travel – Page 2 – The Countryman's Daughter

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

Picturing the past

I stopped printing photos and putting them in albums in about 2012. Will my great-great grandchildren know what I looked like if they don’t have access to photos of me?

I’ve had a few more comments about the conundrums we face when making decisions about what to do with all the stuff we accumulate over our lifetimes. Should we leave it for our loved ones to deal with after we’ve gone, or should we get rid of it ourselves before we shuffle off this mortal coil? Are those we leave behind interested in the stories behind the things we treasure, or could they not care less?

Lynn Catena, a Brit who now lives in Canada, says: “I doubt my boys are interested in anything I deem sentimental, but I plan on labelling some items. What they decide to do with them after I’m gone is their decision.”

She does have one item of particular significance though, a silver charm bracelet. “My sister gifted it to me when I was her bridesmaid. I have added to the charms (mix of English & Canadian). I have two sons, and three grandsons, so I’ll be gifting it to my nieces, and their daughters.”

Reader Clare Proctor is a self-confessed maximalist, and her house is packed with furniture, antiques and collectibles. She has two daughters with very different attitudes: “Molly said she would get rid of everything, but Lily said she’ll keep it all!”

For Michael Kilmartin, it’s printed photos that he hopes to pass on and points out that few of us print them out anymore. There are devices, like digital photo frames, where you can upload your pictures, and every so often the display rotates so you get to see a variety of your favourite images. But I wonder, 100 years down the line when your great-great-grandchild asks about you, what will their parents show them? Will your future descendants know what you looked like if printed photos no longer exist? Thanks to the photographs that I have inherited, I can see for myself the family likeness in my great-grandparents’ faces and can visualise their lives and contribution to our unique family history.

I stopped putting my photos into albums in about 2012, not intentionally, I just never got round to it as time and technology moved on. I now look through my recent photos via my phone and tablet and have backed them up in ‘cloud’ storage so they never get lost should my devices conk out. But when I’m gone, will my children be able to access them if I forget to give them all my passwords?

Today we don’t have to remember to take a camera to a special event because, thanks to our mobile phones, we have one with us all the time. And we don’t just take one photo, do we, we take lots, and just keep going until we get one we like. I keep promising myself that I will go through and delete all those ‘extras’ and as I write this, I only have 24,893 pictures to go through on my phone (good grief!).

It was not that long ago that we had to be so much more considered about snapping pictures. Firstly, the camera film was expensive to buy, secondly, you only had a limited number of shots you could take before the film ran out, and lastly, they were costly to get developed. As every parent does, once I started a family, I took lots of pictures of the children and religiously had them printed and put into albums. You had to either physically go to a shop or send the films away in an envelope and wait two weeks to get them back.

Do you remember that feeling of eager anticipation as the bulky envelope dropped through the letter box? And that other feeling of abject disappointment when you opened it to find your fingertip in the corner every picture? How would today’s young people cope with having to wait all that time without even knowing if they had taken a decent picture? Too bad if it was taken just as we blinked or sneezed!

Scrolling through photos on a screen is not quite the same as sitting down with a cuppa and turning the pages of the family albums while reading the captions and dates someone has taken the time to write down.

How will the future generations look back on their families’ past, I wonder?

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 7th Feb and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 5th Feb 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

From loss to love

Carol Hepplestone with some hearts of remembrance outside Bedale Post Office during Baby Loss Awareness Week in October

The work of yarnbombers in Bedale during Baby Loss Awareness Week in October

118178277 — PC David Haigh, who showed such kindness to Carole Hepplestone after the loss of her baby, Leigh. PC Haigh was murdered by Barry Prudom in 1982.

Occasionally I give talks where I often discuss my dad’s role in the Barry Prudom case. Dad was Press Officer for North Yorkshire Police when Prudom murdered Constable David Haigh near Harrogate in 1982. While on the run, he also killed Sergeant David Winter in Malton and pensioner George Luckett in Nottinghamshire. George’s wife Sylvia was also shot but miraculously survived.

After one such talk, I was approached by Carol Hepplestone who told me a very moving story and, with her permission, I am sharing it with you today.

