Category: Great Ayton
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A Water Tank, Legal Loopholes, and the Persistence of Bloodsports
One of my first photographs on this blog featured an abandoned concrete water tank below the escarpment of Great Ayton Moor. I had visited it often as a checkpoint on various orienteering courses. On a sunny day, its corrugated tin roof gleamed with a rich, rusty patina. Sadly, the roof has not survived recent storms.…
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12 February 1933: Hitler’s Message to Britain
On 12 February 1933, Great Ayton would have been its usual quiet self on that Sunday morning. Most of the villagers would have been dutifully attending church, the weather was dreary, and the temperature was barely above freezing. A drizzle added to the general cheerlessness. After church, families would have eaten their Sunday dinners, perhaps…
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Walking on Water: What Happens When Public Paths Are Washed Away?
This photo has been on the cards for a while now. It’s one for posterity. The river, as rivers do, is steadily eating away at the bank. Sooner or later—perhaps next year, perhaps in ten— that electricity transmission pole will keel over, and Holmes Bridge, if it is still standing, will connect to an island…
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4th February, 1921: Redundancies at Roseberry Ironstone Mine
His day began long before any sensible person would even consider waking. At 4:30 in the morning, he and his wife dragged themselves from their bed, greeted not by comfort but by the biting cold. The morning’s first ordeal was the outhouse—an unenviable journey in deep winter, where snow, ice, and the ever-present risk of…
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The Wurzelweg of Larner’s Hill
I have walked this path up Larner’s Hill to Captain Cook’s Monument more times than I care to count. Where it winds past Round Hill Wood, exposed tree roots have formed what could generously be called natural steps. Supposedly, this is a Public Bridleway, though one would have to admire the optimism of anyone attempting…
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Flocking Together: Hebridean Sheep and Sheepdog Training
I heard, through the ever-reliable grapevine, that this small flock of Hebridean sheep at Aireyholme Farm is being used to train a young sheepdog. Predictably, just before this photo was taken, the dog had had its lesson, and the sheep were beginning to calm down. Hebridean sheep are apparently the darlings of the sheepdog training…
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The Bullfinch: Bouncer, Thief, and Reluctant Songbird
Ah, the Bullfinch. Black-headed Bullies. Blood-Olphs. Whatever you prefer to call them, here they are, battling the winter like pint-sized gladiators. The sun, feeble and disinterested, barely filters through the foliage as I trudge back to the village along the River Leven. A few shrivelled leaves cling stubbornly to the trees, while dead Dock stalks…
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Winter’s Teeth
Sometimes, one stumbles across a so-called fascinating photograph in the most banal of places. I happened upon this forest of icicles whilst driving into Middlesbrough. On the return journey, I abandoned the car in a field entrance and voila. There is an aesthetic beauty to ice-shoggles, as they were once called in the Cleveland dialect,…
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Wellies, Floods, and the Debate over Captain Cook
Billy Connolly once sang about the virtues of wellies: “Cause they keep out the water, and they keep in the smell.” This morning, I was rather pleased to have followed his wisdom, as the path to Little Ayton was a sodden mess thanks to the rain and snowmelt. Here is a photo of the path…
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Sliding into Oblivion: Adventures in Cliff Rigg Quarry
Ah, Twelfth Night at last—perhaps now we can be rid of those garish Christmas lights for another ten months, though no doubt someone will cling to their festive cheer until next month. After all the news programmes whipped themselves into a frenzy last might over the impending snowstorm and freezing rain, waking up here in…