Sea Henge

The sand dunes with a stream making its way to the sea

Remnants of old dunes

Wooden posts found from the circle

                                                              
                                                           The double pronged entrance

The central upturned tree stump

Seahenge.  Of course it is not a henge, not even a stone circle but built with wooden posts around the spring of BC 2049. The diameter of the circle was 21 feet (6.6m) with 55 closely fitting posts the circle averaging out at about 10 foot high. The land on which it stood would have been different, saltmarsh protected from the sea by sand dunes and mud with a mixed oak woodland nearby.  Tis a place of sacred unknowingness, you may laugh but that central upturned trunk its roots reaching out to the sky must hold some sort of secret. The archaeologists think that it was used for excarnation, either for a great chief, or maybe for the small group or clan who lived here.

When I first saw the upturned tree, my initial reaction was that it was somehow a dinosaur, not quite dead, still throbbing with slow life.  It has PRESENCE this tree, blackened and deeply fissured with age and a few model carrion crows perch  menacingly on the edges of the mock-up wooden circle help create the drama.  The tree stands in its glass cage watching over the recovered wooden posts of the circle as they curve round on their stand backed by a large photographic representation of the beach on which the circle was found.

This beach at Holme-Next-to-the-Sea must be your first port of call, drive down to the village and turn left at the crossroads, (where it says Peddars Way) and there is a car park further on. Walk over the wooden boardwalk by the dunes, the sand stretches for ages down to the sea, and on the horizon about 50 sea wind turbines stand like ghosts, blades idly turning. No mention of where the posts were found on the information boards, and I suppose if you were lucky and walked further on and the tide was out you may find the second wooden circle, called Holme 2.

There are several theories mooted on the boards that accompany the timbers, one is to do with the stripping and non-stripping of the bark off the posts, most timbers had there bark left on but one had been stripped, this one called ‘timber 30’ had its outward facing bark stripped, maybe to represent an important person, maybe because it had been struck by lightning thereby leaving a white bark.  Firstly, it was said that the closeness of the posts could be that the whole site was supposed to represent a tree stump, or maybe each individual post represented a person, there were 55 posts in all.    The orientation of the first timbers sunk was to the Midwinter sunset in the south-west and the Midsummer sunrise in the northeast.

About half the timbers were placed upside down, it could have been due to the fact that if driven into the ground right way up the circle would have leant inwards towards the centre.  By placing them upside down they cancelled this inversion, but there again at other Bronze Age sites inverted objects were associated with death and human remains.

The narrow ‘entrance’ double pronged timber was labelled 35/37 in the initial excavation because it was thought to be two separate posts, there is a blocking timber 36 in front of the entrance.

The great central oak stump, over 50 axes were used on this tree, and 3 holes bored into its lower trunk show where it was dragged by honeysuckle ropes. Measuring about 2 and half metres high by approximately the same width, think I read somewhere it was 150 years old when cut down, there are two suggestions for why it was used, one being the excarnation theory the other “a symbolic representation of the fruits of the earth and the magical powers of trees, or perhaps a gateway to the underworld”

What to make of it all? Firstly, one has to agree with the decision of digging the timbers up, if only to help keep them for future reference and safe from further destruction by the sea, and because of their special uniqueness.  The heart does stop for a few seconds as you view these old monster wooden posts, my first impression was of the old wooden Scandinavian gods found in the bogs – strange twisted and  shaped…  Alien, scary and dark!  Imagination can run easily with Tibetan ‘sky burials,’ especially as part of the exhibition houses another upside down tree trunk to make the point that the roots easily cradle a human being.

Lynn Museum can be found to one side of the bus station, so simply head for the train and bus station and park in the car parks round there.

Whitby - October 2012

This is Peperoni, after finishing her tea, watching the sparrows outside in the bush.

