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Who was the Countryman?

 

One of Dad’s ‘Constable’ books
Dad in ‘Aidensfield’
Another of my Dad’s books featuring the last Heartbeat bobby. Joe McFadden
Dad on set talking with the orginal bobby, Nick Berry
Dad at work in his study in the 1960s while he was also a bobby in Whitby
One of my favourite last photos of my dad, taken the summer before he died
My late father, Heartbeat author Peter Walker (aka Nicholas Rhea) in his study. He used to paste rejection letters to his walls to spur him on
Dad in the 1970s when he was press officer for North Yorkshire Police

The Countryman was my dad, Peter N Walker (aka Nicholas Rhea), who died on 21st April 2017 from prostate cancer.

He was a full-time writer for more than 35 years, and before that, wrote in his spare time from his job as a policeman. He wrote stories based on his experiences and they were turned into the hugely successful TV series Heartbeat. But he also wrote much more, including crime novels, detective novels, short stories, local history books, collections of folk stories and tales, and also columns for local papers.

When he was younger, he used to read the Countryman’s Diary in the Darlington and Stockton Times by a well-known writer and local history expert, Major John Fairfax-Blakeborough. The Major had always been an inspiration and source of encouragement to my dad, who dreamed of taking over his column, so when he passed away, Dad was thrilled to be invited to take over. He continued that column for 41 years, and another (Rural View) for around 30 years in the Malton Gazette and Herald. Despite his success, he had a huge sense of loyalty and would not give up the weekly columns, continuing right up until a couple of weeks before his death, although towards the end, they were a struggle for him.

After his death, I began to wonder what would happen to his columns, and felt it would be a shame for them to simply disappear after so many years. With support from my family, I called the editors of the papers who readily agreed to my taking them over, even though I don’t have Dad’s writing pedigree, nor his extensive knowledge of all things country and Yorkshire. But, as my brother pointed out, I do have access to my dad’s archive, 40-plus years’ worth of columns to draw upon.

So I decided to take each column from the same week 40 years ago and see what I could use to inspire my column for today. What I have found is not only a wealth of material, but that it is bringing back some memories that were long-since forgotten, memories of my dad, and of our family, of which he was so proud. And it feels like I am getting to know my dad in a way I never expected nor thought possible. It’s an honour to be able to do it and, step by step, week by week, it is helping me make my way along the long road of grief that his passing has left behind.

Sarah xxx

The secret is out!

Dad at work in his study which is being recreated at the World of James Herriot in Thirsk. It will be opened by Heartbeat star David Lonsdale on Saturday 29th August at 1pm. You are all invited.

I’ve been harbouring a secret for a while now but the time has come to share it…

My dad’s study has been saved!

I’ve written in the past about my concerns as to what is going to happen to it when we have to sell the family home. It’s been a weighty burden because it is tied so closely to Dad and his career. What were we to do with all the stuff that was so important to him?

Dad’s study is THE place where I feel closest to him, THE place where I can still feel his presence, the hub of his creativity. It’s a visual representation of what was going on in his head and how he organised his many ideas and resulting stories. For 35 years he toiled in that small room, producing book after book, column after column, article after article. The shelves are packed with reference books on all manner of topic, the most-important and most-used of them on the shelf just in front of where he sat. There are also filing cabinets stuffed full of 60 years-worth of papers and cuttings he’d collected, stored in an order that made sense to him. He created a card index that sat on top of the cabinets, without which it would be impossible for the rest of us to find anything. Beneath his chair, a hole is worn in the carpet from all his wheeling backwards and forwards to reach for things off the shelves or out of the cabinets.

The walls tell a story themselves, adorned as they are with Heartbeat-related knicknacks, such as an ‘Aidensfield’ village sign, a Claude Jeremiah Greengrass teddy bear, a framed copy of the cover of TV Times magazine from 23rd – 29th June 2007 featuring barmaid Gina Ward and PC Phil Bellamy’s much anticipated wedding. Nestled among the Heartbeat mementoes are more personal items, such as a framed photo his mother, my Nana Walker, taken when she was young woman, while elsewhere are a wooden rosary and a postcard of Pope John Paul II, a reflection of Dad’s Catholic faith. One of his proudest moments was when, as Press Officer for North Yorkshire Police, he was tasked with handling the media aspect of the Pope’s 1982 visit to York and he was able to attend the huge open-air mass held on the city’s Knavesmire.

I’m sure you can imagine how the prospect of it vanishing forever was simply too much to bear. We approached a few places a while back, but were disappointed when no-one was willing or able to take it.

A few months ago, though, I got a phone call from Ian Ashton, the Managing Director of the World of Jame Herriot in Thirsk. We had talked to him a couple of years ago, but at the time, the museum was not in a position to be able to help. However, times have changed!

