Blanchland Abbey

Long before I found myself living in the North East, I was just a soft southern lad on a cycling trip through the North Pennines. Somewhere between scenic detours and questionable fitness levels, I stumbled upon Blanchland and it stopped me in my tracks.

It wasn't just the picture-perfect cottages or the fact that the whole village looked like it hadn't changed in centuries, it was that hill climbing out of the village. Bale Hill! Anyone who's pedalled that beast past the Presser Pumps and up towards Sikehead knows what I'm talking about. Let's just say I spent more time pushing the bike than riding it.

Back then, I had no idea I'd one day relocate up here and develop a mild obsession with this remarkable place. Because Blanchland isn't just another pretty village, it's got layers. From its 12th-century abbey roots to the gritty mining legacy that powered the surrounding hills, and right through to the bustling, community-led village you'll find today, this place is the real deal.

At the heart of the village is The Abbey Church of St Mary the Virgin - the remains of Blanchland Abbey, once a grand monastic house, now a peaceful village parish church with stories baked into every block of stone.

A medieval abbey born from wild country

Blanchland Abbey was founded in 1165 by Walter de Bolbec II, who brought in the Premonstratensian canons - a strict religious order known as the White Canons for their pale habits. They lived a disciplined life of prayer, hard work, and rural simplicity. Blanchland was deliberately isolated, on the edge of the moors. This wasn't a place you stumbled across. It was a place you chose for silence.

The abbey was built in the transitional Norman style, and its church was designed with a nave, chancel, cloister, chapter house and other typical monastic buildings arranged around a central courtyard. The Abbey Church of St Mary the Virgin, which survives as the parish church, retains parts of the original 12th-century nave, while the cloister layout can still be made out in the surrounding architecture.

At its peak in the 13th century, the abbey was thriving, with outlying granges, farmland, a guest house for weary travellers, and a large church. These canons weren't monks exactly - they were ordained priests who ran parishes too - but their lives were just as focused on spiritual discipline and community.

That peace didn't last forever. In 1327, during the turbulent reign of Edward III, Scottish raiders swept through Northumberland. Local legend has it that as the monks cowered inside the abbey, they prayed for protection and were rewarded with a thick fog that hid the buildings from view. They celebrated by ringing the bells which promptly gave away their location. The raiders returned and pillaged the lot.

Then came the Black Death, and in the 16th century, the final blow - Henry VIII's Dissolution of the Monasteries in 1539. The canons were booted out, the lands taken, and the abbey began its slow crumble into ruin.

Interestingly, parts of the chapter house and refectory remained intact for a time and were reused in the post-monastic settlement. The west range, originally used as accommodation for lay brethren, was eventually converted into the Lord Crewe Arms.

From abbey to village: A new life in stone

What happened next is why Blanchland looks the way it does today. Rather than letting the abbey fade away, its stones were repurposed to build something new. The village of Blanchland grew from the abbey's remains - almost literally. Many of the cottages, barns and inns still standing were built from the same stone that once formed arches, cloisters and chapels.

It gives the whole place an incredible sense of unity. Walk around and you'll notice how everything just seems to fit. The same curves in the lintels, the same weather-worn sandstone, the same sense of age and quiet. It doesn't feel designed. It just is.

The layout of the village still reflects some of the original medieval structure, with buildings radiating out from what would have been the centre of monastic life. And thanks to the preservation efforts by the Lord Crewe Trust, much of this historical footprint remains intact today.

Enter Bishop Crew - And A pub with serious history

Fast forward to the early 1700s, and the village was bought by Nathaniel Crew, Bishop of Durham. He invested heavily in the village, repaired the church, supported the community, and on his death in 1721, left the estate to a charity - which still owns and manages much of Blanchland today under the Lord Crewe Trust.

One of the abbey's original buildings - the abbot's guest house - was turned into what is now the legendary Lord Crewe Arms. And this isn't just some pub with a plaque. It's an experience.

From the outside, it blends into the village perfectly. But step inside, and you're straight into the 12th century. Flagstone floors, thick stone walls, open fires, wooden beams - you can almost hear the echo of horse hooves and cloister bells. The Crypt Bar is quite literally a medieval cellar, with vaulted ceilings and a candlelit glow. Grab a pint of something local and you'll find it very hard to leave.

More than just a pretty face - History around every corner

Even if you're not planning to stay over or eat (though I'd highly recommend both), the abbey church is worth your time. The nave is still in use for worship and is a beautiful, calm space. You can still see the chancel arch, old window tracery, and fragments of the cloister. There are even a few medieval grave slabs tucked in the grass.

There are subtle details everywhere if you look. Some of the window carvings in the church still bear the fine decorative mouldings typical of 12th-century Norman craftsmanship. In the graveyard, you'll find ancient tombstones and remnants of the medieval abbey wall.

Blanchland isn't just well-preserved, it's alive with its past. The village square, once the site of markets and fairs, still feels like it could host one tomorrow. The old schoolhouse, the smithy, the stone bridge over the Derwent - they all have stories if you stop to look.

Digging deeper - Blanchland's mining heritage

While the abbey might be the headline act, the moors around Blanchland also tell the story of a much grittier past - lead mining. This whole area was once buzzing with industry, long after the monks had left. In fact, much of the North Pennines is a UNESCO Global Geopark, recognised for its exceptional mining heritage.

Just outside the village, the landscape still holds some incredible reminders of this period. Head a short way north and you'll find the Shildon Engine House, standing proud like a stone sentry above the burn. Built in the early 1800s, it once housed a Cornish beam engine, used to pump water from the lead mines below. It's now a dramatic ruin - weathered, haunting, and oddly beautiful. Locals nicknamed it 'Shildon Castle', and it was even lived in by miners' families for a time after the engine shut down.

A little further out, lies the Presser Pumping Station and beyond that, Sikehead and the rich mining history of Weardale, showing that life here wasn't just about quiet prayer and scenic views, but also about hard graft, innovation, and the tough, sometimes dangerous work of extracting wealth from the ground.

Lights, camera, Blanchland

This place looks like it's been made for period dramas, and filmmakers have taken notice. Blanchland was used extensively in the CBBC fantasy drama Wolfblood, playing the fictional town of Stoneybridge. And it's easy to see why - no need for CGI here. The place just looks old, and the best kind of old.

It's also attracted authors, poets, and musicians over the years. W.H. Auden visited in the 1930s and declared that no place held "sweeter memories." He even used it as inspiration for his play The Dog Beneath the Skin.

Did you know?

During the Jacobite uprising of 1715, rebel leader Thomas Forster hid from capture in the Lord Crewe Arms, supposedly squeezing himself into the giant fireplace in the main hall. His sister, Dorothy Forster, is said to haunt the pub to this day. Strange footsteps, unexplained noises, and ghostly goings-on are all part of the lore.

The name 'Blanchland' itself likely derives from the white habits of the Premonstratensian canons who lived here - 'blanch' being French for 'white'.

Why you need to visit Blanchland and the abbey

You don't need to be a history buff to fall in love with Blanchland, even an uncultured southerner like myself leaves with a bit of this place in my heart with every visit.

Whether you're exploring the abbey, tucking into a hearty meal by the fire, or just enjoying the stillness and serenity of the North Pennines, this place leaves a mark. It's one of those rare spots where every stone has a story, and you'll want to hear them all.

Go. Soak it in. Have a pint in the crypt. And maybe - just maybe - watch your back for Dorothy!

Thanks to DJ Aerial Photography for this amazing write up and photos.