Back home after a fortnight stay in Whitby, mostly beautiful autumn weather, though a phone call from Aggie this morning says it has turned.  Aggie is the person who will let the cottage next year and today she goes to photograph it, so I have 'dressed' the beds as best I can... She thought her key was lost but found it luckily because spares are inside the cottage at the moment! Masses of washing for the machine but the garden has fared well here, plenty of rain judging by the state of the buckets.

We pottered around the town quite a lot of the time, this weekend has been 'Wartime Britain' with people dressed up for the first World War.  Dress wise it was pretty fabulous, fur coats and pretty dresses worn with nylons, lots of women tottered down Flowergate on high heels, alongside smartly dressed business men, the armed forces were also much in show, sadly I did not take any photos.

Seahenge was fabulous, both the beach and the exhibition at the museum, moors of course, and a visit to Lastingham church to visit the crypt - this by the way is where Saint Cedd (Chelmsford) started the early northern christian church at Lastingham, but more of that later.  We also went and found the Cawthorn Roman Camps, three to be precise, large and pretty daunting if you were a native...

The following, two very windy photos, were taken up at Whitby abbey.  Gorgeous horses standing, not too patiently, the driver has a lovely gloomy face as he glares into my camera, but who could resist those horses. They travelled back home in a horse van and I expect went for a good run round their field....

Miscellaneous

Been packing this morning, I don't have many clothes which comes as a bit of a surprise, lot of it is due to  me hating shopping, can't be bothered to walk round shops anyway, and when a particular dearth of something comes around, it is mainly because a lot of stuff is in the wash regime, I will hasten to M&S online and order some necessity.  Sometimes I want to take myself in hand, order some natty jackets and matching skirts/trousers but never do.

So 2 minutes packing, or slinging some clothes into a bag, my love of course is so ultra neat that he looks on in horror at my untidiness.  This tidiness comes from past working in the studio and working in Japanese studios and museums having all his tools and brushes laid out precisely on the work bench, so that now it has infiltrated to books on tables, knives and forks it becomes a joke between us my habit of distributing books haphazardly on all surfaces, patchwork materials and my spun wools in baskets and dishes.

Today I have decided to spin 'Pegasus's' apalca fleece, a deep dark brown it leaves smudges on my fingers, I know Pegasus the alpaca resides in his field with companions just along the road to Middle Mill from Solva, such knowledge gives me pleasure as I spin. It reminds me of Solva Mill which I follow on Facebook, and I have a faint sense of homesickness.  But we are off on saturday firstly to Seahenge, been reading Francis Pryor on it, his wife Maisie conserved the timbers at Flag Fen before they went into the museum.  It is not a henge of course, maybe not even a circle more a shrine with the central upturned tree used for excarnation, Pryor likened it to the Street House ritual enclosure coincidentally, which is just outside Whitby, and I had just written about!

After Seahenge Whitby of course on Sunday, both looking forward to it, even if it is only for decent fish and chips and the Magpie restaurant, and my favourite walk by the East cliff, though I must not forget my grandchildren.

Also been reading Britain After Rome (The Fall and Rise 400 to 1070) by Robin Fleming, fascinating the so called 'dark ages' but it was complete breakdown after the withdrawal of Roman authority from Britain. Can you imagine our councils just not being there, roads and towns fell into disrepair, crafts disappeared no pots made, they were even to be found using the old prehistoric cremation urns as domestic pots, I suppose having emptied them out first. 

Inside Welsh homes

Just love the old television in the corner

Photos collected by 'The Peoples Collection - Wales, of the ordinary, humdrum lounges, kitchen and bathrooms of Wales over the 20th century, fascinating for the curious ;).

Peperoni

This is an ammonite quilt, that was displayed in the  quilting shop in Brunswick Road.

