Tag: folklore
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Aâ Thomasing: A Quaint Custom for St. Thomas Day
Yesterday was St. Thomas Eve, or so I gather from the indisputable evidence of my own post about it. Naturally, this means today, 21 December, must be St. Thomas Dayâa grand occasion for destitute medieval widows, who marked the day by going âaâ Thomasing.â That is, begging for alms. In some places, it was called…
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A Dreary Day, a Doubtful Saint, and Too Much Christmas
A dreary, cold day, though mercifully not freezing, but with rain looming. St. Thomasâ Day Eveâdedicated to the patron saint of doubtâdrapes itself in the sort of gloom that makes you wonder why you bothered to look out the window. That housing estate west of Guisborough in todayâs photo? I had been blind to its…
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Tales of Runswick Bay: Treasure, Tragedy, and a Hobgoblin
Ah, Runswick Bay, a charming spot on the Yorkshire coast. A sweeping sandy beach curves dramatically towards the village, which clings precariously to the hillside like it is not quite sure why itâs still there. Originally, the village was a little further, perched towards the rocky headland. That was until 1664, when a ground-slip sent…
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Where are all the Holly Berries?
Two years ago, I posted a photo of a holly tree, heavy with bright red berries, a cheerful sight that now belongs to history. That tree has since been unceremoniously axed, part of the grand plan to reduce tree cover on Roseberry Common to a mere 10%. Why? To prevent the Common from succeeding into…
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Robin Hoodâs Bed: Erosion, Myths, and Grouse Shootersâ Wine
Our return journey across the M62 was, unsurprisingly, rather more foggy than the outward. This, coupled with a smidgen of common sense, deterred any whim to revisit Blackstone Edge. Thus, I here is instead another photograph from yesterdayâs wander, of the rock formation bearing the pretentious title of âRobin Hoodâs Bedâ or, to vary the…
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Autumn Leaves and the Forgotten Tradition of Mischief Night
From the village up to Cliff Rigg, the Hall Fields footpath wends its way through this dense copse, and at most times the trees loom rather ominously, as though a scene from some gothic tale. But today they are dressed in the splendour of autumnâs palette. Each leaf, it seems, is vying to display its…
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Bracken, Oaks, and their Folklore
Brackenâour most invasive ground cover, steadily browning itself to perfection. How marvellously it complements this oak woodland on Cockle Scar, on the west-facing slope of Roseberry. Who needs daffodils or bluebells when you can have a decaying fern carpeting your view? And did you know that bracken is charmingly referred to as the âoak fernâ? Apparently,…
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From Drainage to Divination: The Cheshire Stoneâs Secrets
I recently stumbled upon the theory that a stone â the Cheshire, or perhaps the Cheddar Stone as some insist on calling it â perched on on the edge of Urra Moor, has a natural basin which has been carefully modified in prehistoric times by the addition of a notch to channel the water outflow…
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Michaelmas Traditions: From the Devilâs Brambles to Cabbage Wars
One of my favourite sights is the spectacle of a temperature inversion in Bilsdale, when the mist rolls over the Cleveland Hills like a waterfall, spilling into the plain below. Such was the view this morning, on this day of St Michaelâs Feast, or Michaelmas. Michaelmas, celebrated on the 29th of September each year, marks…
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Roseberryâs Witches and the New Myths We Embrace: A Continuum of Credulity
According to the quaint tales of yesteryear, Roseberry Topping was once a preferred haunt of witches. Picture, if you will, three Ayton men, trembling with fright, witnessing a trio of broomstick-riding hags circling the summit and executing some arcane ritual, while sorrowful wails echoed through the night. The villagers, in their infinite wisdom, deduced that…