Here’s what we found when we went to loot York like medieval Scots – Susan Morrison

Susan Morrison discovers the ‘treasures’ of the ancient city of York include fossilised faeces and Harry Potter wands.

In search of booty: Susan Morrison followed in the footsteps of a medieval Scottish army to York (Picture: Ian Georgeson)

My Yorkshire husband and I have recently taken to bestowing our largesse on bits of Britain we usually see from the train. We have taken to doing what used to be known as city breaks.

Previous cities we’ve broken include Durham and Bristol. This time it’s York.

Given recent news, we half expected to be greeted at the station by the clang of plague bells, but no. York seemed glad to see us, although we were uneasily aware that we were visiting the one city in the UK with sufficient wall left to seal us in, should the health situation get seriously medieval.

We’ve been to York before. But it’s always worth a second visit. The Scots loved York so much we burned it in 1318, and came back for a re-loot in 1319, although I can’t help but feel that the second trip was probably a bit of a waste.

There can’t have been that much left in the way of takeaway booty, surely?

Human sea anchors

We had our kids with us on previous trips. That was back when they had no choice but to hang out with mum and dad.

They took their vengeance by doing fairly convincing impersonations of heavy duty sea anchors in our wake, thus curtailing my opportunities for the acquisitive behaviour my Scottish ancestors displayed in the past.

I should point out I was of course paying for my retail therapy, unlike my forebears who were basically on a smash-and-grab raid with no credit card.

Having the kids in tow meant going to the Railway Museum. It’s a great museum, don’t get me wrong, but you do rather feel as if you’ve wandered into a holding tank for middle-aged men.

No, this time we were footloose and fancy free. We did Jorvik, where they have recreated Viking York right down to the stench from the privies. The pong is accurate. They have the proof.

Poo and Potter

They have a petrified Viking jobby. I am telling you now, people, that guy was in serious bowel bother. And there is no doubt in my mind that it was a bloke. Seriously. I’ll be seeing that in my nightmares for a while.

Is this the future of tourism in this country now? Fossilised faeces? No, of course it isn’t. It’s Harry Potter. Now, I get why people dress up in wizard cloaks to run about the streets of Edinburgh.

The woman wrote it here, for heaven’s sake. But why does every town, village and hamlet with a faintly quaint street or a couple of wonky shopfronts now boast one of those shops staffed by primary school kids wearing fancy dress and two-for-one offers on wands in the window?

York is bung fu’ of such emporiums, which you can’t pass without accidentally photo-bombing the phones-on-sticks being waved by hordes of invading teens from Milwaukee.

Tip, people, the wands don’t work. If they did, Weightwatchers would be out of business.