Category: Bransdale

  • Breck House and an Athletic John Brown

    Breck House and an Athletic John Brown

    A blocked road just north of Helmsley forced us into a long and meandering detour on our way to Bonfield Ghyll. Still, it offered the consolation of fresh glimpses of familiar country. This is Breck House in upper Bransdale, a solid stone-built Moors farmhouse dating to after 1850. Yet an estate survey from 1782 records…

  • A Schoolmaster’s Ruttling Death

    A Schoolmaster’s Ruttling Death

    A day repairing a fence near the old schoolhouse, now a community centre for the dale’s families. Yet its walls may once have echoed with the rod and the recitation, for Bransdale’s children endured the Victorian discipline of Robert Johnson, their schoolmaster. And in 1874, Johnson met an end so vile that the newspapers thundered…

  • Low and High Elm Houses, Bransdale

    Low and High Elm Houses, Bransdale

    These once neighbouring farmsteads tell a complex story. For those intrigued to know the details, take a look at my previous post. High Elm House apparently carries a date stone of 1666, probably reused, and also has ā€œMr Thos Chapman // 1780ā€ carved above the byre door — but once again I forgot to look…

  • The Hay Barn at Bransdale Mill

    The Hay Barn at Bransdale Mill

    Tucked away behind Bransdale Mill stands this elegant three-bay hay barn, built in stone and retiled in the 1980s. Once, each arched entrance was fitted with sturdy wooden double doors, a reminder of its working life. The barn belongs to the story of the Bransdale Mill complex, largely shaped in the 18th century under William…

  • The Long Lost Way to Cockayne

    The Long Lost Way to Cockayne

    At first glance, it is nothing remarkable: a pair of stone gate stoops, standing quietly beside a graceful curve in a dry-stone wall, just south-west of Cockayne Church. But ignore the leaning wooden 5-bar gate secured by baling twine, and a closer look tells a different story. These are no rough farm gateposts. Each is…

  • A Bransdale Stang Stoop That Time has Forgot

    A Bransdale Stang Stoop That Time has Forgot

    Up on Gimmer Bank in Bransdale today, just above Bloworth Slack before it merges with Badger Gill to become Hodge Beck, I noticed this old piece of farming history: a ā€˜stang stoop’, or ā€˜heave’, or ā€˜slip gate’—back from when labour was cheap and farmers made do with local resources instead of buying five-bar gates from…

  • Bransdale’s Dry-Stone Walls: Standing Strong, Sometimes

    Bransdale’s Dry-Stone Walls: Standing Strong, Sometimes

    Dry-stone walls are everywhere on the North York Moors and in other rocky parts of Britain, mostly because they are built to last and farmers found plenty of stones lying around. The concept is hardly original; versions of these walls have existed since Neolithic times, and from Europe to Africa. The idea is simple: pile…

  • Springtime in Bransdale

    Springtime in Bransdale

    A day spent under the glaring sun in Bransdale, labouring over the track down to the Mill. Enjoying the supposed delights of spring while breaking one’s back shovelling gravel. The sheep, slow as ever, eventually grasped that the trailer contained no food for them. The view of Cockayne was, predictably, lovely, with the Lodge making…

  • Cocken Kirke: A History of Threats, Mumbling, and Collapse

    Cocken Kirke: A History of Threats, Mumbling, and Collapse

    A day spent clearing up yet more storm damage with the National Trust at Bransdale. Which storm was it? Storm Ɖowyn, perhaps? It is hard to say; they all blur together after a while. Despite a dusting of snow on the high moors overnight, the weather has been suspiciously well-behaved. Lunch on the green at…

  • Planting Trees While the Moors Burn

    Planting Trees While the Moors Burn

    An exhasting day in Bransdale planting broadleaf saplings in the recently clear-felled Bloworth Wood, which sits, predictably, on the catchment of Bloworth Slack. Digging the holes was not the real issue; it was scrambling over the 45-degree slopes, ditches, brashings, and tree stumps that made it a delight. This simple photograph of the dale therefore…