On 3rd November 1981, Carol gave birth to her second baby, Leigh, at Carlton Lodge Maternity Home in Harrogate. Unfortunately, Leigh passed away very suddenly at six days old on 9th November 1981. What prompted Carol to approach me was the fact that Constable David Haigh played a significant role in her life around that time. “Your talk brought it all back to me,” she said.

Carol explained that after losing Leigh, not only did she have to go through the trauma of a postmortem to find out why he had died, but there was an agonisingly long wait for the results. When they finally did come, the doctor delivering them did a terrible job. “He said they couldn’t find a reason why he had haemorrhaged so they were just going to put it down to a cot death…He said I could go away and have more children. It was quite dismissive and there was no offer of any follow up care.”

The whole experience left Carol bereft and on one particular night she decided she needed some time to herself and headed out without telling anyone where she was going. Her panicked husband phoned the police fearing she was vulnerable and may be in danger. “David Haigh was with my husband when I rang home and the phone was passed to him. In a calm way he asked where I was and told me he would come and collect me, which he did and took me home. He then sat us down and acted as a mediator/councillor/listener between us.”

Afterwards, Constable Haigh visited regularly to see how they were. “He was a father of three small boys at the time and could empathise… He went above and beyond his duties as a police officer.”

It was only a week after his last visit that she learned that he had been killed. It hit her hard, and her heart broke for his wife and boys. Sadly, Carol’s marriage did not survive but as time went on, she grew stronger and reached a stage where she felt she could help other women going though what she had. She joined her local baby bereavement support group, Sands.

“It’s a place where we could talk, listen and support couples,” she says. “We liaised with hospital staff on how to treat bereaved parents. We introduced the idea of memory boxes. We raised funds for a dedicated room for these parents. We also raised funds for a Sands memorial statue which stands in Stonefall Cemetery, Harrogate. I recently visited the cemetery and was astounded to see the volume of graves, plaques and memorials dedicated to our lost babies.”

Carol has two other sons, Jonathan, born in 1979, and Ben, her ‘rainbow’ baby, born in 1983 (a rainbow baby is one who is born following miscarriage, stillbirth or after a sibling has died). On what would have been Leigh’s 40th birthday, Jonathan completed a challenge to raise funds for Sands, running four miles every four hours for 48 hours.

Carol was walking through Bedale last month and was pleasantly surprised to see the town was decorated by yarnbombers to mark Baby Loss Awareness Week (9th -15th October), something that would never have happened back in the 1980s: “How encouraging to see how things have come on over the years, instead of very little being spoken about it like in the past,” she says.

At 71, Carol has now found happiness with a new partner and remains eternally grateful for the kindness shown by David Haigh at a time she most needed it. She hopes that today, with more awareness and organisations offering support after the loss of a baby, no-one will feel let down in the way she was when Leigh died.

“No matter how many years go by, you never forget.”

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 29th Nov and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 27th Nov 2024

From darkness come lights

I finally managed to tick off this bucket list item – seeing the Northern Lights. I didn’t have to travel any further than my own back garden

Do you have a bucket list? Things you’d like to do before you pop your clogs? Bucket-list items I’ve ticked include seeing the Wimbledon Men’s Final, hang gliding, high diving, flying in a small aircraft, eating at the swanky Black Swan in Oldstead, seeing a starling murmuration, visiting New York, Asia and Australia, and seeing David Bowie, Queen, U2 and the Foo Fighters live in concert.

Those above span a 30-year period, so 2024 has been a bit of a bumper one in comparison. I first saw a murmuration in February 2023 and it was hands down one of the most breathtaking natural phenomenons I have ever witnessed. That’s why I double-bucketed and went again this year.

Another of my ‘bucket-listers’ was going back to Greece. It is one of my favourite ever places, and yet I have only been a couple of times. I was a nanny there in 1985-6, then went back for an island holiday in the early 1990s. I finally got to return this September for a week in Crete (and I wrote about my trip to Knossos a couple of weeks ago).

