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The Ancient Hollow-Way to Nowhere in Particular
The Public Bridleway from the hamlet of Urra winds its way up to another Right of Way that follows Billy’s Dyke, that Bronze Age boundary fortification of earth and stone. This grand construction supposedly gets its name from Billy Norman, better known elsewhere as William the Conqueror, who apparently managed to get lost in a…
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Sunset Over Kikdale and a Sporting Legacy
I suppose I’m not necessarily a diurnal sort of person. But at this time of year, I have yet to shake off the winter habit of retreating indoors as soon as the temperature drops and dusk approaches. So, finding myself on Park Nab, looking over Kildale at sunset yesterday, was something of an anomaly. The…
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Cleveland: A County No One Wanted
All Fools’ Day 1974—the perfect occasion for bureaucratic tomfoolery. On this particular day, the North Riding of Yorkshire relinquished half of Roseberry Topping to the nascent “County of Cleveland.” A curious choice of name, given that “Cleveland” means “hilly land” in Old English, whereas this new county was largely flat. Nonetheless, the boundary was drawn,…
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The Government’s Proposals to Curb Heather Burning
Gisborough Moor, from across Sleddale, is marked by neat, rectangular patches of scorched heather. These are “swiddens,” the product of controlled burning, a practice designed to create the perfect environment for grouse. The idea is simple: burn the old heather, let fresh shoots grow, and produce an abundance of birds ready to be shot in…
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A Walk on Ilkley Moor: Wind, Rock Art, and a Mild Sense of Betrayal
A walk “On Ilkla Moor”, though not “Baht ’at,” as I had the good sense to wear a buff. The wind was still rather sharp. Ilkley Moor, an eastern limb of the Pennines, sits between the Wharfe and Aire valleys. This expanse of rough moorland is littered with relics of prehistoric activity. Chief among them…
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Salts Mill: Industry, Philanthropy, and an Uncomfortable Truth
The River Aire spills over a weir past Salts Mill, a vast textile factory that was the sole reason for the existence of the so-called ‘model village’ of Saltaire. Both the mill and the village were the brainchild of Sir Titus Salt (1803–1876), a man famed for his paternalistic attitude towards his workforce. In what…
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Surveying the Past Before the Grouse Take Over
The final day of trudging around Brown Hill, dutifully noting the remains of Bronze Age cairnfields, settlements, and funerary monuments. By Monday, the moor must be left undisturbed so the Grouse can multiply, ensuring there are enough targets for the guns on the Glorious Twelfth. The weather, as ever, was obliging. No rain was forecast,…
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Lesser Celandine: Poetry, Pollinators, and Piles
Lesser celandine is a welcome sight, provided one enjoys squinting at small yellow flowers. In a hailstorm, it folds itself up, retreating like a weary thing, as Wordsworth put it in The Lesser Celandine. Wordsworth is better known for his poem about daffodils, but he was apparently more enamoured with this unassuming plant, composing three…
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Lake Greenhow: A Forgotten Relic of the Ice Age
Yesterday’s post led me to glaciers, glacial lakes, and the like. At Botton Head, my imagination ran riot. Difficult as it is to picture now, 10,000 years ago, a glacier covered the Tees Valley before me. The ice sheet, it is well-known, never quite managed to smother the North York Moors. So, naturally, I wondered…
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Newtondale: A Gorge Too Big for Its Stream
North Dale sits at the top end of Newtondale, a gorge that stretches all the way to Pickering. Newtondale is an oddity, or so everyone says, because the little Pickering Beck, which now trickles through it, could never have gouged out such a deep, narrow valley. At its tightest points, the valley is only 500…
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