were not so bad if you were 5' 8", but they provided a clearance of less than 6' 0". And every time I forgot to put my hand up to the door frame I left skin. My "initials" are written in blood on their doors as a memento of my stay.

Whitby has a very impressive abbey ruin. It sits on the top of the hill with the sea to one side and the bay and town to the other. It is a 199 step climb to the top of the hill -- they say. We walked it, but we did not count it. Anna said the counting was too tedious -- smell the flowers, or something like that. At the top are found the church built later and the ruin of the abbey built earlier. The abbey was built in the 12th, 13th and 14th centuries. It was put out of business by Henry VIII in his conquest of religious institution wealth.

It was established and [initially] run by St. Hilda, its first abbess; that was in the 7th century. It was destroyed 100 years later and was not re-established until the 12th century. The next "recorded" event was a controversy between the abbot and the prior, which English Heritage characterizes in this way:

The Black Death, coming to Whitby in 1349, had taken its toll of the community. Over the country as a whole, a shortage of labour, persisting from that time, inspired a mood of faction and dissent among the tenantry. Wages rose and rents collapsed. Even the weather took a turn for the worse. At Whitby the community soon showed the strain. In a celebrated impasse of the mid 1360s, thought by many to be beyond resolution, some took the side of an extravagant and dictatorial abbot, others of a corrupt and indulgent prior. There were allegations of incontinence and private property at the abbey. The king himself had to be called in to give judgement. (Platt, 13)

Robert de Boynton, monk, was caught in the middle of that conflict. There was a visitation of the Abbey in 1366, and it names the monks on one side and the other. Robert was on the side of the prior. That is, unfortunately, all we know about this Robert de Boynton. We cannot find another reference to him in any of the materials we have found and searched. But it was a famous conflict, it turns out, and a Boynton was there in the middle.

The sea is lovely. There are high cliffs atop which the abbey sits. The waves pound against the shore and the sea wall that protects the harbor. The gulls are lovely circling high over head. They are a bit noisy when they get closer -- as in just above roof level at our inn. They have several calls. The most identifiable is the meow of a cat; where the emphasis is on the last syllable as it is for an angry cat. Angry cat is their abiding, if not only, refrain.

There are beaches. Wonderful places to dig in the sand, to find treasures, to watch the waves come and go -- especially if you are Anna.

The harbor is filled with boats. There is a bridge that will turn to let tall boats pass. We did not see many boats on the move, however. There are traps on every wharf, but we saw very little of the fishing fleet. We probably were not looking at the right time of day.

Our inn had tiny rooms as well as low clearance doors. However, it did have a restaurant that had appeal -- it was "whole food." In general, the establishment was something of a mystery. It seemed in the middle of a name change. On the street it was a combination of a whole foods grocery story with the dried fruits, special teas, cheeses and other "treats" that are standard in a whole food grocery store. And the groceries were combined with a women's clothing store -- not too weird. If the dresses had been weird they would have fit better with the grocery store, but they were not. Behind the store was the restaurant which had a dining room, a sitting room [for tea], and a courtyard in the back. They served at all three. The dining room was no smoking, but the other two permitted smoking -- something the staff took full advantage of. Behind the courtyard were the rooms on three levels. John Robert was on the ground level. I was on the "first" level [as the English say]. And Anne and Anna were on the top level. The whole thing was more than a bit weird, but they put up with us for three days.

Down the street two blocks was a traveler's best friend -- a launderette. They would take our clothes in the morning and return them to us at the end of the day clean and folded. That was a most welcome find.

And they had a cyber cafe. It was named Java -- serving espresso, food, and one computer with an isdn link in the corner. We were able to send and receive a number of messages from there.

That is almost all the "good" we found in Whitby. Otherwise, it is a "tourist trap," England style. Fish and chips on every corner. Cheap shops and amusement parlors. They climb the hill to the ruins. They take a walk on the sea wall. Then they search the streets and shops for something to do. The town is full of people on a search for excitement in a town that has little excitement to offer.

....

Platt, Colin (1995) Whitby Abbey, pubished by English Heritage.