49 Bootham, Joseph Rowntree House - Virginia Woolf
History - The site we are now visiting is the home of Joseph Rowntree, local businessman & social reform pioneer, his family name was given to the confectionary company Rowntree’s which solidified York’s place in the industrial north. While not a figure of queer historical interest himself, during March of 1913, the newly married Virginia & Leonard Woolf embarked on a political tour of the industrial north as part of Leonard’s work as a political journalist. While it is not known exactly where this meeting took place, it is likely they met at the factory site up Haxby Road. Though it is noted that they enjoyed a walk through town and down to the train station en route to the next site of northern industrial interest. Later that year, Virginia would have one of her first significant breakdowns in her lifelong struggle with her mental health. In 1922, Virginia began a whirlwind romance with novelist, journalist, and socialite, Vita Sackville-West. While she reportedly had several relationships with women during her lifetime, the effect Vita had on Virginia cannot be overstated. We see it in their love letters, and in the writing of her exploration of gender & sexuality, Orlando, published in 1928. Virginia Woolf later ended her life in 1941 at the age of 59.
I’m Only Violent With Myself
Darling, I’m a terrible old impostor,
I dread most being forgotten about,
Left for dust, a secret woven back through the centuries passed, perhaps
Be explicit with me.
Tell me what you want,
It’s yours.
I fear the truth of it more than the darkness,
Being seen, exposed, infinite social post-mortem,
And maybe some kitschy souvenirs for the cheaper seats.
I abhor your false idols (all our idols are false)
except for how we make ourselves
feel when we think of them
I abhor that we pass that credit
Maybe I wanted to be idolised for a little while
Don’t we all, if only
sometimes, for a bit?
Perhaps it’s true, I am clouded
by many strange things.
Who I watch in the mirror has never changed.
I always saw this future conditional, still brimming with unspent potential, embittered though,
Crippled by doubt, & afraid, it really is a lost man who stands there.
I draw the blood, and whittle
the bones away at my knees,
Scratch my name frantically
into an old block-stone, here he lies
And watch the weather
roll over it, a tempest
For my ego. The soul of me, as grains of sand,
Wisps of you remain in the last of me.
I pray I keep finding the courage to move between the quirky old facades I make,
It’s the in-between of them,
that I shake the shame free of its dust,
& breathe again.
Darling, I’ve been a foolish little vampire.
I did it only for you.
After all this time, I let it hurt.
And I should’ve told you.
Prompt
Stand still for a moment. In this space, let your body mirror the feelings of isolation, like a book forever unopened on a dusty shelf. Feel the weight of untold stories, of words withheld, of long-passed conversations left incomplete. Hold in your mind a story of your own you’ve never shared, a moment you’re comfortable with writing with, but something hidden. Imagine Virginia Woolf herself walking these streets, haunted by the ghosts of her own uncertainty. Walk as you think through your story, as though each step is a confession—an unspoken word, a desire for connection not fully realised. Now pause. Look around as if you are being observed, as if every passerby can see right through you. What is it that you are hiding? What is the truth you’ve never spoken aloud?
Take that secret, that fear of being seen, and put it into words. Describe the sensation in your body, locate it, hold it, and let it guide you as you walk through the world you’re building. Like Woolf, who navigated the fine line between the public and private self, explore your own relationship with self-exposure. What does it mean to let someone see you completely? How do you move between the delicate facades you create for the world? Imagine if you could carve your deepest truth into the stone of this city—what would you write? Would it stand the test of time, or would it crumble under the weight of doubt? Let your words be fragile, bold, and unapologetically raw. Exhale deeply, exorcising those demons into your final line.