Yorkshire Archives - Page 3 of 8 - Scribble by the Ribble

Where time stands still in the Dales

Of all Yorkshire’s Dales, Kingsdale probably makes me feel the most relaxed. It’s such a peaceful place; small but perfectly formed. Kingsdale doesn’t belong in the 21st century and is much the better place for it. With Gragareth rising steeply on the west and Whernside to the east, this most secluded of dales can seem very lonely on a darkening winter’s eve. But on bright autumnal days with sun shining on the limestone, and glistening on the beck as it cackles over water-worn pebbles, Kingsdale is heavenly.

I have a well-read phamplet that was printed by the Craven Herald in the 1930s, called Kingsdale the Valley of the Vikings. It was written and published by Frederic Riley of The Book Stores, Settle. In it are many photos of scenes which if I captured again today would not look any different whatsoever.

One day this week I parked in a lay-by on the narrow road from Thornton-in-Lonsdale to Dent where there is a classic view of Kingsdale. Should I head to the west of the dale and walk up the steep path through loose rocky limestone, or go east up the gentler slopes of Twisleton Scars? Thinking that my old knees would handle the latter much more comfortably I headed for the path up which I’d not been for more than 40 years, towards Whernside. Years ago, probably during a Duke of Edinburgh Awards hike, we’d camped in Ingleton and walked up Twisleton Scar and along the spine of Whernside (pictured above) before camping again somewhere near High Birkwith. No such trek today as I wandered around the fabulous limestone pavement where a few stunted trees leaned with the prevailing westerly wind towards Ingleborough. Here, odd weathered stones balance precariously which along with the trees present some classic (or should that be clichéd?) shots of the surrounding dales landscape. A lovely walk with extensive views over Wenningdale towards the Bowland Fells.

My granddad’s brother, Reuben Hepworth, survived the horrific battle fields of Flanders only to be killed in action exactly one month later on 11th December 1917 while on duty in Italy. He was just 24 and single. His mother Hannah, already a widow and with four children, received £105 10s 2d in April 1920 when the government finally sorted out his will. While we rightly remember those who died fighting for their countries we should also bear in mind the trauma felt by families back home.
I have Reuben’s Memorial Plaque – sometimes known as the Death Penny or Dead Man’s Penny. They were issued after the First World War to the next-of-kin of service personnel killed as a result of the war.

Like me, you were probably totally surprised to hear this week that some rich people get richer by avoiding tax. What shocking news. They’ll be telling us next that there are people on benefits who shouldn’t be – and folk driving round in cars that haven’t been taxed. Ah well, life just wouldn’t be the same in Little England if we couldn’t go ‘tut-tut’ about something, would it?

Dales churches

This week’s church is in the Mallerstang valley in the Yorkshire Dales National Park. St Mary’s chapel at Outhwaite has been around since the 14th century. The small low building contains a 13th century bell. Above the porch is a stone recording the restoration of the church by Lady Anne Clifford, who owned the nearby Pendragon Castle and lived in Skipton Castle, no doubt avoiding tax.

Dales the place to be whatever the weather

What a wet week in the Dales. But there are a lot worse places to be when it’s chucking it down, so mustn’t grumble. One of my favourite perching places is on Bowland Knotts where the Western Dales can be seen in all their glory. On Tuesday, while sitting on this gritstone outcrop at around 1400ft above sea level, I took this layer-cake of a photo. The Lakeland Fells weren’t visible this time but the Three Peaks were.

The above photo shows bleak Clapham Common from the same spot. Clapham is a few miles away but the smallholders from the parish were (maybe still are?) allowed to graze their stock here. The area was probably once forested and as I sat here I thought this would be the perfect kind of land on which to plant much-needed native trees.

With forests on my mind I drove down to Gisburn Forest and Stocks Reservoir for a few more photos and a stroll through the woods where the colours are rapidly changing.

Hoping in vain for another day without rain, later in the week I headed up Wenningdale to High Bentham and attempted the town’s Heritage Trail. A couple of miles in I had to turn back such was the rain and boggy ground. Another one to add to the list of dry-day walks.

Referendum for Yorkshire?

