A year ago, I wrote about the Great Ayton Scallywags Patrol, a secretive Auxiliary Unit stationed in the area during the Second World War. Unlike the familiar, shambolic image of “Dad’s Army,” these men were part of a covert Home Guard unit. If the Germans had invaded, they could expect to last about a week—hardly an encouraging prospect. Their informal name was the “Scallywags,” which rather understates the grim reality of their role.
I had heard that their hidden Observation Base was in Cliff Ridge Wood, tucked away in the old mines linked to the whinstone quarry. Access was via a deep re-entrant, now sealed. Winter, with its bare trees and undergrowth, seems an ideal time to photograph the terrain before nature does its best to obscure it. I believe I have identified the most likely spot for this re-entrant.
Recently, I‘ve been given a newspaper clipping from the Evening Gazette, dated 8 July 1960, reporting the hideout’s discovery during the reopening of the whinstone mines. The article makes for interesting reading, so I have transcribed it in full:
In the heart of a 600-foot hill near Great Ayton, riddled with mine shafts and tunnelled corridors, a wartime secret has been discovered.
Behind two well-concealed, trapdoors the centre of what was a busy whinstone mine, is a hideout.
It is thought it might have been meant for use by a resistance movement had England fallen during the last war (writes an “Evening Gazette” reporter).
The hideaway was found by 23-year-old Mr Gary Nimmo, manager of the Cliff Rigg Quarry, who, together with a group of men employed in quarrying and winning whinetone, recently reopened the network of mines that honeycomb the hill.
30 years unused
Their object was to restart mining the vast quantities of winstone — a hard, blue, metamorphic rock used in the manufacture of pre-cast concrete, cement and road sufface chipping. The 120-year-old mine has not been used for almost 30 Years.
When we visited the quarry at Cliff Rigg after working hours, burly Mr. Nimmo handed us calcium carbide gas lamps and we slithered through the narrow entrance.
After tramping through about half a mile of twisting and turning passages — some big enough to drive a double-deck bus through and others that must have been mined by dwarf-like men — we came to the first trapdoor. It was half way up the 40-foot high drift.
Had the door not been left open, it would have been impossible to distinguish it from the rock face.
It was a thick wooden door, the outside of which had been cleverly camouflaged by sticking lumps of rock to it.
Even trickier
Once we had wriggled through the door, which measured no more than 2-foot square, we stumbled up a steeply sloping passage, Mr. Nimmo leading the way and warning up when to duck the low rocks. After about 40 feet we came to trapdoor No.2.
This was even trickler to get to, being right in the middle of the celling. Once up and through, however, conditions improved.
Ever since entering the mine we had been trudging through streams of ice-cold water, which ran in varying depths.
In parts, water poured from the roof and walls of the whinstone, breaking the silence of the eerle darkness. But this higher level the mine floor was dry.
Apart from the odd mining pick or shovel, we had seen no sign of life so it was rather odd to find an ordinary household dustbin—and in good condition too. A few yards farther on and we came to the hideout, tucked away. in an unfinished mine working.
It would be about the size of an average, living room.
Beds for six
There were six beds—no bed clothes, just the wood beds with springs; shelves, a fire grate, a full tin of paraffin, a cigarette lighter, empty jars, cans and tins, at least two dozen candles and a newspaper dated March 17, 1941.
There was no definite evidence that the hideout was being used in connection with the war effort, except that the mine had stopped production several years before the date on the newspaper.
The way back to the open seemed more difficult. It may seem odd, but the way out was down—because, as Mr. Nimmo pointed out, we had been climbing into the middle of the hill.
Once outside, Mr. Nimmo, whose late father was managing director of the firm that mined the whinstone for many years, told us the story of the mine.
He said that the nearby Langbaugh quarry and mines had been producing whinstone for over 200 years. “Yarm High-street is paved with hand made cobbles that were produced here, and at one time Leeds corporation had a contract with us for making street cobbles.”
May be more jobs
The reason for opening the mines is that the ореn-сast mining method is no practical longer practical at the Cliff Rigg Quarry, because of the large amounts of waste material that have to be taken away.
There are 12 men working there at present, but it is hoping the number will increase.
And although work will continue to prosper at Great Ayton’s whinstone mine, it may be some time before we know the whole truth about the room in the middle of the hill.
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