Tag: writing

Hog your ground for good weather

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes. Bury a sausage.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 5th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 3rd June 2026

The Grassington Murder explained by one who was there

Dr Petty’s body was dumped in the River Wharf

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 15th May and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 13th May 2026

A Petty Crime?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What do you think?

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

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 8th May and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 6th May 2026

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

Straight from the horse’s tail

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

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

“Eat Right. Exercise. Die Anyway.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rallying support for Heartbeat jamboree

It’ll be emotional when I am reunited with my dad’s old Jaguar at the Heartbeat Vehicle Rally in June. I’ve not seen it since 2017. If you’d like to help me by sponsoring the event in some way, please get in touch with this paper or through my web page.

A couple of weeks ago I was looking for information about a needlework sampler that featured York Minster, as well as information about a group of girls creating samplers around the village of Lastingham. I’d been contacted by Sarah Duce whose great aunt Hannah Stonehouse completed a different sampler in 1808 and which was one of four about which Sarah was trying to find out more. “I believe one might have been by a Mary Wilson who was born around 1791 in Hartoft, and wondered if there might have been some sort of connection…I believe my Great Grandma x5, Sarah Harding (nee Smith), may have been the teacher of these girls…She was schoolmistress of Lastingham following the death of her schoolmaster husband from consumption at the young age of 30.”

The Minster sampler was sewn by a girl called Ann Raw and I wondered if she had actually been sitting in front of the building to create it. Reader Gillian Hunt contacted me to say: “The York Minster sampler – same motif on another sampler, which suggests the girls were following a design by someone else – maybe by their needlework teacher?” It means they probably did it in a classroom setting.

Gillian specialises in researching samplers like this, and two years ago was very helpful in relation to helping me understand the significance of the needlework motifs on one that hung in my mum’s kitchen by a young girl called Hannah Raw. Is she related to Ann Raw? We don’t yet know.

Gillan informed me in 2023: “Hannah’s sampler has two sets of initials after the date – MR and what looks like ER…If ER is in dark thread, they are most likely to have died before Hannah completed her sampler.”

Gillian discovered that the initials represented Hannah’s parents Matthew and Ellis Raw. Ellis’s initials were in a dark thread and further research confirmed she had indeed passed away. Matthew Raw died a few years after the sampler was created, when Hannah was still a teenager.

Gillian’s help, among others, led us to being able to fill out much of Hannah’s life story. Best of all, we found a living relative, a direct descendant of Hannah’s brother John Raw. My ultimate goal is to find a living relative of Hannah herself.

On another note, I took a trip up to Goathland last weekend to meet the posse who are responsible for organising the annual Heartbeat Vehicle Rally. This year’s event is scheduled for the weekend of 27th and 28th June.

The rally has boomed over the years, and last time attracted around 6,000 visitors over the two days. They flocked to the village to meet star guests and to study the collection of wonderful vintage vehicles, some of which appeared in the TV show. The local businesses do a roaring trade, with hotels, B&Bs and holiday homes fully booked many months in advance. The local cafes and shops are overflowing, and with the car parks bursting at the seams, some prefer to arrive by steam on the North York Moors Railway. It brings a huge financial boost into the area, and yet those who organise it don’t make a penny from it (And, for the record, neither does my family!).

It’s a truly wonderful, family occasion, and those involved in its planning put in hours of hard work, as well as their own money, all for the love of Heartbeat. Any profits raised are donated to Goathland Primary School.

As the event grows in size, the work and challenges, both financial and practical, increase. This year we are looking for sponsorship to help with the mounting costs involved. Please contact me via this paper or my web page if you are willing to help. I will also be knocking on a few business doors over the coming weeks as the event looms.

This year there is one particular vehicle that I cannot wait to see. It is my dad’s very own vintage Mark II Jaguar. That car had been part of our family since I was a child, but sadly we had to sell it in the wake of his death in 2017. I thought I’d never see it again. But now it’s been found and is coming to the rally.

It’s going to be one heck of an emotional reunion!

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 March 2026

Keeping up with the post

 

 

The picture of a witch post sent to me. By Stanislav Stefane

 

I never know who is going to contact me, nor where they come from, and so I was intrigued when I received the following message from a gentleman called Stanislav Stefane:

“Will you be publishing your father’s papers on the so-called witch posts? There is limited information available online, and I find them fascinating. I am also interested in one that is for sale, dated 1667. Is there perhaps an example with this date mentioned in your father’s papers?”

I replied to him that Dad had composed a whole book about them but sadly died before the final draft made it into print. At the moment there are no plans to publish it, but his extensive historical research is still there in his study. Dad had a very strong Catholic faith and his findings prompted him to believe that many so-called witch posts were not connected to witches at all, but were in fact related to the famous Catholic Martyr of the Moors, Father Nicholas Postgate.

