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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

Hog your ground for good weather

Burying a sausage is supposed to bring good weather for your wedding. Where did this idea come from?

I am at that stage in my life where I have to admit that I am too old and too lazy to keep myself up to speed with all the new stuff with which my kids’ generation busies itself.

My children are at the age where their peers are getting married and having babies and the trends that were around when I married and started my family are now considered prehistoric. They don’t know how lucky they are not needing to be a contortionist to get a squirming screaming toddler strapped safely into a car seat in the cramped space in the back of the car. Instead of facing towards the seat in front, they are now mounted on a pivot enabling them to be swiftly swivelled to face you at the car door. Why it took so long for us to work out that was a sensible idea baffles me. Having said that, I’m pleased for all the physiotherapists across the world who benefitted from the extra work the old seats created.

It’s coming up to wedding season and I wonder if certain traditions we used to embrace have bitten the dust too, such as not seeing your groom the night before, or making sure you wear something old, new, borrowed and blue. Do Gen Z still do theses things? Gen Z refers to anyone born between 1997 and 2012, the first generation to have had access to the internet, social media, and smart devices for their whole lives.

For those of us startled by that fact, we can be comforted in the knowledge that one thing has remained constant – the unpredictability of our weather. I know that global warming means we experience more severe weather events than we used to, be it days of torrential rain, or days of hot sun. But we still cannot be certain that it won’t pour down when we plan an outdoor occasion.

But fear not. There is a tried and tested method to be sure of fair weather for your nuptials; for brolly-free wedding photos, you have to bury a sausage.

Yes. Bury a sausage.

I’m sure dozens of questions are right now flashing through your head, such as does it matter what kind of sausage? Is it cooked or raw? Does it have to be a particularly big sausage to give yourself a better chance of success? Where are you supposed to bury the sausage? And how long in advance of your wedding should you put it in the ground? Who should bury the sausage? Bride? Groom? Celebrant? And lastly, has anyone measured the success rate of sausage burying?

To find out more, I went straight to an expert, my Gen Z niece, who was married three years ago at a very risky time of year, October, where you’d think the chance of adverse weather put it firmly in sausage-burying territory. But the day was really beautiful, with the golden autumn sunlight providing a stunning backdrop for the photos. Had they concealed a fortuitous frankfurter to achieve it?

She replied: “We did not…I’d actually never heard of it until last week – my friend was at a wedding and they did it.”

Apparently it is the social media platform TikTok that is responsible for the viral trend, and its origins are shrouded in mystery. Google tells me that German-speaking countries, famous for their plethora of porky delights, are responsible, but when I asked my Bavarian friend about it he said he had never heard of such a custom.

As for the dozens of questions you might have, some sources say it has to be a raw sausage, others cooked. Some say bury it at the bride’s home, others at the wedding venue. Some say conceal it the night before, others a week before. As for the kind of sausage, I think you have free rein from chunky bratwurst to skinny chipolata.

I did find one source that suggested it descended from the tradition of Groundhog Day, where the beaver-like mammal comes out of hibernation to predict the weather for the coming months. The connection is that a hog is a kind of pig, which is the source of most sausages, and putting it in the ground means you bury it. Hence groundhog.

Personally, I think everything I’ve just written is a load of old groundhogwash.

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 5th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 3rd June 2026

Growers forcing the issue

Bell-shaped terracotta pots are used to ‘force’ rhubarb in the kitchen garden at Rudding Park Hotel’s Michelin-starred restaurant ‘Fifty Two’.

I’ve been lucky to have another short trip away, this time to the swanky Rudding Park Hotel near Harrogate for a spa break with my best friend. We started doing this in 2021 when we realised we had been friends for 50 years. We felt that was something worth celebrating, and ever since have made sure just the two of us get away once a year for a weekend of pampering somewhere nice.

We had an afternoon in the spa followed by some relaxing treatments and ended up with a delicious meal in the restaurant. It is a very impressive place, and the staff are clearly well trained, doing everything to make sure your stay is as trouble free and relaxing as possible.

The next morning we were not in any hurry to leave, and decided to have a potter about the grounds. This time of year is hands down my favourite, and we admired the magnificent horse chestnut trees swathed in blossom candles and the rhododendron and azalea shrubs resplendent in their floral frocks of pink, orange, yellow and purple.

