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Raddle me this
I awoke under the weather, got talked into taking a Covid test. Lo-and-behold, the little red line made its appearance, and my ailment took a turn for the worse. Fresh air, my trusty remedy, beckoned. Raindrops drumming on the windowpanes, I embarked on a brief, low-level stroll. “Raddle,” a peculiar term. Readers of Thomas Hardy…
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A moment in time — frozen ponds, Cleveland Way, and an impending transformation
I took this photograph with an eye toward history. It’s a scene on the brink of transformation. A couple of frozen ponds glisten at the low point between Round Hill and Badger Gill on Urra Moor. They drain southward into Hodge Beck—Bransdale. The Cleveland Way stands out as it crests the hill, slightly to the…
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Gazing over Guisborough: A historical view from a new bench
Walking home from Guisborough, I came upon this spanking new bench at the top of Belmangate, the ‘road‘ meandering southward from the town up the ‘beautiful mountain.‘ The bench is actually in the field, but is accessed from the forestry track. I imagine the original line of the fence followed the boundary, so I am…
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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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Oak boughs in a wild dance
The snow persists giving an almost monochrome image of Newton Wood, a predominately oak woodland. The sombre boughs stretch out endlessly, weaving intricate angles and twists, forming a chaotic yet captivating network that reaches both upward and downward. It is a common belief that oak woodland is the original vegetation of much of lowland Britain…
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The Roseberry Hoard — Replicas and Repatriation
Recent news of the Prime Minister’s disregard for his Greek counterpart in the matter of the Elgin Marbles rekindles thoughts of some of our own antiquities, currently languishing in some remote museum — the Roseberry Hoard. In 1826, with George IV perched on the throne and the Stockton and Darlington Railway a mere twelve-months old,…
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Inversion Intricacy — The Cleveland Hills from Easby Moor
We left the village this morning, enveloped in a thick fog, anticipating its prompt dispersal under the forecasted sunshine. Soon, intermittent patches of blue sky overhead began to play a fickle game. Only as we finally ascended through the murky haze to Easby Moor at 324 metres asl., we found ourselves above the clouds, affording…
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From Snow Flurries to a Water Syphon System and The Curious Case of Bousdale’s Meeting House
On a rather agreeable day upon Roseberry Common, I was engaged in the rather laborious task of thinning out the encroaching Rowan and Birch trees. The day could have been described as pleasant, but only when the snow wasn’t falling, and the sun decided to grace us with its presence. That ominous flurry you see…
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“T’ back-end’s ola’s t’ bare-end”
I stumbled upon a Facebook post the other day claiming Cumbria has five seasons. The fifth, the Back End, supposedly hits between Autumn’s fall of leaves and Winter’s icy grip. Having woken up to a dusting of snow on the Cleveland Plain this morning, I headed with high hopes up onto Urra Moor, the highest…
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Aysgill Force — The Butterset Boggles
A brief stroll up Sleddale a side valley off Wensleydale, tracing the course of Gayle Beck, led us to the delightful Aysgill Force. En route, we passed through Gayle, a village woven into one of folklorist Richard Blakeborough’s yarns. It kicks off with a birth prophecy, throws in unrequited love, a spurned admirer, a murderous…
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