A sweeping panoramic view of a rural landscape in the English countryside. Rolling hills covered in lush green fields and patches of brown moorland stretch into the distance. A small village with stone houses and a winding river can be seen nestled in the valley below. The sky is overcast, casting a soft, diffused light over the scene.

Reeth Revisited—Memories of the Aftermath of the 2019 Flood

A day in Swaledale, that picturesque valley of the Yorkshire Dales, seemed promising enough, though the weather was somewhat overcast. I climbed High Harker Hill, naturally, as one does, to gain some view of the world. But coming down, there was that undeniable charm of Reeth—a place name clinging on to its roots with a commendable tenacity. Reeth drives from “rith,” an Old English word for a stream, presumably Arkle Beck, upon whose humble banks it sits.

In July 2019, the Yorkshire Dales got more rain than usual for that time of year. The flash floods that followed hit many communities, wrecking bridges, washing out roads, causing landslides on railway lines, and leading to the cancellation of several public events. Reeth was especially badly hit. I went there the day after, volunteering to take supplies to vulnerable residents, checking on them, and noting any needs they might have. Visiting today brought back memories of the damage and ruined homes.

One should not, of course, be shocked by rivers that periodically rise and flood all before them, but were considered indispensable to the earliest settlers. Those ancient folk—practical if ever there were—saw in the rivers their very lifeblood: water for survival, verdant meadows for pasture, and all manner of fertile flats for tillage. The rivers also, inconveniently, provided obstacles which required elaborate crossings, either by ford or by bridge, the latter offering all the risk of watching their efforts eventually washed away. It should hardly surprise us, then, that the names of many places across Britain are derived from watercourses.

Yet, high on the opposite slope, you can see a series of earth banks. These cultivation terraces, or “strip lynchets” as the experts will call them, date back to the middle ages, serving as evidence that our ancestors possessed the spirit, if not the foresight, to farm precariously. The terraces range from a modest five metres to a grand twelve, running over 400 metres, defiantly parallel to the slope. Their lofty placement, far above the easier valley floor, seems to confirm that even medieval farmers were wary of the occasional risk of a well-timed flood.1Medieval Field System Yorkshire Dales National Park Authority Ref. MYD4532 https://archaeologydataservice.ac.uk/archsearch/record?titleId=2118301


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