Talk this week about Yorkshire becoming a self-governing country got me
wondering if all of us who voted to remain in Europe would also vote for our county to remain in GB should there ever be such a referendum. What would our stance be over immigrants from Lancashire and the North East? There would be no problem about passports for Yorkshire folk, as we never leave the county anyway, but would we allow people from London and the South East safe passage through to Scotland for their skiing or golfing trips, or even let them cross our air space? The Dalesman has a test to see if you qualify as a Yorkshire person – take it here. Ashamedly, for a former editor of the magazine, I only got 11/12 (I know nothing about films – had that question been about Yorkshire football I’d now be a fully qualified Tyke. More revision required.).

The Ribble was a bubbling cauldron at Stainforth Foss one evening this week. I tried to capture the violence and chaos – and a rainbow.

Also, here’s a short video of the scene…

Dales churches (again)

Adding to my collection of Dales churches are these two – St Leonard’s at Chapel-le-dales and St Batholomew’s at Barbon.

Why life’s just hell in the Dales (12 pics)

My old milk-bottle legs got an airing in the sunny Dales yesterday. Shorts were donned for a walk around Warrendale Knotts just up the hill from home in Langcliffe. From the top of any of the limestone knolls you can enjoy great views east and west. The mighty scars here are as impressive as any along the Craven Fault, and the limestone Dales landscape contrasts greatly from the neighbouring gritstone area where Black Hill and Rye Loaf Hill loom darkly. In the west, Ingleborough and Penyghent look down on Ribblesdale. Top photo shows Attermire Scar with Black Hill and Rye Loaf Hill in the background.

Off to Hell

Earlier in the week I drove through the Dales to the Mallerstang area, captured a steam train crossing Dandry Mire viaduct and took a trip to Hell. Well, Hellgill Force, to be precise. Sometimes this waterfall can be nobbut a trickle while other times it’s a truly spectacular sight when water cascades down from the steep fells. Hell Gill forms the boundary between Yorkshire and Westmorland and is where the water chooses which way to head to the coast – either west along the Lune and Eden route, or east and on to the North Sea via the Ure. This ‘Hell’ has nothing to do with that devil chap, in case you were wondering – the name stems from an Old Norse word ‘hella’, meaning flat stone.

Back in the Dales with a smile on my face

After only two days in London what a relief it is to be back in the Dales. Here in Ribblesdale the air is fresh, the views are mainly natural, and the people smile and say hello. I know all that sounds clichéd, but it really is true. However, it was an absolute delight to see first-hand at Wembley my beloved Huddersfield Town reach the Premier League, nerve-racking as the occasion was. Now my club will dine at the top table and enjoy what rich pickings they can – for at least a season. My allegiance to the Terriers came about because my dad – and his dad – supported them during the club’s heyday. My brother and I had no option but to follow suit, even though we both moved away from our Heavy Woollen birthplace when were were young.

Back on the moors

To watch Town’s home games I have a round trip of just under 100 miles, and often I’ll use the journey to visit one of my favourite parts of Yorkshire – the Pennine Moors above Holmfirth, Saddleworth Moor and parts of the Dark Peak. Here is some of the bleakest moorland in the country. I love the drama but I could never live in such isolation. Last week I walked a short section of the Pennine Way at Wessenden and shuddered at the thought of being stranded in one of the lonely farms or water board houses by the reservoirs during a dark night.

On another day I was again on the edge of the Yorkshire Dales, this time by the River Lune boundary at Kirkby Lonsdale. The contrast from Wessenden couldn’t have been greater. Lush farmed landscape, beautiful cottages, winding river … and lots of tourists. I took the usual shots of Ruskin’s View and river but also some of the buildings, especially around the church, also took my fancy …

Back in the dales

Looking for a flattish walk, I strolled down Chapel-le-Dale along the old Roman Road from St Leonard’s Church (pictured below) towards Ingleton. Along here you find angles of Ingleborough unseen from the main road (also shown in top pic in blog).

