Julian’s Bower, at Alkborough in far-north-west Lincolnshire, is the only Julian’s Bower in England still called a Julian’s Bower. I cycled it today.
A JB is a maze; technically, a labyrinth – a one-route turf path that winds its convoluted way within a circle to the centre. The concept wasn’t invented by the York one-way system, but has been around for millennia. However, JBs are medieval, cut by monks who possibly saw them as a metaphor for the complex route to Heaven.
I’d stayed in Scunthorpe the night before, and followed a pretty good, non-labyrinthine, tarmac-not-turf bike path north out of the town. It was very, very frosty.
I passed through the village of Burton upon Stather – not to be confused with Burton Stather, next to it – and was surprised to see a couple of bike installations: town bikes, once ridden as everyday transport by locals, now on display with floral decor and explanatory notes.
The ‘Burton Bike Fleet’, as they are evidently called, seem unexplained anywhere online: an initiative of R-Evolution, an East Yorkshire/ Lincolnshire bike body. There are, or have been, some others around the village, but I could only find two roadside, and one garden, example.
Must admit, I had a lump in my throat when I read the notes on one of the bikes. A certain Lynn rode it; she had a lot of ‘issues and worries’, and would often talk them over as she was riding. The non-judgemental and supportive bike, apparently, was one of the few that would listen to her. Lynn, we know how you feel, I promise.
Anyway, throat unlumped, I carried on north to Alkborough, and the point of today’s ride. The village sign celebrates the Julian’s Bower, with a representation of the maze’s structure. (As does Walcot, the village before, apparently trying to steal a bit of Alkborough’s conceptual thunder.)
The pattern of the JB is also set into the porch of the local church. Probably not a good idea to try and follow its path when there are people waiting to get in for Sunday service.
And in the village itself, well signposted, and at the end of a short path, is the maze itself. It sits at a fine viewpoint: that rare thing in Lincolnshire, somewhere that overlooks somewhere else.
In fact, it’s said that on a fine day you can see Emley Moor’s mast, the Kilburn White Horse, and allegedly even York Minster, from here. (Though the well-informed say it’s more likely a confusion with Beverley Minster.)
But more likely, the ‘somewhere else’ in this case is more immediate: northwest over Trent Falls, where the Trent and Ouse muddily conflue – if that’s a word – to form the shifty, sandy Humber. The area was reclaimed farmland until the mid-2000s, when it was allowed to return to its more natural flood-plain character. The reedy, marshy expanse is now a tranquil haven for birds and other wildlife.
Much as those medieval monks would have known, indeed. I bet they spent hours here, walking the maze, enjoying the quiet view, and thinking of mead recipes and tweaks to their beer-brewing technique.
Now serene and calm, I could continue along lanes and roads with views over to the Humber Bridge, which would take me from South Ferriby to opposing North Ferriby, and a date with Britain’s oldest boats…