Once upon a time, we Brits could look out of our window at night and see cluster upon cluster of sparklingstars. And in some parts of the country, you still can.

I'm lucky enough to spend a twinkling evening atRobin Hood's Bay, one of the most striking villages of the Yorkshire Coast, with enough atmosphere to rival its more imposing literary sister, Whitby. I arrive on a bright day in early spring, the first daffodils nodding gently by the winding coastal path that leads down to the sea. I feel suddenly swept into a gothic romance novel, which feels very suitable, given this is the year of Wuthering Heights. And while Brontë fever may have drawn coachloads of would-be star-crossed lovers to Howarth, might I suggest this equally evocativeYorkshire beauty spot.

The sunlit waves crash beneath spectacular cliffs, and the sea stretches out endlessly before me. Time seems to stand still here, and it's easy to imagine pirates of the old ballads making land here, treasure clinking in their chests. But today, all is peace as I make my way through the steep, cobbled streets, where smugglers of stories once made use of secretive, subterranean passages, and ghostly figures supposedly roam.

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My nostrils fill with scents of delicious food, with each street boasting pubs and eateries that appear untouched since the days of clandestine chats over ale and candlelight. But it's not quite time for sustenance yet, and a night of stargazing awaits. Little do I know then that Robin Hood's Bay is a gem that glows even brighter in the dark.

I'm staying at the superb Hotel Victoria,which boasts extraordinary views over the cliffs, noted through North Yorkshire and beyond. Beloved by passing sea captains since the Victorian age, the 30-bedroom Hotel Victoria is newly refurbished, but maintains much of its historic character. The rooms in the 'Captain's Quarters' are comfortable and beautifully decorated, and as I enjoy a relaxing soak in the clawfoot tub, I feel very much like an elegant 19th-century lady.

Of course, the rooms are also well appointed for a aspiring-elegant 21st century lady like myself, and I'm positively thrilled to see a Dyson hairdryer on the dressing table, as well as a little bottle of Yorkshire gin. Absolute bliss. Wrapping up warm, I head to meet Mark Dawson, chairman of the Whitby and District Astronomical Society, in the tasteful hotel bar, and his passion for all things stargazing is instantly infectious. He has a deep knowledge of the yearly patterns of the stars, best seen here in the month of August, describing them touchingly as "old friends returning".

Mark told the Mirror: "We forget that though, literally, people's lives were ruled by what they saw in the night sky, by where objects rose, when they rose, when they set. You only have to look at Stone Henge, these ancient monuments that were sky clocks, all related to the sky. So their lives were ruled by events that went on in the sky. In Egypt, when they had what we call the helical rise of the Siririus, which is the brightest star in the night sky, that was the first rising before the sun in the dawn sky.

"They knew then that the Nile was shortly going to flood. So their lives would be ruled by when they first saw Sirius in the morning. And we forget that now, in all the modern day, and all that detritus, we've lost our connection with the night sky. I think it's only people who are in really dark areas, rural locations, that maybe still have that. Which is a shame".

With so many of us experiencing sleep issues, investing in all sorts of modern appliances to get some rest, could it be that our body clocks are rebelling against adjusting to a world where the skies are shut out? And could embracing the dark skies and their cycles, as our ancestors did since time immemorial, be the answer? As someone who struggles to drift off, I'm willing to try.

Mark first became fascinated by all things space as a youngster, watching the moon landings, and there is perhaps no better area in England for a budding stargazer to hone their interest. In December 2020, the North York Moors National Park was designated as an International Dark Sky Reserve, making it one of just 25 locations worldwide recognised for outstanding night-sky quality. In the darkest areas, some 2,000 stars can be seen at any one time - a notion that feels positively alien to a city dweller such as myself.

There have been some steps taken to reduce light pollution in Britain in recent years, with significant improvements to street lighting, including the removal of the old sodium lights with their "terrible" orange glow. But still, those travelling over to the North York Moors from the neighbouring metropolises of Sheffield and Leeds are regularly left speechless during stargazing expeditions. Mark said, "People are quite literally stunned. Over the years, they can't believe what they're seeing. And we tend to forget that when you're sort of living on the doorstep, because it's fairly easy for us just to drive ten minutes and be able to appreciate that."

We leave the plush surroundings of Hotel Victoria behind and head out into the darkness for a mini 'stargazing safari'. It's a clear night, and Mark feels hopeful we'll enjoy some splendid views. Sadly, this is an occurrence that has become less frequent in recent times, yet another depressing blow of climate change. In winters gone by, the chance of a clear sky was around 30 per cent, but for the last few years it's sat around the 12 per cent mark. Mark told me, "I hope it's not a trend. It's probably to do with global warming. It seems that because the sea temperature is warmer, which it is, it tends to generate more moisture, which then means more cloud."

Already, as I look up from the hotel steps, I can see a good quantity of glitter in the blackness, but I am nowhere near prepared for the phenomenal sight that's about to greet me. We walk a short way off the road, away from the streetlights and into the true darkness. Remembering my glasses in my pocket, which I so often neglect out of vanity, I pop these on and audibly gasp. Side note, please always wear your glasses when out seeking the awe-inspiring.

Without exaggeration, the sky is quite literally filled with stars, many of which give off a sparkle I didn't think possible. An upturned jewellery box spilled into endless folds of velvet. While still very much firmly on the ground, it almost feels as though we've somehow lifted some way up into the spangled heavens, as if I could reach out a finger and nudge a perfectly set constellation out of place. Breathtaking doesn't quite cover it. It was one of those moments where you're very much glad to be alive.

Mark points out various constellations using his long torch in an accessible way, and there is not a twinkle in the sky that he doesn't know intimately. A whole history is written here, from the older stars blazing towards death, to the younger stars with their youthful blue hue, and I never even realised. I never really saw myself as a scientifically inclined person, but here I don't feel out of my depth. Perhaps it takes such sights to bring the universe and all its enormity home.

I talk Mark's ear off with questions, and he very politely obliges, but soon it's time for me to let him carry on with his evening and for me to return to the warmth of Hotel Victoria. It's only when I step into the foyer that I remember how hungry I am. Luckily, a slap-up dinner awaits, with a hearty steak and chips, followed by an absolutely enormous Eton Mess dessert, soon hushing my stomach grumbles.

The staff couldn't have been more attentive and friendly, making sure I had a suitably big wine ready to take out with me on the veranda for the final part of my day. And I would wholeheartedly recommend this part. Blanket around my shoulders and torch in hand - both provided by the hotel - I sit, sip and look out at the sky and sea, both so dark, beautiful and mysterious.

It's undoubtedly a romantic spot, but also equally perfect for being alone with your thoughts and a good audiobook, like this writer. I'm not alone for long, though, with a rather grumpy-looking cat plonking itself on my lap and loafing contentedly. Whether this is part and parcel of the overall experience, I can't really say, but I certainly enjoy his company, as cross as he looks with mine.

I sleep like a baby, and not just because of the pleasant wine or deep, comfy bed. I think over Mark's words, how we humans were supposed to live by the stars, to abide by a shared celestial clock. The following morning, after a breakfast of fresh kippers, I head back to my city home, knowing that taking time to see the stars, and see them how they should be seen, is something I want to factor into mt own personal calendar for the rest of my life.

Do you have a story to share? Email me at julia.banim@reachplc.com

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