They are creating a whole new Heartbeat-themed attraction within the museum, and at the centre is a recreation of my dad’s study. Not many people know that Alf Wight (James Herriot) was our local vet and even treated our cat! These two men were at the same time writing humorous tales about the quirky characters of North Yorkshire, both of which would be turned in to hugely successful TV shows. Thanks to them we now have the tourism honey-pots of Herriot Country and Heartbeat Country. What a lucky county we are!

I have (with some able helpers) spent the past couple of weekends packing up boxes while taking photos as I go so that the study can be recreated as accurately as possible. Heartbeat favourite David Lonsdale, who played loveable David Stockwell in the TV show, will unveil the study at 1pm on Saturday 29th August – and you are all invited! Just Google ‘World of James Herriot’ to find it.

Dad was such a humble man that he would have been bewildered by all the fuss.

But if you are the reason behind a TV phenomenon that attracted millions of viewers, that still has millions of fans around the world 16 years after it ended, and who in a large part is responsible for a tourism boom in Goathland and the North York Moors, then the least you deserve is a bit of fuss.

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me using the ‘Contact’ button on the top right.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 21st and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 19th August  2026

What can’t you live without?

I can’t live without my ear pods. They are the reason I am able to maintain a relatively clean house.

Following my column a couple of weeks ago about personal treasures that are worth more to us than money, Lucien Smith got back in touch to say: “Oh wow, Sarah! My mother would be thrilled not only how much I cherish her painting, but that it made the cover of pic of you post! Thank you.”

If you remember, Lucien treasured a painting done by his late mother when she was only 22 and called it his ‘save from a burning building’ item. I used a picture of the painting in my column, and then also on a social media post.

It led me to ask what would be your ‘save from a burning building’ item, and self-confessed maximalist Clare Proctor responded: “That is an impossible question! I would want to save my photos, my African treasures from my childhood, my tapestries that I have made over the last 40 years, the copy of Van Gogh’s sunflowers that my dad did, and Howard’s dad’s MBE….no hope of choosing one item!”

She added: “I love Lucien’s mum’s painting. We did that technique at school. We had to take a still life item and interpret it as something else. I chose the jaw bone of a cow and painted a washing line full of clothes! I think it’s in the attic…better add that to my rescue list.”

I’m not sure Clare would make it out of a burning building carrying that lot!

Janet Pearce is slightly more restrained and added: “My late husband’s love letters to me, journals, birthday cards and other jottings of his. They are all together…And my Dachshund!”

Once you start to think about it, your rescue list can get longer and longer. At least Hendrix, Janet’s beloved little dog, made it on to hers!

Sarah Mason agrees with Clare when it comes to pictures, but adds a couple of other items: “The photos and DVDs of my children. And Mum’s jewellery. Oh, and Mum!”

I’m not sure what Sarah’s mum would think about her order of priorities. I still have many photos kept in physical albums and would hate to lose them and the memories they represent. I am of that crossover generation where the first years of my children’s lives are all documented by physical photos, but then, come the advent of tablets and smartphones, I gradually switched to digital pictures only. I diligently printed them and put them into albums up until 2012 and then that’s where the albums stop. I remember feeling guilty at the time that I was letting the pictures mount up, and pledged that I would one day get them printed out. But the albums I had bought in readiness for that task still remain empty nearly 15 years later. Weirdly, I still haven’t got rid of them, despite knowing that it is unlikely they will ever get filled now. What can you do with empty photo albums? I’d love to hear your suggestions.

This subject also led me to wonder if there is anything you use on a daily basis that you didn’t realise you needed until it was invented (internet, computers, smartphones and tablets etc excepted). Clare’s answer to that is as follows: “I’m thrilled with my birthday present from my daughter – an electric throw to wrap around my cold tootsies in the winter.” Here’s another question – can we can rule out foot spas, spiralizers, and the Sinclair C5 as being useful inventions?

My ‘can’t live without’ is my ear pods – small wireless earphones that slot comfortably into the ear and connect via the Bluetooth to my iPad. The reason I can’t live without them is that I hate cleaning; it may be necessary but why does it have to be soooo boring? With these little techy miracles, I can put on a true crime podcast and my mind is magically transported away from the tedium. Because there are no wires, and I am not physically connected to my device, I can wander all over the house and never miss the plot twist of a gripping story. I can still hear it even when I put the vacuum cleaner on, so with no need to crank up the volume, neighbourly harmony is maintained.

Tell me then, what are your ‘burning building’ or ‘can’t live without’ items?