Back in Ribblesdale

And finally…

My war plans for Yorkshire unveiled

When I’m president of the People’s Undemocratic Republic of Yorkshire, and when Lancashire has been converted into my private golf course, I’ll be ordering southerners to build a wall from the Humber to the Mersey. The annexing of the Lake District will have been completed by then. The Geordie Camps, set up along the Tees for north easterners to be taught how to speak properly before being allowed across the border, will be producing a steady flow of workers for the Yorkshire Parkin mines. Yorkshire will not only be a buffer zone between the warring factions of Scotland and London but will also provide sanctuary for poor immigrants from Lincolnshire and East Anglia who have no hills. Should any cocky Cockney pilot try to enter Yorkshire airspace I will launch T’ Mam of all Bombs from the Alan Bennett International Airport, aiming to destroy the set of Eastenders. I aim to allocate more than half a dozen boats from Whitby to patrol the Thames Estuary, a show of force that will act as a deterrent and send a message that Yorkshire’s not to be messed abhat wi’.

As you can see, war has been on my mind. Around the world, scum has been rising to the top of the melting pot. Unhinged despots have been allowed to take charge of countries; selfish, trigger-happy tyrants flexing their muscles without a care for the consequences of their pathetic bravado.

I spent a day at the Yorkshire Air Museum at Elvington near York this week where I was reminded in graphic detail what happened the last time a maniac tried to rule the world. We would all do well to remember that what our eldest generation witnessed here in our country 60+ years ago is actually happening now elsewhere in the world. Will we ever learn?

Yorkshire at its best: top picture and the two here show Giggleswick Scar and Settle on a bright and breezy Saturday evening.

Above, Stainforth Scar and lovely Langcliffe in Ribblesdale this week.

Ingleborough from near Buckhaw Brow as the light fades.

At the other end of the day: Smearsett Scar from Winskill in Ribblesdale just after sunrise.

BREAKING NEWS – Leeds United Airlines statement regarding the man being dragged kicking and screaming from the 8.30am flight from Birmingham Jasper Carrot Airport to the Alan Bennett International Airport: We would like to apologise to all passengers for any disruption caused by the removal by security staff of this man. Contrary to Press reports, the flight was not overbooked – we just didn’t like his accent.

Why Horton stirs dales memories

12 new Dales photos here. I found myself mooching around Horton-in-Ribblesdale on the week’s only fine day. Passing Penyghent Cafe I remembered the days 40-odd years ago when I used to clock out and in there for the Three Peaks challenge. My knees would probably crumble to dust if I took on the 24-mile Dales hike today so this time I opted for a few gentle miles by the river. Apart from the odd rumble from the quarries, the walk was peaceful. Heavily pregnant ewes were scattered around the meadows while much more active birds sped up, down and across the Ribble.

There’s a pleasant spot in a small wood where the river widens. It’s shallow here and the water cackles across well-worn stones; a perfect place for contemplation. The morning mist slowly vanished and Penyghent came into view along with patches of blue sky.

In the village I remembered bits of a piece written by Victorian Dales wanderer Edmund Bogg. Back home I dug out the extract from his oddly title book, Wanderings on the Old Border, Lakeland and Ribblesdale:
“It was a dark, boisterous October night that found us tramping towards the village of Horton; the wind howled, and the clouds swished rapidly past overhead; rain descended in torrents; the wild mountain country became enshrouded in mystery and silence; a light here and there gleamed from a grey stone dwelling; further up the village one solitary lamp, over the entrance of the Golden Lion, tried in vain to pierce the gloom. A ray of light, however, fell on the venerable lych gate, just across the roadway, and dimly, like a shadow thrown from bygone ages, the grand old tower of Horton Church loomed out of the darkness, typical of a religious light burning through the dark ages of a far past. There was a motley gathering at the Golden Lion on that night, quarrymen from the limestone quarries, and the dalesmen of the district, thirsty souls, we should imagine, by the amount of beer we saw consumed. Three farmers, who had been to Clapham Fair on that day, were benighted here on our visit; their homes lay some eight or ten miles over the moors, and it would have been sheer foolhardiness to have attempted the journey in the dense darkness of that night. One, an elderly man, who had spent upwards of half-a-century in crossing and re-crossing the moors, attempted the journey; he missed his way, and his horse floundered in a bog, and he was glad to grope his way back to the inn. We joined them in company later on, and jolly fellows we found them, yet withal shrewd, stark, and strikingly original.”

