North York moors – The Countryman's Daughter

The heart of the matter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I wonder what they would have said?

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

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

Rallying myself for a special reunion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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’

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

Watch what you wish for

My son Joey and I went to the North York Moors near the site of Hamer Inn to look for the Corkseller’s Grave but were unsuccessful

I’ve had some interesting information about the Corkseller’s Grave that I mentioned a couple of weeks back. If you recall, I quoted a 1990s article written by Paul Grantham in which he explained that our corkseller would have been trekking the moors in the 18th century. Sadly, his threadbare clothes were not enough to protect him one savage winter, and he perished. Hard-up locals would not have been willing to bear the cost of a funeral and so they would have buried him where he was found, which was legal at the time.

My son Joey and I tried to find his grave, but were unsuccessful. I’m thrilled that the writer himself, Paul Grantham, got in touch after reading the column: “I was told, and shown, the Corkseller’s Grave by Dick Bell, the first head ranger of the Moors. He kept the grave marked, and tidied up the stones whenever he passed the site. He told me because he was sure that I would continue to keep it tidy. Sadly, it now appears to be neglected and is in desperate need of some TLC.

“I have records of many unconsecrated graves across the country, some in danger of being lost forever. There is (at least) one other grave on the Moors which beggars belief and will make a wonderful story if written up by someone more skilful than me. There is another story of a missing body which revolves around the little known group of cunning folk called St Mark’s Maidens who operate on the eve of St Mark’s Day. This is April 24th…so it will be here soon.”

I’m looking forward to hearing more from Paul about these mysterious tales, and will of course pass them on to you once I read them for myself.

His comment about St Mark’s Maidens made me want to find out about them, but there was not much that I was able to discover specifically with that name, although there is plenty about St Mark’s Eve.

St Mark the Evangelist was one of Christ’s 12 apostles and is best known for having one of the Bible’s four Gospel books of the New Testament attributed to him. He is the patron saint of many things, including lions, lawyers, opticians, pharmacists, painters, secretaries, interpreters, prisoners and people with insect bites!

I can’t find anything suggesting he is connected with predicting the future or romantic love, which is why it’s a bit odd that the day before his saint’s day is all about ‘divination’, specifically people trying to either find their life partner or determine who is going to die in the coming year.

All sorts of curious practices took place in the hope that at the end, the supplicant would discover the identity of their intended one. Both men and women performed these customs, so would it be that the women were known as St Mark’s Maidens? Would the men then be ‘Masters’?

Rituals included women walking backwards towards a well before circling it three times, also backwards, while wishing to see their future husband. After the second circle, she would peer into the water where the face of her intended would reveal itself. Presumably if she didn’t like the look of him, she’d not complete a third turn!

Another custom was to set the dinner table and leave the front door open. The next person through the door would be your true love. If you didn’t like cooking you could instead visit a church yard at midnight, pluck some grass from a grave and leave it under your pillow. When you awoke, the next person you saw would be THE one.

As for predicting who would pass away, ‘watchers’ would sit in the church porch and at midnight the apparitions of those to die in the coming year would file past. If the watcher at any time fell asleep, then they would be the one to perish. A similar custom was ‘chaff riddling’ where the watcher had to sit by a barn door riddling chaff all night. At midnight the spectres of those who would pass away would parade past. In his book ‘Yorkshire Days’, my dad tells the a story of a female watcher from Malton seeing a coffin being carried by two men.

She was dead within the year.

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

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

Boddy of evidence for inn’s past history

Hamer House on the North York Moors in the 1930s when Lily Boddy, the last licensee, lived there.

Granny Boddy outside Hamer House in the 1930s. Photo supplied by Peter Hanstock, York.

Lily Boddy looks on as Grandma Boddy crouches by the well behind the Hamer Inn

Lily Boddy, the last licensee of Hamer Inn (date unknown)

If you’re a regular reader you will know that David Ford has been seeking a picture of Hamer Inn before it became derelict. The inn used to stand on the road between Rosedale Abbey and Glaisdale.

He wrote: “My great grandfather Robert Ford was born there, along with several of his siblings…His brother Joseph wrote a book about life and times in Danby Dale…I would like a photo of Hamer when it was open as an inn.”