Picking up our threads in Whitby;  

Who is Peperoni?  Well she is a small silver-grey cat that visits the yard in Whitby.  Does she belong to anyone? I am not sure, but last time we were there she made her presence felt.  Our neighbour up the steps, is an old fashioned hippy, long grey locks and a loud Scottish accent, and it is here that Peperoni will head for morning breakfast, we will see her out of the window tail held high as she bounces up the steps.  Paul loves talking to (well just lets call him F) F.  We always get missed phone calls from him and we both picture him standing outside on his small balcony looking out on to the wilderness of wild flowers in front of him that is supposed to become several houses.  This walled piece of land owned by an absentee Irish millionaire, who also owns several other properties in Whitby, may not be developed, or it may, but long may it be a wildlife habitat.

This morning F said he was training two carrier pigeons as their phone calls always seem to miss each other.

His friends often pass our window, a Viking goth would perhaps explain one, Whitby is full of colourful characters another neighbour in the yard had her brothers down for the folk music weekend, songs and music could be heard coming from the cottage and A had bought a ukelele to practise on, as she has as yet to learn how to play...

But to return to Peperoni, a very pretty little cat, she came to inspect the cottage a couple of times, waltzing round the sitting room , under the bed on the first floor and then doing a daredevil act on the top floor window, which was open, till I rescued her.  We have seen her curled up fast asleep in the pub over the road,  M next door doesn't like her and so she gets shooed out, Paul worries about her crossing the road from the pub to the yard. Hopefully I shall take more photos when we go back and I shall try to capture Peperoni if she is still around.....

Sea Henge

Taken from  this BBC article

Holme 1

We will be going to Whitby in a few days, but firstly my son in law and Tom my eldest grandson are coming this weekend to deliver Tom to uni, and then the following weekend we shall travel.  We have decided to stop off one night in Norfolk to see the fabulous Bronze Age Seahenge timbers at Kings Lynn museum, and I definitely want to go to the Holme-by-the-Sea beach where they were first found and caused such controversy about their lifting from the sands.

There is a reconstruction of the timbers, smooth side facing inward, bark on the outside and that fabulous upside down tree root in the centre, a mystery as to why, but in feels like the Celtic otherworld/underworld has some meaning here. The controversy centred around the fact that these timbers were sacred according to the pagan communities and should be left in situ to be slowly eroded by the sea.  There is another timber circle close by, to be left in situ by English Heritage, this is called Holme 11 and there is apparently a timber trackway to this timber circle.

The Sea Henge timbers went to the  Flag Fen Centre for immersion in water and a wax substance that would penetrate the timber and preserve them.

Map reference; Holme 1 - TF711452 Sea Henge,
                         Holme 11     TF752453

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seahenge

Trees mirrored in the river one cold and snowy morning

A walk by the Chelmer river

The gypsy ponies are doing well, fat and sleek in the sun, their foals play and joust round the old leat.  I counted about 18 ponies, the picture sequence shows the first mum charging down the field for a drink, the second are the two foals pawing the water, and the third well I think that is the stallion at the back, but not the old one.

This is the old stallion from 2009

Peaceful old Chelmer river

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Loftus - Street House neolithic burial/Anglo-Saxon Burial

Saxon Jewellery

Street House Anglo Saxon Cemetery
Loftus, North Yorkshire a slightly nondescript town, near the coast between Skinninggrove and Whitby and not far from the Boulby Mines.

There are times when history takes you by the throat and shakes you, today I came across a  Saxon princess grave from the 7th century that  had been excavated earlier on in this decade, it was a 'bed burial' (only 12 such exist up to the present time in this country)  several rather beautiful brooches were discovered in the grave.   Saxons are far and few up in North Yorkshire and it is supposed that she had married a local man.

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The Wossit Barrow/ritual enclosure

Then on delving deeper came across this Neolithic cairn which was overlaid by a Bronze age round barrow, which is unusual but, anyway to me, fascinating, this long history of burial on one site.  There is not much to see though I note on an old map that a tumulus was marked on this farm.