My most recent ‘bucket-lister’ was seeing the Northern Lights. For most of my lifetime you had to book an expensive holiday to the Arctic Circle, or at least decamp to the very north of Scotland, to see this natural marvel. But recently they’ve been seen all over North Yorkshire and a friend of mine had even taken a picture of them from her bedroom window in York. The problem was, I always missed them. One night after a promising forecast, I sat in my garden until 2am only to be disappointed again.

Finally on October 10th at around 8pm, my sister messaged me to say the lights were putting on a display that was clearly visible from her street. I rushed out, but there was nothing even though I was just a few miles away.

A couple of hours later, I decided to have one more look before going to bed. I peered towards the north (because that’s where I thought you were meant to look for the Northern Lights) and saw nothing remarkable. Then, I scanned the rest of the clear night sky and, turning towards the south, I noticed that there was a faint pinky glow. At first, I thought my desperation had led my eyes to play tricks, but the glow seemed to get a little brighter. I had read that if you took photos with your smart phone, the colours became more visible, and sure enough, the picture I took revealed an amazing blanket of green and pink cloaking the sky. I lowered my phone, and the colours grew brighter and were soon clearly visible to my naked eye, appearing in every direction. I called my son, told him to turn off all the house lights, and we both stood in the garden staring up, silenced by the wonder of what we were seeing.

But why has it been possible to see the lights so far south of the Arctic Circle, and so often this year? The BBC has helpfully supplied an article to explain, and I have included an edited version below:

The sun is currently at the ‘maximum’ of its 11-year solar cycle. According to NASA: “At its quietest, the sun is at solar minimum; during solar maximum, the sun blazes with bright flares and solar eruptions.” What I saw from my garden on 10th October was caused by a huge sunspot that had erupted on the sun’s surface 93 million miles away which blasted a stream of electrically charged particles (or ions) towards Earth (known as a Coronial Mass Ejection). As they collided with gases in our atmosphere, light was emitted at various wavelengths, creating colourful blinking and swirling displays – the Aurora Borealis. In the northern hemisphere, most of this activity takes place near the Arctic Circle, but when solar activity is strong, this can expand to cover a greater area. There is a high chance we’ll get more of these Coronal Mass Ejections directed towards us in the coming months – a glimmer of hope for those of you who have not yet managed to catch them.

To bring this column to a close, I have one question: what is on your bucket list?

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 8th Nov and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 6th Nov 2024

Time to ban the bang?

Screenshot — Fireworks don’t need to be noisy to be impressive. For the sake of our wildlife, livestock and our furry loved ones, it’s time to ditch the bang

Fireworks season is upon us, having been heralded weeks ago by youths obsessed with watching things explode extremely loudly in the air. A number of them have been letting off rockets not far from our house, transforming some of our otherwise relaxed doggy residents into quivering wrecks who scurry to hide behind things or under things and shake with fear, no matter how reassuring we try to be. To an animal, the sudden earth-shaking booms are terrifying.

I am not against fireworks at all. In fact I love them, and for years, my children and I would head out to watch a display at a local cricket club. For a small club, it was utterly fantastic, and hundreds of people would turn up to eat hotdogs, drink warm beer and watch the show with choruses of ‘Oooooo’ and ‘aaaahhhh’ as the fountains of sparkles burst above us. The excitement would build and build towards the end, when the largest and most impressive sequence of exploding balls of lights and stars filled the sky. It was magnificent.

It was only once I started to look after dogs ten years ago that I began to understand the impact the noise had on them. It’s impossible explain to an animal that the loud explosions will not do them any physical harm, and when you factor in that dogs have far more sensitive hearing than we humans, then you can imagine how distressing it is. Owners often ask me what they can do to make it less stressful for their pets, and my suggestions include getting a thunder vest (or shirt). This is a tight-fitting garment that wraps around the dog, giving them the feeling of being enveloped in an anxiety-reducing hug and are recommended for anything that makes them nervous, such as trips to the vet, rides in the car and the like. There are also natural calming supplements, treats, sprays and toys that claim to help. I have no idea if any of these things work, and suggest you talk to your vet if you want more expert advice.

