By Simona Prilogan
29th October 2026
Dear Wind, I do not recall with certainty the day I first danced. But I do remember when I learned to fly within the arc of a pirouette. Tall, with blonde strands of hair and waltz steps. One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three... repeatedly, until the steps taught me to trust. Many years have passed since then, yet the pirouettes have never ceased to spin me into the spell of music, along the boulevard of life, amidst meadows of bold, blue thoughts, where hopes embrace the scent of dawns.
This morning, I waltzed again, as I prepared to leave the charming hotel room I had rented just two days ago at the City Hotel, in the heart of Derry.
From Londonderry, I boarded a coach heading north, slowly leaving behind the city walls and streets still bathed in the soft morning light. As we advanced toward the Inishowen Peninsula, the urban landscape gradually dissolved into a scene of solemn simplicity. I gazed out the window, letting Ireland flow past my eyes. The road wound through low hills, green meadows, and stone walls; here and there, solitary white houses with dark roofs appeared, set as if equidistant from the world and the sea. Flocks of sheep dotted the green expanses with white patches, while cows grazed peacefully behind the fences. The closer we got to Inishowen, the more palpable the presence of the sea became. Beyond the fields and between the hills, glimpses of grey-blue water would occasionally open up. Clouds descended over the hills, and the light shifted from minute to minute. In Ireland, I learned that weather is not merely weather; it is part of the landscape. Sun and clouds, rain and wind seem to chase one another endlessly, altering the face of the land without changing its character. At one point, I caught sight of Trawbreaga Bay. The water lies calm between the stretches of land, reflecting the shifting sky. I remained with my forehead pressed close to the coach window, watching in silence as the land began to embrace the ocean. One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three... waves kissing the shore like a waltz unlike any other. I lived this new experience with the joy and wonder of a child, realising it was one of those journeys where the destination ceases to matter. The journey itself had become the story.
I changed buses in Carndonagh. The first driver, a kind, attentive man, showed me where to wait for the bus that would take me to Malin Head. I stepped off and, for a few moments, found myself alone in the middle of a small town I had only just begun to discover. I didn't need much: just a spot to wait, ten minutes, and the confidence that the journey would continue.
The bus arrived on time. It was so small that it looked more like a van than a coach. I boarded and discovered I was the only passenger. We set off slowly toward Malin Head. This time, the landscape was even wilder. Houses became sparser, the roads narrower, and green fields stretched almost to the sea. Beyond the stone walls, hills sloped down toward hidden coves and wind-battered cliffs. At times, the ocean would suddenly appear between two hills, then vanish again, as if playing a game with my gaze. Since I was the only passenger on the small bus, the driver began telling me about our destination. He spoke with the natural ease of someone describing his own home. He told me about Malin Head, about the fierce winds, the cliffs, and how the weather could change in an instant. He pointed out the places we passed and shared stories about the lives of the people in this remote corner of Donegal. I listened while gazing out the window. It felt amazing that my first guide to Malin Head wasn't a tourist brochure or a recorded voice on an app, but a man driving a nearly empty bus to the tip of the peninsula, a man who seemed to know every twist and turn of the road.
The further we went, the more I felt the world slipping away. There were hardly any cars left, just the narrow road, stone walls, meadows, and the vast sky above them. The wind began to make itself felt even through the closed bus window, and clouds raced across the green expanses. At one point, the driver said something about the end of the road. I no longer recall the exact words, but I remember the impression they left on me. Malin Head was not merely a point on a map; it was a place where people had learned to live alongside the sea, the wind, and the solitude peculiar to the edge of the world.
The wind greeted me first. It came from the Atlantic, cold and salty, tousling my hair and reminding me with every gust that I had arrived in one of Ireland’s northernmost corners. I set off at a leisurely pace. I had no itinerary to tick off, nor any schedule to rush me. I simply wanted to see everything there was to see, to walk to where the paths met the sea, and to let the place settle into my soul. The cliffs rose above the Atlantic, dark and rugged, sculpted by water and wind. The sea crashed against them with force. Every now and then, the waves would recede, leaving trails of white foam behind, before the next wave came to reclaim the rocks.
I reached Banba's Crown, one of the promontory's most famous landmarks. The name comes from Banba, a female figure in Irish mythology associated with the land itself. It struck me how fitting it was for such a place, situated at the edge of the earth and exposed to every wind, to bear the name of a figure from Ireland's ancient tales. The old signal tower (1805) stands there too, gazing out over the sea. Nearby, the grass grew low and leaned in a single direction, as if the wind had spent years trying to show the earth which way to look.