An Early Neolithic cairn and mortuary structure overlain by an Early Bronze Age round barrow. Excavated in 1979-81, a shallow plough-damaged earthwork circa 6 metres in diameter proved to represent a multiphase Neolithic funerary/mortuary monument. An east-facing timber facade fronted a narrow mortuary structure set between low banks of clay and stone. Behind the mortuary structure was a sub-rectangular enclosure defined by a stone kerb and containing two paved areas. The latter is interpreted as a mortuary enclosure, used for the initial laying out of the dead prior to deposition within the mortuary structure itself. The latter contained the fragmentary burnt remains of several individuals. The facade comprised near-contiguous timber posts. The largest at the centre, directly in front of the mortuary structure (another post setting occurred at its rear). Most of the Neolithic pottery recovered came from the upper fills of this facade trench. In front of the facade were traces of two rows of post holes, possibly representing an avenue approach or other structure. Radiocarbon dates suggest that the monument was constructed in the early to mid 4th millennium BC. Subsequently, the whole monument was converted into a single low trapezoidal cairn by the extension of the mortuary enclosure kerb as far as the facade, and the addition of cairn material over the whole monument behind the facade. The timber elements were burnt, and subsequently unburnt timbers were removed. In the Early Bronze Age, funerary or related practices immediately preceded the construction of a kerbed round barrow over the eastern half of the long cairn. Despite plough-damage, four collared urns and an accessory vessel represented secondary cremations inserted into the mound. Two of the collared urns were associated with Grooved Ware sherds. A deposit of circa 20 jet buttons was inserted into the tail end of the long cairn. The flint assemblage included some possibly Mesolithic items.

http://www.currentpublishing.com/library/ca/ca111/ca/files/assets/seo/page12.html

Indian summer

September has arrived with beautiful weather, some would say hot, but I shall desist from saying it.

Yesterday we wandered along to Paper Mill, lots of people at the tea place, slice of carrot cake and a mug of tea went down nicely.  You can feel autumn in the air though, it is in the muted  colour of the grasses and trees, a slow turning of the season.  In the garden I cut the heads of hydrangeas and lacecaps for drying for winter vases, remembering the golden rod and tansy I used to cut years ago for the same purpose, there bright yellow colouring turning to biscuit over the winter months.  The bumble bees dance ahead of me in the garden alighting on the cosmos and two collared doves tamely peck round the lawn as I garden, we are used to each other.

The willows on the river are a lovely silver-green, it never ceases to amaze me this soft green, the leaves turning in the wind silverside up and that soft whooshing rattle of noise.  I should be dyeing some wool, but natural materials are hard to find, so I continue with my patchwork.  A design has been decided on 4 square pattern alongside a pale cream square, Cotton Patch has sent me a catalogue with a whole load of templates and rules, I am hardly past the 'square' stage so a 'log' design is some way away yet.

A new book to read, To the River by Olivia Lang, it is said to be in the style of Robert MacFarlane, I am not so sure  When it hurts, we return to the banks of certain rivers, gives us a perception of one of her motives, a past love affair haunts the pages, also history comes alive along this particular river, which is the River Ouse, famous for Virginia Woolf's suicide.  Laing has done a great deal of reading, Woolf quotations meander through the chapters, but a return to the wilderness it is not.  This southern river is too tamed, to near to towns to give a feeling of lost landscapes, it is more a historic trail, a palimpsest of historical layers, one page sinking into another,  and yet her descriptions of the wild flowers that  lined the  ditches of fields of wheat, shows that our native wild flowers are still with us.  Still I have not finished reading, yet to arrive at the sea - the endless motion of water. 

one step-width water

of linked stones

trills in the stones

glides in the trills

eels in the glides

in each eel a fingerwidth of sea

Alice Oswald - The River Dart.

Changes, changes

A lot has happened in the last week, my family in Whitby have decided to move back to Rugby, which will of course be nearer to us in Chelmsford.  This has not shocked us, my daughter had been unhappy in Whitby for quite a while, the shock came when having only put their house on the market last week, two offers were made on it and they are off looking for a new house this weekend.

