books – The Countryman's Daughter

The tragic lives of some famous names

Maria Branwell, who fell in love at first sight with the Reverend Patrick Brontë and went on to give birth to six children, including the famous literary sisters. Picture used courtesy of the Brontë Society

A few more people have contacted me about nominative determinism, where a person ends up in a job that reflects their name. Strangely, these all seem to be in the medical or related fields.

Anne-Marie Samuel used to work with a Dr Hurt, while Janet Pearce worked alongside a Nurse Nurse! And LJ Stevens says: “There was a probate registrar in the Ipswich District Probate Registry called Mr De’Ath.” You really couldn’t make it up, could you?

On using maiden names as middle names, Gareth Child says: “I was very nearly given my grandmother’s maiden name as a forename. Luckily for me my mother didn’t want her son to be called Crowther.”

Gareth is a registrar and explains: “At work in the register office I do see relatives’ surnames given to babies as middle names. It’s not frequent, but it is in double figures every year. Also, a growing trend among married women who take their husband’s name is for them to keep their maiden name as a middle name after marriage.”

By that, he means officially adopting their maiden name as a middle name, rather than creating a double-barrelled surname.

He adds: “We have the record of every birth, marriage and death in York since 1837, and it’s a fascinating living record of the city.”

Gareth contacted me again a little later with this piece of trivia: “A buried memory has been niggling away at me for a few days and it finally surfaced today. Branwell Brontë was given that name because it was his mother’s maiden name.”

As I am sure you know, Branwell was the brother of Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë, but Gareth’s comment made me more curious about the people in that famous family about whom we hear much less, such as their mother, Maria. And the more I learn, the more tragedy I discover.

Maria Branwell was born in Penzance, Cornwall in 1783, but lost both parents within a year of each other. In 1812, she decided to go and stay with her Aunt Jane in Yorkshire who had married a chap called John Fennell, headmaster of Woodhouse Grove School in Appleby Bridge near Bradford. Maria hadn’t planned to move there permanently but soon after arriving met her Uncle John’s friend, Irish clergyman Patrick Brontë. According to the sources I’ve read, the pair fell instantly in love, and married in December 1812. By then, Maria was 29 and Patrick 35, which was considered a bit long in the tooth to be newly wed, but the pair seemed very happy and their first child, Maria, was born in 1814, swiftly followed by their second, Elizabeth, the following year. Charlotte came along in 1816, followed by Patrick Branwell in 1817. He was given his mother’s maiden name as a middle name, but it was the one by which he was known. Maria gave birth to two more children, Emily in 1818, and finally Anne in 1820.

Unfortunately, in January 1821 when Anne had just turned one, Maria began to feel unwell. She became gravely ill, and died in the September, likely from some form of cancer. Four years later in 1825, the two eldest children, Maria, aged 11, and Elizabeth, aged 10, also died. Poor Patrick Brontë was destined to outlive his whole family, with Branwell and Emily dying in 1848, Anne in 1849, and finally Charlotte in 1855.

The Brontë children were all very intelligent and, as we know, excellent writers. Most would assume their literary prowess was inherited from their learned father, but in fact their mother was talented in that department too, as Charlotte discovered when her father gave her some letters that Maria had written to him during their courtship, 40 years earlier.

“It was strange now to peruse, for the first time, the records of a mind whence my own sprang,” she wrote, “And most strange, and at once sad and sweet, to find that mind of a truly fine, pure, and elevated order…There is a rectitude, a refinement, a constancy, a modesty, a sense, a gentleness about them indescribable I wish she had lived and that I had known her.”

Isn’t it fascinating where the topic of using maiden names as middle names has led me? I wonder where I will end up next week?

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 12th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 10th Dec 2025

To name but a few

Dad was very good at coming up with quirky character names in his novels

Back in 2018 I wrote a column about unusual names inspired by an archive piece I’d found by my dad from April 1978 in which he explained that he’d had a schoolfriend called Septimus thanks to the fact he was his family’s seventh son. He was unique because his father was also a seventh son, and so he was in the auspicious position of being the seventh son of a seventh son. These fortunate humans were supposed to have been blessed with supernatural powers, but Dad observed that his friend, whom everyone called Sep, displayed no discernible mystical talents.

Dad was good at coming up with quirky names for the characters in his novels. His best-known was the loveable rogue Claude Jeremiah Greengrass who appeared in many of his Constable books that inspired the TV series Heartbeat. According to Dad, that was a genuine name he had come across as a young bobby and he stored it away in his memory bank until it resurfaced many years later on the pages of the first ‘Heartbeat’ novel (Constable on the Hill, published in 1979). Other fun names he conjured up included Detective Inspector Montague Pluke, Detective Sergeant James Aloyisius Carnaby-King, Sergeant Oscar Blaketon and Constable Alf ‘Volcano’ Ventress.

