Category: Roseberry Topping
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From Hill to Hill: Chasing Leys Across the Moors
I have nearly finished a book recommended to me after a posting about an ancient trackway over the North York Moors. I found a copy of Alfred Watkins’ 1926 book on eBay—naturally, as one finds such treasures in this modern age of commerce. Watkins postulated the existence of ley lines, an idea that prehistoric sites…
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The night lengthens and the day wanes
Ah, Roseberry on the autumnal equinox – or, perhaps I should say: “a day with not much to see.” At precisely 1:44pm BST, the Earth performed its annual act of balancing on a metaphorical tightrope. It’s axis, normally so busy tilting this way and that, was for once perfectly upright, neither tipping its cap to…
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Bagged for Your Convenience
After a return from just a few days away in the Lakes, I was delighted to find that the National Trust, in their usual brilliance, had thoughtfully helicoptered in around 40 large bags up the main path of Roseberry. Each one, of course, containing roughly a ton of aggregate to ensure they did not have…
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The Forgotten Rebellion: Winter Hill’s Mass Trespass of 1896
Another delightfully dreich day on the North York Moors. In the murk, we stumbled upon two workers labouring away on the new footpath up Roseberry. The path, prepared to its subsoil, resembles some sort of glutinous purgatory, offering a walking experience only slightly less pleasurable than a swim in wet cement. The workers mentioned the…
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Roseberry’s Reckoning — Rainbow’s End
The small but iconic Roseberry Topping, the crown jewel of the Cleveland Hills, offers itself as the venue for what many consider to be an annual spectacle of human folly: a race up and down its steep slopes, commencing from the village of Newton-under-Roseberry. This brief but brutal course, infamous for its lung-searing ascent followed…
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Roseberry’s Witches and the New Myths We Embrace: A Continuum of Credulity
According to the quaint tales of yesteryear, Roseberry Topping was once a preferred haunt of witches. Picture, if you will, three Ayton men, trembling with fright, witnessing a trio of broomstick-riding hags circling the summit and executing some arcane ritual, while sorrowful wails echoed through the night. The villagers, in their infinite wisdom, deduced that…
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Graffiti, Landslips, and Bonfires
Standing alone atop Roseberry Topping is a rare privilege. From this vantage point, Guisborough lies in the distance, with the North Sea stretching beyond. The crags of the summit are scarred by decades of graffiti, the soft sandstone inviting visitors from the towns of Teesside to carve their names into history. Many of these inscriptions…
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A Nation’s Shame — Reckoning with Racism
A walk of reflection following the shocking scenes from Middlesbrough and other towns and cities over the weekend. For the first time in almost half a century, I find myself fearing for my family’s safety. My two lovely daughters, both adopted and of mixed race, were born in the North of England. Throughout their upbringing,…
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The Colours of The Carrs
Ah, another stunning panorama from the summit of Cleveland’s iconic Roseberry Topping, captured countless times on phones and often graced by a selfie. It feels like I too have taken this shot so many times before. Below, the quaint village of Newton-under-Roseberry nestles, its new builds seemingly encroaching on the flat farmlands of The Carrs.…
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Welkin’s Cheek
Before “sky” became the common term for the vast expanse above us, it was poetically known as “welkin”—a word closely related to the German “Wolke,” meaning cloud, and even more so to “Wölkchen,” meaning little cloud. Today, the welkin offered a breathtaking sight for those who gazed upward. Shakespeare himself was no stranger to this…