Month: November 2024

  • Robin Hood’s Bed: Erosion, Myths, and Grouse Shooters’ Wine

    Robin Hood’s Bed: Erosion, Myths, and Grouse Shooters’ Wine

    Our return journey across the M62 was, unsurprisingly, rather more foggy than the outward. This, coupled with a smidgen of common sense, deterred any whim to revisit Blackstone Edge. Thus, I here is instead another photograph from yesterday’s wander, of the rock formation bearing the pretentious title of “Robin Hood’s Bed” or, to vary the…

  • The Aiggin Stone: a Resilient Guidepost of Blackstone Edge

    The Aiggin Stone: a Resilient Guidepost of Blackstone Edge

    On a damp, somewhat joyless morning, we embarked on a foray up Blackstone Edge, detouring briefly from the misery of the M62 to scale this Pennine hill. Past the summit trig. point and “Robin Hood’s Bed”—an erratic boulder unceremoniously perched there as though in mockery—we came upon the Aiggin Stone, a relic with pretensions of…

  • Crime, Concealment, and Moral Panic in Newton-under-Roseberry

    Crime, Concealment, and Moral Panic in Newton-under-Roseberry

    On the 6th of November, 1847, the Yorkshire Gazette regaled its readers with a dark tale from the village of Newton-under-Roseberry. “Concealment of Child Birth. — On Saturday last, the body of a newly born female child was found in a privy, in the village of Newton-under-Roseberry, by a person named Jackson, who nailed fast…

  • The Battle of Brambles: Managing Little Dale’s Wild Side

    The Battle of Brambles: Managing Little Dale’s Wild Side

    The gorse, in its garish yellow splendour, provides the only relief to Little Dale’s dreary winter vista—a scene as lively as a crypt. One marvels that the National Trust, using funds from the estimable Enterprise Neptune scheme, thought it prudent to acquire this rather unremarkable hollow near Saltburn-by-the-Sea from Brough House Farm in 1997. The…

  • Raw Impressions: Cleveland Hills Above a Blanket of Mist

    Raw Impressions: Cleveland Hills Above a Blanket of Mist

    Certainly, nothing whatsoever about this view of the Cleveland Hills evokes the word “recrudescence”—though it is oddly suited to today’s general mood. In the 20th century, “recrudescence” came to signify the reappearance of anything thoroughly unpleasant after a period of respite—war, plague, outrage, crime. The 18th-century meaning was more viscerally satisfying: wounds “breaking out afresh,”…

  • Cod Beck Reservoir: The Calm Before the Chaos

    Cod Beck Reservoir: The Calm Before the Chaos

    Ah, the poetic serenity of dawn at Cod Beck Reservoir—a perfect place for nature’s calm to lull you into a false sense of security. Mist drapes over the water as greylag geese glide serenely, trees half-hidden in fog add a touch of mystery, and a skeletal Goat Willow, I’m guessing here, stands at the water’s…

  • Autumn Leaves and the Forgotten Tradition of Mischief Night

    Autumn Leaves and the Forgotten Tradition of Mischief Night

    From the village up to Cliff Rigg, the Hall Fields footpath wends its way through this dense copse, and at most times the trees loom rather ominously, as though a scene from some gothic tale. But today they are dressed in the splendour of autumn’s palette. Each leaf, it seems, is vying to display its…

  • Reeth Revisited—Memories of the Aftermath of the 2019 Flood

    Reeth Revisited—Memories of the Aftermath of the 2019 Flood

    A day in Swaledale, that picturesque valley of the Yorkshire Dales, seemed promising enough, though the weather was somewhat overcast. I climbed High Harker Hill, naturally, as one does, to gain some view of the world. But coming down, there was that undeniable charm of Reeth—a place name clinging on to its roots with a…

  • Whisky, Oats, and Onions: The Drovers’ Passage through Scarth Nick

    Whisky, Oats, and Onions: The Drovers’ Passage through Scarth Nick

    In yesterday‘s posting, I told a tale of smugglers darting across the moors, slyly evading the prying gaze of the customs men who, I am sure, looked on in unmitigated fury at their repeated failings. The same wild terrain, it seems, was trampled not only by scoundrels with their wares, but by drovers steering whole…

  • Smugglers of the North York Moors

    Smugglers of the North York Moors

    For some inexplicable reason, I find myself riveted by this ruined barn overlooking above the Esk Valley railway. I have taken to photographing it with a slavish devotion, each time I pass, but usually something with more interest has turned up. This barn, apparently, is recorded on the North York Moors historical monuments database, albeit…