Tuesday, October 4, 2016

Tuesday 4th October

wath. “Middle English, of Scandinavian origin; akin to Old Norse vath ford; akin to Old English wæd ford, Old High German wat ford, Old High German watan to wade.” That’s where the cattle were led down to the river here to drink on their way to Malton livestock market a few miles away.

A word we learnt from Bernie the other day, of a causeway down to the river by us.  The road outside would have been the highway for hundreds of cattle going to market, plodding their weary way, I feel rather sad for them.  O he was enthusiastic our Bernie, there I sat with a second day of a migraine thumping over my eye, and he seemed to go on for three hours, think I achieved martydom at some stage.

Not being mean, he was very interesting, and in actual fact LS looked up the word.  What is so surprising is how this village of very few cottages managed to get several ale houses, though presumably they would be cottage ale houses, a blacksmith and butcher shops within its small confines. The families were local and married into each other, though not of course Mary Wood, there was another single lady who was courted for years by a man with a van, but the day came when he had to choose between marriage and a new van, guess which he chose?

The weather was absolutely beauitful yesterday and I opened my box of bulbs, nothing like looking towards next summer, well I planted irises, and soon all my flamboyant tulips will take their turn beneath the soil.  Being extravagant, I bought several species of lilies for pots, and also Eremus or foxtail lily, which is a very delicate creature at the best of times, it needs afternoon and evening sun, fairly dry and settled on sand.  Well I have decided it will go against the warm church wall under the yew, its pretty orange colour echoing the wall and it resists rabbits!  Unfortunately it is difficult to grow. I love tall spiky flowers in a garden, the foxgloves with the bees drifting in and out, delphiniums with their hosts of blue variegations and especially larkspur.

Yesterday I swapped apples for eggs with Jill, do like this bartering, and the local news has just come through of the apple juicing that takes place at Kirkby.  Thank goodness they don't slaughter the home pig anymore in the country;).....

The fabled 'Hob' also has his stories in Yorkshire.


  1. Killing a pig brought back such memories Thelma - when I was a child we had a pig every year and when it was time to 'get in out of the way' (i e kill and process it all) as my mother called it, her sister - my Aunt Kate always came to stay and the two sisters did it together. I always got the job of taking small helpings of 'pigs fry' round to all the neighbours. (they did the same when they killed their pigs.)

  2. It must have a sad time as well. eating the 'family friend', Bernie said the pig was hung outside in one of the sheds and the housewife would go in and slice some bacon off for a meal. When I was a child I was sent off to a farm in Wales, very near Bovey Belle, and the sow would come fishing with us down to the river.