Over Hill and Over Hill

For Hannah’s birthday this year, she wanted to go back to Sheffield, where she went to university, and re-live the best parts of her mixed experience. The plan was to also visit Lincoln, which she visited a few times as that’s where her sister went. One of my best mates also went to Lincoln and I never visited him once in the four years I was there. I felt bad about this but I also very much wanted to visit it as it – mainly as I like tall buildings (from the bottom), and it’s pretty interesting that the cathedral used to be the tallest building in the world for a very long time, overtaking the Great Pyramid at Giza (sadly no longer the case due to loss of spires). Another thing that makes it very tall is the massive hill that it, and the whole city, are built on. Something I remember Sheffield is also famous for. So I mentally prepared for a weekend of steep climbs.

We travelled by train, witnessing some box office “this is my seat” drama that you always see on social media but I always assume is fake – “This is my seat,” “No it isn’t,” “Yes, it is,” “No it isn’t,” “Well my FATHER’S JUST DIED,” “WELL MY BROTHER’S JUST COMMITED SUICIDE SO F**K OFF” (entire carriage basically empty the entire time by the way) – and after some minor hiccups eventually made it to Lincoln.

I was really blown away by how beautiful it is, a winding old-fashioned town leading up to the big cathedral on the hill, a literal pilgrim’s way of old. And this was just the view from the Premier Inn (travel recommendations will be the main focus of this blog as ‘twas a short trip). I felt wonder but also regret for never visiting my mate.

Anyhow, onwards up the steep hill, conveniently called ‘Steep hill,’ (I’ve since discovered one of the steepest in the country) to the watering holes. And beautiful watering holes indeed. Proper Tudor style décor and cask beer. Two particularly beautiful pubs were The Cardinal’s Hat (oldest pub in the city – dating back to the 1400s), and Widow Cullens Well. The latter was a Sam Smith’s pub. Not the singer, the brewery. Originally a cousin of John Smith I believe, this brewery has some interesting quirks, such as still delivery beer via the world’s largest horses, and following a strict regimen enforced by the latest (and indeed, late) owner, Humphrey Smith, which includes a blanket ban on phones, TV, music, and children. In a way, this makes for a nice, traditional pub visit, but Mr Smith would apparently randomly turn up at establishments and shut them down immediately for the slightest breach of the rules (anyone interested – I highly recommend his Wikipedia page).

The Magna Carta is also worth a visit – nothing to shout about as a chain pub but location counts for a lot and it is situated at the foot of the Cathedral, which looks lovely lit up at night, and just along from the castle, which contains part of the original Magna Carta itself. Though, sadly, this being a fleeting visit, we did not have time to indulge (although I’m almost sure I will return).

For food, we went to a fantastic local pizza restaurant halfway up the hill, Slow Rise. This specialised in Vegetarian Neapolitan pizzas, and, as a vegetarian and a near-vegetarian this was a huge positive, as there were more options than your usual Margarita or Vegetable. The hot and smoky with chilli vodka sauce and pickled chillies was delicious, as was the Tiramisu home made by the owner’s mum! A fine evening.

The next morning, we of course made the pilgrimage (I think it’s fair to call it that given the absolute vertical nature of the hill), to the Cathedral itself. Another stop at a local establishment first, however, Madame Waffle. A popular hit with local students, this was almost as nice as the Belgian waffle I had on my recent trip to Bruges, although this time I sadly neglected to take a photo. Sustenance for the pilgrimage.

Apart from being vast and beautiful (although, not Catholic sadly, thanks again to Henry VIII), it also had a fair bit of lore, most famously the stone imp, supposedly petrified and doomed to remain after he and his fellow imp caused mischief within the walls. Several individuals I have crossed paths with in this life fit the description of the escaped imp, but I wanted to see the famous stone imp. Problem is, couldn’t find it anywhere – I even followed the map. After much stress and deliberation we decided to pay £1 to ‘light up the imp’ and still couldn’t find him until I eventually spotted a small light, and – eventually – a small – REALLY small – imp. Kind of cheating I suppose, but I’m glad I saw him.