Brian Reader got in touch via my Countryman’s Daughter web page and informed me: “Two of my grandfather Rocious’s sisters were named Fera and Ellengor! So far I haven’t found the origins.”

I’ve never heard of Rocious, Fera or Ellengor. The only reference I came up with for ‘Rocious’ was in a dictionary of slang where it means ‘amazing’ or ‘cool and trendy’. I wonder if his parents had those traits in mind when naming him? The nearest known name I got to was the Spanish ‘Rocio’, a gender neutral name meaning ‘dew’. The Spanish have used it to refer to the Virgin Mary – ‘La Virgen del Rocio’ (Mary of the Dew).

The next nearest I could get to was ‘Roscius’ which online dictionaries say was a noun first used in Englsih in 1607 to mean ‘actor’. It links back to a famous Roman thespian called Quintus Roscius Gallus, whose reputation in the theatre was legendary, and thus the word ‘Roscian’ became commonplace in the 1600s to refer to someone who had delivered a particularly fine stage performance.

I found a bit more on the name Fera. It is a feminine name derived from the Latin ‘ferus’ which means ‘wild’ or ‘untamed’, and today the Italian word ‘fiero’ means ‘fierce’ or ‘fiery’. ‘Fiera’ as an adjective means ‘proud’ and as a noun means ‘a fete’ or ‘a fair’. In the Calabrian dialect of Italy ‘Fera’ means ‘dolphin’. Fera is also used in Arabic regions and means ‘brave’. It is close to the Irish ‘Feara’ too, which means ‘truth’. I wonder if Brian’s great aunt Fera possessed any of these characteristics?

As for Ellengor, I can find very little in terms of its history as a name or its etymology as a word in any language, never mind English. To me, the name sounds like a character from Arthurian legend, or a queen from Viking mythology. 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?

I’d love to know if any of you have interesting names or do you have a relative who has or had a quirky name? Get in touch with me using the methods below.

(Thanks to Brian inspiring this week’s column, and I hope readers will forgive this public personal message, but it’s the only way I will know that he will see it! Brian just to let you know that I replied to you by email, but have a feeling they may have ended up in your junk folder!).

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 Sept 2025

The tale of the fox kicking the Bucket

A picture of Tom Boyes whom reader Dorothy Jackson knew well, taken from one of poet Bill Fall’s books

One of Tom Boyes’ greyhounds, sketched by Bill Fall. Is this Bucket?

Last week, I thanked reader Bill Filer who put me in touch with Dorothy Jackson from Helmsley, whose family knew Tom Boyes. Boyes, born in Castleton in 1882, was well-known as a horse breeder and dealer and member of the Farndale Hunt, as well as being a good friend of the Danby poet William E Fall (Bill) who wrote dialect verses under the name Erimus. His poems highlighted the quirky characters he came across and several readers have already been in touch with recollections about Bill and his family.

Dorothy revealed she had seen the photo of the 1927 Danby wedding in my previous column and it jogged her memory of having one of Bill Fall’s books, ‘Tom Boyes, Deealsman’. Dorothy has a lovely old moors accent, and explained: “When I saw your column I wondered if I still had that book…I went to the cupboard and it was the first thing that came out, so I hadn’t to look very long for it!” Considering she’s had the book for many years, that was some bit of luck.

She was given it by the Bonas family, who were good friends with Tom Boyes. Dorothy is still in touch with their daughter, now 97 years old. “We’ve always kept in touch and so I was interested to know if she remembered Tom Boyes. I talked to her and straight away she said, ‘Oh yes, Tom Boyes came to our place time and time again!’ He dealt with horses and ponies and her father was the same…At 97 she remembered him straight away!” It is clear Tom Boyes was a memorable character.

Dorothy revealed that during the 1939-1945 war years her family was friendly with the Palmers who owned Grinkle Hall Estate near Danby (now the Grinkle Park Hotel). They got to know them through the Glaisdale Hunt and Dorothy’s father, John Bell Sokell (known as Jack), was on the hunt’s committee.

Mark Palmer, heir to the estate, had gone to fight in WWII as an army captain, and Myrtle Palmer was his sister. Although from a well-to-do family, Myrtle wanted do her bit and registered to support the Home Front.