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me using the ‘Contact’ button on the top right.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 14th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 12th August  2026

Deflowering the Truth

Himalayan Balsam, although pretty, is a threat to many native species of plant and wildlife. Picture by Hans at Pixabay


I love a Great British ‘Whatever’ competition show. I’ve avidly watched every episode of Menu, Bake Off, Pottery Throwdown and Sewing Bee. I’m not sure why they captivate me because I’m not an enthusiastic cook or baker; the last time I made pottery was when I was 12; as for sewing, I was thrown out of the Needlework class and dumped in Art because I was so bad. The last straw came when I accidentally sliced clean through my school tie as I was trying to cut a thread on the sewing machine. I was concentrating so hard on the thread that I failed to notice my tie dangling dangerously close to the scissors.

In the latest series of Sewing Bee, I’m rooting for Anna because she comes from our very own York. She’s also really really good, not only at sewing, but at coming up with exceptionally creative ideas for the very difficult challenges that are set every week.

The theme of the most recent episode I watched was Reduce, Reuse and Recycle and each of the three tasks challenged competitors to repurpose garments that had had a previous life.

On that note, I’m delighted that it is now cool to buy things from charity shops, when in the past it was assumed that only people who could not afford to buy from new darkened those doors. The amount of waste created by what we wear is mind boggling and I’m proud to admit that as I write this I’m wearing a dress that I’ve had for at least ten years. A few years ago, it would have been embarrassing to admit such a thing. Like most of us, I’m not a saint though, and still possess far too many clothes made in countries with dubious environmental and employment track records.

Last night, our girl Anna won the prestigious ‘Garment of the Week’ by producing an outfit with a clear and poignant environmental message about the threat of ‘invasive species’.

She chose Calico cotton which was used in India as far back as the 11th century. Named after the port city of Calicut in the province of Kerala, the unbleached cotton became popular in England thanks to the rise of the East India Company (1600 – 1874). Home-grown manufacturers of wool and silk were up in arms as their businesses suffered drastic reductions in revenue as their products fell out of favour thanks to this ‘invasive’ new material. It led to the Government introducing the Calico Acts of 1700 and 1721 which curtailed the import and wearing of Indian Calico.

Anna’s second nod to ‘invasive species’ came in the printed design that she placed onto the fabric. She chose the delicate pink flower of the Himalayan Balsam plant. It is indeed a very pretty bloom which looked gorgeous against the neutral palate of the unbleached cotton. But this plant is a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

According to the Royal Horticultural Society, the species was transported from the Himalayas in 1839 and planted in private gardens. But its fantastic ability to self-propagate meant that it soon transgressed its domestic boundaries and infiltrated the wild, settling among the moist surroundings of our waterways. When mature, its seed pods explode, casting the contents far and wide. It grows quickly, depriving native plants of space and light. Our bees and dragonflies lose places to forage while the natural habitat of our river-dwelling wildlife diminishes.

Anna’s stunning dress reminded us of the dangers of introducing species from another climate into our own, no matter how beautiful they may look. Most sensible adults today know the risks of smuggling living things from foreign shores into this country. There are unmissable warning signs at airports and ports that leave you in no doubt about the risks involved.

So I was flabbergasted when someone I had only just met admitted that she loved gardening – and had stashed some bulbs from her holiday in Australia in her luggage which she had then planted in her garden. Just like those who planted Himalayan Balsam in their 18th century gardens, not for one moment did she pause to consider what might happen if the plant crept beyond her own wall.

I can forgive an 18th century gardener who would have had little knowledge of the potential consequences.

But that’s as far as my forgiveness goes.  

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me using the ‘Contact’ button on the top right.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 7th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 5th August  2026

What would you save?

The painting Lucien Smith’s mother Margaret created in 1952 when she was 22 and called ‘Quirky Birds’. “It’s my ‘run back into a burning building’ item,” says Lucien. What would you save from a burning building?

Following my column about the reunion I had with my dad’s Jaguar, it prompted me to ponder how it is that physical things can mean so much to us.

Reader Lucien Smith got in touch because he has similar feelings about a painting created by his late mother Margaret. I had wondered if anyone still owned an object to which they had an unusually strong attachment.

“Yes I do. This painting by my mum, which she created in 1952 when she was 22. ‘Quirky Birds’ she called it and her teacher at college used a technique where they drew shapes on the canvas, then found the picture within. It’s my ‘run back into a burning building’ item.”

It is a wonderful memento of Lucien’s mother, who died in 2024. Its value to others may be negligible, but to Lucien it is priceless.

Former teacher Lynette Atkinson also got in touch after reading my Jaguar column and said: “What a fabulous story. No wonder it made you emotional. I have kept many items that were made by children I taught and they are treasures to me. A pine cone, a Christmas angel, a trinket box, a bracelet, a painted plate and many more.”

