Day 9 Yorkshire – In Which we Learn how to Make Cheese, Hang out in James Herriot Country, and are Stunned by Scenery.

I have long been a fan of the British TV series All Creatures Great and Small, and if you know me at all, will know that I am also a huge fan of Monty Python and, in particular, their skit The Cheese Shop which I highly recommend you watch here, if perhaps you have nothing else to do and would like to procrastinate. It’s safe for work, don’t worry.http://youtu.be/uT3OQECSDoQ. My favourite bit has always been the ‘Mr. Wensleydale’ part. You may have noticed.

So I was REALLY excited to take a trip up into Yorkshire Dales National Park which would encompass visits to both the Wensleydale Creamery, AND some of the scenery from where the All Creatures was filmed, and where James Herriot used to work as a vet in the 30s and 40s. Heaven! In case you have never ever heard of the show, and would like to procrastinate even further, you can watch the opening credits here http://youtu.be/qS7Z1q9hL2I. Completely safe for work also unless you are worried about being labeled as some sort of uncool English TV nerd, like me. Like, I mean I am an English TV Nerd, not that I’m worried about being labeled as one…

Our destination was a village called Hawes, which sits at 260metres above sea level and that makes it one of the highest villages in the UK, which is a bit hilarious to those of us from Canada, but it’s kind of cute, so we’ll let them have their little record without laughing too much.

The villages in this part of Yorkshire are so ridiculously charming, it’s almost too much. I keep looking for TV cameras or a film set around the corner with Hugh Grant stuttering his way through some sort of charming speech to the vicar’s daughter, while punting his way across a swan filled pond. So far, no Hugh Grant, but there are enough rose-strewn stone cottages and pubs called The White Stag to make it all seem more English than English. We drove through several such villages, with completely over-the-top names like Dent, Horton-in-Ribblesdale, Ravenstonedale, and, I’m not making this up, Giggleswick. They were all very lovely, but nothing was as impressive as the moors that suddenly appeared in front of us as we rounded a corner. We came upon this huge viaduct in the middle of nowhere and went for a walk across the moors to investigate. This area is prime ‘rambling’ country and the place was almost busy with hikers.

Apparently there was complete temporary village here in the 1860s for the men who built the railway. There’s not much left now, but Jacob spotted this old stone/sod structure that looked like it used to be some sort of shelter. But not any more unless you are a only about a foot high and fit in that tiny opening. Perhaps a badger?

It’s a very posh badger.

We drove on through the beautiful, if a bit bleak, countryside. At one point a logging truck drove by with a full ‘load’. Isn’t it cute?

A little further on we drove past the Yorkshire equivalent of a clear cut which, didn’t really have much on say, a Clayoquot clearcut, but was still a bit of a blot on the landscape.

We carried on our way to Hawes, and went past a sketchy-looking farmhouse advertising home-baked cakes. Not wanting to be the one who sent this poor family into the depths of poverty by not purchasing a cake at the height of their need, I pulled in, negotiated a few dread-locked, slightly rabid looking dogs, stepped into a room that can only be described as straight out of Withnail and I, and departed with one of the BEST cakes I have ever had.

At least this provided a small amount of reassurance that this part of the countryside isn’t all roses and honeysuckle, just most of it.

We arrived in Hawes, ate our lunch at lightening speed so that we could go to the Creamery as fast as possible.

There was a small museum where we watched a movie on the steps to making Wensleydale cheese, and then we trucked it across the parking lot to the cheese making facility where it is possible to watch the cheesemakers in action. It was our lucky day as fresh milk had just arrived and we basically got to watch each step of the process and it was fascinating – kept us there for nearly half an hour as we watched as first the curds formed in the whey, then, in another tub, formed curds were sliced and crumbled into small pieces, then packed into molds where they would be compressed for a few days as all the whey drains out.

Sorry about the yellowish tinge – something they put on the windows. It’s not really that yellow…

After working up an appetite watching all this action, we made a dash for the cheese-tasting shop.

Oh. My. God.

