A seemingly harmless photo that utterly fails to capture the ferocious winds and horizontal sleet of Storm Bert. Truly, a day only a fool would choose for photography. Thus, the muted colours of this image of Roseberry Topping are my sole reward after braving the tempest.
The image does, however, showcase the dry-stone wall that once marked the parish boundary between Newton and Great Ayton, and now denotes the extent of National Trust land. This wall once marched stubbornly towards the summit—not necessarily the trig point we know today, but close enough to make the effort seem worthwhile. Naturally, the upper part of the wall was obliterated in the 1912 land slump, which gave us the crag’s current dramatic appearance. For all we know, that original summit now languishes amidst the pile of rubble at the crag’s base.
The naming of storms has become a quaint little ritual designed to help the weather men alert the public to imminent chaos. A storm gets a name only when it meets certain lofty criteria, and the names are conveniently pre-approved by a triumvirate of meteorological offices from the UK, Ireland, and the Netherlands. Bert, the second star of the 2024/25 season which kicked off, thrillingly, on 1 September, was christened by Ireland’s Met Éireann on Thursday. Apparently, they decided Bert might cause serious havoc in the Republic of Ireland. How considerate of them to warn us.
For anyone straining to remember a Bert, think of the Cockney chimney sweep in Mary Poppins. Truly unforgettable, if you enjoy dubious accents.
Next up: Storm Conall, another Irish boy’s name meaning the “rule of a wolf”. That already sounds ominous.
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