Month: October 2024
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Armouth Wath: “Here Coal was Expected”
In March of 1803, a notice in the York Courant trumpeted the forthcoming sale by auction of the “MANOR and DEMESNE of BASEDALE ABBEY,” an estate furnished with a “COALMINE supposed very considerable.” One imagines that the allure of a rich seam of coal lent the whole sale a dash of speculative glamour. The “considerable”…
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Ellen Wilkinson: The Fiery Reformer of Middlesbrough East
It has been some time since I was last on Eston Nab, that famed vantage point over Teesside, whose views—oh, those familiar scenes—shift and churn like the Tees itself in flood, eternally restless, rarely still. Come with me, back to this day, 29 October, 100 years ago, 1924. The British people were trudging to the…
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The Little Egret of Great Ayton
This morning, I set out with some faint notion of a nature photograph for today’s post. Nothing specific, but as fate would have it, on crossing the bridge over to Waterfall Park, I spotted Great Ayton’s resident Little Egret. Yes, “resident,” as though this bird has become some fixture of local society. There it stood—in…
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Paradise Lost? The Noble Art of Swidden Burning
Ah, the noble swiddens! That iconic mosaic left by the benevolent, precise art of setting fire to the countryside, all for the good of its charming inhabitants: grouse—who, one imagines, must dance a jolly jig singing ‘hahahahahaha‘ when those nutritious shoots emerge. How delightful to know that we can rely on a “low-temperature” burn, barely a…
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From a Templars’ Retreat to a Cobbler’s Last Stand: The Many Lives of Brathwatte
I see a rock outcrop on the crest of a hill and feel a maddening urge to investigate. So, naturally, I ended up on Tor Hill Crags, gazing down over Westerdale. Or, perhaps, that should be Camisedale—a name found in the Domesday Book, while Westerdale, notably, is not. The general presumption is that they are,…
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Of Cloud and Candle-Rushes: Taxation, Tradition, and a Dreich Brian’s Pond
What a profoundly uninspiring morning it has been—so much dull, grey cloud blanketing the Cleveland Hills that one might have suspected a conspiracy to make photography impossible. Still, in search of a morsel of interest, I plodded resolutely up to Brian’s Pond, which is quite possibly named in honour of that storied Irish figure, “Bryan…
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The Power of 1001: A Curse of Commercial Memory
Roseberry — there is something rather comforting about returning to one’s own patch after a trip away, as if the local familiarity becomes a source of great solace. During my recent travels, I was struck by a different type of familiarity, altogether less welcome. A chap of my own vintage was sharing with us the…
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Sun, Sea, and Scallops: Dawn in Amble
Out & About early to watch the sunrise at Amble’s breakwater. By some miracle of timekeeping, we reached our destination with scarcely a moment to spare, only to find that the most “pleasing” photographs were taken on the way, long before the appointed sunrise. Alas, we missed the so-called ‘blue hour’, that fleeting interval when…
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A Geologist’s Nightmare: Wild Guesses at Dunbar
A fleeting stopover at Dunbar and a wander along the coastline offered up a geological wonder. The rock formation on the shore was arranged, rather whimsically, in red and grey layers, calling to mind a Scooby snack tipped on its side. Of course, not being a geologist, I can only speculate wildly about the rock…
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The Bridge at Aberfeldy: A Symbol of Wade’s Grand Scheme
A stroll along the banks of the “Beautiful silvery Tay,” immortalised by William McGonagall, Scotland’s least celebrated poet—a man whose crimes against verse are beyond reproach. To dwell any longer on his literary failings would be an unnecessary indulgence, so let us leave him by the river and proceed to Aberfeldy, where we stumbled upon…