Wilfrid of York

I can’t help but imagine him as an elderly man with a cloth cap and silver moustache, as if drawn from the cast of a seventh-century “last of the summer wine”. But one of so many northern saints, all painted with the stubborn, pig-headed self-assurance that still marks out the land and its people. and all the better for it. not a soft country. engrained and implacable, from the lindisfarne causway right down to westerdale.