My recollections of the Horton pubs in the 1970s also involve the drinking of copious amounts of beer but the clientele were students rather than hardy Dales farmers.

dales horton — On a blustery wet day this week I drove up to Chapel-le-Dale and captured swiftly moving clouds hiding Ingleborough and Whernside

How we build walls in the Dales, Mr Trump

It’s hard to picture the Yorkshire Dales without walls. Yes, there are a some wilder spots such as the grouse moors with fewer walls, where there’s no need to prevent stock from wandering where they’re not wanted. I was pondering over this while driving round the Three Peaks area during the week. Penyghent (pictured above), Ingleborough and Whernside all have prominent walls going over the top of them. I think in all three cases these walls are as much to do with indicating parish boundaries as keeping sheep in the right place. Whatever, you’ve got to admire the skill and tenacity of those wall builders of the Dales whose work has lasted many a wild winter. Just a thought … should we invite Mr Trumped-up for a state visit to the Dales to teach him about wall building?

The breeze was strong and the clouds shifted quickly overhead. While Ingleborough and Whernside wore thin white caps, Penyghent was briefly bathed in sunshine. At one time it thought the three were playing a party game, switching hats to the music of the wind. From Kingsdale I watched the scene changing rapidly before I chickened out of a trip along the high narrow road over to Dent as the weather worsened. The Dales can be beautiful and frightening at the same time.

When I get older losing my hair… etc

Yes I’m that age today so just a brief blog as I prepare for hordes of visitors heading to my Dales cottage bearing gifts and alcohol. I can’t believe I’d still be singing the Beatles’ When I’m 64, when I’m actually 64. The song was released when I was 14. Where have the last 50 years gone?

Inspirational Yorkshire women

My interview with Amanda Owen, the Yorkshire Shepherdess, appears in February’s Countryman magazine which is now on sale. Amanda is a remarkable young lady who with husband Clive and nine (at the last count) children live and farm at out-of-the-way Ravenseat in Birkdale. As I re-read the article I am reminded of a piece I wrote in Dalesman about another fine Yorkshire woman, Hannah Hauxwell. On the face of it they appear to be very different characters and their lives have certainly taken diverse paths. Hannah, before retiring, lived a solitary existence with just a few animals; Amanda, although isolated, is surrounded by her extensive family and hundreds of sheep and other animals. But they are similar in that both are strong willed and extremely hard working individuals, showing true Yorkshire grit. Both have beautiful complexions – that’s what clean Yorkshire air and clear Dales water does for you – with gentle mannerisms and caring attitudes. In my head I can still hear Hannah’s soothing tones, tinted with that North-East influence you find amongst those born near the Tees. Amanda, originally from Huddersfield, retains a hint of the West Riding in her speech which I recognise from my own childhood in the Heavy Woollen District. Both are completely unpretentious with a natural warmth, and I feel privileged to have met the two of them. Yorkshire women aren’t all Nora Batty stereotypes – they can be inspirational too. http://www.countrymanmagazine.co.uk

Yorkshire amanda — Amanda Owen and two of her younger children at her Ravenseat home

As relief from a spot of decorating, on Wednesday I drove through several Yorkshire Dales and up to Dent Station. Directly above me was as clear a blue sky I’d seen for ages, but looking towards the horizon the distant view was masked by a fine mist. The landscape west down Dentdale was still impressive but the bitterly cold wind meant I didn’t linger for long. Over the old Coal Road the views down Wensleydale, Mallerstang and Garsdale were similarly shrouded. I stopped off at Garsdale Station to pat my favourite metal dog, Ruswarp. He was still gazing out expectantly waiting for the return of his master. A quick stroll to Cotter Force proved as worthwhile as ever. The sound of tumbling water seemed to echo around like applause in a small theatre.

On Friday more blue sky in Ribblesdale tempted me out again. Penyghent and Fountains Fell looked great but further along the Silverdale Road I hit low cloud. I could hardly see 20 yards in front of me which meant the route along the narrow unfenced road and the steep descent into Halton Gill was interesting to say the least.