 

Needless to say we bought up the place. Not sure where I’m going to put all this cheese for the next week, but whatever. I think I’ll save it and have it on the plane ride home so that I don’t have to eat Chicken Parts in a Rat Sauce with a side of Ironed Lettuce.

After all that it was time for a brew, so we sat next to the sheep (when aren’t we sitting near a sheep?) and enjoyed our tea.

Next up was a wander through the village, which had a fabulous candy store, and of all things, a ropemaking factory.

We also managed to run into one of Jacob and Zoe’s teachers from SMUS, which was very random considering the remote nature of the village. Her name escapes me, but she was a sub at the middle school and is now on assignment as teacher to four children while they and their family travel Europe for a year. How awesome is that!

As if all this wasn’t enough, on our way out of Hawes, the cows were literally coming home, and held up traffic while doing so. Again I looked for the film crew but it was all very authentic.

Our next destination was a tiny village called Askrigg, which is where Skeldale House (where the vets all lived) from the All Creatures series can be found.

My mum, who has seen every episode 62 times, was beside herself at actually seeing the ‘real’ thing. I think she and Jacob half expected Siegfried and Tristan to come out the front door and invite them to the pub for a pint. I must admit I was secretly thrilled.

What a nerd.

We drove home through some truly spectacular scenery, and made it home just in time for cake.

Last full day in Yorkshire tomorrow, then it is back to London for our flight to Amsterdam.

Thanks for reading,

Cheers,

Jane

Day 8 Yorkshire–In Which There are Dear Friends, and I can’t Understand Anything

So far on this trip I haven’t been completely confounded by the local accent. Until today, when we travelled to a more populated area of Yorkshire to visit with our dear family friends, Chris and Maggie.

Way back when I was four, and lived in Sheffield, Chris and Maggie were married and I was their flower girl. I still remember bits of it, but the important part is that we have all remained friends for the intervening 38 years.

It’s always great to see them, and they look as well as ever.

I did get in trouble from Chris for not accurately capturing the Yorkshire accent in my blog, so I promised to try harder. Fortunately I had many opportunities today to observe the more urban Yorkshire accent, and indeed, more of the urban Yorkshire life as we set out to meet Chris and Maggie at Saltaire, a 19th Century Woolen Mill and World Heritage Site. It was built by Sir Titus Salt, who also built an entire village for the workers, including housing, a school, shops and a huge church. It’s very impressive. Today parts of the mill are sitting empty and derelict, but much of it has been converted into restaurants, shops and a major art gallery for David Hockney, who, it is said, is England’s greatest living artist.

While we were there, what seemed like several hundred school kids came through the village. It was hard at first to figure out if they were middle or high school students. It was a diverse group, and many if not most, were ethnically Indian. We marvelled at their uniform which, for the girls, consisted of either very tight black pants, or an extremely short black skirt with black tights, and a blue polo shirt, and then whatever shoes you wanted to wear that day, it seemed. Some of the girls were Muslim and wore their hair covered with huge voluminous scarves that wound loosely round and round their heads, but some of them didn’t, allowing us to observe the hairstyle of the day, which appears to be outrageously backcombed, and done up, with long spikey  bits hanging down. For the Muslim girls, it must have been quite the job to first do your hair like that, and then cover it up with a massive scarf without disturbing the do underneath.

Add to this the fact that several of the students were smoking, one was pregnant, and another was pushing a baby in a pram, and you can understand why we were intrigued.

Both a river and a canal run through the village. I managed ok with the bloke selling ice lollies in the ice cream canal boat (how’s that for vernacular).

and was fine with the nice lady in the vintage and antiques store

But things fell apart when we stopped in at the bakery/deli…

Jan: Yall raght?

Me: Hello

Jan: Rehnin?

Me (smiling stupidly and nodding)

Jan: Willy B. Heating in a rout?

Me: pardon me?

Jan:  Juno wot yaw wontin?

Me (smiling stupidly): uhhh

Jacob: do you want to eat in or out, mum? Do you know what you want?