I may have some good news for David further down this column…

That writer, often referred to as Joseph Ford Junior, died in 1944, and his father, Joseph Senior, was the licensee of the inn in the mid-1800s during the iron ore boom. The last licensee was Lily Boddy, who took over the inn from her father in 1914 but, according to my dad, she gave up running it as a commercial premises in 1929, likely because the trade from the local iron mines had vanished as the iron boom ended, the last one closing at Rosedale East in 1926. From then on it was known as Hamer House, and the Boddys kept it as their home. As to exactly when and why it became derelict I still don’t know.

Now to the exciting bit – a descendant of Lily Boddy got in touch to say they had some photos of Hamer before it became derelict.

I was thrilled because, first of all, I was not sure any pictures existed, and secondly, the only pictures I’d seen were of it as a wreck. It is quite startling to think that it is almost a century since it was fully in tact, so discovering that some pictures exist is a real treat.

I have five photos in total, three of which show the building as it was, a typical construction of traditional moorland stone. Another shows a young Lily Boddy and (I think) her mother bent over the well that sat at the rear of the building (mentioned in a previous column), and another one is of Lily herself in her later years. I hope David will be pleased to see them, despite the fact they do not demonstrate it running as an inn. Nevertheless, I feel encouraged that having now found these, someone else may have more lurking somewhere yet to be discovered. Every little clue will help to build a fuller picture of the working life of Hamer Inn.

My son Joey and I drove over the moors to collect the photos, and as were were passing the site of Hamer decided to stop and see if we could find the corkseller’s grave that I mentioned a couple of weeks ago.

The corkseller was a regular visitor to Hamer, which had also been known as the Wayside Inn and the Lettered Board, and David Ford’s ancestors knew him well. One ferocious winter, he sadly succumbed to the elements and his body was found much later not far from the inn, his basket of corks lying nearby enabling him to be identified. Reader John Severs sent me a remarkable photo of the corkseller’s grave that he’d taken around 30 years ago, alongside directions to the spot.

There’d been a fair amount of snow the week before we decided to go, with quite a bit still lying in unmelted drifts across the ground. We had a thorough look around, following the directions John had given us, but sadly came up empty handed. Does anyone know if the grave is still visible?

One person who might is Janet Cochrane, editor of the North York Moors Association’s quarterly magazine, Voice of the Moors. After I’d mentioned the magazine in my column, Janet got in touch to offer me a copy. The association, which celebrated its 40th anniversary last year, safeguards the landscape and culture of the moors and works hard to protect this very precious corner of North Yorkshire.

Interestingly, the association was founded in 1985 by four people – Derek Statham, Gerald McGuire, Don Tilley and, would you believe it, Peter Walker!

I’m guessing it’s a different Peter Walker than my very own dad, otherwise he must have kept it very quiet!

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 13th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 11th March 2026

Mark of respect for lowly corkseller

The corkseller’s grave near Bluewath Beck, high on the North York Moors , in a photo taken by reader John Severs in the 1990s.

I’m am getting some wonderful extra information coming in from you brilliant readers on topics I have covered in recent weeks.

If you recall, I’ve been writing about Hamer Inn, which was a thriving coaching stop on the North York Moors on the high road between Glaisdale and Rosedale Abbey. It had a number of previous names including the Lettered Board, and the Wayside Inn, ultimately ending up as Hamer House before it became derelict sometime in the late 1930s we believe. All that remains now are a few stones on a patch of smooth grass.

I first mentioned the inn thanks to reader David Ford, who is trying to trace a picture of it before it became derelict. Sadly we have yet to find one, but his message led me to re-read what my dad had written about it, including three stories of mysterious deaths at the inn. In the first, two apparently healthy guests retired to bed, only to be found dead the next day with no apparent cause. The second was a licensee who killed his wife, and the third involved a fight ending with a man being bludgeoned to death with a poker.

There was another sad story that occurred not inside the inn itself but nearby. A corkseller was a regular visitor, and David Ford’s ancestors, who were licensees, knew him well. One ferocious winter, he succumbed to the elements and his body was found much later not far from the Lettered Board Inn, his basket of corks lying nearby enabling him to be identified.

Reader John Severs got in touch and said: “After reading your article…I rummaged in my documents and photos to find something which may interest you. The photo that I took approximately 30 years ago shows the corkseller’s grave.”

The corkeseller’s grave? I was astounded, because I never imagined that such a thing existed, nor that it is still visible to this day. My dad did not mention it in his book and I don’t recall him talking about it to me, which might explain why I remained in ignorance.

I wonder if you agree with me, that it is quite a moving and remarkable image, showing the full length of the grave, marked out in stones in the unmistakable shape of a human body.