There was also a kitchen garden where they grow a huge variety of produce to supply the Michelin-starred restaurant, Fifty Two, which sits just next door. Guests are welcome to wander round and jealously marvel at how healthy and robust the 500 varieties of fruit, veg and herbs look. I’m impressed by people who can grow things. I manage to kill every green specimen that crosses my path, even the herbs that you get from the supermarket. As soon as I put a pot of coriander on my kitchen windowsill, it keels over and dies.

We were intrigued by some strange elongated bell-shaped terracotta pots dotted about the growing beds, and discussed what we thought they might be. In the end we asked one of the gardeners who was busy weeding. Turns out we were speaking to head gardener Emma Pugh, who is extremely knowledgeable about all things horticultural and she explained it was for forcing rhubarb. I’ve heard of ‘forced’ rhubarb and know that in Yorkshire we have the famous Rhubarb Triangle where commercial growers produce rhubarb in huge sheds that do not let in the sunlight. However, I hadn’t before stopped to think about why they might do that.

Emma explained that by restricting the light, the rhubarb is ‘forced’ to grow quicker in a quest to find the sun, and this produces a much sweeter, flavoursome variety than those left to grow au naturel. The stems are longer and thinner, and less stringy too. The lack of sun also means it has a bright pink stalk as opposed to the more bitter red-green ones we associate with the rhubarb from our back gardens. The dark environment also means rhubarb leaves are yellow rather than green.

The terracotta domes were replicating the forced atmosphere so that the chef can create prettier, sweeter and tastier desserts for his diners. The pots are placed over the rhubarb ‘crowns’ in January, and the plant behaves as if it is still underground, forever reaching up towards the daylight. However, a rhubarb plant should only be forced for one season before it is rested, as it really takes it out of the plant having to put so much effort into trying to find something it never will. So the pots are moved around, with the same plant only being forced once every few years.

Emma also explained that the chef had asked her to experiment with forcing other vegetables to see if it improved their taste too. Other commonly forced vegetables include chicory, sea kale and asparagus, and the technique was popularised by the Victorians who wanted to grow produce out of season. Forcing does not just refer to the lack of light, but also to creating warmer temperatures, such as in greenhouses, to encourage plants to grow more quickly, or out of their normal growing period. And it’s worth remembering, for your next pub quiz, that rhubarb is not a fruit, but a vegetable due to its lack of seeds. 

Do you remember a while back I tried ‘wilting’ dandelion leaves in the way you would cook spinach, after reading a column my dad had written suggesting it? It was awful, chewy and bitter.

I wonder if forced dandelion leaves would taste better?

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 29th May and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 27th May 2026

Water engineering marvel

19th century Thirlmere Aqueduct is the longest gravity-fed aqueduct in the country, ending almost 100 miles away in Manchester

I spent a wonderful weekend with friends in the Lake District recently, staying a cottage near the beautiful Grasmere. It’s a lovely, though very small, village and we took time to visit the graves of the famous Wordsworth family found in St Oswald’s churchyard. We walked around the peaceful shores of the lake and also managed a challenging climb up the short but steep Grey Crag to Alcock Tarn.

On the way down the fell, our route guide told us to look out for Thirlmere Aqueduct, a gravity-fed pipeline built in Victorian times that takes fresh water all the way from Thirlmere Reservoir to the city of Manchester. This reminded me of hydro engineer Joseph Foord whom I wrote about in this column a couple of years ago. In the mid-1700s, Foord came up with a groundbreaking system of channels that used gravity to feed fresh water to remote villages high on the North York Moors.

The aqueduct was easy to spot, and took the form of a grass-topped masonry bridge over one of the many streams that tumbled down the hillside. I assumed the stream formed part of the aqueduct, providing plenty of gravity as it raced down the hill, but I was confused about how the system worked. In my head, an aqueduct carries water over or through an obstacle, and upon first sight, this little bridge went over the stream but was not connected to it. Another question was why was it called Thirlmere Aqueduct, when Thirlmere was a good six miles away.

Of course, my column-writing brain kicked immediately into gear, and once I got home, I set about finding out more about this engineering conundrum.

It turns out that what we were looking at was indeed the aqueduct, but the water that was being transported to Manchester was inside the bridge, not running underneath it. The ‘bridge’ was not a bridge at all, but a tunnel.

The aqueduct was the brainchild of engineer John Frederic La Trobe Bateman who was a big name in hydroengineering and established the foundation of today’s British water industry. As the Industrial Revolution took hold, Manchester grew increasingly important as a commercial centre and as a result, the population rapidly grew too. To continue to be successful, the city would need far more water that it was currently getting.