Further on, I came across the large white-stone sign reading "EIRE 80." It felt almost surreal to find such a precise trace of history in this wild landscape. The letters and number had been constructed during World War II to identify neutral Ireland from the air. I gazed at the stones and thought of the planes that had once flown over this spot, amidst a Europe at war, while here, on the green soil of Ireland, neutrality was spelt out in white letters for those looking down from above.
I kept walking. At Hell's Hole, the ocean seemed to change its voice. Here, the cliffs form a spectacular inlet where the water noisily rushes in, and waves crash against the stone walls. I stood for a while, looking down.
But, dear wind, what impressed me most was neither the name nor the history. It was the expanse. Wherever I looked, there was water, sky, and rock. On very clear days, one can look out from here toward Scotland, across the waters of the North Channel. I imagined that somewhere, beyond that hazy line where the sea meets the sky, lay the Highlands, a region I would seek out on another journey. Two edges of the world, gazing at each other across the water.
When the time came to head back, I glanced once more at the Atlantic. The sky had changed, as it does so quickly in Northern Ireland, and the light had taken on a softer hue. Malin Head was receding behind me, yet I felt as though I wasn't truly leaving. I set off toward the spot where I was to wait for the small bus. The road was familiar this time, but the landscape seemed different, perhaps because I was now viewing it through the eyes of someone who had just said goodbye to a place where they had found something unexpected. As the bus pulled away, I took a final look at the peninsula’s expanse of green. The Atlantic gradually vanished behind the hills, but the wind kept blowing.
Dear wind, I do not know if I found you or if you called me all the way here. I only know that, for a few hours, at that edge of the world, I forgot about haste, calculated routes, and destinations. I learned that some places are not merely to be visited; they are also to be listened to. And Malin Head spoke to me through the waves, the rocks, and the grass bending in the wind. Perhaps, one day, I shall return. Until then, I leave you to dance alone across the Atlantic. I will hold within me the waltz of this magnificent day, one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three, amidst a glorious twilight where the blue of the sky embraced the sea and the land.
Simona Prilogan
You can find me here:
All Photography by Simona Prilogan
Location maps - Left: Inishowen Peninsula and Malin Head and Right: Ireland map showing County of Donegal magnified. Wikimedia & Creative Commons. https://www.govisitinishowen.com/
Simona is a Romanian-born writer living in Inverness, Scotland. She writes poetry and short stories in both English and Romanian, and her work has been published internationally in literary magazines and anthologies. She has published several collections of poetry and short stories in both languages. Drawn to nature, colour and human stories, her writing explores themes of identity, memory and migration, often reflecting the places and experiences that have shaped her life. Alongside writing, Simona is a radiographer, a profession she deeply values, while remaining passionate about learning and discovering new perspectives. She is currently undertaking a part-time, distance-learning MSc in Healthcare Management at Anglia Ruskin University. She is also a full-time BA (Hons) Creative Writing student at the University of the Highlands and Islands in Inverness.
Simona's last ACT article of May 27th is here https://www.artculturetourism.co.uk/post/scotland-memories-framed-in-light-of-poetry
You’ll be able to meet Simona at some of the UK's Literary Escape Festivals where she is featured. Her next one is at Edinburgh Literary Escape Festival on 14th November, see the link here https://www.literaryescapeco.co.uk/events/edinburgh Then next year, she will take part in most of them. The events can be found on the Literary Escape Festival website: https://www.literaryescapeco.co.uk/
This article is published by Marysia Zipser, Founder of Art Culture Tourism & ACT Ambassador, Nottingham, UK. https://www.artculturetourism.co.uk/blog https://www.artculturetourism.co.uk/
Please feel free to write any remarks to Simona in the Comments box below and to share this article via email and social links as you wish. Thank you.
By Janine Moore
Nottingham
9th October 2026
Some places hold history in their stones, and others hold us. If you travel just a few miles north of Nottingham, following the dipping lanes through the rolling countryside, you will find Southwell. Tucked away like a well-kept secret, this market town doesn’t shout for attention. But as you round the final bend, the horizon is suddenly claimed by the magnificent, lead-capped towers. This is Southwell Minster - The Cathedral Church of Nottinghamshire.