Gurli Smith, who lives in Denmark, contacted me about a different topic: “Reading your column this past Monday (A cheep of faith) made me think of something that happened a few years ago.

“I was sitting in my favourite armchair reading when I heard a loud bang. Something had hit the windowpane and left a big mark on it. I ran outside and saw a young kestrel lying on the ground. I thought it was dead and called my brother.

“By the time he arrived, the kestrel was able to hop around a bit (it had just passed out from the ‘encounter’ with the window!). However, we were afraid that it had broken a wing, so my brother placed it in a safe spot, and a few hours later it was ready to fly again.”

Gurli recalled a second memory prompted by reading my piece about tuberculosis a few weeks back. Her mother had told her this story many years ago.

“In the 1940s Mum trained as a nurse at a small hospital. It was before penicillin and if patients came to the hospital with pneumonia, it meant death for them.

“The specific story was about a young woman (a wife and mother) with pneumonia, and doctors and nurses were sure that she would die. But at a hospital in Aarhus they had penicillin which was driven by ambulance up to my mum’s hospital, and the life of the young woman was saved.

“My mum had tears in her eyes when she told the story and said that the use of penicillin was the greatest thing she had experienced as a nurse.”

We can’t imagine life without antibiotics today, and I have no doubt that they saved the life of my son when he had life-threatening sepsis at the age of three.

It makes me wonder what of life’s inventions that have appeared in your lifetime could you not live without today? Of course there are the obvious things, like the Internet, mobile phones, tablets and the like, but is there anything else you use on a daily basis that you didn’t realise you needed until it was invented?

I have a few personal treasures that will mean nothing to anyone else, but the absolute world to me. I will never forget the moment when I was in my dad’s study not long after he had died. It was the place I would go to feel close to him and on his desk was an A4 diary in which he used to plan out his time for the weeks and months ahead.

I flicked through a few pages and there, written in his distinctive hand, were the words ‘Out for dinner for Sarah’s birthday.’ My heart broke all over again when it dawned on me that he had looked forward to the occasion with no idea he would no longer be alive to enjoy it. Of course, I will never be able to throw that diary away now.

So what is your ‘run back into a burning back into a burning building’ item?

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me using the ‘Contact’ button on the top right.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 31st and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 29th July 2026

Mark my woods

In the 19th century large timbers shipped across from the Baltic and would have come into ports such as Hull. The marks are a code for where and who supplied and shipped the timbers, but their meaning is still not known. Pictures by John Buglass

Following my column about ancient reused timbers in house construction a few weeks ago, I’ve been contacted by a couple of experts who kindly took the time to put me straight on a few points.

Marine archaeologist and timber expert John Buglass was the first to correct an oft-repeated story:

“I am afraid that the reuse of ‘shipwreck’ in old buildings is a long held belief that has very little or no actual evidence. Several things to consider about ‘shipwreck’ timbers: firstly they are a wreck so are often badly damaged and salt affected (and often in remote locations); secondly if it was from a broken up ship at the end of its working life…then that is 30-40 years in a marine environment; thirdly, why would you go to great expense and time to haul timbers from the coast to an inland site when other closer sources would be available? That is not to say there aren’t some coastal buildings that have reused ships’ timbers but they are very few in number.”

So the romantic story that I have perpetuated is a load of old cobblers. How disappointing! I have a feeling my dad would be raising an eyebrow at me from above for not having dug a little deeper. I am always happy to be corrected by people with more expertise than me though!

John added: “We are only too familiar with the claim of many historic property owners that their house is made from ships’ timbers, despite the fact that it is located many miles from the nearest navigable waterway, let alone the coast. But this does little to dissuade the long held and cherished belief…This even extended to an inspection of Wordsworth’s Dove Cottage which could plausibly have had timbers from boats operating on nearby Grasmere, but sadly this was not the case. There are, of course, the exceptions which prove the rule. Probably the most extensive example is Chesapeake Mill on Bridge Street in Wickham, Hampshire. This Grade II* listed building is substantially built from American longleaf pine from the dismantled remains of the American warship Chesapeake which was captured in 1813 by HMS Shannon and dismantled in Portsmouth in 1819.”

He continued: “Hauling large timbers from the coast into the Dales is true in some cases…some large timbers in 19th century buildings have what are known as Baltic timber marks. These are from large timbers shipped across from the Baltic where the forests still had large trees that could be used for substantial buildings. They would have come into ports such as Hull and been hauled inland on oxen carts. But these are new timbers, not reused ones. The marks are a code for where and who supplied and shipped the timbers, but I’m not sure how they are decoded.”

John agreed to look at the marks on the timbers I featured in my article, but I will save his comments for a future article.

