In the quiet heart of Kildale stands this modest stone shelter. Walkers on the Cleveland Way pause here to rest, unwrap their sandwiches, and watch the rain fall. Each morning, local children gather beneath its roof, waiting for the school buses to Stokesley or Ingleby Greenhow, their laughter echoing through the valley. Today, it also serves as a book bank, a place where stories are shared as freely as the wind moves across the moors.
Few who step inside realise that this humble structure was raised in memory of three Kildale men who fell in the Second World War. For this Remembrance Sunday, it is dressed in cascades of crocheted poppies, a tender tribute from a community that has never forgotten.
For centuries, the wars of kings and empires barely touched Kildale. Its people ploughed their fields, tended their stock, and carried on while the world beyond rose and fell in conflict. That peace ended abruptly in 1914. When the call to arms came, the village’s young men, many of whom had never left Yorkshire, stepped forward. They went with a mixture of pride and fear, not knowing what awaited them across the sea. Seventeen never returned.
Only twenty-five years later, their sons and younger brothers were summoned once more. Once again, Kildale answered, and once again, names were added to the toll of loss.
After the Great War, like villages across Britain, Kildale sought a way to remember its fallen. Lacking common land for a public monument, the parish built a memorial cross in the churchyard. Yet this choice caused quiet division, for not all villagers worshipped there; many were Methodists who felt the memorial should belong to all.
When peace came again in 1945, the question returned: how to honour those lost a second time? A new proposal emerged—to build a public shelter beneath the great beech trees near Hall Farm, open to all faiths and none. The estate agreed. Plans were drawn for a simple enclosure with wrought iron seats, shrubs, and a plaque bearing the names of the dead. The stone, likely salvaged from an old barn, was prepared. Funds were scarce, and the design was pared back, but the spirit of remembrance endured.
The names inscribed were Samuel Liddle, Eric Tones, and, added later, Frank Chambers—a teacher from the Midlands who had briefly lived in Little Kildale, fallen in love with Beryl Tones, Eric’s sister, married, and died before the war’s end.
Though time has worn away the fence and the garden, and the shelter stands bare against the seasons, its purpose remains. The poppies that now adorn it speak of devotion that has not dimmed. Within that simple stone refuge, the memory of Kildale’s sons still rests, quietly, steadfastly, as enduring as the hills around them.
Source
Anthony, Cedric. “Glimpses of Kildale History”. Geni Printing. 2012.
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