Dorothy explained: “They came to an arrangement where she would go to Tom Boyes. He had a smallholding and she would work there through the day and return to Grinkle Hall at night time. That went on all through the war years…She was a very hard-working person and very particular with horses,” Dorothy remembered. She also recalled that the Grinkle Hall horses were always very well kept and turned out and that they still had a beautiful old coach in one of the stalls, left behind from the days before motor vehicles.

Dorothy explained that Myrtle had some wonderful scrap books full of photographs documenting her life and the people she had met along the way, including a lot of Tom Boyes. “Myrtle passed away some years ago and I’ve often wondered what happened to those scrap books,” she said.

Mark Palmer married after the war, never returning to the estate, and it was sold to a hospitality group in 1946 which turned it into a hotel, and that is how it has remained ever since. The tenants living in estate properties were offered the chance to buy their homes, which many took up, although Dorothy’s family had already bought a freehold farm at Borrowby, near Staithes, in 1943.

Dorothy remembered a funny story about Boyes that Myrtle had told her: “He always had a greyhound and called it ‘Bucket’ and in one of Bill Fall’s poems, Bucket comes into it.

“One day Tom Boyes was sat on his shooting stick and his terrier went down this fox hole, and the fox came out and knocked Bucket over!” Dorothy chuckled at the memory. “Bucket was just sat there so sackless just looking around and it knocked him over!” Sadly I could not find the poem she refers to in the three books I have.

It was lovely to hear Dorothy use the old northern adjective ‘sackless’ which I’ve not heard for a long time. It has fallen out of common use, but means ‘innocent’ or ‘guiltless’.

I adore hearing first-hand memories like these of times gone by, and am now wondering where Myrtle Palmer’s scrapbooks ended up. Perhaps someone reading this might know?

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 Aug and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 27th Aug 2025

Let’s hear it for the Boyes!

The 1927 wedding at St Hilda’s Church, Danby featuring Tom Boyes, wearing a black bowler hat and riding the horse on the far right. He was the subject of a volume of dialect poetry written by Danby poet Erimus, otherwise known as Sophie-Jean’s great-grandfather, Bill Fall.

Last week I mentioned Sophie-Jean Fall who was searching for some books of dialect poetry by her great-grandfather, William E Fall (Bill), who wrote under the pseudonym Erimus. A poet herself, she was desperate to find copies but found no trace of them until she came across a 2007 Countryman’s Diary column written by my dad which mentioned that he had four volumes of Erimus’ work.

My own internet sleuthing revealed there had been a total of five books printed between 1976 and 1981 and after a good old rummage around my dad’s study and library, my brother and I managed to find three of the books. The fourth is still missing.

I could not wait to email Sophie-Jean to reveal we had found ‘Tom Boyes, Deealsman’, ‘Queer Fooaks, Tykes!’ and ‘Poetry for t’Peasantry’. “Not only that,” I wrote, “but in one copy were some letters (one from your great-grandfather, one from the lady who sent the books to my dad, and a letter back to her from my dad). The lady in question (a Miss Mitchell) was in her 90s, so is likely to have passed away by now.”

I also discovered, from reading the letters and the preface of the book, that Tom Boyes was a renowned local equestrian, member of the Farndale Hunt, and great friend of Bill. Boyes was born in Castleton in 1882 and ‘Tom Boyes, Deealsman’ was published in 1977, 13 years after his death. Miss Mitchell had included a photo of her aunt’s wedding at St Hilda’s Church, Danby, which she attended as a bridesmaid in 1927 and Mr Boyes appears on horseback, resplendent in his hunting finery.

Every book we found is signed by Bill, and printed in the front of each one is a personal dedication. I wondered if Sophie-Jean knew the names. My favourite appeared in the last book (Poetry for t’Peasantry’, 1981) and reads: ‘To our seven bonnie grand-bairns: Moira, Becky and Jonty; Jamie and Georgina; Nichola and ‘Vicky Toody’’. I assumed one would be Sophie-Jean’s mum or dad. Many of the poems were accompanied by lovely little sketches drawn by Bill.

I also deduced that the ‘biography’ that I referred to last week is not in fact a book, but simply the paragraph at the back of each volume of poetry explaining a bit more about the author (sometimes referred to as the Author’s Bio).

Sophie-Jean quickly replied, and was overcome by our fascinating discovery: “Words cannot express how grateful I am for your dedication to unearthing these volumes for me…On top of that, the mention of letters also has shocked me!”

She adds: “I know three of the grandchildren well! Jamie is my father, Jonty is I believe Jamie’s cousin and Georgina is my auntie, so Jamie’s younger sister. Their mention is awesome and after sending this email I will definitely send the image to him! Signatures too, add so much authenticity. The history part on Tom Boyes is very interesting as well – he must have been extremely revered: what an intriguing connection. Danby seems to have a crazily rich history. 1927 is so far back and I am really invested in history (as you can tell!) and especially the roaring twenties era so hearing that has also been a treat. I am truly in awe.”