Jim Coulson is a wood scientist and member of the International Wood Committe of the International Council On Monuments and Sites. He has a spent more than 30 years working with timber and backed up John’s comments:

“The reuse of old timbers is a common thing to have done, but almost never from ships – that is just an Old Wives’ Tale. Most ships’ timbers were the wrong dimension and shape for building houses, and it was far more common to reuse timbers from barns or other disused buildings.”

He added: “Reused beams are found in many older properties, but it is usually impossible to say where they came from…Identification of such beams is possible as to wood species, but their origins would be almost impossible to pin down without some sort of documentary evidence.”

As for the marks I noticed on the beams in ‘my’ house, he states: “The marks…are usually carpenters’ marks, often used to identify the particular craftsman, but sometimes, in very old mediaeval buildings, they were used to ward off evil, and known as ‘witches’ marks’.”

I’ve written about witches’ marks myself, and my dad was an expert, his theory being that some were connected to Catholic martyr Father Nicholas Postgate.

Were they, as Dad believed, a decoy to fool Catholic persecutors into thinking that a safe house was occupied by pagans rather than treasonous Catholics?

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me using the ‘Contact’ button on the top right.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 24th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 22nd July 2026

The heart of the matter

 

London’s Burning actor Sean Blowers presents a cheque for £600 to Volunteer On-Call Crew Manager Jack Atkinson from Goathland Volunteer Fire Station. Jack and his colleagues were part of the team who tackled the worst fire in North York Moors history last year, centred around Langdale Forest. Picture by Lee Jones.

I am still basking in the glow of another wonderful weekend in Goathland at the annual Heartbeat Vehicle Rally. We were blessed again with lovely weather and we estimate that there were around 6,000 visitors over the two days. Of course, if you read last week’s column, you will already know that my family were reunited with my dad’s old Mark 2 Jaguar, which was an absolute treat.

What I didn’t mention was that as I approached the car for the first time, there was a chap chatting with Richard James, the current owner and the man responsible for the amazing restoration. As the stranger saw me approach, he turned and introduced himself as Keith, saying: “I drove Peter Walker’s daughter Sarah to her wedding in that car!”

So I replied: “I am Sarah!” You should have seen the look on his face! He hadn’t recognised me – which I put down to the fact I was wearing a hat and sunglasses, rather that the 30+ years of aging that have taken place since! Keith was the mechanic who restored it in 1994 and revealed that he was rather stressed in that final week. But he pulled it out of the bag in time, and was thrilled to be my bridal chauffeur.

Considering how many people were gathered in once place, the rally ran very smoothly, with dozens of fans queuing patiently for ages to see the stars and the stars in turn patiently signing hundreds of autographs and posing for hundreds of pictures. This year we had four actors: David Lonsdale, who played bumbling David Stockwell, Vanessa Hehir who played mechanic Rosie Cartright, Ryan Early, who played PC Tom Nicholson and Sean Blowers, who made two memorable guest appearances and was also known for playing John Hallam in London’s Burning, an ITV series about the fire service.

Sean’s appearance was especially fitting because this year, we were delighted that he was able to hand a £600 cheque to Goathland Volunteer Fire Station, while another £600 went to the village primary school.

I was also thrilled to hear from Elsie Smith, trustee of Goathland Village Hall, who sent me a lovely message after the event having seen my family’s emotional reunion with the Jaguar. She reported that the hall did a roaring trade in teas, coffees and cakes, and so benefitted from a nice little windfall too!

Of course, there are drawbacks to hosting such a popular occasion and as ever some selfish drivers were too tight to pay the modest fee for parking (between £2 and £4.50 for a full day). In total there were four separate car parks available with bags of room, and yet a frustrating minority insisted on plonking their cars on the beautiful verges that are such an iconic part of our moorland setting. Despite advance posts on social media showing where to park, plus signage, marshalls and ‘Keep Off’ signs on the day, some people were just too ignorant to pay heed, showing no respect for the historic grazing land nor to the residents who call Goathland home.

When I stand back and look at the event, I do wonder what my dad would think of it all. I’m pretty sure he would be amazed that 16 years after the series came to an end, the fans are still loyal and passionate enough to make the effort to travel all the way to Goathland. One lady I spoke to had come all the way from Boston, USA! She loves Heartbeat, and made the trip for the first time last year. Because she enjoyed it so much, she decided to come back again.

There was one incident that shocked me though. A car went past with the passenger casually hanging her arm out of the window. In her hand was a lit cigarette.

It was one of the most thoughtless and stupidest things I saw all weekend. The moors are tinder dry, and one spark from a cigarette could lead to catastrophe.

If only those fire fighters at Goathland Fire Station – who last year participated in the exhausting battle to control the most devastating blaze in the history of the North York Moors in Langdale Forest and Fylingdales Moors – had had a polite chat with her.

