Test your Yorkshire, rural ruins and weather woe

yorkshire ruin

Heading out of Ribblesdale over Newby Head into Widdale you’ll find this old Yorkshire barn, now in a sorry state. I’ve noticed its gradual deterioration over many years travelling along this route and I guess there’s not much hope for it now.

yorkshire ruin1Stuck at home during one of the many wet days this week I trolled through my photo archive to see if I could find an earlier picture of the barn but instead dug out several other shots of sad-looking farm buildings, all located in Ribblesdale. I hadn’t realised I’d taken so many – they do make interesting foregrounds, and subjects in themselves – nevertheless it’s a shame such fine structures have been allowed to fall into unusable condition. The reasons behind their decay are many and varied, and here in my little photo-blog is probably not the place for an in-depth report on the condition of buildings within the Yorkshire Dales National Park.

yorkshire ruin2

I believe that my little cottage in Ribblesdale was once part of an 18th-century barn. It was converted into three small houses for mill or lime workers some time during the early 1800s … a good example of reusing old buildings to suit conditions at the time. Today, planning rules would be restrictive – especially within the National Park – and 21st-century needs would probably prove too disruptive for reusing the more isolated buildings. And many of our rural villages no longer provide work, schooling, shops, pubs etc to make it viable for the redevelopment of the more accessible deteriorating buildings. In urban areas these old structures would just be considered a hazard or an eyesore, bulldozed and the land bought by developers who will erect some boring ‘boxes’ thus lining their pockets with a fat profit.

yorkshire ruin3

I read an interesting blog on the subject of rural house building here https://cpreviewpoint.wordpress.com/2016/01/28/the-housing-bill-bad-for-villages/
I had to twice read this section to make sure I’d understood it correctly … “One senior Tory told me that no one has a right to live in a village any more than someone brought up in Mayfair has a right to live there. Someone may have grown up in a village and work in it, but if they cannot afford to buy a house in it, they should move to the nearest affordable town.”
In other words, if you’ve got money you can live where you want; it doesn’t matter whether your ancestors have lived there for generations or your family and friends still live there; it doesn’t matter if you can’t afford to travel to work or that there isn’t any transport… etc etc. So basically, he’s saying if you’re poor, you’re not allowed to enjoy a life in the countryside and must go live in a town.

Weather or not

yorkshire frame

I was due to show some friends the delights of the Dales during the week but the atrocious weather put a stop to that, and after their caravan almost blew over in a gale they abandoned ship and headed home. Hope this doesn’t leave a lasting bad impression on them, but we should realise it is winter, and that this is the Pennines not the Med. For their benefit here’s a few things they missed which are worth returning to see: above, Ashley Jackson’s frame at Brimham Rocks www.framingthelandscape.co.uk/  ; below Pecca Falls, Ingleton, the view from Buttertubs and from Winskill

yorkshire pecca

yorkshire butter

yorkshire winskill

Yorkshire twang

We got into a discussion about dialect and agreed that when we are with close friends and family we often speak in a kind of lazy ‘shorthand’ which we all understand but probably wouldn’t use in general speech. So I set my friends this teaser to see if they could translate. I call it Yorkshire Teatime – a working class Yorkshire family discussion over the tea table. See how much you can read (it’ll blow the mind of any auto-correct software)…

Twin 1: Wotwehavinferusteamam?
Mam: Thalavwotyergeean.
Twin 2: Duwiattergerruzandsweshed?
Dad: Thalgitnowtifthadunt.
Twin 1: Eh?
Dad: Thawansterweshthieeroilsahtanall.
Mam: Weerztabin?
Twin 2: Avbinlaikinart.
Mam: Amtalkintothidadnotthee.
Twin 1: Passustbutta.
Twin 2: Thamungerritthissen.
Twin 1: Giuzit.
Dad: Astleclouttheebuathifthaduntgiower.
Dad: Avbintotclub.
Mam: AstasinarrJim?
Dad: Aye.
Mam: Oowurreewi? Wurreeweeizsen?
Dad: Eewersatonisoowen.
Mam: Azzibintomimams?
Dad: Eesezeeazburraberreeant
Twin1: Istherowtofinishoffwi?
Mam: Therzakitkatintin.
Twin2: Tintintin.
Mam: Whosettenit?
Twin1: Iamptadit.
Twin2: Twantmee.
Dad: Aditfermisuppalassneet.
Mam: Thazzagreedybeggar.
Twins 1&2: Awwdad!

Natural memories in Nidderdale

brimham

On dreary, wet Sundays like today in the Dales I’ll happily browse through my photo diary to see what I was doing around the same date in the past. December 11, 2009, I was out and about in Nidderdale enjoying Nature’s creations at Brimham Rocks. Funny how easy it is to see human form here, silhouetted against a bright winter sky. I remember this day in particular because it was the first time I’d ever been to the famous rocks and there be not another (real) human there. The views were fantastic and I thought ‘what a lucky chap I am’.

A Yorkshireman abroad

Packed the passport and translation guide; filled an emergency box with pies, Wensleydale cheese, Yorkshire puds and curd tarts; ferrets were caged up in t’ boot. I donned flat cap and keyed in sat nav details… for Dartmoor. A Yorkshireman ‘abroad’ can’t be careful enough. I’d heard t’ weather darn sarf could be fair to middlin’ this time o’ year so the remaining sun tan lotion from my last trip abroad (Majorca 1998) was deposited in the glove compartment. The drive gave me a numb bum. Couldn’t thoil service station prices so I drank my flask of tea and ate my Wensleydale and beetroot sandwiches with all the other Yorkshire folk leaning against their motors in the car park. I was fair capped when I got to Dartmoor – it’s almost the same as Yorkshire but not as grand. The Tors reminded me of Nidderdale around Brimham Rocks; the distant views of the North York Moors towards the coast; and the bleak, wild moors of the South Pennines above Holmfirth. Makes you wonder why I bothered doing a round trip of over 700 miles really. The folk there talk funny, not like us, but they’re friendly enough. So if you ever feel an odd urge to get out of our county without really leaving it, I can recommend heading for Dartmoor (but beware, there are some bloody strange spots in between). Oh, the weather was drizzly, misty and windy – just like in Yorkshire.

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