She was also thrilled to read the biographical information at the back of the book: “Hearing that he also had a great artistic side was cool, because that’s what I’m headed to do in college this September for two years! It must run in the Falls!”

I felt that, as much as I’d like to keep them, the books should go back to Sophie-Jean, so that the family have a meaningful record of the legacy left by her great-grandfather, so I will post them on to her – once I have finished using them for my own research of course!

Sophie-Jean concludes: “I’m sure this newspaper’s readers will find this hunt extremely interesting…More thanks to you for dedicating such time and effort to finding these again for me. The joy is truly indescribable…I look forward to having them by my side and seeing all the works mentioned first-hand.”

I wonder if any readers have come across Bill Fall or Tom Boyes? Do get in touch if so (see below).

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 Aug and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 6th 2025

Falling write into our hands

The books of poems my brother and I found in my dad’s study and library after being contacted by the poet Bill Fall’s (AKA Erimus) great-granddaughter

Yorkshire dialect poet William E Fall, who wrote under the pseudonym ‘Erimus’.

A lady called Sophie-Jean Fall has been in touch asking about a Countryman’s Diary column that appeared in March 2007. She says: “The author mentions William Fall / Erimus, the Danby poet. He was my great-grandfather…I cannot find his biography or books online, and this article is the sole trace of his name when I Google it. If you can, please could you try find who the author was or who he contacted to garner William’s poetic works? It would mean the world to me if I could read such books.”

The answer to the first question is easy, of course, because it is my dad Peter Walker (AKA Nicholas Rhea), who wrote the Countryman’s Diary for 41 years from 1976 until 2017. I had not heard of William Fall or Erimus, but having looked up the column, I discovered the following (in my dad’s own words):

“Who was William E Fall, known to everyone as Bill? Under the pen-name of Erimus, William Fall wrote dialect poetry and prose, his dialect being that of the district around Danby in Cleveland. He was born at Easby in the Cleveland Hills and, in retirement, settled in a cottage near Danby Castle.

“A kindly correspondent from Durham has sent me four of his collections published in the late 1970s and early 1980s…To give a flavour of his sense of humour, part of his biography reads: ‘He worked successively as a grocer’s assistant, a farmer’s boy and wielded a pick and a shovel in a quarry until he heard a voice, as if from heaven, saying, ‘William, thou shalt work no more.’ So he joined Middlesbrough Police where he served for the next thirty years.’”

I was determined to find those books, and the next time I visited my mum, embarked on one of my favourite pastimes – ferreting around in my dad’s study for interesting stuff. I had a trusty sidekick in my brother, and we both set about the task with gusto.

We had no idea what the books looked liked, although I had found online references to them, including the names, when they were published and how many pages each had. That told us that they were likely very slim volumes, with no room for the title on the spine, making finding them in dad’s vast collection more tricky. There were five published in total and called ‘Wi’ t’Accent on Yorkshire’ (Feb 1976), ‘Tom Boyes, Deealsman’ (Feb 1977), ‘Queer Fooaks, Tykes!’ (Nov 1977), ‘Hermit and Recluse’ (June 1979) and finally ‘Poetry for t’Peasantry’ (Aug 1981).

To find anything in Dad’s study or library (a large bedroom with floor to ceiling shelves crammed with books), you have to know how his brain worked. Dad arranged his collection in loose categories (mostly unlabelled), and we started our search in his study by locating the section on ‘Yorkshire dialect’. Initially, it failed to bear fruit so we tried other sections, including ‘Biographies’ (seeing as his 2007 column mentioned a biography). Again we failed to find anything.

We then headed upstairs to the library and after scanning the numerous shelves found a section on poetry. Many of the greats nestled there, including Shakespeare, Tennyson, Wordsworth, Browning and Burns. To the far left of one shelf was a collection of pamphlets entitled ‘Transactions of the Yorkshire Dialect Society (YDS)’. They all looked very similar and unpromising, but nevertheless I took the pile of pamphlets and began to flick through.

And what do you know? Hidden right in the middle, barely visible, was a little green book. As soon as my eyes fell on it, my heart sang. It was ‘Queer Fooaks, Tykes!‘. After a little celebratory dance (and knowing there were another three to find), we kept going. A fruitless search in the library followed, but now we knew what one book looked like, we tried again in the study downstairs, and sure enough, hidden among dozens more copies of YDS pamphlets, we found ‘Poetry for t’Peasantry’ and finally, ‘Tom Boyes, Deealsman’. Each book is signed by the author and tucked inside in the last one was an old photo and some intriguing correspondence.

