The Yorkshire Dales on a sunny day. Orchids, curlews, lambs etc etc. Looking out over the dale from a high field above West Witton – Castle Bolton to the NW, Preston under Scar to the N, West Witton below. Patches of hawthorn, barns with red doors. Peace.
They were there, in Castle Howard woods, but a sheen rather than a sheet. Perhaps a week too early. But primroses and violets and celandine and dogs’ mercury. Ploughed fields a rich reddish brown, stubble from last year still in autumnal colours. May blossom rioting in the hedges, besieged by bees. Birdsong constantly, but the birds small flitting through the branches, mostly hidden. And we were on the bus home before the rain came.
The Shoulder of Mutton at Kirby Hill does a nice pint, has two coal fires, and a good menu. Situated on the edge of a small escarpment looking North over the Holme Valley, the village of Ravensworth, and towards Teesdale. We were staying in Kirby Hill, a small village, hamlet really, round a green off the through road. Snow made it all idyllic, once we managed to get to and from Richmond to get food supplies (thanks Stephen and Colin – saved our Christmas potatoes). Delightful walks across snow-covered fields to Ravensworth (thanks for the tea and whiskey, Dorothy and William) where there is a ruined castle in the middle of a marsh. Going back up there was a lane too snowy for road traffic. It would have been the most wonderful toboggan run. After a couple of days of slight melting during the day and freezing at night it was more like a bobsled run – lethal, probably. Walks too along the edge of the moor, where the army, which usually uses it as a firing range, was having a Christmas truce. Altogether an excellent week in a flat converted out of the Old Grammar School (1640 something to 1957).
And we got there by train and 2 buses. Only downside to this was the cancellation of bus services on Xmas eve due to snow (see note above ref getting to and from Richmond) and Richmond Council’s refusal to provide any shelter for bus passengers in the square where all the buses start from.
How pleasant to stroll along Filey’s wide sands on a sunny September day. Enough breeze off the sea to keep the temperature pleasant for walking. A retreating tide, few waves in the shelter of the Brig, a few more as we went South. Along the unstable cliffs several houses too close for comfort.
At Filey the fishing boats come in close to shore and are then heaved onto a trailer and hauled up the beach by a tractor – there is no harbour but the Brig must provide protection from the worst of the weather. Mussel shells abound on the beach but few really interesting pebbles, and fewer fossils. Some brief patches as the tide ebbed, of the lugworms tiny spiky cities.
By bus to Crambeck and then the usual walk through Cstle Howard woods to see the bluebells. But also water avens, wild cherry, cuckoo flower, speedwell, primroses, violets, dead nettle, red campion, stitchwort greater and lesser, celandine etc etc. Spring at its finest – and splashes of sunshine. Bluebells not yet reached their peak – but ready to carpet the woodland. Views across the fields to Welburn – blue, green, the yellow of oilseed rape, the tile red of the village roofs.
A well-kept half of Old Speckled Hen and an excellent beef and horseradish sandwich at the pub (must remember to take my walking boots off before I’m told to next time).
First, Exeter Youth Hostel is pretty good – especially the food and the local ale they have available. Then there is an extremely pleasant walk along either the canal bank or the water meadows of the Exe from Countess Weir (where the YH is) into Exeter. Started in the mist but the sun gradually broke through. All the trees, bushes and greenery on the cusp of Spring. Cormorants on the weir at Exeter wharf.
And Exeter in the afternoon was very pleasant. A few people were pretending it was warm enough for continental cafe culture – and it nearly was – but the sun warmed the skin, certainly. Inside the cathedral the sun was low enough to shine through the windows on the South side and illuminate the walls on the North – wonderful feeling of lightness. Interesting memorials, including one which included a hint of unease in that it commended the deceased for an energy of mind unusual in the female ! One can only wonder.
