Category: North Yorkshire
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“Gerroff Moy Land!” and don’t even look at it
On this rather dreich morning, I found myself compelled to focus my photographic endeavours closer to home. When I first moved into the village, the scene before me would have been an open field stretching toward a gate nestled in the distant hedge. However, as time has gone by, the path has become enclosed by…
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The Ghost of Stokesley Town End
Yet another tale spun by the industrious quill of Cleveland’s venerable chronicler, Richard Blakeborough. This piece has lingered on my to-do list, biding its time for a fitting photograph. Regrettably, my patience has waned. Let this image of Aireyholme and Cliff Rigg suffice. Look closely, and the roof tops of Stokesley reveal themselves in the…
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Hutton Rudby and its history of cockfighting
Hutton Rudby must be one of the prettiest villages in Cleveland, particularly when adorned in the splendid hues of autumn. However, beneath this picturesque facade lurks a shadowy past. Despite the outright ban on cockfighting in England with the Cruelty to Animals Act of 1835, the so-called ‘sport’ persisted well beyond the legal decree against…
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A Pluviophile’s Paradise — Strolling by a Swollen River Leven
Earlier today, I was told, the renowned TV doctor, Dr Michael Mosley, graced the airwaves to sing praises about walking in the rain. In a routine I’ve adhered to my entire adult life, I can’t recall a day when I haven’t ventured out for my daily exercise, regardless of the weather. Evidently, rain confers a…
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A Kepwick Mystery
For your delectation, another folk tale of the North Riding of Yorkshire from the pen of Richard Blakeborough. This story appeared in an article in the Northern Weekly Gazette on the 15 November 1902. I was reminded of the tale as I descended Gallow Hill toward Kepwick village, a tale fitting for the approaching Halloween…
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Storm Babet
A deserted High Street in Great Ayton. Not a soul in sight. Everyone’s hunkered down. For me, a pluvious and tempestuous battle up Roseberry, though I skipped the summit. A short walk, leaving the rest of the day for housework. There’s an Old English word that suits our usual cleaning routine — ‘scurryfunge.’ It means…
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Sunday Morning Coming Down
Though Johnny Cash’s song is as clear as crystal about solitude, the blues, and the foggy haze of a Sunday morning after a wild Saturday night, it oddly echoes the serenity of this particular Sunday morning, which coincided with the first frost of the season, a gentle nudge reminding us of the impending winter’s chills.…
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Kirkby-in-Cleveland
Or should that be Kirby-in-Cleveland? After all, we have a Kirby Lane, Hall, and Bridge. Villages often feel to me like a last resort for photography, with parked cars cluttering the streets and interesting buildings shielded by being private houses. Yet, churches and pubs stand out as two exceptions, bearing the charm and history of…
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The Tees Rivers Trust’s vision for a fish pass at Ingleby Weir
I came across an interesting Facebook post about The Tees Rivers Trust’s proposal to construct a fish pass near the weir on Ingleby Beck. The purpose of this pass is to enable fish to migrate upstream, as weirs pose a significant barrier for small fish. While I’m unsure about the exact commencement date of the…
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The Kildale Spectres
Another one of the old folk tales collected by Richard Blakeborough and published in the Northern Weekly Gazette in July 1901. THE KILDALE SPECTRES. By RICHARD BLAKEBOROUGH. The first part of this story, so far as the source from which it sprang is concerned, has not passed through many lips, seeing that the father of…