As I write, I have not yet told Sophie-Jean of my discovery, and cannot wait to pass on the good news. I wonder what she will say?

Look out for part two of this story next week to find out!

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 1st Aug and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 30th July 2025

We are getting stoned again

The photograph sent to me by Peter Sotheran of a horse with cart on Lythe Bank out of Sandsend. It was taken between 1905 and 1907 and a copy of it is held at the Teesside Archive, accessed via the Dorman Museum in Middlesbrough

A couple of weeks back, along the continuing theme of troughs and boundary stones, I asked what the holes in the bottom of a carved stone that I found on one of my local walks might be. Once again, a kind reader has jumped to the rescue.

John Buckworth explains: “Hi Sarah. The holes in your stone are probably lifting holes, or dimples, on each side to which they attached a lewis.”

I had no idea what a lewis was and had to look it up, which is no effort for me because I love learning new stuff! For those of you as ignorant as me, a lewis is a device used by stonemasons to lift heavy blocks of masonry and is fitted into pre-drilled holes to evenly distribute the weight of the block, allowing safe and accurate movement from one place to another. John explains: “It has a scissor action, and the curved points stick into the holes and the block and tackle tightens them whilst being lifted. Some of these holes can be on buildings and railway bridges. However, most are concealed because they are covered by the adjacent block. I am still enjoying your articles thank you. Tek care lass.”

Incidentally, I was furnished with even more knowledge that I did not previously possess, namely that the term ‘Lewis’ is also used in the mysterious world of freemasonry. This essential tool symbolises strength and the ability to lift weighty burdens. A freemason’s son is known as a ’Lewis’ because he is meant to support his father and the brotherhood in whatever ways are deemed necessary.

Another reader, Peter Sotheran, also contacted me with a very interesting stone-related story.

“Your paragraphs on moving large blocks of sandstone brought to mind Canon Atkinson, author of ‘Forty Years in a Moorland Parish’.

“After serving as Curate at St. Mary’s Church in Scarborough, Atkinson was appointed Vicar of Danby where he served for 50 years. In his ‘Forty Years’ book Atkinson describes the two-day journey on horseback from Scarborough to Danby. After breaking his journey with an overnight stay in Whitby, Atkinson describes the second leg to Danby.

‘I was told I should find but few on the road I was to pursue, and I might not see a passenger or traveller for miles and miles together. Nor did I.

‘Then the solitude of my way was broken. I was no longer the sole traveller on this rugged lonely roadway; for here I encountered a cavalcade such as I had never before imagined…I met a stone-wagon with a team of no less than twenty horses and oxen, half of either kind. They were drawing a huge block of freestone up the terribly steep bank.’ “

Peter adds: “From other clues in his ‘Forty Years’ book, this would appear to be Lythe Bank, leading up from Sandsend. Atkinson continues:

‘At the foot of the bank were standing four other wagons similarly loaded. The full complement of animals dragging each ponderous load – five tons’ weight on average – in succession to the top; and then, when all were up, the cavalcade re-assembled and proceeded on its slow march again.’ ”

If any of you have ever walked up that notoriously steep bank out of Sandsend, as I have VERY slowly with very little in the way of a heavy load, you will be able to understand just how difficult it must have been to get the horses and oxen and their huge boulders up. I can’t help but feel sorry for the poor animals! Peter sent me a copy of a lovely old postcard of a horse and cart labouring up the hill, which I have included with this article. Peter says: “The picture of the cart and single horse is not from Atkinson’s book. It was a postcard that I picked up in Whitby some years ago. Unfortunately, Atkinson does not mention where the stones are from or where they are destined for.”

Peter told me that over the years he amassed a collection of more than 2500 old local pictures and postcards which he donated to the Teesside Archive, accessed via the Dorman Museum in Middlesbrough, from where this picture comes. It was taken between 1905 and 1909 by a chap called Tom Watson.

I wonder here the stones will lead us next?

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 11th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 9th July 2025

Out of the fire

Betty McDonald on holiday in Southern Spain last year. She has kept diaries since she was young

I’ve had some more feedback from readers on the subject of photographs. Betty MacDonald, who will turn 90 this year (I hope you don’t mind me mentioning that, Betty!) writes: “I have many photographs from years gone by, and memories of sending them off to be developed and printed, and especially onto slides…we used to have many an evening watching a slide show.”