Saying that, there is already a perfect solution available, and I cannot understand why it has not been adopted by everyone yet. That is, low noise fireworks. They are often referred to as ‘silent’, but they are not totally quiet because the explosive charge needed to launch them from the ground does make some sound. I have seen some absolutely stunning fireworks that burst into enormous balls of sparkles while expelling a small ‘pop’. They are no less impressive than their brash, noisier counterparts.

I am delighted to see that supermarkets like Asda, Aldi and Lidl are blazing the community-friendly low-noise trails, having stocked them for a number of years now, and more and more retailers are following suit, which is encouraging. However, they still hedge their bets by continuing to offer the noisy ones alongside them.

My only experience of the effect fireworks has on animals is through domestic pets and wildlife in and around my home, so I would be interested to hear from those of you in the agricultural and equine sectors as to the impact loud fireworks have on your livestock. I do think someone in a position of authority should take the lead and recognise that the trend towards low noise fireworks is increasing, sending a clear message as to what the public wants.

I know there will be some of you who like the noisy bangs and explosions, and I do agree that they are a lot of fun, if only they did not cause such distress to our furry friends.

Interestingly, I have learned today that a person who is obsessed by fireworks is known as a pyrophile (never call someone this when you are drunk, otherwise you could end up in a world of trouble). I also now know what an oenophile is (lover of wine), a turophile (lover of cheese), ailurophile (lover of cats), a xenophile (lover of foreign things), an astrophile (lover of starry things), phonophile (lover of vinyl records), cinephile (lover of films), a sapiophile (lover of intelligent people) and lastly, a paleophile (lover of ancient things).

For reference, the future Mr Walker, whoever he turns out to be, will have to be a combination of at least the last two.

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 1st Nov and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 30th Oct 2024

Romans go underground

Images of the complete Cawthorne Camp near Pickering which comprises four elements which are (L-R) Fort D, Camp C, Fort A and Annexe B. Photo by Tony Hunt of Yorkshire Archaeological Aerial Mapping

Fort D (left) whose boundary overlaps Camp C (right) which shows it was built later. Three clavicula gates can clearly be seen to the eastern boundary of Camp C. Pictures by Tony Hunt of Yorkshire Archaeological Aerial Mapping.

I studied Greek and Roman history at university and am fascinated by the ancient world and the remnants of the past that lie beneath the ground we walk upon today.

That’s why I was captivated by some pictures of Cawthorn Roman Camp taken from the air by Tony Hunt of Yorkshire Archaeological Aerial Mapping (YAAM) that popped up on Facebook. The specialist imaging revealed the camp in far more detail than can be seen with the naked eye, bringing it to life in a way I had not yet experienced.

Cawthorn Camp lies atop a rocky escarpment a few miles north of Pickering. I’ve mentioned it before in relation to Wade’s Causeway, sometimes referred to as the Roman Road, which runs across Wheeldale Moor from Goathland. Although only a short section is visible now, some believe it linked Whitby with a settlement at Amotherby near Malton, passing through Cawthorn Camp en route. Some archaeologists suggest it is much later and of mediaeval construction, while others think it dates from even earlier than the Romans, and attribute it to the Neolithic or Bronze ages. My theory is based on logic rather than expertise: perhaps the first moor-dwellers forged what they thought was the easiest route across the landscape, and then the Romans came along and rather than go to the trouble of digging out a whole new road across tricky unfamiliar terrain, used what was already there to create a more formal and recognisable highway. Then in the mediaeval period, more features were added. Thus, this mishmash of eras and styles has led to historians arguing as to which period the road officially belongs.

The camp dates from around AD75, although is believed to have been abandoned, re-inhabited, rebuilt and expanded several times over its lifetime. Although finds such as coins, tools and pots peter out after AD120, the camp would likely have been occupied after this date, possibly as a training ground, especially as the Romans occupied Britain until the start of the 5th century. We don’t really know why there are so few finds later than AD120 though.