John also sent me a copy of an article written about the same time (1990s) about unconsecrated graves, with a focus on this particular one. The text, written by Paul Grantham, is an extract from the North Moors Association magazine and describes how well received itinerant tradespeople like the corkseller were:

‘As well as plying their trade they would bring news of the outside world, provide an extra pair of hands for heavy jobs and when necessary, act as entertainer and confidante…such was the prevailing attitude that they would generally receive, at the minimum, some sustenance and overnight shelter.’

Grantham believes our corkseller would have been active on the moors in the 18th century, trekking between isolated farms and inns peddling his wares. He would have been a familiar face and his arrival expected by local farmers and licensees.

Sadly, his threadbare clothes were not enough to protect him from one particularly savage winter, and he perished, his body being discovered some time later with his meagre belongings nearby.

At the time, no-one would have wanted to take responsibility for transporting him to the nearest church for burial because of the costs involved and so, as was perfectly legal at the time, they would have buried him where he was found.

Although this tale was passed down by word of mouth, there are no official records revealing the man’s name or anything else about him. But over the years, passers-by would realign the stone markers and someone occasionally placed a wooden cross at its head (the previous ones being ruined by the elements).

I would like to pay my respects next time I am over that way, and if you do too, 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.

I’m not sure if anyone still places a cross there, but if you know anything at all, do tell!

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 27th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 25th Feb 2026

Building family foundations

One of the buildings on the Hanging Stones Walk in Rosedale that Nick Harland helped to construct (that’s my friend Dave in the window, looking down at his confused dog Frank).

Andrew Goldsworthy gave Nick Harland this signed book with a hand-drawn picture of the Hanging Stones

I’ve been contacted by readers Ian and Catherine Wilson who had a great titbit about middle names. They wrote: “We would like to add an important advantage to ancestors having maiden names as middle names. When doing family history research the inclusion of a maiden name has often helped to confirm a link.”

I had never thought about that aspect before. They add: “McLaren is an ancestral name that is extremely common in Perthshire not helped by William passing through the generations. Thankfully one generation included Sorley as a middle name and it unlocked our research.”

It makes me think of all the hard work put in by my dad’s brother, Charles Walker, who spent huge amounts of time compiling our family tree. His side of the family had the common name of Walker, and my mum’s side had the even more common Smith. Trying to trace the correct members to create an accurate family tree was extremely tricky, especially when there were first names that were very popular among families of the North York Moors with the same surname. There were dozens of Johns, Henrys and Williams, and Mary’s, Hannahs and Helens too. Uncle Charles’ job was made slightly easier because some of the descendants were given maternal maiden names for middle names. My mum’s eldest brother, was Henry Harland Smith after his paternal grandmother, and her second brother was John Lacy Smith, from his mum’s maiden name. The name Lacy was passed down the next two generations to Henry’s son Richard, and on to his son Charles.

I don’t think this tradition was followed on my dad’s side of the family though, and tracing the Walker line did prove tricky as Uncle Charles wrote back in 2004: “I have a number of possible Walkers living around Lingdale/Skinningrove/Hinderwell. Can Peter remember any names of brothers/sisters of our Grandfather Walker?” He then lists a number of names of possible ancestors. Clearly, trying to sort out who was who was quite the task.

Funnily enough, I was contacted not long ago by Nick Harland, and we discussed whether we might be related through my mum’s side. As mentioned above, her paternal grandmother was a Harland – Edith Richardson Harland. Edith’s parents were William and Ann Harland, and as you might have guessed from Edith’s middle name, Ann’s maiden name was Richardson. Are you keeping up? This is just one tiny segment of our family tree, and I can imagine how mind-boggling it must be when you go down the rabbit hole of trying to piece it all together.

Nick and I didn’t know off the top of our heads if we were related, but that was not the reason he was getting in touch. He wrote: “My father Dennis Harland has often spoken about your dad over the years and I when I first started work, Mary Walker (my dad’s mother) often got me to do little jobs for her as she lived opposite the Glaisdale Institute…my dad’s parents used to live in Brinkburn, the house above where Mary used to live, opposite the institute.”

Nick has a link to the Andrew Goldsworthy ‘Hanging Stones Walk’ in Rosedale about which I wrote a couple of years ago. “All the ten Andy Goldsworthy projects which have been put together have been done with the help of our building firm,” he said.

