Newcastle Castle Keep Adventure

Yours Truly inside the Newcastle Castle Keep

When I get a crack at a castle, I think of Marcello Mostriani, in La Dolce Vita, holding a candleabra, bounding through an Italian ruin. I think of loud laughter in acoustically perfect rooms.

The castles I know have steep, worn steps too small for any feet to fit on entirely. My movements within them are quiet and deliberate. On the turret stairs, I am always thinking about my feet, descending a fan of spiral stone wedges.

The stairs leading to the chapel and garrison rooms at Newcastle Keep

I typically engage in the type of adventure that moves fast. At Newcastle’s Keep, I know the adventure will be more like crossing a rope bridge or descending a crevasse.

When I see the blond face of the Keep, I interpret playful industry from the 12th century brickmasons.

These men suggested an elephant at rest where the old castle motte must have appeared like the hump of it’s back curled resting against the River Tyne.

Though few English had actually seen them, the "face" of the castle keep is consistent with artistic interpretations of elephants from Medieval times

Inside, I explore the garrison room, where men were jailed in irons. I trace the cool arches in the chapel and feel a warm shaft of light tickle my skin through cross-hatched window panes. The most favored and least cherished representatives of human nature came together on this floor.

The Keep chapel

I imagine the town under seize by the Scots, how the townspeople would gather in the Great Hall for protection, how they might receive an address from a representative of the Royal Family staying in the King or Queen’s chambers. I imagine the balcony lined with bow-drawn archers ready to the defense.

One of the four towers atop the Keep. Most can be entered via a crawlspace.

Some believe a stone in sentient, that it holds memories, and the intensity of the actors who touched it or passed can be felt within.

Modern Newcastle as seen from the Keep rooftop

But perhaps it is that, like stones, the people of Medieval times were durable beyond the softness of our age. Perhaps this legend is the crutch that enables our compassion for them, their fears and superstitions.