I wonder what they would have said?

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me using the ‘Contact’ button on the top right.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 17th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 15th July 2026

Rallying myself for a special reunion

L-R Me with my niece Eleanor and her baby, Annabelle, my son Joey, my sister Janet  and my mum Rhoda reunited with my dad’s beautiful Mark 2 Jaguar at the Heartbeat Vehicle Rally in Goathland


I’m just home from a very special weekend. We were finally reunited with my dad’s beloved Mark 2 Jaguar.

 

Dad had always dreamed of owning a Mark 2, and bought one in the early 1970s. However, it failed its MOT in 1979 and languished in the garage for the next 15 years until, following the success of Heartbeat, he was able to get it fixed in time for my wedding in 1994.

As a family, we loved that car, and it stayed with us for more than 40 years until Dad’s death in 2017. We made the heartbreaking decision to sell it then because we feared we could not give it the kind of care it deserved. We thought we’d never see it again.

But, like a knight in shining armour, Jaguar fan Richard James came to the rescue. He’d found the car about a year ago and it had been reduced to a rusty old heap. Only after he bought it did he discover who the previous owner was. He tracked me down through social media, and pledged to bring the car, fully restored, to this year’s Heartbeat Vehicle Rally on the last weekend in June.

The anticipation of seeing it had me in tears even before I’d set eyes on it because it was so tied up with my dad, the treasured memories and the devastating grief at his loss. I know the same goes for the rest of my family too, and so the reunion was made extra special by the fact my mum, my sister, my son, my niece and my six-week-old great-niece – four generations of our family – were at the rally to greet it.

 

Watching my mum’s face as she saw it come into view is something I’ll never forget – surprise, joy and raw emotion all bundled into one expression. She couldn’t wait to sit in the driving seat and once there, was reluctant to leave it. She recalled that, at five feet tall on a good day, she could barely reach the pedals when she used to drive it to work. She’d perch on the edge of the seat, pushed as far forward as it could possibly go, peeping over the steering wheel and long bonnet, barely able to see out.

 

She worked at Ampleforth College, and remembered how the schoolboys would gather round the classroom window to watch as she manoeuvred the great thing into a parking spot, bewildered at how a diminutive secretary had such a large fancy car.

 

What they didn’t know was that the Jaguar guzzled petrol and so it was more economical for Dad to drive our small Ford Anglia the 20 miles to police headquarters in Northallerton while Mum’s journey was just one mile.

 

Richard had done a remarkable job of the restoration, the paintwork and chrome gleaming as if new. The interior was equally impressive, and the stunning walnut dashboard for which Jaguars are known had been painstakingly crafted back to life. If I am honest, it was in much better condition than when we had it! But then, it was a family car, and with four squirming kids squished into the back on trips out, it perhaps wasn’t given quite the respect it enjoys now.

 

My dad used to complain about its reliability, or rather, lack of it, and it was renowned for conking out so I was very relieved to hear that it had completed the 350-mile round trip to the rally and back to Richard’s home again without missing a beat.

 

The best moment was when we got to have a ride in it, with mum in the front passenger seat, and we girls in the back. The familiar low chugging of the engine took me straight back to the last time I had heard that noise, the day it had left us forever. I could quite happily listen to that sound for the rest of my life.

 

I had a lump in my throat at the end of the day as it sailed off down the road back towards its new home. But Richard has given us a very special memento – Dad’s Jag in miniature mounted on a plaque with a special dedication to honour him.

 

I don’t think I could have asked for much more.

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me using the ‘Contact’ button on the top right.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 10th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 8th July 2026

Wood you know this?

Marks on a beam in an old house I visited recently

Marks known as ‘Cats’ paws’ on some kitchen cupboard doors

I wonder if this beam had a previous life?

As the writer of a weekly column, I am always on the lookout for topics, and am often the cause of long delays on walks or trips out as I pause to take pictures and investigate something that has caught my eye.

It could be a flower in the grass, a bird in a bush, a crop at the side of the road or a door in a building –  if the moment takes me, I can be distracted by just about anything!

This week my attention was drawn to the varieties of wood found in a house I was visiting that had beautiful exposed beams and a hand built kitchen. The house was constructed in the 1800s and every piece of timber had its own unique character.

The kitchen was the first to captivate me because it was built from a rich sandy-gold timber with distinctive patches of what I assumed were small knots in the wood. Looking more closely, I could see they were really rather beautiful, each a little cluster with its own distinct patterns, colours and characteristics, the sort you only find in material crafted by nature. Obviously this kitchen was much younger than the house’s supporting beams and struts, but it nevertheless fascinated me.

