Month: April 2025
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Yorkshire’s Pride: The Enduring Allure of Roseberry Topping
It has been some time since I inflicted a post about Roseberry Topping upon the world, the conical-shaped hill that looms over this northeastern corner of what is the historical county of Yorkshire, albeit a recycling of previous posts. Local pride being what it is, they have long called it “t’ highest hill i’ all…
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A Boundary Stone of 1860 and a Chaloner Legacy
A one-way walk to Guisborough—infinitely preferable than a circular route. Today’s image features Highcliff Nab, seen from just below Black Nab across the fields of Codhill Farm—or Highcliffe Farm, depending on whom you wish to offend. One must name both or risk mild social unrest. The boundary stone, engraved “T.C. G 1860,” of course refers…
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Green Bank: Where the Ice Met its Match
Yesterday’s post about Hagg’s Gate set me off thinking, descending yet another rabbit hole: about the time the last glacier flowed down the Vale of York and slammed into the Cleveland Hills. About the time that ice sheet politely stopped at the hills’ feet. About the time these great north and west escarpments of the…
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Hagg’s Gate, Clay Bank or Whatever it’s Called This Week
Another photograph from yesterday. I am standing on White Hill, the easternmost bump of the so-called Four Sisters of the Cleveland Hills and gazing across the col at Hagg’s Gate, or at least what used to be called Hagg’s Gate, towards Carr Ridge and the highest point of the North York Moors on Urra Moor.…
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Jack’s Short Life: From Rural Bilsdale to the Trenches of the Great War
A view from Cold Moor to Garfit Gap. The row of sheds belong to the industrial pheasant rearing farm at Whingroves, a shining example of rural diversification, if one defines success as raising battery-bred birds for folk to shoot. In 1896, however, it was just another typical mixed farm on the North York Moors, run…
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A Dog’s Grim Discovery: A Moorsholm Murder
It began, as many grim tales do, with a dog. One cold March morning in 1857, Joseph Green, a farmer in the quiet village of Moorsholm—tucked between Guisborough and Whitby—was startled when his dog returned home with a gruesome prize clamped in its jaws: the leg and foot of a child. The horror of the…
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Mother Shimble’s Snick-needles
The famous Bluebells of Newton and Cliff Rigg Woods are having a lie-in. Give them a week, perhaps, before they are at their best. Meanwhile, the true prima donna of the woodland floor is the Greater Stitchwort, cluttering the place with its endless sprinkling of white, star-shaped flowers that seem to think themselves terribly precious.…
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Sir George the Dragon Slayer
A picturesque bank of cloud hung over the Cleveland Hills this St. George’s Day morning. A reminder that even the sky can be more subtle than patriotic flag-wavers. St. George’s Day stirs about as much feeling in me as Carlin Sunday, Plough Monday or Hocktide – curious relics of a myth-soaked past, clung to by…
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Gribdale — Gorse, Ghosts, and Geology
A view looking down onto Gribdale Terrace — a neat row of white cottages built for the quarrymen who toiled in the nearby whinstone mine and quarries. Picturesque, if one forgets what they were built for. And where exactly is Gribdale, you ask? A good question, though clearly one nobody has bothered to answer properly.…
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Living Heritage: From Cask Beer to Bloodsports
A short, uneventful stroll along the Public Rights of Way encircling Harewood House today, which remained tastefully out of sight for most of the way—probably for the best. I shall reserve for another time any reference to the minor detail that Harewood House owes its existence largely to money wrung from slavery and sugar plantations…