There are four distinct elements across two separate plots, referred to as Fort A, Annexe B, Camp C and Fort D with A and B adjacent to each other at the eastern end, while C and D are a slight distance away towards the west. On the ground, although you get an idea of its scale through the deep ditches and mounds it is only through aerial photography that you can truly appreciate it. The forts, as the name suggests, will have been more permanent structures, with a building at their centre and ramparts surrounding them. The temporary camps will have served a more transient population of marching infantry. Similar settlements can be found along the routes of many of our Roman roads lying around 25 miles apart, the distance a cohort of soldiers would be expected to march in a single day.

Three of the plots are shaped like rounded-cornered rectangles, with gates facing every direction. We know Fort D was built later than its immediate neighbour, Camp C, thanks to the fact its boundary overlays that of Camp C, as seen in the accompanying YAAM image. Camp C is a bit of a rarity, shaped as it is like a coffin, and instead of having gates on every side as you’d expect, has three large portals along its eastern boundary. There is also one small opening on the western side, but no entrances to the north and south, which is very unusual.

The canny Romans knew a thing or two about building fortifications, and the three gateways (which are clearly visible in the YAAM image on the right side of Camp C), are known as Claviculae (vine tendrils), their curved shape meaning you cannot see in from the outside. The narrowing entrance would force any attacking enemies to shimmy through, trailing their cumbersome shields behind them as they tried to see where they were going with their sword arms before them, vulnerable and exposed, which allowed the defending Romans to easily disable them.

If space permitted, I could go on and on about Cawthorn Camp but I urge you to go and visit. There is still one question though; how much more lies beneath our feet that has yet to be discovered?

I’d love to hear from you about your stories, memories, opinions and ideas for columns. Use the ‘Contact’ button on the top right of this page to get in touch.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 11th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 9th Oct 2024

An air of mystery

What we believe is an ancient gatepost covered in moss and lichen spotted on the Cleveland Way by Paul Martin. But what is purpose of the hole at the top?

A ‘daisy-chain’ of padlocks at a BT site. Each contractor will have their own lock and key so they can gain access at any time.

I’ve had a lovely message from a reader following my recent column about love locks. If you remember I wrote about the padlocks that are attached to the metal walkway over the River Wharfe in Otley. The idea is that a courting couple declare their everlasting love by fixing a padlock on to the bridge and throwing the key into the waters below ensuring the lock can never be undone. The practice has become widespread all over the world, most famously on the Milvian Bridge in Rome, the Pont Des Arts in Paris, and on Mount Huangshan in China.There are a number of tales purporting to be the origin of the practice, but it is not known if any any of them are actually true.

Betty McDonald got in touch with me about a September 2013 trip she made with her late husband to the War Museum in Arnhem in the Netherlands, and to the German dams which were the target of the famous Dambusters Raid in May 1943. She wrote: “We did a tour of two of the bridges which where breached, Eder Dam and the Mohne Dam…It was a very proud moment to actually walk and stand on the dam which helped us to win the war, although sad too as many villages were swept away, destroying a German bomb-making factory.”

She added: “It was our very first sight of the padlocks of love on the Mohne Dam…We wish we had known about the love locks as we both knew the Mohne dam would be on our tour, and maybe one of our last tours. We stayed looking at the many locks of love and when we left I blew a kiss to the locks, with a lovely memory of being there together with my husband knowing our love was truly locked.”

It makes me wonder how many of you reading this have secured a love lock to a bridge, and was your love sealed forever?

On a slight tangent, I saw a Facebook post by Paul Martin who was walking the Cleveland Way. He included some pictures of what he had seen en route, and one was a secure gate outside a BT property which had three padlocks attached to it. He explained: “Each contractor who has access to the BT site will have their own padlock in the ‘daisy chain’ meaning any of them can get access at any time. It is not one of those lovers’ things on bridges.”

What a good idea, that each contractor has their own lock and key. It makes me think of when we get our oil tank filled up. We have one of those newer bunded ones where the outlet for filling it is under a manhole on top and you always need a key to access it. More often the not the delivery driver does not carry one, so we have to either make sure we are at home, or leave the key in a safe place. The keys are universal, a bit like those that open electric meter cupboards, so wouldn’t it make more sense if the drivers simply carried their own?