A bit of net surfing when I got home led me to discover that this particular wood is known as ‘cluster elm’ and the patches that I was looking at are sometimes referred to as ‘cats’ paws’ thanks to their resemblance to a paw print. The clusters are actually dormant buds that have been prevented from growing for some reason, such as an injury to the tree or a disease. Elm is prized for the beautiful patterns created by the swirling nature of the grain which, alongside the cats’ paws, can become a stunning feature on a piece of furniture.

I then spent some time looking closely at the various oak timber beams, A-frames and Y-frames that were holding this lovely old house up. As I mentioned, each piece had its own unique character, with some carved in asymmetrical shapes, and others marked with a series of nicks or puncture marks all over the beam. I wondered why these were created, because it seemed to me that they had been done with purpose, although I was not sure what that purpose was. Were they to allow the wood to breathe, for example? I have since seen other more modern pieces of oak that have also been marked in a similar way. Perhaps a timber expert or someone who works with wood can enlighten me!

I do know that back in the old days, salvaged materials were commonplace, and wood from shipwrecks would be rescued and used in the construction of houses. Some of these beams appeared to have come from one such misfortune, and I could visualise the aged interior of an old sailing ship or the mast upon which the giant sails would be hoisted. I wondered about the tales they could tell and from what kind of ship they had come – was it a trade ship, carrying precious cargo that had perished in a storm, or perhaps a pirate ship, causing havoc on the high seas until karma came a calling, despatching it to a dreadful end on our coastal rocks?

In the 19th century, the North Sea was one of the most perilous stretches of water to sail upon due to frequent storms and scant interest in safety. Shipwrecks were commonplace and if you visit some of the old houses in places like Whitby, Staithes and Robin Hood’s Bay, you’ll see that residents were not shy about reclaiming the timber that had once sailed proud upon the ocean wave.

However it would take an expert to correctly identify where these beams were from, because the house is some way from the coast. Useful timber was also salvaged from buildings that had collapsed or burned down and from what I have read, the style of the markings and the types of joints will tell us more about the original place from which they were salvaged.

I have more photos, but sadly there is not enough room for them all to fit on this page, so if an expert out there is reading this, please get in touch and I will send them on to you!

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me using the ‘Contact’ button on the top right.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 3rd and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 1st July 2026

 

Does this ring any bells?

 

I always make sure my bicycle bell works to warn people that I am approaching


I had a bit of a ‘to-do’ yesterday when I was walking a dog on a path that was shared between pedestrians and cyclists.

 

The dog (lets call him Fido) is young and led by his nose which means that he is genetically programmed to not walk in a straight line. He zig zags with every fascinating scent that lands in his nostrils, which is about once every 10 seconds. He is also strong, so I am dragged about on the end of his lead like a ribbon hanging from a kite (Please note, I walk other people’s dogs, so am not responsible for the lack of doggy decorum).

 

Yesterday, captivated by an irresistible whiff, Fido suddenly pulled to right, and of course I went with him. At that, the noise of screeching brakes and skidding tyres came from behind as we stepped into the path of a bicycle.

 

Thankfully no-one was hurt, and because it was raining and I had my hood up, I had not heard him coming.

 

As a cyclist myself, if I am approaching a dog walker, I slow down, ring my bell several times and as I pass, thank the thoughtful owners for bringing their hounds under control. If we respect other path users, then we can all enjoy our outing, however we may be transporting ourselves.

 

Sadly not everyone thinks the same, with some cyclists pedalling as if they are trying to win a sprint at the Tour de France, and walkers who believe that their dogs running dangerously loose in front of them is a hazard not of their making.

 

I like to think I am a responsible walker, and make a point of gathering in loose pooches at the approach of anything on wheels. Dogs – and animals in general – are unpredictable, and can be spooked into bolting by things unseen or noises unheard.

 

I have to admit that I was a in a bit of a grump yesterday and one of my bugbears is cyclists not using bells to warn you they are approaching from behind. I did apologise for stepping into his path, but explained that I did not hear him coming. When he grumpily moved past us, I mumbled “If you’d rung your bell, I’d have heard you.”

 

Seconds later, he stopped again and gave me such a dirty look that it lit a touch paper within me. “He’s a dog, he moves about! How can I move out of your way if I can’t hear you coming?” I asked angrily.

 

That sparked a heated debate about whether it was a cycle path or a footpath (it was both) and why he should he get a bell when he said most people can’t hear him anyway, and why I was being so miserable.

 

The funny thing is, I started to giggle inwardly at the ridiculousness of it all, and chastised myself for my rash response that triggered the confrontation. If I had said nothing, he would have simply cycled on, and we both would have been a bit annoyed, but that’s all.

