The historic port of Whitby on the North Sea feels far from the Hanseatic grandeur of Wismar on the Baltic Sea. Yet the Yorkshire town shares a long tradition of gothic horror with its German counterpart. Wismar’s streets are stalked by the nightmare-inducing Count Orlok, the vampire of the 1922 film, Nosferatu. Whitby, with its ancient ruined abbey overlooking the harbour, is haunted by the terrifying blood sucker, Count Dracula.
These gothic horror stories both owe their existence to centuries-old Eastern European folkloric tales of vampires – the undead who walk the earth preying on humanity. But they also share a common origin, William Wilkinson’s An Account of the Principalities of Wallachia and Moldavia. The English diplomat lived in Romania in the early 19th century and his book on life there included key elements of the shared narrative.






Visiting Whitby in 1890, Bram Stocker read Wilkinson’s book at the Subscription Library. Set against a backdrop of Transylvanian castles and rural superstition in the Carpathian Mountains, Stoker encountered the allegedly true history of a Romanian count who fought a vicious war against the Ottoman Turks and who became a vampire. The book became the main source for Stoker’s 1897 novel, Dracula.
Nosferatu is an unofficial adaptation of Stoker’s novel, hence the name change, but it is basically the same story. While Stoker got inspiration from folklore mixed with elements of actual history, Whitby itself provided other details for his fiction. Stoker talked to local sailors who told him of the wreck of the Dmitri, a ship sailing from Varna that ran aground in Whitby with, it was claimed, only a few surviving crew members.






The Dmitri was said to have carried a strange cargo – crates of earth – and when a rescue crew boarded the ship, they reported seeing an unnaturally large black dog leap to the shore. It was said to have fled up the dramatic 199 Steps, leading from the port to the Church of St. Mary on the heights next to the ruins of Whitby Abbey. European history is full of supernatural black dogs that foreshadow terrible events.
The sailors of Whitby would have been familiar with the legend of the Barghest, which in local folklore was a black dog with huge claws and teeth seen only at night. The Barghest presaged death. In Stoker’s tale, the ship running aground, the ‘crates’ of soil, and the black dog all make an appearance. As does an elderly Whitby sailor called Swales, who sensed the arrival of evil and is Dracula’s first victim.






In the graveyard of St Mary’s church on Whitby’s windswept headland is a tombstone of a man named Swales. Put it all together – plus the enduring popularity of Stoker’s novel alongside numerous films – and the picturesque town of Whitby is Britain’s gothic horror capital. There is plenty of vampire-related nonsense as a result, but less than expected, although we weren’t there during the twice yearly Goth Weekend.
It’s not hard to see why Stoker chose Whitby as one of the central locations for the action. It isn’t just that he researched his story here, the town offers a dramatic backdrop for the events of the novel. From the high ground on the western side of the the town, are views over the harbour to the cluster of narrow streets and fisherman’s cottages on the eastern side. Dominating it all though are St. Mary’s and the ruined abbey.






On a sunny April day it’s beautiful, but it doesn’t take much to imagine the foreboding atmosphere of that same view as a storm forces a strange ship from the East towards the port. It is gothic horror catnip. In honour of the novel, we strolled through the town and up the 199 Stairs retracing Dracula’s steps to St. Mary’s Church. I wandered through the graveyard and then headed to the atmospheric ruins of the abbey.
Whitby Abbey would be more atmospheric without the extortionate entrance fee. Like all British abbeys, it’s a ruin. English Heritage are clearly taking no prisoners when exploiting the Dracula connection. There is a small museum as well, but for £18 you really should be able to expect the toilets to be open and working. Luckily, Whitby has far more to offer than Dracula connections as we discovered over the weekend.

I always remembering the tumbling red roofs. I was there for a Folk Festival many years ago.
It really is chocolate box lid stuff, but I like that it still has that dimension of being a working port. Gives Whitby a bit of edge.