One of the motivating factors was my eldest grandson results in his 'A' levels or whatever they call them now, he passed with a distinction in law (he wants to work in the police force) and he gets his uni of choice which is near London and us.  I shall miss them in Whitby but we will still keep the cottage, because everyone loves it.  Sometime next year it will go with a holiday letting agent mostly so I can pay utility bills on it, I can have it when I please for family and friends so the contract is not too stifling.

This week I also experience difficulty with Eblogger and photos, so I turned to Wordpress blogs, their photos come up a lot clearer.  I've used WP before so it was not too difficult, but still like the comparative ease of this blog, and it would be sad to leave it.  There again my computer has been playing up in other areas, I have a feeling it is to do with these ubiquitous cookies that appear every time you go to a link but who knows..... Northstoke2

Tom looking 'cool' note both the younger children on their computers, they all have mobile phones as well, though the little one has not got an account!

In the dark wood

A walk through Blake's Wood to see if the sweet chestnuts were ready (they are not) and some fungi hunting, but all there was to see were puffballs, creamy yellow by the paths. The woods were dark, overgrown with young briars and grass, summer is slowly dying.  No wind, but the trees talked amongst themselves, gently creaking and snapping, this is part of an old wood's history, we came to the coppiced bit with one tree tall standing amongst the great heaps of branches shorn from the felled trees. A hawk flew off, cross perhaps because we had disturbed his sanctuary, strangely there are not many birds in the wood, a tiny mouse-like wren alighted on a stump as we walked by but apart from wood pigeons and the far 'chink' of a blackbird it was ominously silent.  

The brightest thing we saw was  fireweed, Rosebay Willowherb something I had been meaning to look up for a long time.  We all know its history, this ragged flower of the roadside, said to sprout on all waste ground enlivening the areas round towns.  So turning to Geoffrey Grigson I learnt a little of its history.

Gerard is the first to talk about it, he grew it in his garden in Yorkshire and describes it thus

"it grows to the height of sixe foote, garnished with brave flowers of great beauty, consisting of fower leaves a piece, of an orient purple colour".

It was the industrialisation of the country alongside the railway and the second world war that spread it far and wide, those "downie matter" seeds blowing far in the wind, coming to rest on fire bombed land, it has become so 'common' we ignore it.  

In America, around Seattle (remember Grigson is writing in 1958) they make Fireweed Honey apparently and it grows in greater profusion than in England.  As you can see from the following photos Angelica is also growing in this damp environment, a rather splendid plant, dark purple stems and feathery white umbrels.

Whilst reading about fireweed came across that other 'common' plant that has spread along the railways, Oxford Ragwort - Senecio Squalidus. Yes, it was named as a squalid plant, whether because of its habit of travelling far and wide or because it just happened to alight in squalid surroundings I'm not sure.  But Grigson defends it stoutly as a cheerful plant like fireweed (though I do hate these two colours together (yellow and pink).

So what else spreads itself with wanton ease, well the pretty little Ivy Toadflax which grew in my last garden hugging the steps and walls for shelter and warmth, and of course the Red Valerian which adorns our walls with equal enthusiam.

How to build a Gypsy Caravan in the woods

Pickering Church

The wall paintings at the church at Pickering – St.Peter and St.Paul

The wall painting on both sides of the church are beautifully depicted, there is almost a feminine hand to be seen.  Painted flowers adorn the panels between the panels of stories, painted feet stray into the patterned areas.  Subject matter covers biblical stories as well as historic matter.  The church replaced a Saxon church 900 years ago.  The early Norman church, rebuilt in 1140 would have been of the simple cruciform lay-out.  It was later enlarged, after the massive tower collapsed, which then took a total of 300 years to build.  The wall-paintings was probably done around the date of 1450, but only a 100 years later they were covered at the time of the Protestant Reformation.  They were then rediscovered in 1852, but apparently because of their “Popish superstitions’ the then vicar had them covered once more in whitewash, and it was only in 1876 a more sympathetic vicar had them uncovered and once more restored.

