There was no particular reason why I went to the Galleries of justice, I've rarely written about the law in the 19th century, in fact I've rarely written about the 19th Century at all until recently and even then it's set in Glasgow, but the law is different in Scotland; to put it a charming and very official way, we have Scots Law that is independent of England and Wales, and Ireland. That being said it was a most enjoyable visit and very informative in case I ever did want to write about it. It was the first thing I went to see because they have a lot of school trips during the week and so the first thing I did when I got off the train, and followed my GPS a potential mugging way, was go and book my own tour at 12.30. This gave me roughly 2 hours to look at the castle and the church.
For those of you who haven't been in Nottingham they seem to have jumped on board this fetish with bringing the trams back into major cities. I've seen them in Manchester and Birmingham but have never been on one, and Edinburgh made such a disaster of theirs that there's not really any point in going on them. In hindsight I should have jumped on it into town instead of nearly getting lost with my GPS, that being said I wouldn't have known what stop to get off at and would have got lost anyway. Needless to say I got one back to the station but more on that later.
Thankfully St Mary's church is practically right beside the Galleries of Justice.
So I walked to the very front of the church, which is rarely where the actual entrance is these days, took a few snaps here and there, read that the entrance was in the south porch, not unusual. The place was really quiet because it's away from the main town centre and no one seemed to be walking past either. My stomach was talking to me and instead of looking around in wonderment I should have eaten the cereal bar in my bag but I didn't, and more fool me for not. I found the porch it was talking about and when I entered I found the door on the below right. Looks pretty solid, and more importantly closed doesn't it? My heart sank. This was the oldest church in Nottingham, built in the 14th century as an improvement to one that had already been there and was reported in Domesday book, I really wanted to see inside. I looked around at the noticeboards I didn't take a picture of to the left and right and found that it should be open.
Bravely....I mean gingerly I stepped towards the door, the heels of my boots thudding on the hollow ramp at my feet, and slowly I began to push on this door. My God was it heavy, which is kind of obvious when you look at it. It's the part on the right that opens and in I slipped, straight onto four people of the church having what looked to be an important meeting.This is the thing about churches, anyone can just walk in. To be honest the meeting was happening at the other side of the knave from the door, but because of the high ceilings and lovely echoing I would have a problem with a little later I could hear their mumblings and conversation. I felt very conspicuous, as anyone does when they're the only guest in a church, or customer in a shop. I walked around the side of the church, taking everything in, passing a man who was carrying the chairs into the knave. No pews inside of this church, which now I think about it is weird although that thought didn't occur to me at the time.
I won't go into detail about the history of the church, mainly because I don't know anything about it. There was no handy guidebook to tell me everything, only the occasional sign marking something of interest in the chapels or on the walls.From what I can remember there isn't much left of the original masonry of the 14th century, but the stained glass window on the right is partly intact from then; you can kind of tell by the face near the top, definitely a medieval drawing.
Now as I was walking around the church my stomach decided to begin grumbling again and this is where my unfortunate run in with the echoing came in. Yes, it's almost transcendent when you hear a choir sing, the voice of the reverend...minister....priest (? I'm not catholic, I don't know) carries all the way down the knave, but guess what, so does a grumbling tummy. My stomach and I have had many embarrassing moments of a similar nature, mostly during a silent exam, many silent exams, but in a church is a first. Thankfully there was no one around, well not many people around, to share in my embarrassment.
The painted ceiling was pretty (pictured on the right). What I find interesting about churches is that they force people to look up, handy when God is meant to be in heaven. Walking around in every day life no one ever looks up at buildings, or at people like me looking out of high windows at the tiny figures walking around, but it's different in a church.
I would definitely recommend St Mary's church for those of you who like medieval architecture, quiet and tranquil places, and just like churches in general. Obviously if you're a Catholic, too. And as is tradition when I go into a catholic church, I lit a candle at one of the chapels, and donated to the church's upkeep.
By this time I think I had about an hour and a half to find Nottingham castle, look around, and then get back to the Galleries of Justice. I'm a stickler for time, if I have an appointment or somewhere to be I am constantly looking at my watch so I'm not late; this case was no different. Rather than using my GPS to find my way from St Mary's to the castle the signposts were very helpful in pointing me in the right direction, which turned out to be a straight road practically. Thanks Nottingham council. The last time I used tourist signs I got lost in York, anti-thanks York council!
