In which I discover Toad Ramps and a Famous Ruin

The grounds around Fountains Abbey and Studley Royal have undergone serious renovations and restorations over the years. This includes the installation of toad ramps. When the Moon Pond that lies before the Temple of Piety (originally dedicated to Hercules) was upgraded, involving the evening out of the edges of the circular pond and the two crescent ones either side (as well as reinstalling a polished Neptune in the centre), it became quickly apparent that the toads would no longer be able to climb out of the ponds with ease. The edges, once unkempt and sloped at the perfect angle for toad-evacuation, were now cut at an angle so vertical that, should the water level lower as in summer, the toads would find themselves trapped.

A fine example of a toad ramp

The solution was to affix small, carefully designed, toad-width pieces of wood into the banks of the ponds at an angle conductive to leisurely vacation. These toad ramps can now be seen in several waterways around the area. I applaud the care and concern of the carers of the estate, and only hope that they later go on to install bat boxes.

A swan, nesting near a toad ramp

It may be true that I didn't see any toads on my excursion, but I can only assume that this was because they were so content with their accommodation that they felt no need to make a fuss about it, and rather fancied to continue their every day life of toading.

There were other animals - crows, rabbits chillaxing on the green, pheasants with their bold feathers and choked cough of a call, white swans nesting and various ducks ducking, crows, assorted English song birds chirruping merrily in the trees, invisible deer, crows.

In general, the livestock was similar to what I encountered on
my journey from the mighty city of Ripon, North Yorkshire.

(It may be interesting to note at this juncture that the River Ure flows through Ripon, a river that you may recall later goes on to become the River Ouse that I so early encountered.)

I followed bridle paths and public walkways to Fountains Abbey, taking me down a hedged road, through a little woods lined by a crumbling wall, and across green farmland, before I arrived at one of its entrances off the road. I have the instinct of a rural girl from New Zealand - you do not trespass on other people's land unless you are planning on stealing some of their sheep to pan off as your own and send to the works. And you certainly don't wander through an obvious barn area where cattle are penned up in buildings waiting to be administered, and the farmer is standing nearby with his dog. In England, if you have a right of way across the land, you do. It's not trespassing. Just make sure you have decent boots on.

Along a public walkway. Or bridle way. Something.

The ruins of the abbey came into sight before I reached an official entrance. I had to stop and take a good look, and wonder why the sheep weren't admiring it too, because the ruins were right there. The fog that had plagued the fields on the bus to Ripon had burned off in the sun, and these were big and impressive ruins. Some parts were undoubtedly ruined, and others seemed, from my vantage point, as though they might still be in use. I rate these ruins highly. I'll have to start a ruin-rating scale (Rate-My-Ruin, How Am I Ruining? Call 0800 RUIN IT) before my time here is up.

A view from some farmland

The abbey was built by Cistercian monks, perhaps some of the simplest and silentest of them all, who, at least partly due to Henry 8th, mysteriously vanished into the ether and left their abbey to the elements. And so, while a lot does still remain, more has fallen. What does stand is hollow inside, but in a promising way. My favourite parts were the passage made beside and beneath the abbey for a little stream that used to work the mill, and large window several stories high that sits like a picture frame that holds part of the world.

It's around the corner that the water gardens and other Georgian delights lie, so the Abbey has the scene mercifully to itself, a giant ruin stretched out on the green with small hills and clusters of trees and growth surrounding it.

Today, he's
the statue

As well as its be-statued water features and Rustic Bridge, the grounds beyond the abbey have a few other treats, like the Serpentine Tunnel of stone that curves exactly to give one brief moment of complete darkness, Anne Boleyn's Seat looking down over the grounds (I guess she sat there, but I'm not entirely certain; I didn't), and a small Temple of Fame. It has similar Romanesque columns to the Temple of Piety below it, but is a small open structure with a concave roof. It put me in mind of Chaucer's House of Fame, of course, full of gygges and chirkings and many other workings. Though it didn't have the steam-punk quality of Chaucer's, I could imagine the secrets and gossip this temple contained swirling and darting around - and indeed, when I whispered my own message of love (wich I wol nat endyte) I heard it echo around and hoped that it flew off out into the world (or was carried by a giant and loquacious eagle) and found its owner, who was most likely asleep at the time.

I wonder what it would have been like, at the very beginning of the ruins' change from landscape to attraction. I wonder what it would have looked like, overgrown and forgotten, and what it would feel like to be the one to pull back the creepers with garden gloves, and uncover something like that.