She adds: “I’ve kept diaries for decades, which I enjoy writing, and call my ‘reference library’. I can look up what I did 50 years ago on any given date. These are for me only. I have mentioned to my daughter when the time comes to find a spot in the garden and burn them all, although this might not be possible as I fear the fire brigade might have to be in attendance!

“Queen Elizabeth kept a diary and at 6 o’clock every day she sat down to write in it. So I feel as though I have been in good company…I’ve enjoyed my time with all of my collections of stuff over the years, but nothing is forever.”

Betty’s daughter send me a sweet note about her mother too: “She’s a fantastic mam and nana, always has an interesting story to tell and has such a happy outlook on life.” And at the end she added: “P.S. I won’t burn the diaries!”

Do many people still keep daily diaries? My gut tells me not, because everything is so ‘visual’ today that it is rare to find someone who takes the time to sit down and write about their day. I did it when I was a teenager, and when I was away on a gap year in the mid-1980s. I also wrote diaries when I went travelling in South-East Asia because my dad said I would regret it if I didn’t. They came in useful on my return when the newspaper I worked for asked me to do a series of travelogues about each country I visited. It would have been impossible without the diaries, and so I was very grateful for my dad’s advice.

I occasionally look back upon them now with an understanding of why it was so important to keep a contemporaneous record. There is so much detail that I would never have remembered, and they take me back to a time when I was young and carefree. The 1980s don’t seem that long ago, and yet so much has changed since then that they make a fascinating read. They may not mean much to anyone else, but perhaps my children will one day find them interesting.

Alan Graham also got in touch to say: “I always read your piece and was interested in the recent topic of printing photos. Like others I rarely if ever print photos nowadays but I do print and enlarge those that are good, clear and of lasting interest…and mount them in a traditional photo album, the sort with blank pages and a sheet of tracing paper between…Double-sided sellotape is all that’s needed on the back and they never come adrift, even decades later. A short typed label under each photo (who, where, when) adds a permanent memory.

“I’ve got precious pictures of my daughter growing up, my wife, even my cars and motorbikes going back 40 years and these albums are the things I’d save – as they say – in a fire.”

And that prompts me to ask, what would you save from a fire? Would it be something practical like your passport, or something valuable, like your jewellery? Or like Alan, would it be pictures of your loved ones?

For me, the material stuff means nothing, but there are certain things that cannot ever be replaced, such as signed copies of my dad’s books, handwritten letters from loved ones from years ago. I also have a large collection of birthday and Mother’s Day cards that my children have sent me every year since they were able to write and in which they have written very special messages that I never want to lose.

But, as Betty says, we cannot take everything with us, can we. So if you had to choose just one item to save, what would it be and why? Do get in touch via my contact page to let me know.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 14th March and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 5th March 2025

Swim the Channel? Fat chance of that!

Bill Burgess slathered in lard before his successful attempt at swimming the English Channel in 1911. (This work is from the George Grantham Bain collection at the Library of Congress. According to the library, there are no known copyright restrictions on the use of this image).

My recent mention of goose fat as a home remedy for a bad chest prompted reader Mike Brown from Stokesley to get in touch. It reminded him of TV personality David Walliams: “He smeared it all over his body before swimming across the English Channel to raise money for the BBC charity Sports Relief. The late Queen mentioned this when she presented him with the OBE for his services to charity and the arts. He replied that the application wasn’t as much fun as it looked. Probably smelt awful too. So as well as a remedy for a persistent cough goose grease is a good insulator as well.”

Walliams completed the 21-mile swim in a very impressive 10 hours and 34 minutes in July 2006, despite confessing that he had never done anything remotely sporty in his life before. Later, in 2008, he swam the Strait of Gibraltar, and then in 2011 completed the ridiculous challenge of swimming the length of the River Thames. He covered 140 miles, starting in Lechlade, which is about 45 miles west of Oxford, and finishing eight days later at Westminster Bridge in London.

For the latter two events, Walliams was wearing a wetsuit, but for his Channel swim, he was only permitted to wear a ‘standard swim costume’ as defined by the Channel Swimming Association for it to be classed as an official swim. The rules state that the costume should not aid buoyancy nor offer thermal protection, and it cannot cover the arms or legs. The same rules apply to the swim hat too, and you are not allowed to use anything that will help you stay afloat or swim faster, so no flippers armbands, rubber rings or lifejackets.

Basically, it’s just you and your Speedos against the elements. Oh – and of course, the goose gunk. Some people smear it all over their body to prevent heat loss, while other more hardy individuals cover just the areas that are likely to chafe, such as armpits, necks, shoulders and thighs. That thought makes me squirm (and if you have ever spent too long in the sea, you will understand the fidgety discomfort of saltwater chafing).

