Lil
speaker
737 appearances
4 recordings
2 series
first heard Oct 2024
last heard Apr 2025
Lil’s voice in public audio — every appearance, attributed to the second.
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Appearances
I huff and puff my way up the steps. I didn't exactly think I would fly up them with Mina's speed and grace, but there does seem to be something about these steps beyond their sheer number that makes them quite exhausting. Whether it's their height or depth, Or the ratio of the incline, I don't know. Maybe it's simply my lack of fitness.
Or maybe Mina had superb cardio endurance from repeatedly climbing these steps in a corset. Who knows? But I do understand why it's said that these stairs were constructed to test the faith and commitment of the parishioners as they made the arduous climb to church every Sunday. I plop down on a handy-looking bench, a simple plank of wood set into the nook of the iron railing.
There are several of these and some people hover around them, looking longingly at the much-needed seat but hesitating to sit down. I can guess why, for it's quite well known that these are not actually seats for weary climbers, but coffin rests.
As we heard earlier, parishioners from not just Whitby, but villages all around, would have had to attend St Mary's for their biggest life ceremonies, including their final one, where they would be carried in their coffin up these very steps. The coffin bearers must have had muscles of steel, and I can imagine how well needed these coffin rests would have been.
I have no compunction about resting on one to get my breath back though, as I'm sure that the spirits of Whitby won't mind a bit of respectful company as I admire the view and reflect on my lack of stamina.
But I don't linger too long and push on to the top, where the ground flattens out and the square tower of St Mary's Church comes into view with the abbey ruins rearing up dramatically in the distance. At the very edge of the graveyard, the tall, carved St Cadman's Stone Cross perches on the cliff edge like a sentinel standing watch over the town below.
Down in the harbour, the waves glisten and glitter in the sun, and small, colourful boats bob cheerfully, safe in the encircling arms of the long, curving piers. Clusters of red-roofed houses spread out like a sweeping toy town diorama, and seagulls swoop across the water, shrieking their laughing cries.
We have reached Mina's destination, the place she described in her diary as the nicest spot in Whitby, and where her and Lucy spent many happy hours enjoying the sea breeze and the incredible views across the town and harbour from their favourite seat in the graveyard near the edge of the cliff.
It was also here, however, that Mina spotted the pale white figure of Lucy in a brief window of moonlight from her viewpoint near the whalebone arch, and behind the seat she saw a dark, menacing figure looming over her friend. The graveyard stretches out along the headland and all around the church.
Hundreds of headstones, leaning and worn, pitted by harsh salt winds and blackened by centuries of coal smoke, bear testament to the residents of Whitby's past. Many of the names of them have been scrubbed blank by time, wind and weather. Others, as we know from Mina's conversations in Dracula with Whitby elder Mr. Swales, bear dedications that belie the emptiness of the graves below.
Mr. Swales describes the leaning gravestones as tumbling down with the weight of lies written on them. And he's referring to the very real fact that a number of the headstones in St Mary's churchyard stand in memoriam of sailors and fishermen who were lost at sea. Their bodies never recovered and their headstones in the graveyard simply a memorial over an empty grave.
But the ghost story that we find in this churchyard concerns the bodies of seamen who do lie beneath their gravestones. a legend that would indicate either that the sailors and fishermen of Whitby felt it unbefitting for a man of the sea to have his body buried on dry land, or that the spirits of the ocean itself felt they had a claim over the souls who had made a living from its briny depths.
For it's said that any men of the sea whose bodies were buried in St Mary's Churchyard would soon be visited by the Bargeist coach. No, not the Barghest, the Large Black Hellhound, or possibly the Goodest Boy of Kettle Nest, depending on how you look at it, but the Bargh Geist.
Although, in actual fact, these are just the two most common ways of spelling the different phenomena that I've found in use today. but really they're the same word and according to my research were both originally pronounced bogost simply meaning town ghost and over the years the spelling and pronunciation has changed and evolved
There doesn't seem to be a fixed pronunciation or spelling today, but for ease of telling the legends apart, for this story, I've gone with a spelling used in the Whitby Repository magazine, in which the spooky legend was recorded in 1831.
Although all our stories and legends today are in the graveyard and not the church itself, I can't resist a peek inside St Mary's. You might think that the place is most marvelled at for its great age, but in fact people are fascinated by its much more modern interior.
Anyone used to English churches is familiar with the typical rows of hard wooden pews standing in linear fashion either side of a long isle of the nave, facing a pulpit or lectern with the altar beyond. So St Mary's Church is rather a surprise, with its higgledy-piggledy jumble of pews and gallery boxes that look more like theatre stalls than the neat, orderly seating of a church.
In the centre, thick, grand columns soar up to a high ceiling, but further back, shorter columns, some squat, and some, like slender barley sugar twists, support a gallery that meanders around the walls. Instead of the orderly rows that we're used to, pews facing in different directions are crammed in like the blocks of a puzzle.
And it takes me a while to realise that this haphazard-seeming arrangement is actually all designed to face a central pulpit. A precarious-looking, three-tiered affair decked in red velvet in the middle of the church. I'm not sure what the designer was going for here, but at first glance it has the endearing look of a lopsided, slightly drunken attempt at an aerial bandstand.
In fact, the whole place has a rather dizzying, surreal effect, and I can understand why author Andrew White described the feel and proportion of the interior in his book A History of Whitby as like being between decks in a ship.
Showing 701–720 of 737 · page 36 of 37
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