Me: oh! yes please. Mum what do you want?

Jan (slowly and loudly as if I were deaf): Wot will you be ‘avin?

Me: A sausage roll, please

Jan: hat or coal?

Me: yes please

Jacob: hot or cold mum

Me: oh cold please

Jan: Wun pound twenty please

Jane: (relieved because I understood that) here you go

Jan: thanks, Luv and mand the reihn

Me: No thanks I’m good

My Mum: I think she said mind the rain.

Me: Oh! yes thanks very much I will.

But Jan was gone.

I felt a bit silly after that exchange and won’t be so smug from now on.

We set off for home, with a quick stop in Skipton for some shopping, at which point it really started ‘reihnin’ so we drove home instead and spent a cosy evening in the cottage, while the rain came down and the temperatures plummeted. It really felt more like March or November, which is actually fine for one night, although the fact that it was still light enough to read outside at after 10pm made it hard to believe. Bit weird.

More extreme Yorkshiring tomorrow when we visit Wensleydale (Yes sir? Right I’ll have some of that. Sorry sir?) and a coople of cahsles on the way.

Thanks for reading

Cheers,

Jane

 

Day 7 – In Which There are Witches, Ruins and Stepping Stones. Oh and a Dead Badger.

Out of the kitchen window of our house here in Yorkshire, you can see Pendle Hill rising out of the moors. It was in the villages surrounding Pendle Hill in 1612 that 12 members of two local families were accused of witchcraft and tried at nearby Lancaster. Of the 11 who went to trial, 10 were found guilty and hanged – eight women and two men.

This interesting piece of English History clearly required more investigation and so we set off for the Pendle Heritage Centre in the Lancashire village of Barrowford. The main attraction of the Centre, besides the delightful, if chatty guide, is the Museum. It is kept in part of a old house, which was built on an older house, which was built on another even older house etc etc. When they tore down the most recent 1950s house, they discovered layer upon layer of evidence of the previous houses, dating back to the late 1400s. It was fascinating and even Zoe appreciated it.

This Mason’s Mark was left by the mason who put this part of the house together back in the 1500s.

Here you can see the point at which another floor was added in the 1600s

They left some of the original 1950s wallpaper and further up the wall, they also left a radiator.

The rest of this part of the museum was devoted to building methods over the centuries which wasn’t really my cup of tea (or ‘brew’ as they say here) but I could see how some people would be fascinated.

What really grabbed our attention was the exhibit devoted to the trial of the Pendle Witches. Storyboards told the tale of how members of several local families (Demdike, Devize, Nutter and Chattox) were found guilty of crimes such as causing madness, making clay images, and using witchcraft to murder 16 people over a 20 year period.

It is said that Alizon Devize, granddaughter of the 80-yr old witch known as Old Demdike, was out one day begging for pins. When an old man would not give her any, she is said to have cursed him with the aid of her familiar, a black dog. Allegedly he fell down paralyzed, never to speak again. Alizon was blamed and the accusations and trials began. In reality, it it likely that the old man suffered a stroke,and that those accused of witchcraft were simply poor people trying to make a living as healers and herbalists, but it makes for a good story.

The King of the day was the paranoid James 1, a devout Protestant who, having just survived a plot on his life (the Gunpowder plot of Guy Fawkes fame), feared that all Roman Catholics were out to get him and could not be trusted. It was also during this time that he wrote the book Daemonologie and became highly suspicious and afraid of anything that looked like witchcraft. Local magistrates would have gained favour with the King for appearing to have searched out alleged witches, and this was doubtless the motivation for what happened in 1612 in Pendle.

After watching a short film on the subject and reading some of the works on the subject, I came to the conclusion that not much has changed in 400 years and that today’s witchhunts just have a different name, but the fear and irrational suspicion remains the same.

But this history is rich and fascinating.

The museum also had this spooky image of a ‘spell’ from the 1600s that was used to ward off evil spirits.

I’ll try it later and let you know how it goes.

