Sometimes one just gets the bit between the teeth. Yesterday was just such a day. The day was not a particularly auspicious one as I toiled with the psychology report I am taxed to do. Administrative problems with the report were driving my blood pressure skyward and I really needed a complete change of pace and activity for the day.
I had promised myself a longer run, all being well, for the day as it had been a few short months since I’d ran more than 11-12 miles in one session. This had nagged at me mentally and in truth was carving chasms in my confidence regarding running a marathon. At one time of day I was mentally strong and assured enough to contemplate any distance placed in front of me – not so these days. For the day I desired 13 miles as a maximum and would have been comparatively happy with that achievement.
So, head in something of a whirl with the frustrations of the day, I set off for my regular starting spot in nearby Woodborough and headed off down the lane pictured above at just after quarter past four. A pleasant afternoon was an encouragement as I hit the River, Trent side, at just after five miles and having passed through the pleasant villages of Lowdham and Caythorpe. Skipping through the cherry tree-lined path on the way to Gunthorpe I realised that I was doing pretty well today – feeling comfortable and about to settle into a long run. After six or seven miles I became fixated with the outlandish idea of running…yes, twenty miles.
The market town of Southwell north-east of Nottingham is a most appealing place. It has many distinguishing features, not least the huge Minster dating back to Norman times that dominates the locality and the town being a home of romantic poet, Lord Byron for a period. In truth, Southwell deserves an article of it’s own and certainly will have one when the time presents itself. Today however I wanted to talk about the resurrection of an ancient custom known as the ‘Gate to Southwell’.
With origins going back to almost 900 years ago, at the time when the Southwell Minster was first being built, the Archbishop of York wrote to every parish in Nottinghamshire requesting monetary contributions for the ‘Mother Church’ as he called it. From that time at each Whitsuntide the Mayor of Nottingham and a representative from each parish would take their contributions to the Minster in a procession. There would be much attendant revelry on the journey which would begin in Nottingham’s Old Market Square and contain lay folk, the clergy and at the head of the company the Mayor in his traditional robes.