Category: Osmotherley
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Chalybeate Dreams and Murky Realities
The orange colouring of this stream is a clear sign of iron salts in abundance. This is known as chalybeate or ferruginous water, a substance once held in high esteem in the 17th century when mineral waters were treated as a cure for most known ailments and several imaginary ones besides. People drank it with…
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The Lady Chapel
The precise beginnings of this agreeable little chapel tucked into the trees are lost to time, which is how such places like it. What we do know is that by 1397 a licence had been granted for Mass to be said here, neatly separating it from the later Mount Grace Priory, a Carthusian house nearby.…
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Solstice Greetings from Oakdale
Forty years ago, sending and receiving Christmas cards felt like a rite of passage, a quiet signal that one had stepped into adulthood and set up house. Some even embraced the annual letter, chronicling the family triumphs and tribulations for distant friends and relatives. We never warmed to the round-robin missive that trumpeted life’s successes,…
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Snow on the Ruins of Cote Garth
The ruined farms hidden beneath the forestry east of Cod Beck Reservoir sit like half-forgotten whispers of a tougher age. Among them, Cote Garth stands out, its broken walls sharp against the last scraps of the recent snowfall, as though the land itself is determined to remind us that someone once fought wind, rain and…
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Osmotherley Moor: Sheep, Turf and Shooting Rights
Dramatic skies hang over Black Hambleton, its summit almost clear of cloud. The view is from Solomon’s Lane, a grand name for a track that no longer exists. The surrounding expanse is Osmotherley Moor, part of which is “waste land of the manor,” now the subject of an application by the Open Spaces Society to…
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Where the Sheep Went Swimming
Sheepwash, ever the draw for Teesside’s day-trippers, earned its name in the most literal way. It was once a place where sheep were hauled into the cold beck and scrubbed clean before shearing. Until the early twentieth century, many farmers still followed the old habit. The idea was to coax new wool to rise from…
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The Beck, the Inn, and the Blizzard: Histories of Slape Stones
I quite like this photo. It captures the sweeping valley of Slape Stones Beck, leading—predictably enough—to the hamlet of Slape Stones. The scene positively drips with tranquillity, and after the boisterous festive season perhaps a reminder to pause and simply be. How very profound. The name Slape Stones, unlike the beck, has fallen out of…
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Cod Beck Reservoir: The Calm Before the Chaos
Ah, the poetic serenity of dawn at Cod Beck Reservoir—a perfect place for nature’s calm to lull you into a false sense of security. Mist drapes over the water as greylag geese glide serenely, trees half-hidden in fog add a touch of mystery, and a skeletal Goat Willow, I’m guessing here, stands at the water’s…
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The Rise and Fall of Cod Beck Reservoir
Given the recent weather, I was quite taken aback to find Cod Beck Reservoir so low, although this is by no means unprecedented. I have a sneaking suspicion that Yorkshire Water has intentionally carried out a water release, perhaps as part of a scour test or some other enigmatic plan. I’ll resist from drawing any…
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Osmotherley Show, Thimbleby Hall and the Barwick Lineage
Among my most popular posts this year is ‘From Barbados to Morrisons—The history of Thimbleby and its owners.’ An observant reader noted that I had overlooked a significant chapter in this chronicle.Today, Thimbleby Hall opened its grounds for the Osmotherley Show, allowing the fell race to Black Hambleton and back. And an opportunity for me…