Scarborough Castle

Listen first. Wind comes off the North Sea and moves through the long grass of the headland. Below you, on both sides, gulls call over the water. The ground underfoot is uneven and soft, and the air tastes faintly of salt. You are standing on a high rock that juts into the sea, with a bay on either hand. People have chosen this spot for three thousand years, and for good reason.

Look out to your left and right. To the north lies North Bay, wide and open. To the south lies South Bay, with the old harbour and the town climbing the hill behind it. The headland sits between them like a fist pushed into the sea. Steep cliffs guard three sides. Only a narrow neck of land connects it to the town. For anyone who wanted to hold this coast, the shape of the rock did half the work.

The story here begins long before any castle. Archaeologists have found traces of people living on this headland in the late Bronze Age and the Iron Age. Then, in the late fourth century, the Romans built a signal station near the cliff edge. It was one of a chain of watchtowers along the Yorkshire coast. Soldiers watched the sea for raiders from across the water. If they saw ships, they could send a warning down the line.

The town's name carries an older tale. According to a tradition preserved in the Norse sagas, a Viking called Thorgils, nicknamed Skarthi, founded a settlement here in the tenth century. Skarthi probably meant something like harelip. His stronghold became Skarthi's burg, and over time, Scarborough. Historians treat the saga as a story rather than a record. Still, it explains why locals have long linked their town to Scandinavian sailors.

The castle itself came in the twelfth century. A powerful nobleman, William le Gros, Count of Aumale, first fortified the headland during a time of civil war in England. When Henry the Second became king, he wanted royal control of the north. He took the castle back from the count. Then he built the great stone keep whose ruins you can see today. For centuries afterwards, Scarborough was a royal castle, held for the Crown.

Turn now toward the keep. Look closely, and you will notice something strange. Only part of it is still standing. One side rises high, with its thick walls and window openings. The other side is simply gone, as if someone cut the tower in half. That is almost exactly what happened... and we will come to the cause in a moment.

First, a story from the early fourteenth century. Piers Gaveston was the favourite of King Edward the Second. Many powerful barons hated him. In 1312 they chased him north, and he took refuge here. The barons laid siege to the castle. Food ran short, and Gaveston surrendered on a promise that he would be kept safe. The promise did not hold. Within weeks, his enemies had him executed. The castle walls protected him, but they could not save him.

Now, the missing half of the keep. During the English Civil War of the seventeenth century, Scarborough changed hands and was besieged more than once. Sir Hugh Cholmley held it for King Charles the First. In 1645, Parliament's forces brought heavy cannon to the headland. Their guns battered the keep for weeks. Eventually the western half collapsed. The defenders, weakened by hunger and disease, surrendered that summer. The broken tower you see is the scar of that bombardment.

Here is a detail many visitors miss. In the 1660s, the castle served as a prison for George Fox, the founder of the Quakers, a Christian movement known for silent worship and plain living. He was held in a cold, damp cell exposed to wind and rain from the sea. He later wrote about the harsh conditions. A place built to keep enemies out was also used to keep a man of faith in.

The second surprise is more recent. On the morning of December 16, 1914, German warships appeared off the coast. They opened fire on Scarborough. Shells struck the castle walls, the old barracks, and houses across the town. Several people in the town were killed. The attack shocked Britain, because it brought the First World War directly to a seaside resort. The British government used the raid on recruitment posters, urging men to remember Scarborough.

Walk out toward the open grass of the headland. Here you can see low outlines in the ground. Some of these mark the site of the old Roman signal station. Later, a chapel stood in the same area. Building on the ruins of an older structure was common in medieval England. Layer by layer, each age left something on this rock, and much of it now lies just under the turf.

Before you leave, spend a moment at the entrance gateway and the barbican, the fortified outer gate that protected the approach. Notice how narrow the path is, and how high the walls rise on either side. An attacker coming this way would be under fire from above at every step. Near the entrance, the Master Gunner's House holds an exhibition about the castle's long life. It is worth a few minutes to see objects found on the site.

As you walk back down toward the town, look to your right at the church below. That is Saint Mary's Church. In its churchyard lies the grave of Anne Brontë, the novelist and youngest of the Brontë sisters. She came to Scarborough hoping the sea air would help her health. She died here in 1849, and she was buried within sight of the water she loved.

Pause once more on the headland. Feel the wind on your face, and look at the broken keep against the sky. Romans, Norse settlers, kings, rebels, prisoners, and townspeople under shellfire all stood on this ground. Today it is quiet, apart from the gulls and the sea. As you go, glance back at the castle from the town. You will see how the keep still watches over both bays, just as it always has.