Bateman identified the Lake District as a potential source because it had more far more water than its inhabitants needed, and also plenty of rainfall to ensure a continuous supply. After deliberating over which lake was most suitable, Thirlmere was chosen. There was plenty of opposition from locals understandably wanting to preserve it just as it was. But they were overruled.

I’m a little confused as to the date the ambitious project began, as some online resources suggest it was Queen Victoria who gave the go-ahead in 1890. But I found an obituary published in the year of Bateman’s death (10th June 1889), in which it states work had begun by 1880.

The initial stage involved increasing the size of the lake. Bateman calculated that they had to raise its height by 56 metres to provide the 50 million gallons a day needed, and, which they would achieve by building a dam at one end, and flooding the valley behind it to create a large reservoir.

The next engineering feat was to transport that water across 96 miles and 28 valleys using gravity alone. A series of tunnels totalling around 50 miles were dug out of the rocky hills, some large enough to fit a small car through. The ‘cut and cover’ method was used whereby a ‘D’-shaped trench was dug, lined with brick, and covered with earth. Cast iron pipes were used for the remaining 46 miles and a gentle gradient of 1 in 3000 ensured  a consistent southerly flow of water.

In various places, they had to cross fast-flowing streams tumbling down the fells, some of which ran below the level of the aqueduct. In such cases, the tunnels were constructed within small masonry bridges built over these streams, which is exactly what we saw on our descent from Alcock Tarn.

Thirlmere Aqueduct remains the longest aqueduct in the country, and continues to provide Manchester with its supply using gravity as its main mode of transport.

Those Victorians weren’t half clever.

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 22nd May and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 20th May 2026

The Grassington Murder explained by one who was there

Dr Petty’s body was dumped in the River Wharf

The book, The Grassington Murder by Mark Bridgeman, has arrived! Tom Lee was executed in 1768 for the killing of Dr Richard Petty after he had already been tried in 1766, but acquitted for lack of evidence. It includes the deposition of John Burnup, Lee’s manservant, whose testimony led to the conviction two years after the murder itself.

First, I must clear up a little confusion. Last time I mentioned John Burnup, one newspaper account gave a different name, that of John Bowness. In fact, Bowness and Burnup were two different people, both involved in the dastardly plot. Further confusion arises thanks to varying spellings of people’s surnames. ‘Burnup’ is sometimes spelled ‘Burnap’ and ‘Bowness’ is also spelled ‘Bownass’ and ‘Bownas’.

As Bridgeman explains, Burnup’s testimony is published in the 28th July 1768 edition of the Stamford Mercury. It explains that Burnup was Tom Lee’s servant, but left his employment a couple of months after Petty was killed, going into service in Durham. It’s the closest we are ever likely to get to a contemporaneous version of what took place on that fateful night in April 1766:

‘On that day two years on which Mr. Petty was murdered he mentioned it to his then Master, who took him before a Justice of the Peace, to whom he related the particulars of the murder, whereupon Lee was committed a second time’.

There follows a fairly graphic and fascinating description of what happened, which reveals Lee did not act alone, and that his wife Jane was also involved. Here you go:

‘John Burnap deposed that Thomas Lee kept a public House at Grassington, and used to work in the Lead Mines; that he, Burnap, lived as a servant with him; that on Easter Eve, 1766, his Master, John Hully, John Bownas, and himself were in company at his said Master’s house; that they discoursed about Horse stealing and scarcity of Money; that Bowness said it was no crime to murder somebody and then take his money; that Lee said there would be money enough stirring at Kettlewell Cockings on the Tuesday following…on the morning they went to the Cockings, where Lee got into company with Mr. Petty, and it was concerted among them that Hully and Burnap…should place themselves at Grass Wood Gate, and bar it with a large Stone, to prevent any person passing that way; that Lee and Bownas were to make a noise to apprise Hully and Burnap of their approach; accordingly about Eight at night…Lee as had been concerted, quarrelled with Petty, or at least pretended so to do, and when he came near the Gate gave him a blow on the head with the thick of his Whip; that Hully thereupon came and pulled him off his horse, and held him by the throat till he was dead; that he, Burnap, rifled his pockets, and took thereout three Guineas and two half Guineas, wrapt in an Advertisement for Cockings; that they then removed the body, and laid it among some Reeds at Grass Wood; after that they removed the body three different times, and lastly, about five Weeks after the murder, threw it into the River, and dropped his Gloves by the water side, in order to make it be believed he was drowned; that Lee’s wife, Bownas and Hully always assisted in removing the body; and that he, Burnap, was threatened by Hully and Bownas, when Lee was first committed to the Castle, to be served in the same manner that Petty had been, if ever they said anything about it…Lee behaved in the most obdurate manner, denying the crime for which he suffered to his last moment. He is to be hung in Chains near the place where the murder was committed.’