The Hanging Stones Walk is an amazing feat of creativity, engineering and construction so I am hoping some time to chat more to Nick so he can explain how they did what they did. It is really an art project, rather than simply a walk, and is sponsored by the Ross Foundation (an organisation that supports initiatives related to art, community, sport, music and education) which commissioned sculptor Andrew Goldsworthy, famous for his spectacular pieces of land art. He transformed tumbling down agricultural buildings into amazing pieces that blend seamlessly into their moorland surroundings.

Nick finished by saying: “Another thing you touched on a while ago was about making stone troughs. I make a lot of stone troughs, up to five foot long. There is an easy way and a hard way but it is good fun seeing one completed.”

I think if Nick and I meet, we will have an awful lot to talk about!

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 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

What shall be shall be

The picture hanging on the walls of the Fox and Hounds pub at Ainthorpe taken in October 1927. Does it feature Tom Boyes? And what does the hidden inscription on the bottom left say?

A close-up of the hidden inscription. Does anyone know what it says?

The links to Yorkshire dialect poet William E Fall keep on coming. Known as Bill, Fall wrote several volumes under the pen name Erimus which centred around his home turf of Danby on the North York Moors. Many of his works feature the characters that he encountered during his lifetime, such as horse breeder Tom Boyes, and farmers Ralph Winspear and ‘Grandad’ George Coverdale.

Fall lived and wrote at Danby Castle Houses, which I discovered from looking inside his books. Danby Castle Houses sit just below Danby Castle, and by a happy/spooky coincidence, last weekend I attended a wedding at that very location.

We stayed at the Fox and Hounds pub at nearby Ainthorpe, and at breakfast the following morning, I noticed a couple of pictures of the local hunt hanging on the walls. One was taken in Newholm, which is 13 miles east of Ainthorpe. It showed a pack of beagles clustering around a lead horse and rider, while a few other horses follow him, their riders dressed in their smart jodhpurs, jackets and black riding hats. It is undated.

The second showed a group of huntsmen outside the Fox and Hounds with some beagles too, but this time they were more casually dressed, most in flat caps and woollen suits. It was dated to October 1927, the same year of the wedding at Danby Church that I featured in my column a few weeks ago.

The frustrating thing was that there was an inscription at the bottom of the photograph, but it was partially obscured by the mount surrounding it meaning I was unable to read what it said. My guess is that it could have said ‘Glaisdale Hunt’ written in a curling ink script, but I can’t be certain (it is pictured here in case anyone can shed light on it). I do wonder if one of the gentlemen in the picture is our friend Tom Boyes? In October 1927, he would have been nearly 45, and because he was such a known character in the area, perhaps he is the chap on horseback in the centre of the picture looking to the left? Maybe one of you will recognise the photograph and be able to enlighten me on the inscription and the characters featured.

I have also heard back from Sophie-Jean Fall, whose email to me sparked this whole series of columns. She has recently returned from a holiday and is only just catching up. She says: “It’s like reading an in-detail history book. The amount of memories adds so much soul. My Aunty Ann actually called up my father in excitement because she was also really happy about these columns and how I’d contacted you! Really good writing again.”

Sophie-Jean was also fascinated by Dorothy Jackson’s recollections about Tom Boyes: “Dorothy and the word ‘sackless’ is just priceless! These all really set the poems and hidden stories to life; it is good that with your work the recollections are to be remembered further.”

Sophie-Jean also informed me: “I did forget to say, but Erimus’ childhood home is in a museum. I forget which now, but you can actually go visit it which is so interesting!”

I did a quick Google hunt to see if I could locate the museum Sophie-Jean refers to, and discovered that there are many references to ‘Erimus’ in and around Middlesbrough. There is Erimus House, an organisation helping vulnerable young people, the Erimus Practice health centre, Erimus Quoit and Rifle Club, Erimus Engines, Erimus Social Club and Erimus Cleaners. I found out that the reason this unusual Latin word proliferates in the town is because it is featured on its coat of arms which was adopted in 1853, the year of incorporation. It means ‘We shall be’, and contrasts with the motto of the ancient de Brus family, who used to own the land upon which Middlesbrough sits. Their motto was ‘Fuimus’ which means ‘We have been’.

I’d love to know which museum holds Erimus’ childhood home, and go and pay it a visit. It particularly intrigues me because I’d like to preserve my dad’s study in the same way, if only I could find someone or somewhere willing to house it!

And lastly, I wonder why Bill Fall chose to write under the name ‘Erimus’?

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 Sept 2025