Tag: folklore
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When the Fool Returns from Africa: Musings on Cuckoo Day
I was spared the indignity of rummaging through an empty pocket for loose change on my Monday climb up Roseberry Topping, which is just as well, since I heard no cuckoo. According to local superstition, todayâApril 14thâis âCuckoo Day,â the date when this allegedly symbolic bird is supposed to announce its return with its distinctive…
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Whitby Abbey: Holy Vows, Pagan Wars, and the Problem of Easter
I usually try to avoid posting touristy photographs, but in this case, my resolve faltered. This one was taken looking back as we wandered towards Ruswarp, along the River Esk, with the ruins of Whitby Abbey brooding in the distance. A clichĂ©, admittedly, but quite picturesque in a ruinous sort of way. As for the…
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Toads and ToadiesâSpanghew and Sycophants
I came across this small fellow today. Brushes with nature are always a delight, especially when they happen out of the blue, so there was no real competition for todayâs photograph. Toads, as everyone ought to know, are entirely harmless. They rid gardens of unwanted insects and yet, for centuries, have been maligned as vile…
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The Witch-Mare of OrraâA Forgotten Nightmare Myth
Ah, Urraâbarely discernible through the oppressive cloud that choked my aimless trudge around the moor it so generously lends its name to. It is also the setting for the utterly enthralling tale of the Witch-Mare of Orra. A legend I have alluded to with tiresome frequency, though clearly without bothering to grasp its finer points.…
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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…