Chapel of Saint Michael de Monte

I have fallen in love with a building.

Today was the day of my adventure, and adventure I did.

I walked for 5 hours and I'm now exhausted and terribly muddy.

I'd been so worried about today, that something bad might happen. I catastrophised all of the things that could possibly go wrong. I had nightmares and visions and wanted to back out of my plans.

No going back now, Jay.
Pack your bag, grab your lunch and just go.

Above: A wander down Whitcliffe Lane at 8.15 this morning. A little glimpse of the sunrise and a promise of rain in the air.

I set off at 8am this morning (quite late for me as opposed to my usual 6.55am bus to university).

It took about an hour to walk to How Hill from my house, down some very overgrown and squelchy public bridleways. 

I'd not been before but I planned my route according to Google Maps; I figured out the rough direction of my journey but Google Maps didn't account for the public footpaths and open fields I had to stomp across in my Doc Marten boots.

As Ripon slept on, snoozing into the morning, I wound my way further up the country roads.

A lack of footpaths. An excess of puddled roads.

I kept my camera around my neck to capture anything that caught my eye. Mostly trees and moss.

After 50 minutes of walking, I caught a glimpse of my tower. He's mine. I feel so protective of this tiny beauty, though I've not even touched him yet. I'm not even there quite yet, but I know him already. I'm so glad that there was nobody around this morning (where are you, Riponians? Wake up!) because I know I was smiling and chatting to myself as I made my way up to the tower. ALMOST skipping with joy... for an old building. Oh, Jay.

So I finally get there.

Maybe it won't be all I'd hoped.

Maybe it will disappoint me.

Disappoint me, he did not.

Yes, it was just a tower on top of a hill. Yes, it was completely boarded up. Yes, all I could smell was sheep dung. But no, it didn't disappoint me at all.

The hill was steeper than expected. It's amazing to think that this little tower has been the home to so many different people and has lived so many lives. I can't imagine it being a post medieval gaming house in 1737! How odd.

 The view from the top! A panoramic view from Ripon, but perhaps not the best day to see out. A little fog and a hazy rain cloud looming, the scene could have been even more magnificent with a clear sky. I think that this gloomy Yorkshire mist has an enigmatic atmosphere that suits the tower's gothic aesthetic.

I'd been anxious about going alone to somewhere I wasn't familiar with, but it was so quiet and peaceful up by the tower that I felt safe and comfortable just sitting on my own.

'SOLI DEO HONOR MH ET GLORIA'.

'Honour and glory to God alone'

It upsets me to see beer cans and cigarette butts in the chapel's grounds. I want to clean it up and whisper apologies to my sweet old tower, let no one touch it but me. Getting weird yet? Sorry.

 Findings on the site. I found some random shards of pottery and glass, as well as a big ol' rusty nail and some cracked roof tiles. I wonder where they are from? I wonder how they could weave into a story. These items were once possessions. Who did they belong to?

I could write much more about my 2 hour detour in search of Aldfield.

I could talk about the drama caused by a lack of signal.

I could tell you about the muddy wood climb, the fields of sheep and the relief in finally finding a bench to sit and eat my sandwiches on (Ted's bench),

but that's all boring. I'm interested in the stories of the Chapel of Saint Michael de Mont.

This isn't my story. This is Howard's story. Howard of How Hill.

I'll be back soon, my love.

Farewell.