St.George and the slaying of the dragon on the left and St.Christopher on the right

St. Christopher

Christopher normally faces the entrance to the church in his role as patron saint of travellers.   His legend tells us that a young man Offero set off on a journey to find the ‘greatest king’ so that he could devote himself to the king’s service.  He travelled round the world progressively serving greater monarchs until, at last he found his way to a monastery there to serve King Jesus, as some sort of penance for not being able to say his prayers or able to fast, he was set by the abbot to carry pilgrims and travellers across the river to the monastery.

One evening he heard a child crying on the far bank, he carried the child on his shoulder but found him much heavier than anyone Offero had ever carried.  The child said “Your load is heavy, because you are carrying someone who carries the sins of all the world”  After that he was called Christian the ‘Christ-Bearer’

St.Edmund

Edmund was born in 840 AD and at 14 he became the Christian king of East Anglia.  In 869 the invading Viking armies marched through Mercia and into East Anglia destroying the abbeys of Peterborough and Ely.  Edmund was defeated at Hoxney, and the Danish king offered to set up Edmund as ‘puppet king’, if he would renounce his religion and his God.  Edmund of course refused and on November 20^th, 870 AD he was martyred.  He was stripped, tied to a tree, and shot with arrows and then later beheaded. ……..  There is something maliciously cruel about the deaths of the middle ages, spiteful and cruel, a way of keeping the populace under control.

St.Catherine

Catherine of Alexandria, was to become the patron saint of women, virgins, philosophers and students after her persecution and death at the hands of the Emperor Maxentius (306-312).  She had protested to the emperor about the worship of idols, she also debated with philosophers about religion and turned them in favour of her argument.  This so enraged Maxentius that he had the philosophers killed, Catherine was brought out of prison, stripped to the waist and flogged.  She is visited in prison by the Empress Faustina who is also converted, the emperor again is so enraged that he kills the empress, and then tortures Catherine on a spiked wheel and then she was executed.  The story is told in a strip cartoon form, the little prison house is tiny, with poor Catherine looking out.

Also of course, the whirligig firework  called the Catherine Wheel is named after her.

Nearly all the photos came out dark, so a certain amount of lighting had to be done, it was an impressive these wall paintings, a slightly nondescript Saxon font, in all a pretty church standing above the little town

Grand children

Well as we were there, the A level results came through on the 20th and Tom, my eldest grandson who had sat his exams, must have been on tenterhooks the night before.  Apparently he came down to breakfast clutching his computer, over the moon, he had passed and was offered a place at Middlesex Uni, his chosen place to study, basically because it is near London and serves the Met.  Yes he wants to work in the police force and is willing to take on the enormous student debt that our children are now saddled with - foolish child!  He got a distinction in his law exam, so we are all terribly proud of him.

Ben is the next (age 12) to be launched into the world, but that won't be for a few years yet.  As for the girls, now thereby hangs the tale of Lillie falling in the fountain.  They had come to stay the night, even Lillie who never strays far from her mother but she had decided to be independent. Everything went well and the next morning I said I would take them up to Pannett Park play area, the usual heart in the mouth time as Matilda with all her energy threatens to go over the top of the swings or fall on her head as she swings upside down on the bars.  But it all went safely and we went down to the lily pond.  Matilda is like a young gazelle, never still and Lillie follows her, so when the splash came it was unexpected. She emerged in tears and covered with pond weed and we all walked home, she to a hot bath.  The following photos includes one of Lillie reading the plaque, two months ago she was hardly reading, now everything is read and my abiding memory of her at the cottage is flat out on the cushion reading her book completely absorbed.  Matilda is very caring to her younger sister and it is a lovely relationship, though of course she grabbed the camera and took a shot of the dripping Lillie.