Ah, the West Riding ! All that Pennine weather. Actually pleasant enough for autumn as we wound into Wharfedale, stopping at the Wharfedale Inn at Arthington for Black Sheep and Fish and Chips (and mushy peas, of course). But heading up from Keighley pst Haworth and Oxenhope – a glimpse of smoke down in the valley from the K&WVR – on the roads which gradually climb the contours along the side of the valley, fringed by millstone grit walls, we found deteriorating weather. We entered the clouds and lost the scenery, except for 100yards of bleak and treeless moor on either side, and the occasional totally isolated row of cottages about which the only possible question is “why?” But as we came over the top into Calderdale through the mist ahead appeared Heptonstall church tower, grey against a grey landscape and cloudscape. Fortunately, once we got up to Heptonstall the rain was intermittent, although the grey clouds racing across the top of the valleys gave no hope of sunshine. Noticed that the Methodist Chapel had numerous umbrella racks. Also that Sylvia Plath’s grave in the overflow churchyard is sadly neglected, though a few wilted sunflowers and collection of plastic Venus of Willendorf nestled amongst the grass and weeds. Out beyond the village onto the ridge and then dropped down to find Lumb Bank. Hughes and Plath had a splendid view from there, in whatever weather, and even on such a grey day the turning leaves were a splendid sight. Up an old stone trackand further along the ridge then via the hamlet of Slack to the other side where a wood-edge path above a precipitous drop led us back to Heptonstall.
After tea and cake at Milly’s cafe in Mytholmroyd to the Ted Hughes Theatre at Mytholmroyd school, where Ian Duhig and Anthony Thwaite were reading. Hadn’t expected to like Ian Duhig’s work much, and didn’t, though he reads much better than he used to, and had deliberately chosen poems which were fairly accessible on first hearing. But any poem which needs a longer introduction than poem is not really trying to be accessible.
And Anthony Thwaite was a disappointment. He’d chosen to read only personal autobiographical poems but none of them seemed to rise beyond the specific to the universal, nor did they attempt to. Rather a thin offering, like the day’s Pennine rain. At least Ted Hughes had some guts to his poems.
Filey is so genteel ! It actually reminded me of Sheringham – lots of real shops – a 2 storey sort of place. Good fish and chips. This walk was actually earlier in the summer – pyramid orchids were out in abundance. Beautiful views across Filey Bay, steep descents to the beach via the fishermen’s rope, rock-hopping to Cayton Bay, then a serendipitous bus back to Filey.
Briefly, we were enchanted by North Norfolk. Not only the North Norfolk railway, which completes the landscape just like a railway should, but also the wide marshscapes of Blakeney, the rich woodlands, the fine country houses, and the excellent pubs and pub food. And most of it isn’t flat. ! PS – saw avocets for the first time, and a barn owl hunting towards the end of the afternoon.
The Hayburn Wyke pub sits just below the former Whitby-Scarborough railway line (now a walking/cycling route) a mile or so north of Cloughton. It apparently dates from the 18th century as a pub, although what route it was on for passing trade at that time, and what local community it served is not clear. Its brochure implies that smuggling may have had something to do with it but as the anchorage at Hayburn Wyke is hardly sheltered (though certainly remote and inaccessible) I have my doubts. Anyway, it now seems to have a good weekend trade of families wanting a pub lunch (looked fairly average pub food) and walkers / cyclists on the former railway line or the nearby Cleveland Way. We had some Black Sheep or coffee and set off into the delightful woods which cover the steep sides of the valley which carves its way down from the moors to the West towards the sea. When it reaches the beach, the stream falls over a 20ft waterfall. The tide was right in and because of the strong easterly breeze over the last few days there were some respectable waves. On previous visits the sea has always been calmer, and the tide further out – it’s a favourite place for piling rocks into towers a la Andy Goldsworthy. The rocks are from tennis ball to bigger than football size, smooth and round, grey streaked with brown.
We returned towards the pub by a different route, at the bottom of the valley. Very lush and wet and green under the trees, before they come into full leaf. Lots of wood anemone, dog’s mercury, wild garlic, bluebells (neither yet in flower) and large clumps of primroses. A few shy plants of wood sorrel. Not many birds, though a wren did break cover from under my feet. (Much smaller and much noisier than the four deer that we flushed out in a wood near Heilbronn a few weeks ago). Delightful as this was, it struck me that a visit in 3 or 4 weeks time, on a sunny day, could be quite spectacular.