To a photographer, it is an absolute dreamland of shifting light, deep textures, and soaring geometry, and deciding whether to use black and white to give the stone masonry a better structure in the shot or to use colour to show the stunning stained glass windows in their truest detail. To the historian, it becomes a living textbook. And to anyone else who steps through its heavy timber doors, it seems to become something much deeper: an oasis of true, uninterrupted peace.
Whether you come with a deep religious faith or with a love for ancient craftsmanship, you will find within these doors, or if you simply desire to escape the frantic rush of modern life, the Minster opens its arms to you. It is a sanctuary for everyone.
The Historic Tapestry of Southwell Village
To understand the Minster, you must first understand the soil from which it grew. The story of Southwell (often pronounced "Suth-ell" and correctly pronounced South-Well ) is intimately bound up with the waters that gave it its name. Historically, the area was defined by its numerous natural springs—the "wells" of the south—which have drawn people to this sheltered valley for thousands of years.
Way back before the first stone of the current church was laid, Southwell was a bustling hub of Roman life.
During the 1st to 4th centuries AD, a gigantic, luxurious Roman villa stood on the very ground where the Minster now rests. This wasn't just a simple farmstead; it was a grand estate complete with an extensive bathhouse complex and intricate, multi-coloured mosaic floors.
When standing in the Minster yard today, did you know that you are walking directly over the footsteps of Roman citizens who looked out across these same Nottinghamshire fields seventeen hundred years ago?
The Roman past still lingers in the fabric of Southwell; it offers us a tangible link to our earliest roots.
By the Anglo-Saxon era, King Edgar of England established a collegiate church here in 956 AD. Southwell became a vital administrative and religious heart for the Archbishop of York, transforming the quiet village into a thriving medieval market town. It would have been absolutely bustling at this time.
Walking down the historic Burgage or exploring the beautifully preserved prebendal houses that frame the Minster today, you can still feel that distinct medieval layout—a peaceful village built to support, and be supported by, a magnificent house of stone.
A Sanctuary For All
Buildings of this scale can sometimes feel intimidating or clinical, but Southwell Minster has a rare, uniquely domestic warmth. It is a place that embeds itself into your personal geography.
Many share a lifelong relationship with this building, and I first experienced it as a volunteer on a school trip: the sound of children echoed off the high stone vaults, and the children's eyes lit up in awe of the cathedral's vastness and intricate details.
Years later, I returned with my family and showed them all the details: the carved faces hiding in the rafters, the beauty of the carved natural elements in the leaves.
And then, of course, there are the quiet afternoons spent with dear friends—the kind of visits where very few words are spoken, because the space itself invites a reflective, comfortable silence.
Personal Reflection
When I walked through the nave with my longtime friend Marysia, Southwell Minster became a backdrop for shared life stories. It is a place where you can sit side-by-side on a wooden bench, watching the dust motes dance in the shafts of afternoon sun, feeling entirely grounded and at ease.
The deep personal connection highlights the Minster’s truest purpose: it is an entirely inclusive space, and that is one of the elements that I love about Southwell. It is entirely irrelevant whether you subscribe to a particular liturgy, follow a different faith, or hold no spiritual beliefs at all. The atmosphere is completely democratic.
The silence here doesn't demand piety; it simply offers rest, for instance. It is a communal living room for the soul, built by hands long dead to comfort the living. In my mind, this is the most inspiring and heartwarming aspect of Southwell Minster.
Echoes of Empire: The Roman Legacy Within the Stone
One of the most thrilling aspects of the Minster is its architectural multi-layering. It is a building constructed from the recycling of history.
If you know where to look, the Roman foundations speak directly to you. During excavations in the 1950s, fragments of a beautifully preserved Roman tessellated pavement—a mosaic floor of tiny squares of red, white, and blue-grey stone—were uncovered beneath the south transept floorboards.
The Roman presence isn't just hidden beneath your feet; it was actively absorbed into the walls. When Norman builders arrived in 1108 AD to construct the massive church seen in Southwell today, they didn't just quarry fresh stone from nearby Mansfield; they dug into the ruins of the abandoned Roman villa.
Look closely at some of the interior walls and lower archways, and you will spot distinctive, flat red Roman tiles and bricks layered into the stone masonry. These ancient materials were repurposed by Norman masons, meaning that the very physical fabric of the Minster is a literal bridge connecting the classical world of the Roman Empire to the medieval world of Christian Europe.
Master Builders: The Soul of the Stone Masonry Architecturally, Southwell Minster is divided into two distinct halves: the heavy, muscular Norman nave and the breathtakingly light Gothic choir and chapter house. This transition showcases some of the finest stone masonry in all of Europe.