Paul included another picture from his walk of what looked like an ancient gatepost with a hole in the top. He wondered what it was for, and we surmised that the hole could be for tethering horses, or that another part of the gate mechanism would have once been attached to it. I’ve included a picture so you can see for yourself. Let me know what you think was the purpose of the hole.

The markings on the right-hand side of the post particularly caught my eye. They reminded me of those made by moorland stonemasons, often herringbone in style, which I have written about before in relation to traditional house building. This time they are a series of a vertical strikes in the stone, which look deliberate, but only decorate one half of the post. Was this the signature of a particular mason?

The post is covered in vivid green moss and lichen, as is another waymarker that lies high on the Cleveland Way that Paul photographed. He explains that this occurs when the air is particularly clean and free of pollution.

Let’s hope our precious North Yorkshire countryside air will remain this way for many centuries to come.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 27th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 25th Sept 2024.

The legacy of lost things

1-100_0612 — A clock face made by reader David Severs’ ancestor Hugh Pannell with the herringbone pattern around the outer edge of the dial and around the name boss, along with the rare ‘Clock & Watchmaker’ inscription.

I’ve had some more feedback from readers following the column I wrote about the stones marked with the herringbone pattern typically used in the construction of traditional North Yorkshire moorland homes. Reader John Severs had referred me to a book entitled ‘Life in the Moorlands of North-East Yorkshire’ written in 1972 by Marie Hartley and Joan Ingilby. There was a section on this specific type of masonry along with some photographs featuring a well-known local family, the Weatherills.

Another reader, John Buckworth, has emailed to say: “Good to read your article re. Mr G. Weatherill. We were a customer of his some years ago and a great admirer of his craftsmanship. I pass his stone yard at Ainthorpe quite frequently and still see the antiquated home-made crane to lift the headstones. Also there’s a piece of carved stone on his wall depicting a fox’s mask, brush and hunting horn. Most country people followed the hunt and I find this a great tribute to the past way of life. Being now in my 80s I am a great admirer of country life and your father’s writings.”

He added: “I think the old crane was built by his grandfather…There are some very fancy and OTT headstones. However when my wife’s father died, he was a man of the soil and we walked into the stone yard at Ainthorpe and there was a piece of rough Yorkshire sandstone which fitted the man admirably.”

My editor at the Darlington and Stockton Times, Hannah Chapman, spotted something relevant on a weekend walk: “I was walking on the Cleveland Way yesterday (north from Lordstones café) and I’m sure I spotted a stone in the path with the grooved diagonal pattern you wrote about in the Chop Gate area. Could the old stones from houses in the area have been used to build paths?”

I think Hannah probably has a point – why not reuse stones from the tumbled down moorland buildings in the construction and repairs of our public walkways?

I also received a couple more stories about ‘lost things’ and how difficult it is to discard a lone earring. Monica Ganz contacted me all the way from America about a bracelet her mother had given her: “It had a daisy as a charm. I loved it, because the daisy was painted yellow and white…I was delivering newspapers on my bike and somehow the Daisy fell off, never to be found again. When I was older in my 20s, I was water skiing. I wore these cute little gold huggy earrings that had small diamond on them. Of course…the earring popped off…I still have the bracelet and the one earring…Why do we lose treasured items? Hard to know why, right? And it’s hard to part with them.”

I wonder if it is more the memories and feelings that are held within the precious item that makes it hard to let go?

David Severs from Northallerton had his own fascinating story too: “You might be interested to know that in Saywell’s ‘History and Annals of Northallerton’ he recounts how a gardener’s newlywed wife had lost her wedding ring in their garden and 14 years later, in 1796, it was found when a customer cut into a turnip and found the ring inside.”