Despite the testimony suggesting that it was Hully who actually killed Petty, both he and Bownas were acquitted at a later trial. For giving evidence, John Burnup was ‘discharged by proclamation’ and allowed to walk free. Lee’s wife Jane was never penalised for her part in the crime.

York Castle records explain that the murderer was to be ‘hung in chains at Grassington Gate’, i.e. displayed in a gibbet hung near the site of the murder, not only as as a deterrent to others, but also to heap posthumous shame upon Tom Lee.

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 15th May and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 13th May 2026

A Petty Crime?

When I sat down today, I’d planned to do more research on the case of the Grassington Murderer Tom Lee, then write my column.

Well, four hours later, I’d still not typed a word, yet had written almost 12 pages of notes! I’d fallen down the proverbial rabbit hole, getting lost in the British Newspaper Archives (BNA), and reading as much was immediately available in an online excerpt from the most definitive recent account of the case (The Grassington Murder by Mark Bridgeman). I then had a long convoluted discussion with ChatGPT, and finally ended up ferreting around the National Archives where they hold witness depositions from the time. Mr Bridgeman features one such deposition in his book. I have ordered a copy which has yet to arrive.

Because my deadline is looming, I cannot wait, so in the meantime, I will outline the sorry tale, with thanks in particular to Mr Bridgeman, and a flamboyant account from 21st July 1876 from the Todmorden and Hebden Bridge Advertiser. Although the account is detailed, it was written more than 100 years after the murder, so is it reliable?

My impression from talking to people on the ground is that they ‘sort of’ know the story, but that it has reached almost mythical status. It will have been embellished and exaggerated with each retelling, and yet at its heart is an actual murder and father who was hanged for it.

It may surprise you to know that in 1766, 35-year-old Tom Lee was a well established businessman in Grassington while Richard Petty was the local doctor aged in his 30s. On the surface, Lee was respectable, married to Jane and father to three children. By the mid-1750s he was running the Blue Anchor Inn, and employed a manservant named John Burnup (also called ‘Bowness’ in the Todmorden Advertiser version). It was Burnup who would be the witness to come forward with the crucial evidence that led to Lee’s demise.

Lee had dodgy reputation though, and seemed to have more money than he could have earned from his regular business. It is also true that highway robberies and property break-ins surged once Lee had landed in the village. There was plenty of money flying about, thanks to the increase in mining in the area, and workers being paid in cash that was transported on horseback by a brave bank couriers.

Lee’s favourite pastimes were drinking and gambling at cock fights, and it is these that brought him into the path of Dr Petty who also enjoyed the cock fighting scene.

Lee’s downfall began when he tried to rob a bank courier on the road to Grassington. The courier was carrying a pistol and shot Lee in the leg. Badly injured, he fled, and the legend suggests he hid in the cave I mentioned when I first wrote about this story a few weeks ago. The severity of his injury meant that he needed help, so he turned to Dr Petty. Although Petty patched him up, he knew how it had occurred, but kept quiet – for the time being.

But when he had too much to drink, he would drop hints as to his secret, holding it over Lee’s head. At the time, such crimes incurred the death penalty, and Lee feared that the doctor’s loose lips would send him to the gallows.

After one drunken evening, the pair rode towards home, but only one made it back. Petty’s body was found later in Grass Wood, and although Lee was the main suspect, no-one had seen him do the deed. He was therefore acquitted at his first trial, but two years later his manservant John Burnup, came forward with new evidence. And it is that evidence that I am awaiting to read in Bridgeman’s book.

In the 1876 account, Lee is described as: ‘diabolical’, ‘avaricious’, ‘wicked’ and ‘revengeful’, while Dr Petty is ‘noted for his talents and his benevolence, and was held in great respect throughout the whole of Upper Wharfedale’.

But real life is never that black and white, is it? Both men were, it seems, avid gamblers and drinkers, and according to the same account, Petty taunted Lee about the secret he held, which belies his ‘benevolence’. I’m not saying Tom Lee was a saint, but there may be more to it that simple wickedness.

What do you think?

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 8th May and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 6th May 2026

Keep it in the family

The small hill next to the River Wharfe on the way into Grassington where it is said murderer Tom Lee’s body was displayed on a gibbet. 