A stunning morning yesterday saw me at Helwith Bridge. The view along Ribblesdale from above the fishery was grand (see top pic). My old friend Penyghent looked like an iced cake. I imagine plenty of people were tempted to trek up the mountain but I was f-f-f-f-frozen – no way would I have gone up there, so it was back home for some proper cake.

Dales living – why it’s the best place to be

My Dales photo diary. How thankful I am to be able to step out into the Dales to escape briefly from life’s mental chores. I’m sure I’d go mad were I confined in an urban cell surrounded all day by concrete and metal. Just turning off the news and internet has been a blessed relief this week. I’ve so enjoyed heading out into the dales to watch the sun go down. Even though it’s been cold, the late afternoon colours have been warming for the soul here in Ribblesdale. The top photo taken near Selside shows Penyghent basking in red light.

dales ingleborough — Mist clinging to the top of Ingleborough as the sun sets

dales Hill Inn — Hill Inn in Chapel le Dale, looking towards Twisleton

dales Penyghent — Another classic Dales shot taken near Horton in Ribblesdale

dales sunset1 — I really enjoyed watching the sun go down over Langcliffe

A heaven so clear, an earth so calm,
So sweet, so soft, so hushed an air,
And deepening still the dream-like charm
Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere.

That was the scene, I knew it well;
I knew the turfy pathway’s sweep,
That, winding o’er each billowing swell,
Marked out the tracks of wandering sheep.

Emily Bronte

dales sheep sunset — No wonder the Brontes were given to poetry

dales cyclists — Even I can see the attraction of cycling in this shot from Winskill. Now if all roads were like this in the Dales – downhill with glorious views that is – you might see me in luminous lycra (what an image to leave you with!).

Reasons to love Ribblesdale

Langcliffe in Ribblesdale – a calendar for the new year. I’ve collected together some of my favourite shots from around the lovely village of Langcliffe where I live. There is a printed version in the village church of St John’s should anyone be interested. Have a great new year by the Ribble. At the end of the blog is a stirring ancient poem about Ribblesdale to get you in the mood for a visit.

The Lads Of Ribblesdale

How oft I’ve heard of Tiber’s stream where Rome’s fair city stands,
And oft I’ve heard of the glorious Rhine, away in foreign lands;
While Beranger and Lamartine can many a soul inspire
With songs of vine-clad mountains on the banks of Rhone and Loire.

For years proud London’s mighty arms have hugged old Father Thames,
And Shakespeare left sweet Avon’s banks wreathed with eternal gems;
While Falconer praised Killarney’s Falls, Sam Lover and Tom Moore
Immortalised the many streams that grace old Erin’s shore.

Some climb the hills and castles in the pleasant vale of Wye,
And by the Tweed some think of wars oft fought in days gone by;
While other hearts with rapture throb to nature’s purest tune
Sung by the Prince of Scottish Bards along the banks of Doon.

Still Craven lads, lift up your heads, there’s yet another stream
You’ve played beside in infancy and seen in midnight dream;
Where gallant men from Cæsar’s land deserted beauteous Rome,
And on the Ribble’s fertile banks were proud to make a home.

King Stephen marched and Ribble banks a rebel band to find;
King John held court in Ribblesdale ere he the “Charta” signed;
King Edward First and Edward Third at Preston longed to stay
And view the stream where John o’ Gaunt passed many a happy day.

Then stern old Scotia’s hardy sons our vaunted strength withstood,
By fiery Bruce the Ribble then was stained with human blood;
Then Henry Fourth to Clitheroe came a charter to bequeath;
Then Henry Sixth near Ribble hid, ‘mid danger, want, and death.

King James came down to Ribblesdale to hunt for witch and deer,
And after Worcester’s famous fight Charles Second dwelt down here;
And Cromwell said his bravest troops, that turned the Stuarts pale,
Were the bold unbeaten Bowland boys that dwelt in Ribblesdale.

Then here’s success to Craven lads, who love their native soil,
May rich have heart to freely give, the poor have strength to toil;
May peace and comfort claim each cot that stands within the vale,
Which the Roman, King, and cottar loved, historic Ribblesdale.

Taken from “The Poets and Poetry of Blackburn (1793-1902)” by George Hull J & G Toulmin

Tag: Yorkshire