The Norman Nave
The nave is an absolute triumph of Romanesque design. As I walked down the central aisle, I was flanked by the massive, circular stone pillars that felt as permanent as tectonic plates.
The arches above them are thick, semi-circular, and adorned with bold, geometric chevron patterns.
The masonry here is all about power, scale, and symmetry. The tool marks of the 12th-century masons are still visible on the Magnesian Limestone - broad, confident strokes of the axe that give the stone a tactile, hand-hewn quality.
The light here is low and moody, pooling around the bases of the pillars and casting long, dramatic shadows. It is a paradise for high-contrast black-and-white photography.
The breathtakingly detailed 'Leaves of Southwell' carvings Carved into the capitals of archways and doorways is the world-renowned artwork known as the Leaves of Southwell. These are not stylized, rigid medieval patterns; they are breathtakingly accurate, deeply undercut botanical portraits of the English countryside.
Masons carved the stone directly from the pure beauty of nature, capturing the fluid, organic lines of oak leaves complete with tiny, individual acorns.
With dedication, they captured the details of creeping ivy and delicate wild roses, maple, hawthorn, and buttercups. If you pay attention to the smaller, special pieces, there are hidden forest creatures and green men peeking through the foliage.
The undercut is so deep that you can slip your fingers completely behind some of the stone leaves, making it feel all the more real.
When the morning light spills through the windows, it catches the delicate edges of these stone carvings, casting intricate leaf shadows across the walls. It actually feels as though an ancient Sherwood Forest has been permanently petrified into a state of graceful, eternal spring. You have to experience it for yourself to appreciate it fully.
A Book Quote From 'Nottinghamshire' by Roy Christian
Quoted from page 153: "It is the naturalness of the carvings that catch the eye. These were surely the work of men who, like Thomas Hardy, ‘noticed things’, the work perhaps of local men from Sherwood Forest who knew about nature. And they knew, too, about people. The heads round the chapter are surely real people, probably the workmen themselves. There is the master mason, and a man with toothache. There are similar heads on the slightly later choir screen: a man pulling at his beard; another scratching his leg. You get the feeling that the men who did these carvings were happy in their work, and some of that happiness must surely have been transmitted to generations of later visitors."
The Beauty of the Stained Glass
The stone masonry provides the bones of Southwell Minster, and therefore the stained glass windows are undoubtedly its shifting, luminous soul. The glass pieces are a vibrant patchwork compiled across different centuries, telling stories not just through their imagery, but through the very evolution of glass-making technology.
Window Location Historical Era Visual Style & Characteristics
Great West Window, 15th-century Perpendicular, massive architectural grid filling the nave with clean, geometric afternoon light. The Great West Window at Southwell Minster. Often called The Angel Window. Designed by renowned British artist and glass painter Patrick Reyntiens. Created in collaboration with Barley Studio in York. Installed in 1996 to celebrate the centenary of the diocese. Featuring a gathering of hundreds of fluidly sketched angels holding roundels, each of the days of creation or other significant biblical scenes.
The Choir Lancets, 13th-century (Original French Glass): Deep, saturated jewel tones smuggled out of Paris during the French Revolution; intense blues and rubies.
Modern Windows: 20th & 21st-Century Contemporary Abstract, fluid designs by artists such as Patrick Reyntiens and Nicholas Mynheer splashing vibrant, dynamic colour across ancient stone.
The experience of the glass changes entirely depending on the time of your visit. On a crisp autumn morning, the high, narrow lancet windows in the East End project long, intense beams of ruby red and sapphire blue deep into the choir stalls. These particular pieces of glass have a wonderfully interesting history. There is 13th-century French glass, originally from the Church of the Holy Innocents in Paris, brought to England for safety during the turmoil of the French Revolution. The depth of their colour is unmatched; modern techniques still struggle to replicate the rich, uneven density of this medieval "pot metal" glass.
In stark contrast, the Great West Window dominates the back of the nave. Added in the 15th century, its soaring, vertical stone tracery holds larger, much clearer panes. As the sun begins to set, this window acts as a giant lens, drinking in the amber and gold of the dying light and flooding the massive Norman columns with a warm, copper glow.
It’s a real joy for the photographer to see how light flows differently throughout the day. No matter when you visit, you will find the perfect shot.
