The city of York, to the northeast of Leeds, has some great old medieval buildings. Stone walls were built in the 12th -14th century to protect the city and have been kept in full readiness. In most places, the fortifications are in such great condition you can still imagine gathering rocks, arrows and oil and mounting a defense from the walls. By walking on the walls, one can circumnavigate the city center.
The wall is broken by a few old gates: these prepared defensive structures seem quite deadly. One gateway had an external holding area that would have allowed the defenders to inspect (or attack) from above those seeking entry. At another gate, the spiked teeth and metal grating of a portcullis could be seen tucked into the archway, still ready to be lowered and to bar passage to the city. In the photo below, Kelly crouches near a tiny doorway embedded in the large wooden gate.
The York Minster cathedral is a massive, pale structure that looms over the old city within the walls. Even as a modern visitor, for whom skyscrapers and glass are commonplace, I was struck by the scale of York Minster and the human effort invested in its construction and maintenance over the centuries. I can only imagine that for medieval peasants and pilgrims, who travelled through a landscape of low thatched huts and markets to worship at the cathedral, the towering structure of stone and colored glass must have seemed a stunning manifestation of greatness: of the omnipotence of God, of the power of the Church, and of the abilities of man. It would have also represented the investment, willful or not, of the generations of families that paid taxes and tithes across Yorkshire.