I’m beginning to feel like an expert in family reunions following my columns about Hamer and the Ford, Boddy and Eddon families, where relatives and descendants have come forward. We also recently read about the family reunion of the Beans from the Easingwold/Husthwaite area, and there were a few others further back. I now I have another interesting connection crop up.

Late last year I wrote a series of columns on unusual first names, which prompted Brian Reader to contact me with the following: “Two of my grandfather Rocious’s sisters were named Fera and Ellengor! So far I haven’t found the origins.”

It led me to try to find out the where these quirky names came from, and I had a few ideas about Rocious and Fera but I could find out very little about where the name Ellengor originated.

I wrote at the time: “I have found a few mentions of women called ‘Ellengor’, most of whom came from the Northallerton area and one of which might well be Brian’s great aunt. We have Ellengor Barker (1862-1955), Ellengor Bramley (1871-1965), and Ellengor Barker Rollins (1889-1977) all from Northallerton and who might well be related. My guess is that Ellengor Barker Rollins is the daughter of Ellengor Barker.

“There are also a couple more: Ellengor Kimberley (b.Boynton) who was born in either 1889, 1899, or 1900 and died in 1961, and her daughter Ellengor Collins (1922-2015). Both of these women came from the Bedale area. I wonder if all the Ellengors are related and named after one original family matriarch?”

After having read my piece, Brian got back in touch to say: “The Rollins and Bramley families are all related to Barker. The earliest Ellengor I have found so far was Ellengor (Ellen) Barker (nee Elliott) born in 1822 in Woodhouse and who died on 4th June 1887 in Northallerton. I have yet to follow up the Elliott family.”

And now, Neil Kimberley has been in touch to say: “I have just stumbled across a recent piece by you regarding unusual names and you refer to a character Rocious, the grandfather of a reader. Rocious Boynton is, I believe, the brother of my grandmother Ellengor Kimberley (nee Boynton) who married Wilfred John Kimberley in Kirklington near Bedale in the same year they had their first child Ellengor who married a Collins, also briefly referenced in the article.”

It looks like Brian and Neil are related, but not in contact. Is there another family reunion on the cards?

Last week I also mentioned Tom Lee who was known as the ‘Grassington murderer’. I have found some mentions from contemporary newspapers of the time. Although he was suspected of the murder, he was initially set free. On Tuesday 22nd July 1766, the Leeds Intelligencer informs us: “The indictment against Thomas Lee, on suspicion of murdering Mr Richard Petty of Grassington in Craven, was not found.”

However, two years later, on 12th April 1768, the same paper explains: “A few days ago, Thomas Lee of Grassington in Craven, was committed to York-Castle, on suspicion of murdering Richard Petty, late of Grassington, apothecary, about two years ago…but it is now said a young man has made some discovery which is the cause of his being again committed.” And then on 26th July, again at the assizes at York: “Thomas Lee…was executed yesterday.”

So we know he was accused, but acquitted, then following a witness coming forward with new evidence, was found guilty and executed for the crime. What’s missing from the newspaper reports are any more details about what happened, and what that evidence was. I do need to do some more digging, and a book has been written about the whole tale, which I will try to get my hands upon.

What my Grassington friends told me was that Lee’s body was returned to the town and displayed on a gibbet on a little hill next to the bridge across the River Wharfe as a deterrent to others who might be tempted to commit such an outrage.

Does it trouble you that in days gone by, the word of just one man was enough to send another to his grave? Or was there more to it? There will be more to come on this local legend once I have had a good ferret about!

Is it Written in the Stars?

A rather blurry old photo of the Corkseller’s Grave. But the shape of the hills in the background might help us identify the location. Can you recognise it? (Picture: Paul Grantham)

I am constantly surprised by how far and wide my columns are read.

Chris Starfire contacted me with the following: “Hello, I’m far away in Oregon in the USA but fascinated by your story of the Corkseller’s Grave.” Chris, I am fascinated how you found me – and by your surname too! Where does an exotic name like Starfire come from?

Chris read the piece a few weeks ago in which I described trying to find the grave with the help of my son Joey. We were unsuccessful, and Chris got in touch with a couple of helpful ideas: “Poking around online, I noticed that there are two sets of instructions to find the grave and they differ in 30 yards.”

He spotted that in my piece I said ‘…you will find the grave on the road between Glaisdale and Rosedale Abbey. Stop by the small bridge over Bluewath Beck and walk for 50 yards heading east along the south bank of the stream.’