Apparently there is still someone who feels badly about what happened 400 years ago as there was an attempt a few years ago to pardon the witches.

After leaving the museum, we drove through a series of charmingly beautiful hillside villages around Pendle Hill. They really were gorgeous. My favourite was Downham, which is still owned by the local Lord Clitheroe who wont allow any telephone poles or satellite dishes anywhere in the village.

Fortunately he still allows sheep and we happened upon an entire herd, freshly shorn, being ushered down the street and back into their field. It was very entertaining to watch them all rush past, but even better were the two very capable sheep dogs bringing up the rear, and the farmer issuing commands with a series of whistles. I’ve never seen real Yorkshire sheep dogs in action before – it’s very impressive. It did make me feel a bit sorry for all those other dogs out there who no longer have a real purpose other than to wear a jacket and look cute.

On our way out of the village, we stopped to look at this statue of Alice Nutter, one of the 8 woman hanged for witchcraft. She lived here in this village, and this is meant to be how she looked on her way across the moors to trial. Spooky.

 

I suggested we come back at Halloween and climb the hill with the loads of other adventure seekers but she wasn’t into it.

Our next stop had nothing to do with witches which was a good thing as Zoe was starting to look a bit worried.

We had heard that Bolton Abbey, on the grounds of the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire’s estate, was worth a visit so we paid our entry fee and walked down into the village. This notice was in the bathroom.

Who cares? I can just see the meeting where the decision to post this notice took place:

Andy: I dunno. I just fink they should know is all.

John: Don't be a daft bugger, Andy. Noone cares.

Doreen: I care thanks very mooch, John.

John: Well what else are we going to tell them. Who the blokes are? Do you want their middle names too? Birthdays?

Andy: What if old Mrs. Beamish is in there doing her Sunday Best and in walks Bert with his bucket and mop? She’d be none too ‘appy John.

Doreen: Yes exactly, Andy.  Exactly.

John: well fine then but I think it’s a load of old.

Doreen: two ta one, John, two ta one.

Andy: Now just take a look at the sign I’ve made up for the gate at top of path…

Does that mean if I’m being chased by cattle I should let my dog go? Or I should let my dog go if it is being chased by cattle? Since when does a cow ever chase a dog. Ever heard of sheep cows? Specially trained cows that chase away dogs so that they can herd the sheep themselves…

Anyway – the place was stunningly beautiful. Here,I’ll shut up and you can see for yourself.

The priory was established over 890 years ago by Augustinian monks. There is an old church attached that has been offering Christian services for over 850 years. We went in to have a look and stayed for a while listening to a recording of monks chanting that was playing inside. It was magical.

After such an amazing day, there was only one thing left to do and that was stop at the Yorkshire Dairy Ice Cream Farm, where it seems that they have a problem with people coming for an ice cream and eating a sandwich while they are there.

I mean God knows what might happen.

We were just there for the ice cream and after sampling many, we came home with a tub of raspberry shortbread which Jacob declared to be ‘amazing’. I haven’t checked to see if there is any left.

We finished the day with a pub dinner in the local village which was really good (the dinner, not the village, although the village is really good too) and then staggered home.

Oh and I almost forgot the dead badger. My mum spotted it while out for a walk, draped over the stone wall (the badger, not my mum).

We speculated for some time as to why it might be dead and draped over a wall. Jacob thinks it was shot by an enraged farmer while it was trying to steal a lamb (the badger, not the farmer) and I think it was hit by a car and then put on the wall by the driver although I have no idea why, and Zoe declined to have an opinion on the matter.

I also wondered if perhaps Beatrix Potter was on to something and knew what badgers get up to more than the rest of us, and that this one was on its way to market to get dinner for its family. But if that were true, then it would be wearing a waistcoat and be carrying a basket. Maybe it was murdered by a Mr. Fox who also stole the waistcoat and basket.

I suspect I’ll never know.

Who knew badgers where so big anyway?

That’s probably enough about badgers.

Thanks for reading

Cheers,

Jane