Some people choose not to use fat from a dead animal and instead make their own mixture of roughly 50/50 lanolin and petroleum jelly. Lanolin is what makes a sheep’s fleece waterproof, and is extracted from freshly-shorn wool in a centrifugal process involving hot water. It has dozens of uses, but it does harden when cold, so for the cross-Channel fraternity, it is mixed with petroleum jelly to keep it spreadable.

The first person to ever swim the Channel unaided was 28-year-old Captain Matthew Webb in 1875. He smeared himself with porpoise fat to preserve body heat and avoid the chafing. He earned fame and a small fortune from the achievement, and tried to replicate the financial rewards through other water-related endurance challenges, but none matched that first major accomplishment. He died just eight years later while attempting to swim the Niagara Falls Whirlpool Rapids.

It was another 36 years before anyone else managed to cross the Channel and he happened to be a Yorkshireman. Bill Burgess tried and failed 17 times before succeeding on his 18th attempt in September 1911. Although born in Rotherham, he spent most of his adult life in France, and competed for the country at the 1900 Olympics where he won a bronze medal in water polo. He also coached the first woman to swim the Channel, American Olympian Gertrude Ederle, who was only 20 when she completed the feat in August 1926.

Undertaking a Channel swim sounds, quite frankly, awful. Not only do you have to go to the faff of smearing yourself in gunge before plunging into freezing sea water, you also have to contend with wind, currents, tides, sewage and floating rubbish, never mind the constant traffic surging through the busiest shipping lane in the world. Then there’s the seasickness caused by the incessant motion of the waves, the sore and chapped lips, and the raging thirst thanks to the gallons of polluted salt water you’ll inevitably swallow. Why the heck would you?

Of course, I am facing my own swimming challenge later this year when I compete in my first triathlon. Let’s hope goose fat won’t be needed.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 7th March and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 12th March 2025

Time to make decisions

Horacio Romeo’s beloved antique mirror has to stay in Buenos Aires, Argentina, because it is too big to bring to his current home in Brazil.

Following my column about the Hugh Pannell clock owned by Arkansas-resident Sandra Parkerson, David Severs has been in touch. David is a descendant of the 18th century Northallerton clockmaker and was able to provide some useful historical context about it. If you recall, the grandfather clock has been in Sandra’s family for more than 200 years, but she is looking to find it a home because it will be too big to take to a new apartment.

David is compiling a record of Pannell’s work and explains that it is unusual to find ‘CLOCK & WATCH-MAKER’ engraved on the name boss. “This is very rare indeed and to find yet another Pannell example is exciting,” he says.

He explains that Sandra’s walnut case is not original: “I have found well over a hundred Hugh Pannell clocks and not one is in a walnut case.” Most of Pannell’s clocks were in cases of mahogany, oak or pine. David has found only one pine example due to the wood not being durable, and mahogany is also quite rare because he would have had to transport it by cart from west coast ports such as Liverpool, which was far more costly than a readily available oak case. Mahogany cases were the preserve of the wealthy, and housed Pannell’s finest pieces. They became more common once the rail network reached Northallerton in 1841, well after Hugh Pannell’s time. Oak cases with mahogany veneer were known as ‘typical Yorkshire cases’ in 1774 when Pannell was working.

David says about Sandra’s clock: “The decoration on the pediment is not something I have seen over here and the split trunk door is also new to me. It is possible that the clock mechanism alone was sent to the USA and then placed into Sandra’s mahogany case upon arrival.”

David adds: “I have found that some 30% of Hugh’s surviving clocks are now marriages which is perhaps not surprising given that it is 236 years and more since he was making clocks…I am aware of his clocks in California, Florida, New Orleans and San Francisco as well as this one in Arkansas. Clocks by his son Joshua…have found their way to Iowa and California and one of his watches to Florida.”

This brings me on to the subject of what to do with meaningful objects you have collected in your lifetime.

Regular reader Clare Powell says: “I inherited my dad’s grandfather clock…and decided to sell it later on. You get nothing for them at auction, nobody wants or has the room for them, even old ones. But I discovered it was handmade by a company in Somerset and he had paid £3,500 for it. I couldn’t bring myself to sell it for £150, so I am still stuck with it!”

In a previous column I mentioned a small wooden box my grandad gave me which I hope one of my sons will keep. Clare explains that the thought of what to do with all her family heirlooms keeps her awake at night: “I am not sure we should burden the next generation with all our ‘stuff’. If you tell them why everything means so much to you, will they feel ridden with guilt if they are not able to keep it all? Then again, if you don’t tell them, then they may wish they did know the story of certain items, like you and your box.”