A Blueprint for a Peaceful Visit
To truly absorb the unique, meditative spirit of Southwell, it helps to approach your visit not as a checklist of sights, but as a slow journey of the senses. Here is a thoughtful way to structure an afternoon of quiet exploration:
The Approach
I recommend you start your visit to Southwell Minster by walking through the historic town center, stopping for a quick coffee in a local courtyard, where there are many quality cafes I have sampled. Walk along the Minster's outer boundary wall to appreciate how the pale Mansfield stone shifts in colour from a cold grey under clouds to a rich, buttery gold when the sun breaks through.
The Threshold
When I entered through the north porch, I paused for a moment in the massive, cool air of the Norman nave. Then I listened as the ambient sounds of the outside world instantly dropped away, replaced by an expansive, velvety silence. It brings such a soul-calming atmosphere.
The Stone Trail
Walk slowly down the north aisle; keep your eyes sharp for the flat red Roman tiles embedded in the masonry work.
If you walk towards the crossing beneath the stone pillars, you will feel the immense vertical scale of the structure.
The Sanctuary
Spend time alone in the Chapter House. Sit on one of the stone seats beneath the Leaves of Southwell. Turn off your camera, put away your phone, and simply watch how the changing daylight catches the delicate stone veins of the carved oak and ivy leaves. When I have visited previously with family or with my good friend, Marysia, we have always taken moments to sit and pause to take in the feeling of sanctuary.
The Farewell
Finish your visit in the Palace Gardens just outside, walking among the ruins of the old Archbishop's Palace, from where the ancient lawns offer a beautiful view back up at the soaring towers.
Location and Address
Southwell Minster
Church Street,
Southwell,
Nottinghamshire,
NG25 0HD
Parking
The closest car park is on Church Street and has 90 spaces. NG25 0HQ
King Street car park has 50 spaces, NG25 0EW
The Bramley Centre car park is behind the Library and has 25 spaces. NG25 0EJ
An Ever-Open Door
Southwell Minster remains a real tribute to what human beings can achieve when they pour their patience, artistry, and spirit into a single, collective goal across centuries. I have always greatly admired the stonework and carpentry on every visit. It is a monument constructed from Roman ruins, shaped by Norman ambition, and softened by Gothic poetry. Yet, its greatest achievement isn't its historical pedigree or its architectural fame. Its greatest achievement is its persistent, unshakeable kindness.
Long after you have left its grounds - after you have said goodbye to family, parted ways with friends, or finished your latest photography project - the memory of that deep, cool interior peace stays with you. It stands as an enduring reminder that we all need spaces to slow down, to breathe, and to connect. And the doors at Southwell remain open, waiting quietly to welcome anyone who seeks a moment of calm in our beautiful, changing world.
All photography by Janine Moore.
Further reading:
Nottinghamshire, a book by Roy Christian.
Useful Links;
What's on at Southwell Minster, Cathedral church of Nottinghamshire: https://www.southwellminster.org/whats-on/
Southwell Minster - The Association of English Cathedrals:
Southwell Workhouse, an article by Janine Moore on the BaldHiker website:
Janine Moore
Janine Moore is a Nottinghamshire-based writer and blogger with a passion for uncovering the stories hidden within England’s landscapes, heritage sites, and walking experiences. Drawing on years of exploring historic estates, charming towns, and countryside trails, she loves to share her experiences of travel, history, and hearty food in a way that’s both informative and inviting.
Living in the heart of Nottinghamshire, Janine is perfectly placed to explore some of England’s most captivating regions. From the romantic ruins and rugged beauty of the Peak District—one of her favourite places to roam—to the legendary Sherwood Forest and the elegant halls of historical properties, she approaches every journey with a storyteller’s curiosity and a photographer’s eye. Janine is Deputy Editor of ACT blog.
Janine also writes for the www.baldhiker.com website as their heritage and countryside writer, covering walks, food, and heritage subjects. https://www.baldhiker.com/author/janine-moore/
Janine’s most recent blog post for Art Culture Tourism International, 9th January 2026 .https://www.artculturetourism.co.uk/post/queen-victoria-statue-nottingham-how-public-sculpture-plays-a-pivotal-role-in-society
This article is published by Marysia Zipser, Founder of Art Culture Tourism & ACT Ambassador, Nottingham, UK. https://www.artculturetourism.co.uk/blog https://www.artculturetourism.co.uk/
Please feel free to write any remarks to Janine in the Comments box below and to share this article via email and social links as you wish. Thank you.