Free Weekend? Explore St Albans

[quote] The beer garden was rammed with smartly dressed family groups in outsize sunglasses. Plenty of Pimm’s being drunk, too” [/quote]

We had talked forever about visiting St Albans. Just 29 minutes on a train, direct from Kentish Town, always an enticing short-hop prospect – except something made us never quite get round to it.

The other sunny Saturday we were making plans for a trip to Brighton, but then at the last minute changed our minds and went north instead. And there we were. Out in what felt like a very beautiful city in no time at all.

Its Roman past is much documented and much in evidence. According to Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People, Alban was a pagan living at Verulamium (now St Albans), who converted to Christianity, and was subsequently beheaded on a hill above the Roman settlement, around 283 AD. The abbey was later founded nearby.

Saturday is market day, and the place felt buzzy and resort-like. We climbed the hill up to the medieval city from the station to find one of the longest-running street markets in Britain – even longer than Queen’s Crescent, folks – in fact dating back to the 1200s. With its mix of clothing, cheeses, cheap fruit and veg one end, and “artisan” outlets clustered by the 15th century clock tower, it makes a striking first impression.

George Street swoops downhill to the right and its independent shops, garden cafes and antique emporiums beckon the visitor onwards. It leads to the cathedral and wonderfully named Romeland, and it was at that point that a moment of deja vu descended, these film set-like streets all oddly familiar. It was unsurprising to learn afterwards that the city’s starred in numerous movies and TV series, from Inspector Morse to several Hollywood blockbusters.

And so to the cathedral, a vast hulking mass with the longest nave in Britain, which dates back to 1077. There is no entry fee, just a suggestion donation, which makes it no commitment for the church-o-phobic. Inevitably it oozes history: once the principal abbey in England, it was where the first draft of Magna Carta was drawn up. And no more than the parish church when it was bought by local people in 1553, it was only made a cathedral in 1877.

But it was in nearby Fishpool Street that we really fell for St Albans. Recalling the weave of pastel streets in Hastings Old Town (it’s even been a stand-in on TV shows) it seemed impossibly lovely and rural. A large hotel, St Michael’s Manor, sprawled across the road, its dining patio overlooking the lake and parkland beyond.

And the adjoining village of St Michael’s, with its crouched old pubs and mown lawns, snakes uphill towards the Verulamium museum, and beyond, the impressive mosaic. If you have a dog in tow, as we did, the mosaic is outdoors (protected, of course), in the centre of the park, and the easiest way to glimpse the city’s Roman antiquity.

Now, lunch. As in many wealthy regional cities, upmarket chains abound here, from Bill’s to Cote to Brasserie Blanc, but we chose to eat at the Blue Anchor, a smartish pub with unfussy interior whose beer garden was rammed with smartly dressed family groups in outsize sunglasses. Plenty of Pimm’s being drunk, too. And while the menu was fairly standard pub grub on our visit (despite a few “Michelin” stickers on its windows), our scampi and chips and Hunter’s chicken were passable – if not quite worth the £12 price tags. But still, the rose was chilled; a bucolic spot.

After a waterside walk through Verulam Park and an ale at the oldest pub in the city, Ye Olde Fighting Cocks, in its packed beer garden (a bona fide tourist draw), we had coffee back up in an Italian cafe on French Row, by the medieval clocktower. Suddenly feeling a little sleepy and sun-kissed, it was time to head home.

Half an hour later? We were back out onto the bustle of Kentish Town Road.

Words & Photos: Stephen Emms