Horacio Romeo from Brazil, who contacted me through my web page (countrymansdaughter.com), has a similar problem to Sandra in that he has a beautiful mirror that is too big for his current abode: “I love it and enjoy looking at it when I go to Buenos Aires (Argentina) but bringing it here is out of the question.”

Leni Ella says: “My nana used to say, ‘If you want it, put your Monica on it’, the only way you could bagsy something in her house.” (I am assuming Nana meant ‘moniker’ and ‘Monica’ is a family joke!).

My aunt, Liz Davidson, revealed that she has a family heirloom: “I have a crocheted white bedspread that came from my dad and one of his aunties I think. It’s very heavy when you put it on the bed.”

There is only so much the following generation will want to keep so what, I wonder, will happen to grandad’s bedspread?

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me via the ‘Contact’ tab at the top right of this page.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 17th Jan and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 15th Jan 2025

Permission to be curmudgeonly

Reader Deborah Steed went to school with my late sister Tricia, whose anniversary it is this week (8th January)

I have received some interesting feedback following my pre-Christmas columns about the annoying misuse of certain words, as well as ‘autocorrect’ changing words into something you don’t mean at all.

A reader I only know as ‘vibrant50770a0070’, who contacted me through my countrymansdaughter.com webpage, stated: “One of my annoyances is the use by weather forecasters (and others) of ‘A month’s worth of rain fell.’ What is a month’s worth of rain? Surely the correct use of the English language would be to say ‘The equivalent of a month’s rain fell’. The spelling and use of words in the English language is now appalling, as can be found in such places as Facebook, etc. I am a retired police officer, now in my nineties, so I think I can be permitted to be a curmudgeonly old codger, but I think that the decline of the English language over the years is very sad.”

Having achieved that significant age milestone ‘vibrant50770a0070’ has the right to be as curmudgeonly as he wants. Having said that, what some see as a ‘decline’ in the English language, others see as ‘evolution’. I’m still not sure upon which side of the fence I fall.

Monica Gantz, a writer and blogger who lives in the USA, also contacted me through my webpage saying: “Autocorrect has gotten out of control. It used to be spot on with its correction. I admit to typing and almost hitting ‘send’ when I decide to re-read my post and in horror, similar to your examples, find that autocorrect substituted a terrible word in my sentence. It’s a great reminder to RE-READ before pressing ‘send’.

I read my copy countless times before sending it, only to discover that when it is printed, a silly typo has slipped through. It drives me nuts but happens because my brain tricks me into seeing what I want, rather than what is actually on the page. A regular one is ‘their’ when I mean ‘there’. I know which is right of course, but sometimes in the speed of typing, I pop the wrong one in. I will have read over it lots of times without spotting the error, only to see it once the final version is out in public. It makes me so cross with myself!

You might recall that in my Christmas column I brought up the fact that a common festive ‘autocorrect’ error is spelling ‘Santa’ as ‘Satan’ and it jogged a couple of regular readers’ memories about taking children to see the big man in the red suit.

Clare Proctor, who works at various properties owned by the National Trust, said: “Having observed my colleagues grapple with children (and, even worse, parents) whilst corralling them to visit the Santa’s grotto we used to do at work, Satan might not have always been a mistake!”

And on a similar theme Janet Pearce added that she had a bad experience sitting on an elderly priest’s lap as a child. “I did not want my children sitting on old strangers’ laps! Satan seems quite appropriate.” I can relate to that because as a very young child similar was done to me on a number of occasions by an elderly neighbour. It was only as an adult that I realised that what he had done was wrong. It is such a shame that something that should be a magical experience for our children has been tainted by a few disgusting men taking advantage of innocence.

Before Christmas I also wrote about the fact that on the first anniversary of my friend Ian’s mum’s death, we thought it hilarious when he’d received a message from a close friend. She had been crushed with embarrassment when she realised she’d written ‘Thinking about your dead mum’ instead of ‘dear mum’.

Deborah Steed said the story made her giggle because it reminded her of an occasion where she had met up with some old classmates. Her friend was grieving the recent loss of her pet dog and said to Deborah: “Now I understand why you didn’t feel like coming to the last school reunion after your dog had just died.”

She was mortified when Deborah said: “No, that was my dad. The dog is still alive and kicking.”

Coincidentally, Deborah went to school with my sister Tricia, who died seven years ago this week, which is a great excuse to use the picture accompanying this column. I’ll leave the closing words to Deborah:

“Thinking of Tricia as I read this. She was a lovely girl.”

Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me via the ‘Contact’ tab at the top right of this page.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 10th Jan and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 8th Jan 2025