We are planning a holiday in June, at the point (hopefully) when the final round of Covid restrictions will be lifted. We plan to stay in York, but travel around the North of England, one of my aims is to visit Nothumberland , a place were I used to go on holiday with my family when I was younger. I partuclarly love the castles along the coast at places like Lindisfarne, Bamburgh, Warkworth and Alnwick, but one of my favourites is Dunstanburgh. The Castle is a decent half an hours walk along the coastline from the picturesque fishing village, Craster, Famed for it’s kippers. Maybe the magic for me is the fact that there is no vehicular access and with my wife relying on crutches these days, I walk alone, at one with my thoughts.
Standing in the castle itself three years ago, there was a feeling of spirituality as I walked on the ground that others had trodden six hundred years ago, when this fortress was first built by Earl Thomas of Lancaster and as I gaze at the stonework, each stone will have it’s own story to tell of the battles that have been fought there, the hopes and dreams that caused the place to be built up and the very different motivations that caused it to be destroyed mainly during the battle of the roses during the fifteenth century. The castle took it’s most recent stand when used during the second world war as an obsevation post, to safeguard the Northumbrian Coastline against enemy invastion.
Owned today by the National Trust, the Castle is little more than a visitor attraction, but as I wonder about my own life against the backdrop of this wonderful place, I find myself thinking “what will be my monument for future generations?” Don’t worry, I’m not going to embark on building a castle, but I have always believed in the idea that we have a finite time as stewards of God’s earth and maybe our aim should be fairly simply to leave the place in a better state than how we found it. Like those who have gone before us our choice is to build up or knock down.
A Poem:
I love this poem penned by Robert Lee Sharpe 1872-1951 entitle “A Bag of Tools”
Isn’t it strange how princes and kings,
and clowns that caper in sawdust rings
and common folk, like you and me,
are builders for eternity?
To each is given a list of rules;
a shapeless mass; and a bag of tools.
and each must fashion, ere life is flown,
a stumbling block, or a stepping stone.
What will your legacy be for the future?