WhitbyOne of the most picturesque ports in England, Whitby and its harbour are set in a ravine at the mouth of the River Esk. Dominated by the clifftop ruined Abbey, the narrow alleys and quaint streets climb down to the busy quayside, with its harbourside houses and small shops filled with crafts, curios, and antiques. From these centuries old streets, 199 steps lead up to the parish Church of St Mary, one of the finest Anglo Saxon churches in the country, featuring carved pews made by ship’s carpenters and craftsmen from Whitby’s once booming whaling fleet. Its churchyard is famous for providing the setting which inspired Bram Stoker to write his classic novel - Dracula. Dickens and Tennyson are also known to have enjoyed the hospitality of Whitby’s ancient inns. Inside the Whitby Museum discover the life story of the town’s most famous inhabitant, Captain James Cook, who sailed from the port to change the history of the world. The Captain Cook Memorial Museum, his former home in Grape Lane, is furnished in the style of his times, when Whitby was the seventh-largest port in England. As famous locally are the whaling masters of the Scoresby family, and pioneer photographer Frank Meadow Sutcliffe. Whitby is well known for its jet, a hard black mineral dug from its cliffs since Victorian times, and fashioned locally into jewellery and ornament. Its famous Smokehouse still operates, converting herrings to kippers by the traditional process. From:www.yorkshirenet.co.uk/yorkshire-coast/whitby/ Goodbye Grandma xWhile I was visiting my family in England, my mum asked me if I would scatter my grandma's ashes with her. My mum loves the town of Whitby on the East Yorkshire Coast and often goes there for weekends with her husband. We decided it might be nice to scatter grandma's ashes there. So we visited Whitby for the day. The weather was glorious until we got closer to the coast, then it started to rain. On the way we saw three double rainbows. We had planned to scatter the ashes at the end of the long pier but the rain was lashing down, the wind was strong and the waves were crashing against the side. Probably not a good idea. We spotted a small beach and pier on the other side of the water. Then the weather changed suddenly. We walked to the end of the small cobblestone pier. Over coffee, I had previously told my mum about my metissage project. I told her about my Hummingbird poem and the dream Neil had about me holding hummingbirds in my hand, then gently releasing them. We held each other and cried as we stood there, I read my Hummingbird poem then released the ashes into the air and watched them drift down to the surface of the water. I felt closure. On the way back, I picked up a white feather that lay on the cobblestones and placed it in my pocket.
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