But he found an further piece written by Paul Grantham, other than the 1990s article of his which I had used for my column. He noticed that it said: ‘The isolated grave lies just south of the road junction one mile north of Hamer House, at a point where the road crosses the beck. Park on the bridge and follow the stream east for about 20 yards.’

There was a small photo accompanying the article, and Chris pointed out: “The photo is quite small on the Grantham website, but could be useful for a sight line on the surrounding hills… Best of luck finding the grave if you go looking again!”

I have tried my best to improve the image, which I’ve included with this piece, and it’s not the best quality, but indeed the shape of the background hills can clearly be seen in the distance. Could this be useful for identification? Someone who knows the area better than me might be able to recognise it. If so, please do get in touch!

I have also been contacted by yet another arm of the Eddon family, who you may remember were at one time the licensees of Hamer Inn. James and Elizabeth Eddon took over from the Ford family at the end of the 18th century, and had 11 children. Lily, took over the running of Hamer Inn in 1914 when her parents moved on.

“Following on from your articles about Hamer House, I am David Turnbull grandson of Elizabeth and James Eddon. My mother was Annie Eddon, daughter of Elizabeth and James, and she married Wilfred Turnbull. She was sister to Lily Boddy. Annie was one of 11 children and was born at Hamer Inn. The family moved at some point to run the Black Bull pub on the Pickering/Malton Road where James was unfortunately kicked by a horse and killed. We presume Lily was left behind to run Hamer. My sisters think Lily died quite young but we have no dates. I hope this information is of interest to you.”

It certainly is of interest, David, and I am very grateful to you for getting in touch. I was very sorry to learn about the way James died, which Paul Grantham had mentioned in his 1990s article that I featured. It must have been in 1923 because my research shows that Annie, who was born in 1906, was 17 at the time.

As for David’s question about how long Lily lived, I think she reached a fair age judging by the photos that I published a few weeks back, but I’m not sure how long, or the year that she passed away. Perhaps one of her many relatives out there will be able to tell us?

In the meantime, I have another mystery that has landed in my lap. I was invited on a trip into the Yorkshire Dales last weekend, and on a lovely walk, I spotted a cave in the side of a hill.

I was informed that the legendary Grassington murderer Tom Lee used the cave to hide from his pursuers.

Grassington murderer? Of course that set me off on another quest to find out who the heck Tom Lee was, and what had happened. If you are reading this and know that story, I’d love to hear from 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 24th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 22nd April 2026

Slave to history

 

The baffling inscription on Betty Stiven’s grave on the island of Tobago in the Caribbean, spotted by reader Peter Sotheran. Do you know what the last sentence means?

Another family connected to Hamer Inn has been in touch with me following previous columns about Joseph Ford and his descendants, who include readers and cousins, David and Ian Ford.

In one of my columns I mentioned the Eddon family. James and Elizabeth Eddon took over running the inn from the Ford family, and Annie Eddon, later Turnbull, was born at Hamer in 1906. Annie was the second youngest of 11 children.

I previously mentioned a column written in the 1990s in which Annie remembered: “On the Glaisdale side of the house is a beck (Bluewath) and I can remember going down to the beck with my mother to wash clothes. We took a big cauldron and lit a fire under it to boil the water and clothes.

“We had a pump in the pub yard but in summer it ran dry and we had to carry water from the beck…One of the outbuildings was used by my father for making besoms from heather, and on Mondays, Mother would ride a pony to Pickering market to try to sell them.”

It was Annie’s sister, Lily Boddy, who took over from her father in 1914, and you might recall a fabulous photo I shared a few weeks ago showing Lily next to the well with (I presume) her mum Elizabeth Eddon bending over it, bottom in the air!

Following that, I have been contacted by Susan Ellis who wrote: “Further to your piece…my mum has asked me to contact you. My mum is Pauline Elizabeth Ellis (nee Turnbull) one of 6 children, all still alive, and who originate from Wrelton.

“My mum’s grandma and grandad are James and Elizabeth Eddon. One of their daughters, Annie, is my mum’s mum and Annie had some time growing up at Hamer House.

“We would be very interested in any photos you might let us look at, along with any more information.”

I replied to Susan, and sent her some articles and links to the columns about Hamer where I featured photos of the property before it became derelict (which you can find on www.countrymansdaughter.com). Type ‘Hamer’ in the search box and they should come up.

A few days later, Susan wrote to me again: “Thank you Sarah. I’ve just been reading everything out to Mam. It is all fascinating isn’t it? What hardy folk they all were! Mam and I will have a chat and see if any stories surface that can be shared.”

