High on the moor south of Burnsall, a chimney stands alone among the remains of what was probably a boiler house. Nobody seems entirely sure what it is. At least I have found no creditable source. Opinion is that it belonged to one of the many small collieries that scratched away on these Yorkshire moors during the 18th and 19th centuries, digging out just enough coal to keep the locals warm and just enough mystery to keep wanderers wondering.
It is, in short, a chimney that has outlasted its reputation.
These moorland collieries were never going to make anyone rich or famous. They were working mines — modest, muddy, and mildly inconvenient — serving local needs and then quietly falling into disuse. This one on Burnsall Fell left behind precisely one chimney and a considerable amount of confusion, which is more than most of us will manage.
The mine sits just inside the parish boundary, which is almost the geographical equivalent of sitting on the fence. It is too small to be remembered properly, too stubborn to be forgotten entirely, and just awkward enough to have made a curiosity of itself for two hundred years running.