David also mentioned how the herringbone pattern was used in the decoration of clocks and watches: “Herringbone engraving was used on the brass dials of long-case clocks in the early years of the 18th-century in London … said to be a sign of quality. Some clockmakers used it until about 1740. My ancestor Hugh Pannell, the Northallerton clockmaker, was in business until he died in 1788. I have traced well over 100 of the clocks he made and many of them have herringbone engraving. Most clockmakers decorated the spandrels on their brass dials (the corners) with cast-brass decoration; a few engraved the spandrels; and even fewer left them undecorated: Hugh did all three…Most of his dials have herringbone engraving somewhere. Incidentally on the photograph (seen here) he described himself as ‘Clock & Watchmaker’ and this is very rare indeed. In very many years I have found only one example by one other clockmaker whereas I have found five examples by Hugh Pannell, three of these dials now being in the USA.”

I’d love to hear from you about your stories, memories, opinions and ideas for columns. Use the ‘Contact’ button on the top right of this page to get in touch.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 9th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 7th August 2024.

A night to remember

The interesting bricks on a property i visited near Chop Gate caught me eye

The bricks had zigzag marks on them which reader Linda Harman says were created by the tools used to make them

I have had a pleasing update following my appeal for help to find out more about King Henry’s Night. I had been contacted about a year ago by Linda Chambers from the Rosedale History Archive asking if could find anything out about it after an elderly gentleman had told her about the custom that centred around young people going out on a particular night and meeting up with likely suitors. Try as I might, I could find no reference to it in my usual trusty sources, such as my dad’s study, his books and the National Newspaper Archive.

However, Linda herself read my piece and got back in touch saying: “I happened to be at Ryedale Folk Museum last week to look at their exhibition ‘Believe It Or Not’ which highlights the folk traditions and witchcraft which were once very much part of moors life. I happened to see a panel which described The Kissing Ring, a charming old tradition where young people gathered outside late on a summer’s evening. It is believed this was last performed in Rudland in the 1930s when 40 young men and women held hands and danced in a ring singing the words which I have attached. The circle gradually diminished as couples broke away with a chosen partner and the young man would walk the girl home. I think we have the answer to King Henry’s Night!”

And having read the words to the ditty, I think Linda must be correct. They are as follows:

‘King Henry was King James’s son

And all the royal races ran

Upon his heart he wears a star

Right away to the ocean far

So choose to the East

And choose to the West

And choose the one that you love the best

If he’s not there to take her part

Choose another with all your heart.’

So it is likely those who took part in The Kissing Ring would have referred to the occasion as ‘King Henry’s Night’ thanks to the words of the song they would sing.

Linda adds: “While I was there, I bought the booklet, published by the Esk Valley News, which adds detail to what is seen in the exhibition – an excellent read, and I recommend the exhibition to anyone interested in our local folklore. It is so easy to lose sight of local traditions and stories, many of which must now be forgotten.”

It’s true that if we did not have places like the Ryedale Folk Museum, or indeed columns like this discussing old traditions and folklore, then such things will be lost. We should all support local museums and local newspapers in a world that seems to be being taken over by technology. Nothing can compete with real people telling us about real memories, because once they are gone it will be too late.

On the subject of preserving local history and traditions, I had the pleasure recently of travelling to a house up near Chop Gate for work. It was a beautiful old farmhouse that commanded glorious views south across the valley towards Bilsdale.

It was built in the early 1800s out of large stones in varying shades of sand and gold. But what caught my eye were the distinctive markings. They looked like they had been carved with a repeating arrow pattern, a little bit like the skeleton of a feather or a fish. Every stone carried this pattern, and it was as if they had been painstakingly hand-sculpted to create a beautiful effect, and one I believe is peculiar to this part of the world.

I know the pattern was not created by some frustrated sculptor working as a bricklayer, but that it is more to do with the way the bricks were made, thanks to friend Linda Harman who explained: “They cut the clay brick shape then take excess clay off with a brush which makes that pattern.” And Irene Sykes, who lives on the North York Moors, adds: “I think local quarries were excavating different types of stone and so they dressed the stone they excavated using different methods.”

Do you know any more about how these stones were made, and the local quarries they came from? Perhaps you had a relative who was a stone mason. Do get in touch as I’d love to know more!

I’d love to hear from you about your opinions, memories and ideas for columns. Use the ‘Contact’ button on the top right of this page to get in touch. This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 28th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 26th June 2024.