Tag: countryman’s diary

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

You can lead a horse to water

A drawing of Sir Ralph Payne-Gallwey from Vanity Fair magazine in 1893. Sir Ralph of Thirkleby Hall, paid for a roadside water trough in the village (Photo: Leslie Ward, public domain via Wikimedia Commons)

 

A few weeks ago I wrote about how my best friend and I celebrate the longevity of our relationship by having an annual weekend away together.

 

Gurli Svith from Denmark wrote: “Your column on friendship touched me very much because I have a very good friend I have known since I was 14 and she was 12. She was going to start at my school and came to my home to ask if we could cycle together. That was the beginning and now being 76 and 74 we are still close friends. We do not meet very often but when we do it is as if we saw each other just yesterday. We can talk about everything, and we have helped each other through hard times. For many, many years we have given each other birthday presents, but sometimes we have not seen each other for two or three years so it is like Christmas when we are sitting there drinking tea, eating cakes and unwrapping our presents.”

 

Is it true that many people are closer to their best friends than their own family? The saying goes, you can choose your friends but you can’t choose your family, so if you could opt out of spending Christmas and Easter with relatives, would you? (I acknowledge that I might be opening a can of worms with that question!)

 

Let’s get back on safer ground with troughs. Regular reader Clare Powell says: “We do have a couple of stone troughs we bought in a farm sale in Rosedale in the 1980s (Paid more than we should have because my husband kept bidding against himself – much to the locals’ amusement!). We transported them in the back of a Volvo. No idea how old they are, so it was interesting to read your article. Like you, I never really thought about who made them, and how. And you’re right, your dad would have had the answer at his fingertips.”

 

He sure did, and I now have the space to tell you what I discovered inside his old file. There were a few cuttings, columns, and notes, one of which was in Dad’s handwriting dated 15th May 1993. He had written it during a phone call from a chap called Dick Thompson who lived in our village and whose family had made locally quarried stone troughs for years.

 

“Each trough was excavated with a pickaxe and drawn down to the road on a sledge,” he’d scribbled. “It took seven or eight days to make one trough – all sizes done. Circular pig troughs also made so pigs could eat together.” He added that the troughs were made on spec, bought mainly by farmers, although parish councils paid for communal troughs situated in villages.

 

Among other things, the file also contained a newspaper cutting from March 1973 written by the esteemed founder of the original Countryman’s Diary column, Major Jack Fairfax-Blakeborough.

 

“The wayside water troughs were a real blessing both to parched travellers and to horses,” he wrote, “Especially in the heat of the summer when roads sent up a cloud of dust. Many of the troughs were erected by landowners who knew their value to man and beast. Some of them have inscriptions which tell us of their donor and his consideration for horseflesh.”

 

He mentions one between Burnsall and Appletreewick in the Dales which has a Latin verse ‘De torrential in via bibet propteren exaltabit caput’ which translated means ‘He will drink at the spring on the way, and thereafter lift his head with joy’, which is the last line of Psalm 110 in the Old Testament. The Major (and my dad when he wrote about it 20 years later) could not shed any light on who had placed the trough there. Can any of our Dales contingent add any more detail about this particular trough?

 

Dad mentions another placed at Thirkleby near Thirsk, paid for by Sir Ralph Payne-Gallwey (1848-1916), 3rd Baronet of Thirkleby Hall, who was an accomplished engineer, historian and artist. Its inscription, with a bit of poetic license where the rhyme is concerned, reads: ‘Weary traveller bless Sir Ralph, who set for thee this welcome trough.’

 

I have a feeling we have a lot more to come on these once indispensable features of our countryside highways and byways.

 

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 2nd and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 30th April 2025

Getting it in the neck

Dad wrote more than 2000 Countryman’s Diary columns over 41 years

Will either of these help my cough symptoms?

Would you believe this is my 400th column since I took over from my dad in 2017? I’m pleased that I have made it this far without missing one, despite deaths, illnesses and pandemics trying to throw me off my stride.

Dad was committed to his column-writing duties and made sure he submitted them well before the deadline. Of course, my seven and a bit years pale into insignificance compared to his 41 years of service, which means he compiled more than 2000 of them. If ever I achieve that milestone, I will be 91 years of age, which is quite a thought!

Even then though, I’ll be some way off the record of the man who started this column in the first place, Major Jack Fairfax-Blakeborough. His first ‘Countryman’s Diary’ appeared in the Darlington and Stockton Times in 1922, and his last one at the very end of 1975 when he was aged 93. He died on New Year’s Day 1976, and my dad’s first column (a tribute) appeared on 10th January. That means the Major contributed more than 2750 columns, quite a feat. I’d be interested to know if anyone in this country has (or had) written a weekly column for longer.

We columnists are so attached to our little corners of glory that we are loathe to let anyone else step in, even when we are sick. As I mentioned last week, I was rather below par, and am thankfully much better now, although the nagging cough is hanging on. Everyone I speak to seems to have had it and offer the cheery warning that it will ‘go on for weeks’. I really hope not, and if you’ve been afflicted, then I hope you are not suffering too badly.

The fact it is persisting, even though I can function normally, means that I have ditched the Lemsip. I do not like to take medication for too long if I can help it, but the rattly chest is rather annoying so I have investigated some traditional ‘at home’ remedies that are supposed to help.

I have found plenty, although I am not sure I am going to give all of them a go. I am most tempted to try the first one – drinking hot chocolate. Dark chocolate with a minimum 70% cocoa content contains a good dose of theobromine which is a stimulant similar to caffeine. Recent research suggests it is better at suppressing an annoying cough than codeine, and if you melt it and turn it into hot chocolate by pouring into hot milk, the milk will also help you sleep. But I am a little confused. Does the milk override the stimulating effect of the theobromine? Or is it the other way round? I have yet to find out!

Another tip for a persistent cough is to eat mashed turnip. Not only is the vegetable packed full of vitamins (C, A and B) but it acts as an expectorant, that is, it loosens the mucus that causes you to cough. Spicy foods and curries are also believed to do the same thing, so perhaps if I add chilli powder to my mashed turnip I’ll be on to a winner.

There are some remedies that are more suited to survival experts like Bear Grylls than soft old columnists like me. According to Lady Eveline Camilla Gurdon in a self-help manual published in 1893 by the Folk Lore Society, you must place a large, live, flat fish on your bare chest and keep it there until it dies. It is supposed to help with congestion in the chest and ease coughing. She also advises eating roasted mouse or drinking milk that has already been ‘lapped by a ferret’.

If you are suffering from a sore throat and fever, then you can try basting your throat with lard or chicken fat before wrapping your neck with dirty socks. This is similar to the wartime advice of wrapping your neck with a rope dipped in tar. The fumes from the stinky socks & the toxic tar are supposed to help clear the lungs and a blocked nose. I suppose if you die from inhaling poisonous fumes then you won’t be so bothered about your fever, will you.

I don’t know about you but I will stick to eucalyptus oil soaked into a tissue, thank you!

Do you have any interesting home remedies?

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 31st Jan and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 29th Jan 2025