It was a short trip, and I’m afraid that’s all I had time for in Lincoln, but I would love to return – the Christmas markets sound fantastic and dare I say it was nicer than York?? An underrated gem.

Onwards we headed to Sheffield. Coincidentally, so too were the Lincoln City football team, playing Sheffield United that day (nicknamed the ‘imps’ their mischief didn’t help - battered). I bought a can to celebrate the happenstance.

I can’t pretend upon arrival that Sheffield struck me any differently to any other UK city. It’s very big – one of the biggest – which in contrast to my glorious hometown of Newcastle, and my recently-loved Lincoln, wasn’t a huge positive, but it’s also at the gateway to the Peak district, and after checking in at our hotel (Premier Inn), we were headed to a pub that was closer to that part. A proper old fashioned boozer that specialised in pies and where you can’t book a table, The Nottingham House came highly recommended by Hannah (and indeed, by everyone it would seem). We arrived and stood for a long time due to all the tables that had been booked (yes – I know – how times change), but after finding a table, and an even longer wait, we were eventually greeted by absolutely classic pies, with classic chips. Worth every single minute – this was a pilgrimage to the God of pies. I can hands down say it was the nicest pie I’ve ever had (I believe it was specifically chicken and leek), and already was adding to the positives of Sheffield.

We then went on a trip down memory lane for Hannah (probably the steepest memory lane in the country), back to where she used to live in an area called Crookes, near the city centre and popular with students. It rather reminded me of Heaton in Newcastle (another lovely place) with micropubs and various small business and other such nice things. Had a lovely drop of cask ale in what is apparently the cask ale capital of the UK (they did have more options than Lincoln, to be fair), specifically Early Bar. I’m told most of the craft beer is around Kelham Island, closer to the foot of the Peaks and home to several breweries. Can’t speak from experience as we hadn’t the time but it does sound nice.

Second day in Sheffield was principally committed to reliving memories around the university campus, but first we visited the Winter Garden and accompanying museum, which has some nice collections, including some history of Sheffield’s association with steel, and a collection from John Ruskin, who apparently admired the place although didn’t really visit, which is strange, but in his own words ‘it is far more difficult to be simple than complicated.’

It was Sunday, and as a man who insists on a Sunday dinner on such a day, we had booked a highly recommended Italian just near the gardens. It was an Italian, but I did have one of the nicest Sunday dinners I’ve ever had. The Yorkshire (we were, after all, in Yorkshire) was divine. Sadly Hannah felt a bit under the weather and so overpaid for a simple pasta dish, but I’d still highly recommend.

Onwards to the campus tour. The university is in quite a nice part of the city, more independent bars and shops, and a classic campus mix of old and new buildings. One of these is famously ugly, the Diamond, a frontrunner for the Carbuncle Cup Award, but I kind of liked it to be honest. I also spotted the original home of Henderson’s Relish, but my excitement was reserved primarily for the Arts Tower. The tallest university building in the UK (and second-tallest in the city), but also particularly noted for the world’s tallest (and one of Britian’s last remaining) Paternoster lift. These mad contraptions go round on and endless lop and you just have to jump on and off. Sadly, thanks perhaps to the Paternoster himself, from which it takes its name (due to a resemblance of prayer beads), neither the lift nor the building was open. Also I’m no longer a student and sadly don’t think even pass for one anymore. But I had a good peer through the window and think I might have glimpsed it.

Think this was a good a sign as any to be on our way. More inclines, and a less dramatic train ride home. But I enjoyed this elevated trip. I can’t pretend I wouldn’t recommend Lincoln the most, and would like to return, but I also see myself pottering round Kelham Island one day. Might even climb a Peak or two. I’ve certainly had the practice.