Month: March 2026
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Not Guilty: The Carlton Bank Case, 1972
Carlton Bank. Even on a dreich day there was a surprising number of folk around. Yet, in May 1972, it was the scene of one of the more extraordinary legal cases the North Riding has ever seen. A potato merchant named Kenneth Saddington drove five miles up to these moors one Saturday night with a…
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Dale Head—Fire, Rumour and a Long Silence
Ryedale demanded a break. The old Stephen Thwaite farmstead has an irresistible collection of “stoups” and “hemmells” worth ten minutes of any cyclist’s time. Then the sun did what the sun does when it wants to make a point. It threw a spotlight clean across Wheat Beck and landed it squarely on Dale Head House.…
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Boxer Peacock’s Cottage, Arkengarthdale
Another post from last Thursday’s jaunt from Arkengarthdale, when I walked straight past one of the curiosities in the dale. On the track up from Fremington, I spotted what looked like a broken bit of Victorian drainpipe stuck in the bank, overflowing with water. I gave it barely a glance and walked on. Fool. Back…
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Wall’s End, Calver Hill
Yesterday’s walk in Swaledale served up the full British weather menu — mist, mystery and a fleeting glimpse of actual sunshine. Climbing out of Reeth up Arkengarthdale, we broke above the clouds into glorious blue skies. Descending Calver Hill, the mist swallowed us whole again. As it does. Then this wall appeared from nowhere. A…
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Fremington Edge Chert: The Stone That Made Your Teacup
A view from Reeth Low Moor looking across at the scars gouged onto Fremington Edge. Those wounds in this hillside are not the work of nature. They are what happens when industry decides it needs something badly enough. Chert quarrying in Swaledale ran from around 1900 to approximately 1950, driven almost entirely by the pottery…
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Cloudfall
Up on the moors above Greenhow Botton today, where the Cleveland Hills were doing their best impression of a waterfall in the clouds. The kind of view that makes the uphill pedal entirely worth it. Just another quiet Wednesday on the North York Moors. At the head of the valley lies Midnight Corner, which never…
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The Pimps of Roseberry
Today’s photo is, of course, of Roseberry Topping. That dry stone wall running up the slope marks the boundary between the parishes of Newton-under-Roseberry and Great Ayton. Before the great landslip of 1912 it ran all the way to the summit. Looking at a photograph taken before 1912, you can see vegetated ground running right…
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Three Stiles in a Row
This morning’s photograph tells you everything. Three stiles, one after another, in close succession. Not one. Not two. Three. As if whoever built them wanted to make absolutely sure that anyone with a dodgy knee, a pushchair, or simply the misfortune of being over seventy would get the message: this path is not for you.…
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A Bridge, a Bench and a Certain Disregard for Permission
The names clinging to these moors deserve more than just a passing glance. Beyond their historical weight, they carry a strange novelty. Take Great Hograh Moor. A name that will give nothing away until you have buried yourself in old documents, dusty dialects and philological works. That’ll stay firmly on the to-do list. Baysdale is…