Category: Roseberry Topping
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St. Bartholomew’s Day
A rather dull start to St. Bartholomew’s Day, a day which has some weather lore associated with it: If the twenty-fourth of August be fair and clear, Then hope for a prosperous autumn that year. At St. Bartholomew, There comes cold dew. All the tears that St. Swithin can cry, St. Bartlemy’s mantle wipes them…
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Middlesbrough’s Dark Past: the 1961 Cannon Street Riots
A reminder popped up on my phone today that back in 1961, things had hit a boiling point on Cannon Street in Middlesbrough. Three nights of rioting had built up to that day. The spark was the killing of an 18-year-old named Jeffrey Hunt, and the place was like a pressure cooker, especially that August,…
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Risks to our hedgerows
The Carrs, that sprawling lowland nestled between Roseberry and the Eston hills. In this photo, the recently cropped arable fields contrast sharply with the lush green pastures. The hedgerows planted when farming practice was to rotate fields, show signs of neglect and are now ragged. They’ve probably been reinforced by post and wire stock fencing.…
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Saved by a pigeon
With Roseberry wrapped in a misty shawl, and rain pouring its way down, I kitted up for a run up the Topping – a dash, more than my usual stroll. Well, maybe not a dash. Those days are long gone. It wasn’t exactly a day for photography, all grey and soggy. But, just then, a…
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S by W and beyond — the view from Roseberry
Sundays are not my preferred days to climb Roseberry, as they tend to draw throngs of visitors, making the summit less quiet than I prefer. Nonetheless, this morning, helping the National Trust with their ‘Tea on the Topping’ event, I found myself on the summit, and briefly took in the view towards Cliff Rigg and…
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And so the Ling season begins
It’s that Ling season. Suddenly, in spite of the damp weather over the last week, the heather blooms have emerged, although they haven’t reached their fullest splendour just yet. Expect more photos of the purple haze to come in the month ahead. Heather, in a wholly natural habitat, gives off a modest display compared to…
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Trampling hooves and composting dreams — Dealing with Bracken
In the midst of this stifling bracken season, I’ve yet to encounter anyone who harbours any affection for this plant. Sure, it may bring a touch of colour come autumn, but only when it’s dead and devoid of vitality. In the summer, perhaps a stroke of luck might grant you a glimpse of a stonechat…
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Am I part of the problem?
Doesn’t it strike you, as it often does me, the impact of the overwhelming number of people now trampling across our once serene hills and moors? I confess, I don’t mean to sound presumptuous or possessive, for they are meant to be savoured and shared by all who can appreciate them. Yet I can’t shake…
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Sunday serenity in the rain
“When Roseberry Topping wears a cap, All Cleveland is in for a clap.” Or so the old saying goes. Yet, today, it wore more than a mere cap—the whole moors lay beneath a thick duvet of cloud, lost in obscurity. My memory fails to recall when the rain last poured relentlessly throughout the entire day.…
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Hey, it’s good to be back home again
John Denver could have sung about this old hill being like a long-lost friend. OK, I’ve paraphrased. He was actually singing about his farm. A month away and the changes around here have been absolutely dramatic. The bluebells, the mayflowers, and the primroses. They’ve all had their moment and moved on. But the bracken, of…