Conisborough - A Day In The Sun

Conisborough is one of those ancient villages which have a history which is lost in the mists of time. Conyngsburgh ( King's Borough ) was a settlement at the time of the Roman Occupation. The village's late 20th century history is one of poverty, unemployment and social disintegration due to both economic and political events - the Miners' Strikes during Herr Thatcher's Reich being the most indelibly written. Today's impression is more optimistic. Two important historic building are sited in the centre of the village. These were the reason for our trip.

Conisborough Castle is probably the finest example of a Norman Keep to be found in the UK. The grounds and have some remains of moats and walls, but the Keep is outstanding. The facilities provided by English Heritage are disappointing. Views of the surrounding countryside from the top of the Keep are worth the climb; there is a spectacular viaduct across the valley a mile away.

The church of St Peter stands right at the centre of the village and has done so since at least 740 AD. The earliest known building dates from pre-Saxon times. The condition of the present church is excellent; you can see the various stages of construction. In particular the Norman Chancel wall is impressive if only because of its age. A small Romano-British carving in the wall of the early 14th century porch and some medieval glass in a window in the south wall of the chancel are worthy of note.

It is interesting to reflect that the Commander of the Roman York Garrison, Flavius Valerius Aurilius Canstantimus, became Emperor Constantine of Rome whilst still at York in 324 AD; Conisborough is in York Shire (Yorkshire) and no more than a day's march from York. Remembering Constantine's Christian Decree suggests that Christianity has been active at this church for well nigh over 1600 years! I posit that, had Constantine had made his decree whilst he was still in York, that the Roman Catholic Church might have traded under a quite different label.

I think "The Holy Yorkshire Catholic Church" has a certain ring to it. The whimsical idea that all priests should have to be expert cricketers is even more tempting. Gone are the Amice, Alb, Cincture, Maniple, Stole, Chasuble, Cope, Dalmatic, Surplice and Biretta, to be replaced by gleeming whites, wicket keeper's pads and cloves and a County Team Cap. Add the the rest of the God Botherer's dressed in freshly laundered miner's work togs, complete with hat and lamp, and you have a spectacle which would touch the heart of the most hard bitten, iPod prodding heathen. Tis all in jest, take not offence dear reader ...

A pub lunch at the "Cromwell" was, to be generous, edible. Maybe the horse had died of natural causes, the chips had had a previous life as oil swabs in an engine sump and the peas were as only processed peas can be. The puff pastry crowning the "pie", don't ask, was actually "well puffed" and the culinary high point of the whole lamentable fare. "E lad, tha shud be greetful it's now't wer near as bad as whot the pit canteen dishes up." Would there were still a pit to provide work ...

A train back to Sheffield, visit to the supermarket and the day is done.