Now to a different, yet equally interesting, query which another reader has brought to my attention, and upon which I am hoping you might be able to shed some light.

Peter Sotheran got in touch because in the past I have written columns discussing the historical resting places of various people. I’ll let Peter explain:

“Many thanks for your columns – always unearthing something fascinating! A while ago, I think you wrote about various gravestones and that stirred in me a memory of a mysterious gravestone that I discovered whilst on holiday on the Caribbean island of Tobago.

“Plymouth on the north-west coast of Tobago is a small coastal community with a population approaching 10,000 residents. English settlers arrived there 400 years ago, hence the prevalence of British place names; Scarborough, Roxborough and Speyside are principal towns on the island.

“One of the island’s greatest curiosities is the inscription on the grave of a local lady, Betty Stiven. After recording the date of her death, the gravestone carries the following message:

‘She was a mother without knowing it and a wife without letting her husband know it, except by her kind indulgences to him.‘

“I wondered if your ever-erudite readers can suggest an explanation?”

I read the inscription (which you can see above) and came up with the conclusion that because her child is interred with her, she died in childbirth, in which case, she would not have experienced motherhood at the age of 23.

I find the last part of the sentence is quite baffling. Perhaps she died soon after getting married? Or was she the unmarried mistress to a plantation slave master? The inscription is quite loving, though, so perhaps it was a genuine marriage? Peter thinks the size and style of her gravestone suggests she was more likely part of the white elite rather than the poorer indigenous community, but is not certain.

I’d love to hear what you think!

This column appeared in the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on 15th and the Darlington and Stockton Times on 17th April 2026

Crossing the Fords to Haymoor

 

The copy of the liquor licence transferring the lease of the Lettered Board to Joseph Ford, dated ‘fourth day of May One thousand eight hundred and fifty eight’
A transcript of the liquor licence
L-R Ian Ford, David Ford (back), Richard Ford (front), Ada Ford, Margaret Ford, Sylvia Ford and Eileen Roe on a family day out in about 1959. The ruins of Hamer House can be seen in the background.

I’m continuing to be surprised by how many memories my columns about Hamer Inn have jogged.

The latest contact came from reader Ian Ford. As his surname suggests, he is related to the Fords who were licensees of the inn in the mid-1800s. Ian is the cousin of David Ford, whose original message to me asking for photos of the inn sparked off this whole chain of columns. Ian is the great great grandson of Robert Ford who was born at Hamer in 1860. Robert was the son of Joseph Ford who took over the licence in 1858 and the brother of Joseph Ford Junior, who wrote a book about life on the North York Moors called ‘Some Reminiscences and Folk Lore of Danby Parish and District.’

Ian sent me copies of correspondence between himself and my dad from 2007 relating to Hamer, including some old family photos taken in the 1950s with the inn in the background, which by then was derelict but still clearly a building of some sort. As you know if you’ve read my previous columns, all that lies there today is a pile of old stones.

I’ve referred to Hamer as a property ‘of many names’ and they include The Lettered Board, The Wayside Inn, Hamer Inn and Hamer House. Ian revealed there was yet another name – Haymoor House. Surely that is its ‘posh’ name, because if you say it in a local accent, you get to Hamer (pronounced Hay-mer).

Ian included a copy of the original licence from when Joseph Ford took it over in 1858. You might recall that I mentioned that my dad had a copy of that licence:

‘Hamer’s role as an inn declined after 1870, the year a local writer called Joseph Ford was born at the remote house. His father was landlord and I have a copy of a licensing application dated 1858 in which the liquor licence of the Lettered Board was transferred to Joseph Senior.’

I searched for the licence in my dad’s files, but was disappointed when I was unsuccessful. What I didn’t know then was that there was a reason I could not find it, and that reason was revealed in the letters that Ian sent me.

Ian had contacted my dad after reading his book ‘Murders and Mysteries From the North York Moors’ in which both Joseph Fords are mentioned. He cites the tales Dad covered in the book, including those about the Lettered Board, and goes on to explain his family connection. He’d asked if he could see a copy of the old liquor licence transferring the lease to from the previous landlord to Joseph Ford.

Dad’s letter of reply states: “So far as the liquor licence for The Lettered Board at Hamer is concerned, I enclose my copy of it. It is dated 1858 and Joseph’s name was quite clear. It is an ancient photocopy – and I can’t remember where I got it from – but I doubt if it would reproduce any better on our modern equipment. As I can’t think I am likely to have any further use for it, please accept it with my compliments.”