The castle isn't really a castle anymore, rather it's a stately home placed slap bang in the middle of a city. It did used to be a castle, a proper one like everyone imagines, but it was destroyed, rebuilt, etc. As a result I don't know much about the castle either, so Wikipedia will come to the rescue. All I do remember off the top of my head was that Richard I besieged the castle with his brother, John, still in it.
During its medieval heyday it must have been quite something to behold, even now the views are breathtaking from "castle rock" where the mansion is built. There used to be a keep situated on the spot where the ducal mansion now sits.
The current castle, or mansion, is your typical 18th century building, and houses an art gallery which was unfortunately closed the day I visited as they were making way for a new exhibit. The views were the best thing about this castle for me, and I wish I had gone a little later when the sun came out and the clouds went away because when I went, as you can see, it was overcast in typical British style.
Actually before I even got into the castle I was waylaid by English people asking me to take a picture of them in front of the Robin Hood statue outside the castle walls. They said it was for a team building exercise. Before that I was asked for directions. This isn't a rare occurrence for me, well the picture one was, but certainly not directions. When I was visiting family in Carlisle I actually managed to point someone in the right direction and I had only been in the main city less than 30 minutes. I must have one of those faces, I inherited it from my mother who can't go out of the house without being approached by a stranger.
Nottingham can't be mentioned without thinking of Robin Hood, and believe me the Nottingham tourism office has taken full advantage. He is everywhere, statues, signs, merchandise. It is a shame that he isn't real.
After I had taken in some fresh air at the castle and been awed by the views over the entire city I made my way back into town, did some light shopping, and by the time I was done realised I only had 20 minutes for lunch. I beat one of my deepest social fears by walking into a busy Costa and having lunch on my own (I do eat on my own but I usually pick empty cafes and places, or I eat on a bench). After wolfing down a nice toastie and an Orange, festive, hot chocolate, I made my way back to the Galleries of Justice.
I said in my previous post that I was asked to be a witness for the prosecution, and with my best Scottish accent I read the script. The tour guide said he thought I was American when I first came in, I wonder at this since I didn't say a word to him. I was with various other Europeans; Italian, Spanish and Brazilian, then the couple from Lincolnshire. We walked around the prison/courtroom learning all about the horrors and injustice of 19th century law. Apparently it's haunted, although I am impartial to a well written ghost story, I think they're solely reserved for the pages of a novel or short story, needless to say I never saw any ghosts. Perhaps you will if you visit.
It was horrific to learn how bad the system was, but I have a feeling that only the truly awful stories and cases were illuminated for the visitor, even then I may just be being optimistic. Definitely worth a visit if you like passionate actors, and a run around an exercise yard. I would also like to personally thank my first tour guide, the 19th Century usher, who gave me my new name for this blog.
After coming from the Galleries of Justice I had about an hour to kill before I needed to be back in the train station. There had been a sign post to the old market, or market square, and I wanted to go and see it. What should I stumble upon but a Christmas market! I was so happy and it was such a good end to a brilliant day. In Glasgow the Christmas Market, or German market as it used to be called, is there from December onwards and it really does help you get in the christmas mood. Leicester doesn't have one and so the only Christmas I get is a thorntons smiley face from my advent calender and the speciality disposable cups you get from Cafe Nero and Costa. I can't even have a speciality drink because they're too sweet for me, and I've also had to cut out caffeine from my life. After this week is over ( my last week of the semester, yay!) I will endeavor to ask them to put less syrup in my drink and then it will be Christmas.
I didn't buy anything at the market, mostly because the food makes me cringe. I did get a decaf latte from the Costa though and after that it was tram time! I know it's childish of me but I really wanted to ride in a tram. I had seen them in these cities, waited patiently and without reward for them in Edinburgh, but I'd never been on one. It was expensive. There was two stops between me at the market and the train station, a single was £2.10, it would have been cheaper if I had a melon card (at least I think that was what it was called, like the Osyter card for London transport). It was so fun, the other people must have thought I was a complete nut having just run away from the psychiatric ward, but I don't care, I never do. The tram was fun and I would reccomend getting it from the station into town raher than walking. For those of you who do it's the first or the second stop after the train station for the city centre.
I would recommend Nottingham because it was a really nice city and I had a good, relaxing day out.