I discovered that Stanislav was based in Slovenia, and asked him what sparked his interest.

“I collect carved oak antiques from the 17th and 18th centuries, mainly pieces that have a carved date and the initials of their owners. By chance, I came across a reference to the so-called ‘witch post,’ which also occasionally bears a carved date. I find the story surrounding them most fascinating. There is one currently for sale, and I thought that perhaps it might have been known to your father. I am not sure whether the post is even original, but if it had been seen by your father, there would be no doubt about its authenticity. I hope you will publish your father’s findings on them. They are probably among the most mysterious and misunderstood of British oak antiques.”

It sounds like Stanislav may have caught the ‘witch post’ bug which affected my dad in the later years of his life, and he would certainly agree with Stanislav’s use of the term ‘misunderstood’. Having started to research them, Dad became more and more fascinated, and began to believe that many of these ‘witch posts’ were not to ward off evil but to indicate ‘safe houses’ for persecuted Catholics.

Even though the full book has not been published Dad did produce an interim pamphlet in 2008, in which he explains why he became so captivated by the topic.

“I began my research more than a year ago but the subject has developed so greatly and produced so many surprises that I have still not completed my investigations…The task is almost complete and it has proved a most enjoyable and enlightening experience.”

Among his files I found a letter to an interested party in which Dad admits that he made mistakes in earlier writings due to the existing information upon which he was relying being incorrect or inaccurate, of which he was unaware at the time. He only realised this once he’d embarked on his own quest to find out more.

“My research into witch posts has revealed quite a lot of errors on my part (and on the part of earlier writers). I hope my recent efforts will rectify some of those – I relied too heavily on earlier works by authors I thought were infallible!”

As yet I have been unable to find Stanislav’s particular post in my dad’s files, but I will keep looking. It has made me think that I ought to do something about all this information that Dad put so much time and effort into researching.

On another note, Katherine Hill has been back in touch after attending a reunion of the Bean family. Katherine contacted me after reading a column where I mentioned Peep o’Day Farm near Husthwaite. She thought her grandfather, Samuel Bean, may have been born there.

A posse of Beans gathered on Sunday March 1st, including her 99-year-old aunt Sylvia, who was a Bean until she married in 1953. “It was a very enjoyable time reminiscing about our childhood at Burton Garth, Knapton.”

Thanks to the endeavours of some very helpful readers, particularly Rex North, I was able to pass on much more information about the Bean family history to her. I wish Katherine all the best with her continuing research and hope there are more Beans yet to be discovered!

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 20th  and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 18th 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

Homing in on Hamer

 

The 1989 Malton Gazette and Herald article about Hamer House sent to me by Howard Campion. Do you know who wrote it?

A couple of weeks ago I mentioned that reader Howard Campion was sending me a copy of a 1989 article that talked about Hamer Inn that once stood on the road between Glaisdale and Rosedale Abbey on the North York Moors. Also known as the Lettered Board, all that now remains is a pile of stones on an expanse of smooth grass surrounded by heather. It used to be a thriving inn providing rest and sustenance for weary travellers and workers from the coal mines operating nearby.

 

Howard wondered if the article had been written by my dad (there was no writer’s name attached to it) and now that I have had a chance to read it, I think not. The writing style is a little different and because my dad was not an employed ‘reporter’ as such, he rarely conducted interviews like those that are featured. Unless the writer recognises his work and gets in touch, we might never know! I have attached a picture of said article, so that you can see it for yourself. It is a fascinating piece!

 

The article features first-hand accounts from those who remember it before it became derelict, which is highly useful when putting together a historical record. What I found really interesting is that this inn of many names had yet another, according to writer Joseph Ford, who was born there while his father, also called Joseph, was licensee in the mid to late 1800s. Joseph Ford junior, who died in 1944, was the great great uncle of David Ford, the reader who first contacted me, setting off this whole chain of Hamer-related columns.

 

The article states: ‘Ford, who said Hamer was then called the Wayside Inn, described how wagoners leading lime from Cropton would rest their tired horses at Hamer and feed them bags of clover while they partook of beer and egg-and-bacon pie.’

 

A lady called Annie Turnbull was born at Hamer in 1906, after the Ford family had left. ‘The pub was run by her father and mother, James and Elizabeth Eddon, and Mrs Turnbull was the second youngest of 11 children. They supplemented their income by farming a few acres adjoining the inn, and when last there, Mrs Turnbull could still trace the paddocks.’

 

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

 

“We had a pump in the pub yard but in summer it ran dry and we had to carry water from the beck. For reasons I can’t remember, one of the paddocks was called Pig’s Lug. One of the outbuildings was used by my father for making besoms from heather, and on Mondays, Mother would ride a pony to Pickering market to try to sell them.”