Morris dancing and folk music

Writing in his The Anatomie of Abuses (1583), a sort of Elizabethan version of the Daily Mail which excoriated the declining state of England and the degenerate behaviour of its people, Stubbs turns the full force of his censorious quill on the morris men: "They strike up the Devil's Dance withall: then march this heathen company towards the church and churchyards, their pypers pyping, the drummers thundering, their stumpes dancing, their belles jyngling, their hankercheefes fluttering about their heads like madde men." More than four centuries later, they are still doing so; in fact, the pastime appears to gaining popularity. taken from The Independent.

We stayed longer in Whitby because there was a folk festival, and regatta, happening in the third week.  So for a few days we heard the merry jangle of bells as they passed the entrance to the yard.  The bells were on the dancers legs and wrists, quite a few women groups and stave and sword dancing, plus blackened faces.

There is controversy over this, politically incorrect but apparently the explanation is to do with the fact that villagers who were forced to beg in front of their friends and neighbours would blacken their faces so as to be unrecognisable.

The town was crowded not only with tourists but with dancing groups, people playing instruments in the street, I came back with a South American music CD (might even have been Ecuadorian), in fact Whitby was enjoying life!  The Elsinore Pub just by us hosted folk music every night, so half the bar room was about a good dozen musicians playing, often joined by people coming in and playing with them and the other half of the room jam packed with listeners.... a unique experience,  The Elsinore is also of course the 'Goth' pub so we might go down in October to experience that as well.

There is a revival of Morris dancing, we see it down here in Essex, whatever you may think of grown men and women dancing in this manner, it is uplifting, the music, the steps being called out by the leader, even by a small girl proud to be amongst her elders, so in that dottiness that we call British history and tradition, let it reign!

The Wheeldale Roman Road

Travelling over our favourite bit of the moors past the little beck that tumbles down over the rocks, a dark brown colour (this due to the peat on the moors), we find the roman road about a mile on from the beck. It is just off the moor road, stretching down to another little beck, and having at its other end a cairn so the map says.  There is some dispute over this road it seems to march towards Pickering and a small roman fort outside, but only has some of the characteristics of a roman road.  For a start there is no gravel over the large flagstones, but it is ditched on either side with large stone forming curbing along both sides. And every now and then there is a retaining curb going horizontal across.  The theory mooted is that it might have been earlier, or even later Saxon, who knows?  Photos around the 60s decade show a road cleared of vegetation but now it is very overgrown.

I find sheep fascinating, they always manage to move from the road as we drive past, dotted through the heather, they go their weary way chomping on the grass, this one at Wheeldale Beck is quite sprightly.

Road closed, at the beck but the roman road is but a mile or so further

Wheeldale beck

Horizontal kerbing across the road

the road stretching down to the water

moor and forest

You can see from the following photos that the terrible coniferous foresting of the middle of last century has taken hold of the landscape, a dark green mass that sits on the horizon

Over the Moors

Second left along the A171 and we head for the moors once more, its bleak barrenness never fails to create a moment of wonder.  Climbing the small steep lane, the shuddering of the car as it goes over the cattle grid and there it is.  Brown is the colour that immediately strikes you it stretches for miles in all directions also there is the sight of burnt heather, which is deliberately burnt each year for regeneration of the heather itself, creating a patchwork effect on the slopes. As you drive further onto the moor a green valley will start to appear down below with small clusters of houses scattered along a white ribbon of a lane.

Stop the car, and then you notice the small palette of colour around you, in fact the heather flowers are coming out, a rich purple, paler mauve and then white, the tiny flowers being mined by bees.

The wind is blowing fiercely, no sheep around, but the turf has been bitten to a fraction of its former size and there is a tapestry of tiny white and yellow flowers interwoven.  North Yorkshire Moors are probably one of the largest moors in Europe a vast wasteland only good for grouse, sheep and wildlife.  Awe-inspiring is perhaps another word to use, for to those of us bought up in towns this ‘wilderness’ is spectacular, the occasional small farm culling the wilderness and making inroads with their green fields, but you notice the incipient rush, or reed forcing its way into the green sward.  The bracken fights for its space as well, its gentle fronds are poisonous to animals as well as humans, yet there are acres of it.

