The last ruins of Dunwich, Suffolk’s lost medieval town

The tiny village of Dunwich clings to the edge of the Suffolk coast and is in many ways a pretty but unremarkable place, a sleepy settlement a long way from any large towns.  There’s a beach, a place to buy ice cream, a little museum, a pleasant old pub that draws visitors from miles around.  But in the grounds of its Victorian church, and in a field on the edge of the villages, are ruins that suggest a more propserous past.  Two impressive archways welcome the motorist into Dunwich, a sign between them proclaiming that they are a part of Greyfriars, Dunwich’s medieval friary.  The ruins of this Franciscan friary are some of the final remaining relics of what was once a thriving and significant port – an ancient settlement that today is sometimes dubbed “Britain’s Atlantis” due to most of its medieval fabric now lying beneath the North Sea.

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The precious Romanesque carvings at Lincoln Cathedral

John Ruskin once described Lincoln Cathedral as being “out and out the most precious piece of architecture in the British Isles.”  Sitting at the summit of the hill that Lincoln is built on, the cathedral occupies a commanding position over the surrounding area.  It’s easy to see why Ruskin held this wonderful building in such high esteem.

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Exploring the ancient churches and fortifications of the Lune Valley

Last summer, I visited a part of my native Lancashire that I’d never been to before – the Lune Valley.  It’s a beautiful part of the world which probably gets overlooked due to its proximity to the famous, dramatic landscapes of the Lake District and the Yorkshire Dales.  The valley is probably most famous for Ruskin’s View, the stunning vista – immortalised by John Constable – that can be observed from Kirkby Lonsdale (just across the county border in Cumbria).  But the Lune Valley also has a fascinating, half-forgotten history, and is home to some wonderful old churches.

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Ruskin’s view

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The stunning “ship of the Fens” – Ely Cathedral

As I made my way north on the train from Cambridge to Ely, the Fens seemed to stretch out forever.  An entirely flat landscape of fields, waterways and even solar panels spread in all directions.  The Fens is an alien place to me; I grew up in Lancashire amongst hills, moors and valleys.  Until the Fens began to be drained from the 17th Century onwards, the little city of Ely was an island amid a vast watery landscape of rivers, peat beds and marshes.

Atop the highest hill in the Fens – a mere 26 metres above sea level – is a magnificent cathedral that dominates the landscape.

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