It reminded me of a course I was sent on for work many years ago. The tutor asked why, when we get behind the wheel of a car, we transform from calm, rational individuals into reactive, fist waving banshees.

 

She reminded us that the person at whom we are gesticulating could have a machete in their glove box. If someone annoys you, it is much safer to curse inwardly at them and send them a choice manual greeting from below the cover of the dashboard.

 

This was in the late 1990s, around the same time that the ruthless gangster Kenneth Noye was convicted of the fatal stabbing of 21-year-old Stephen Cameron after a road rage incident on an M25 slip road. Whatever happened to spark the fight, it cannot have been worth a young man losing his life. It demonstrates that you have no idea who the opposing driver might be.

 

Thanks to that tutor’s wise words, I became far more tolerant behind the wheel. I was forced to admit to myself that I am not a perfect driver, that I too make mistakes, and occasionally might annoy other road users with a selfish manoeuvre.

 

Despite that, I always make sure my bicycle bell works.

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me using the ‘Contact’ button on the top right.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 26th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 24th June 2026

Mutual response to TB epidemic

The 1910 postcard sent to his wife Lolly from Benenden Sanatorium patient Gilbert showing snow on the floor and on his bed thanks to the windows in his room being left wide open, no matter what the weather. It was the prescribed treatment for TB in the days before antibiotics became widely available. Picture from the Benenden Health archives.


I was at home chatting to my mum recently, and she was reminiscing about days gone by.

One story she mentioned was very sad indeed. A local family’s 10-year-old son had fallen over while playing and he suffered a nasty graze due to the rough road surface. He developed an infection and died. Mum is not sure exactly when it was, but thinks sometime in the 1930s when antibiotics were not readily available.

It’s startling to think that something as everyday as a child falling over could lead to a family losing their child. Now, if a wound becomes infected, your doctor will prescribe you antibiotics which should quickly clear it up. Today’s parents rarely need to worry if their child has a minor mishap in the playground.

Although some forms of antibiotic were discovered earlier, it was Alexander Fleming’s discovery of penicillin in 1928 that led to a revolution in healthcare. Antibiotic use really took off in the 1940s after chemists Ernst Chain and Howard Florey developed a way to purify penicillin enabling it to be mass produced.

Initially it was strictly rationed and during World War II was restricted to the military, but once the war was over, it became available to the general public via their local doctors. However, it would still have only been available to those who could afford to buy it. Not until the introduction of the National Health Service in 1948 was the whole population able to benefit.

In the early 2000s, I was commissioned to write the history of the Benenden Healthcare Society, a mutual health organisation originally established to combat high rates of deaths from Pulmonary Tuberculosis among postal workers. My research on that book taught me the devastating consequences TB had on the service and its employees.

In the late 1800s, Post Office clerk Charles Garland was appalled at the plight of his many colleagues who were contracting and dying from tuberculosis. In 1900, about 300,000 people nationally were suffering, but only 22,000 a year could be treated. The dusty, cramped offices in which sorting clerks and telegraphists worked were ideal conditions for the airborne disease to flourish. These employees earned just a few pounds a week and could not afford to pay for healthcare. Even if a worker did take time off for treatment, it meant no income for their family, so there was enormous pressure for them to return to their jobs, which they often did before they were fully cured. This meant they would continue to infect co-workers, and would likely die from the disease anyway.

Garland suggested a ‘mutual’ way of helping his colleagues. If he and the thousands of his fellow Post Office employees each contributed a small amount of their wages into a fund, they could raise enough money to help those who contracted TB.

His idea took off, and his new society was able to fund the building of a sanatorium near the village of Benenden in Kent which welcomed its first Post Office patients in March 1907. It was long before an effective cure for TB was found, so the main treatment was rest, fresh air and hope. Patients would be wheeled outside in their beds every morning, no matter how cold it was, and doors and windows remained open day and night. In 1910, one long suffering patient wrote a postcard to his wife: ‘Dear Lolly. This picture shows the result of the snow storm I told you about some time back. I did not sleep so cold as you might think it was, colder last night than I have ever known it to be here. With fondest love from Gilbert.’

Receiving treatment at the sanatorium meant employees did not return to work until they were fully cured, and thus infection rates reduced. However it was not until the early 1950s that fewer patients meant empty beds and the effectiveness of antibiotics on TB were finally being felt. The Society refocussed its core services away from TB and towards things like cancer and diagnostic consultations.

TB is still around today, although much less prevalent in the UK. It used to be known as the ‘artists’ disease’ thanks to fact that several writers, painters and composers succumbed to it, most notably Emily and Anne Bronte, Franz Kafka, Chopin, Modigliani and George Orwell.

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me using the ‘Contact’ button on the top right.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 19th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 17th June 2026