What do you expect from a heritage museum landscape?  Beautiful gardens and architecture? Symbols of power and wealth?  Apologies for former lifestyles?  Sculpture and fine art?  Industrial or transport heritage? 

You may be rather nonplussed, therefore, when you pass through the gateway of the Portsmouth Historic Dockyard.

But once you are through these gates and past the now inevitable and, in this case, un-prepossessing bag search facility, you are confronted – perhaps affronted – by a wide, windswept and uncompromising open space.  No wonder Terroir took refuge in the Porter’s Garden, just visible to our right and sheltering behind that massive dockyard wall. 

 The Porter’s job was actually to secure the dockyard from theft (and perhaps espionage?), to mark working hours by ringing a bell, and to close the gate against late comers.  As the link between town and dockyard, porters must have been grateful for any garden down-time they could get.

But we must not linger longer in this small oasis of comfort; we must pass back into the windswept spaces.  In contrast to the garden, this entrance area seems stark, exposed and unwelcoming; over large, over hard (such an assortment of levels and surfaces) and under interpreted.  Why is it here?  What was it used for: a parade ground? An unloading area?  Was there a building here which has been demolished?  We could forgive much if we were told its history, what purpose it served and why it is here. 

A few items of interest are dotted around this area.  The view of the aircraft carrier, HMS Queen Elizabeth, is an accidental bonus, highly visible just beyond the Historic Dockyard fence. More permanent, internal dockyard residents include Vice Admiral Benbow (left) who looks saddened and bemused by his environment, or Admiral Nelson (right) who just looks cross. 

The Dockyard website doesn’t help either.  It’s opening page majors on car parking and our search for a digital map or plan of the museum was a futile exercise. 

When you do arrive, and have moved through the standard gift shop area, you soon realise that the Mary Rose Museum is a completely different kettle of fish. The technological innovations required to both conserve the ship, and make it accessible to the public, are mind-blowing.  The research into the stories behind the rescued artefacts is gripping.   And it’s hard to hurry your first visit; we ran out of time and stamina after three galleries but were able to return the next day to complete the tour. 

The ‘expererience’ starts with a little scene setting.  You’ll meet Henry VIII again.  You’ll go on board a virtual Mary Rose.  No spoilers about that experience, but they do mention, before-hand, that the floor doesn’t move and you won’t get shot. 

Finally, you are released into the chamber of wonders.  Galleries reveal extraordinary stories of Tudor life, based on analysis of surviving evidence of life on board, of the crew’s personal belongings, even of some DNA.

Between galleries, you take a walk through the darkened, below-decks world of a virtual version of the ship. Between these imagined glimpses of life on board, you can turn aside to view to the reality of the actual wreck. It can be an intense, evocative, and shocking experiece.  It can be hard work but we suggest it’s worth the effort.

Emerging into what is now clearly an underwhelming gift shop, you take your post Mary Rose exhaustion to the cafe for a restorative cuppa and an attempt to process it all.

Despite our initial disorientation in those windswept expanses, we did have a grand day out.  We had bought the ‘access all areas for a year’ ticket and went back the next day to experience the Mary Rose galleries which we hadn’t had the time or energy for on the previous day.  We will go back yet again, to visit HMS Victory (below left) and HMS Warrior (below right) when both are more accessible (assuming we can remember where we put the tickets).