We stop so that I can take a photo of an old  stone by the side of the road, it has attitude this stone, prehistoric probably, way marking stones can be found along these isolated roads across the moor, they trace the path of the road when the moors are buried in snow.  Walking towards the stone I notice harebells blowing in the wind protected by the more solid heather plants.  Sky blue gentle nodding flowers they always uplift the spirit, it is the clarity of their colour, a blue not often found in the flower kingdom.

Driving for miles over this landscape, grouse butts are different here to what we have seen before, grassy banks with stones delineating their  size, on top of some of them, seed trays have been placed with what looks like salt but we don’t stop to investigate.  Walker cairns stand  isolated and strange in the far distance, walkers I suppose must be grateful for their presence giving shelter from the continuous wind, a bronze age cairn sometimes makes an appearance on the horizon but the presence of the dead has little effect, solitary monuments to those people who may have made these desert like moors.

The stair turret at Rosedale

We arrive at Rosedale Abbey, a pleasant little village, welcoming to tourists with its teashop, nothing much remains of the abbey itself just a small stone staircase turret, close to the church.  The terraced houses here are rather beautiful, as tiny as our cottage, they have pointed window frames echoing the old abbey once, but built more recently, perhaps late Victorian or early  20^th century.  There was iron mined in the area and perhaps they were built by the mine owner for his workers, so much history everywhere to discover.  Today these cottages are probably used for holiday homes

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Then on to Pickering, (another blog) with its spectacular  wall paintings in the church.  Pickering is a pretty little market town, driving around it on our way down to Whitby, you miss this little town of small shops, a good place to live.  We go on to explore a pub at Levisham, first we must take the road through the Domesday village of Lockton, we turn left down  a small lane,a  precipitous steep fall into the valley below to the right of the car looks worrying, we meet three cars racing haphazardly up the lane, and LS pulls over quickly.  The lane is dangerous, zigzagging down to the bottom  and then into the village.  There is a small train station somewhere perhaps behind the pub which forms the dead-end of the village itself.  We do not stop, LS decides he doesn’t want a pint and then driving back over that road!  But apparently you can walk round to Holcrum Hole from here, a matter of a few miles and presumably catch the little steam train back to Whitby on the return journey.

A visual impression of this area, is sparse dark moors but interspersed with radiant green valleys farmed right to ‘the edge’ of the moors.  Small stone houses, are dotted round begging the question what sort of livelihood people make here.  Our neighbour says that the people of Whitby grumble and are angry about tourist cottages and the great influx of tourists in high season – no jobs for the young and no houses.  Whilst sympathising with this, the cottages you find in the town are very small, hardly conducive to bringing up a family and there is a large surburban area at the top end.

Jobs are a problem everywhere of course, there is a new mine to open soon on the moors, which has given rise to some opposition but it will provide quite a few more jobs, and Sainsbury has just opened its doors giving the Co-Op a run for its money.  We have found that August in Whitby is crowded and perhaps not the best time to come, though of course once out on the moors there is hardly anyone.

Not a good photo, they were blowing around in a very strong wind 

Journeys

These two photos are Matilda's photo of Falling Foss, she has not captured the small waterfall that is to the side of the cottage.  Set in the middle of the woods, this little cottage does teas on special days.

We had also been on an earlier trip, and whilst sitting in the car park a person with two dogs came back.  One was a friendly labrador carrying in his mouth something that looked disgusting but he refused to give it up.  When the owner finally got it off him, it was a badly decomposed deer head.

We are off to Whitby tomorrow, car loaded up, with the patchwork cushions I made and dozens of other things, pots of lilies are resplendent in the garden, so we might cut them and take them along, though their yellow pollen stains.

The photo of the waterfall is about as near as you can get, as it is difficult to get down to and probably dangerous as well as the bank is steep.

The trackway down  @ Matilda

Peter Church and licensed for reuse under the Creative Commons Licence