So my dad had given it to Ian – no wonder I couldn’t find it! Yet another minor mystery solved thanks to you wonderful readers.

Incidentally, Ian reminded me that he had been in touch with me a couple of years ago regarding Joseph Pilmoor, the illegitimate son of Joseph Foord, the groundbreaking hydro engineer who came up with ways of ensuring remote moorland communities were served with fresh running water. Foord had had a liaison with a lady called Sarah Pilmoor from Fadmoor near Kirkbymoorside, and as a result, he was thrown out of the Quakers. Born in 1739, his son, inspired by founder of Methodism John Wesley, grew up to be one of the most successful preachers who travelled to the USA to recruit followers. Today there are around six million Methodists 30,000+ churches in the USA. He has countless plaques and memorials dedicated to him in many states and is described by them as a ‘pioneer missionary’. A remarkable feat for a lad from North Yorkshire.

Ian thinks both families might be connected, and indeed his branch used to spell their surname ‘Foord’ until the  19th century. Does anyone out there know for sure?

This column appeared in the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on 8th and the Darlington and Stockton Times on 10th April 2026

 

 

 

Straight from the horse’s tail

Kath Brammah was fit as a fiddle until she broke her hip playing padel tennis

In my New Year column I featured a number of funny quotes from famous people about diet and exercise, and ended with the following anonymous philosophical quip:

“Eat Right. Exercise. Die Anyway.”

Clare Proctor got in touch to say: “That last quote sums it up for me. An old lady once said to me that her doctor kept telling her to do all sorts of things to help her live to 100, to which she said, ‘Why? My friends are already dying, my family have pretty much gone, so why do I want to live to 100, alone and dribbling in a care home?’ She may have a point…although, the older you get, the younger 100 looks!”

Lucien Smith added: “My mum lived to 94 and by then she had outlived almost all her friends of her own age. She still had lots of younger friends, but it’s not quite the same…That generation see their friends either passing away or confined to a care home. It can’t be easy!”

I’m sure we’d all love to live longer IF we could guarantee not to have to deal with the kinds of physical and mental ailments that we witness our parents’ and grandparents’ generations suffer, but sadly, the older I get, the more I realise that those who do manage to remain spritely are the exceptions rather than the rule.

One such person is my friend’s mum Kath. Until a week ago, 77-year-old Kath was as fit as a fiddle. Sadly, she took a tumble and broke her hip. The thing is, when she took that tumble she was racing like a teenager around a padel tennis court. When the hospital doctor asked how much physical activity she did, she replied that she played tennis and padel twice – sometimes even three times – a day! She also fit golf and countryside walks into her weekly calendar,

I don’t know many 47-year-olds who can manage that level of activity without physical repercussions, let alone 77-year-olds. But as I mentioned, people like Kath are the exception. Thankfully, she is back home and recovering.

I try to keep fit and, like Kath, love playing padel. You may have noticed courts springing up all over, and it seems the nation has become hooked on it. It’s highly addictive, but I am one of the many of a certain age who have been thwarted by their body letting them down.

Just before Christmas my right foot suddenly stopped working normally. I couldn’t lift it upwards, couldn’t wiggle my toes and was getting tingling sensations down that leg.

I was diagnosed with foot drop, something new to me. At first the GP thought it was a compression of the common peroneal nerve which runs off the sciatic nerve, down your leg and wraps around the calf bone. It controls the muscles that operate the ankle, foot and toes.

When I am injured, I turn to my amazing chiropractor to set me right and get me back on court (I’ve lost count how many times I’ve needed his services!). A chiropractor specialises in treating musculoskeletal issues like neck and back pain, and understands the relationship between the nervous system and your bones and muscles. I happened to mention that the tingling sensations had started to appear on the other side of my body too and, alarmingly, he sent me straight to A&E.

There’s a condition called Cauda Equina Syndrome. The cauda equina is a collection of nerves at the base of the spine that fan out like a horse tail, which is what ‘cauda equina’ means in Latin. In rare cases these nerves can become compressed, for example by a slipped disc. It is an emergency situation, and if you arrive in A&E with these symptoms, you will need an immediate MRI scan followed by treatment.

To my utter relief, my scan showed that the compression was further up my spine affecting the a sciatic nerve, and therefore not an emergency. Although I can’t play the sports I love at the moment, the outlook is positive for recovery, as long as I do certain exercises and wear an ankle brace to help with my floppy old foot.

I shall let you if I make it back to the padel court!

This column appeared in the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on 28th and the Darlington and Stockton Times on 30th January 2026