 

Annie’s sister, Lily Boddy, took over from her father in 1914, and it remained an inn for some time thereafter. Wilf Turnbull, Annie’s husband, recalled visiting Hamer in 1943: “All the outbuildings had been pulled down. Only the old pub was still standing and it was being used as a shooting house.”

 

Terry Ashby has also contacted me about Hamer: “At school in the early 1960s I discovered the delights of the one-inch OS maps and having moved to the North York Moors, I bought ‘Sheet 86 Redcar & Whitby’. There was Hamer House clearly marked. I wondered what it was and I probably pestered my dad to drive there to have a look. There wasn’t much left of it even then. I found out later that it had been an inn and later still I found it mentioned in an historical novel. I can’t remember the title or the author. I find these old ruins fascinating and quite poignant as they always pose questions about who lived there and when and why they were abandoned.”

 

Does anyone know the novel Terry refers to? And don’t forget, David Ford is still  searching for a photo of the inn before it became derelict. Do any of you have one lurking at the back of a drawer somewhere? Maybe it’s time to have a clear out. You never know what you might find!


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 Feb 2026

That ol’ chestnut

My son Jasper in an old photo that reappeared on Facebook recently. I have since discovered that disposing of house spiders outisde might not be the most humane thing to do after all!

I’ve had a couple of interesting spider-related experiences this week. The first was in a lofty old house which had vaulted ceilings, beautiful mature oak beams and hanging chandeliers.

The owner was apologising because she had noticed the amount of cobwebs dotted around the high beams and light fittings. She explained that the webs had quickly reappeared thanks to fact she had removed the bowls of chestnuts she usually kept around the house to deter spiders from setting up home.

“Are you sure it works?” I asked. She nodded emphatically and said the cobwebs had been absent while the chestnuts were in situ yet materialised very quickly after they’d gone. She believed the nuts emitted a pungent smell that was repugnant to our arachnid housemates.

I became very excited at the prospect of reducing my household dusting burden by the mere introduction of a few nuts, and checked whether she meant plain chestnuts or horse chestnuts. She used the plain chestnut and I vowed to find out more.

What I discovered was that whole, fresh chestnuts are surprisingly difficult to get from your local supermarket after Christmas. Thankfully, they are available online and I’m sure you could pick some up at a wholefood shop too.

The recommendation to use chestnuts to deter spiders has been around for a long time. The following was published in Nature magazine in May 1874: “Can any of your readers establish the truth of the following assertion? Spiders’ webs are never found upon beams from the Spanish or sweet chestnut tree, even when the timber is several centuries old. The keeper of the ruins of Beaulieu Abbey, in Hampshire, asserts that this is a fact, and the buildings of the Abbey, where beams of Spanish chestnut are used, are free from the invasion of spiders. His attention was drawn to this four years ago, and since then his observations have not thrown any doubt upon its accuracy.”

I could not find the answer to the writer’s question, but I have found several sources that say the claim has never been scientifically proven and is just an old wive’s tale. Some Cornish schoolchildren did their own experiment a few years ago with spiders and conkers which, along with walnuts, are also said to posses spider-repelling properties. However, the critters trotted merrily over the conkers, none the worse for being in contact with the noxious nuts. I will put some chestnuts around my house and see what happens. I’d love to know if you have tried it – or anything else – to keep your home spider and cobweb free.

The second spider-related incident came when I opened up Facebook and at the top of my feed was a picture of my son holding up his mobile phone upon which sat a huge eight-legged monster. It was a photo I had posted 18 months ago after having an unsettling encounter with the beastie. For some reason, a friend had recently commented on it which set off a whole new chain of reactions and comments from friends, some of whom hadn’t realised it was an old post, and that they had already commented when it originally appeared in 2024!

Despite the fact it was old news, it was fun to revisit it and read all the comments of horror, with some people suggesting that an arachnid of such proportions must have hitched a ride from a distant land. Our native house spider can grow surprisingly large and yet is harmless, while being really good at keeping down the population of other annoying pests like flies and mosquitoes.

During my research, I read something that made me quite distraught. We do not kill spiders at home, but capture them and deposit them outside on the assumption that it is the most humane way to deal with them. 

Apparently not. According to what I have read, house spiders cannot live outside for very long, so unless they are able to find somewhere warm and sheltered where they can spin a web to catch food, they will die.

If there is a spider scuttling about my bedroom, I will never be able to sleep, and yet, if I chuck it outside like I have been doing, I might be sentencing it to a lingering death.

So what the heck am I supposed to do now?

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 23rd and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 21st Jan 2026