Dales

It might just be an accident of birth but being a Yorkshireman leaves one with certain responsibilities. Constantly mentioning the fact is the main one of course, along with singing the county’s praises at every single opportunity. A fondness for baked batter, served with gravy as a starter, is another whilst being partial to ales brewed in places like Tadcaster is a given. To us there will be no one who can bowl a ball as fast as Fred Trueman or can, erm, block a ball like Geoff Boycott. It is perfectly natural for a Yorkshireman to distrust those born ‘down South’, or indeed to the west across the Pennines. In fact, just to be on the safe side it is best just to distrust anyone who isn’t from Yorkshire no matter what direction their homes lie. Despite not living in the county for nearly forty years, I can happily state that I take my responsibilities as a Yorkshireman just a seriously as I did when I left. Except the ale bit. I prefer a Belgian lager to Sam Smith’s if truth be told. Yorkshire is a big place. Whilst it is all Yorkshire it can be subdivided in to different bits and there can be a healthy rivalry between the folk from each even though deep down we all retain the Yorkshire bond. Non-Yorkshire folk are missing out. We know it even if they don’t.

I’m from the West Riding of Yorkshire. It is a hilly, industrial landscape. Fast flowing pennine streams powered the mills that wove the wool from the sheep that lived on those hills into fine worsted cloth. Towns and cities sprawled into any suitable valley and population growth was massive. Although the heavy woollen industry, like so many others, declined in the second half of the last century those big industrial towns remain. Some might say the landscape is scarred though I disagree. The views are, however, interesting rather than beautiful. To get stunning vistas you need to travel elsewhere in the county. A couple of months ago we visited the Wolds in the east of the county. It wasn’t a place I knew much about and the gentle, rolling hills along with the nearby seaside was most pleasant. This week we visited the Yorkshire Dales. I last went there over forty years ago, possibly nearer fifty. After a couple of days there I realised that absence was far too long.

We drove via Bolton Abbey which is on the very edge of the Dales National Park. This estate belongs to the Duke of Devonshire and is extremely popular with visitors. Even on an early November Monday there were plenty of people wandering along its trails. You pay a tenner to park your car but for that you get access all areas. The estate borders the River Wharfe and you can walk along both banks. A round trip is about four miles, maybe six when the extension outside the estate is added on. The Strid is a notable feature. Here the Wharfe narrows to form a fast flowing, deep and dangerous rapid. Stern warnings are posted advising people to stay away from the edge as falling in is an almost certain death sentence. People have tried to jump across the narrow gap and their last thoughts must have been along the lines of oh bugger, I wish I’d heeded the warning. At the other end of the estate lies some stepping stones across what by now is the quite benign (but just as wet) Wharfe across which you hop to get to Bolton Priory. I say hop, there is a footbridge too which would have been the sensible option. Elaine took it, I braved the stones. Thankfully I made it to the other side without dipping my toes or anything else for that matter in the chilly waters though mid stream I must admit to being extremely nervous. I remembered the Priory as a ruin. It turns out it was only half a ruin, the other half being a serviceable church that has seen worshipers visit every Sunday since the 1154 which is quite something when you think about it.

As the light faded we left and took what was probably the scenic route to our accommodation. That is one of the problems about visiting a place like this in the off-season. Still, we arrived at Stow House, a lovely B&B near Aysgarth in Wensleydale. Built as a vicarage in the nineteenth century, the house had been renovated to a very high spec by the current owners. Our room was big, big enough to have the bathtub in it rather than the en-suite, though there was plenty of room for it in there too. I still think of B&Bs as guesthouses in the likes of Blackpool where the hot water only runs for a couple of hours a day and the landlady boots you out by half past nine. Things have moved on it appears. Whilst a room at Stow House may cost you more than two shillings a night it is a lovely place to stay. They serve you a mean breakfast too, though the artisan bread was a bit too posh for me. I’d have preferred Hovis. White Hovis.

We had taken our walking shoes as not to have done so would have been a mistake. The Yorkshire Dales is a perfect place to go for a walk and the following morning we did so. The hotel owner suggested a route, loaned us a map and off we went. Our first port of call was Aysgarth Falls where the River Ure tumbles down three distinct waterfalls. What is it about water obeying gravity’s unerring pull? There is something mesmerising about it tumbling over the edge of a precipice and the sound seems to draw you in. Not too close though. Whilst the falls at Aysgarth, of ‘Forces’ as they are traditionally (and accurately) known, may not be as dangerous as The Strid, falling in them is hardly likely to enhance your day. Having paid our respects to the Upper, Middle and Lower Force we set out across fields of sheep who only displayed mild interest in our presence. We were aiming for Bolton Castle which has nothing to do with the Bolton Abbey of the previous day. This structure dates back to the fourteenth century by the wonderfully named Scrope family and is still owned by their descendants. Much of it was ruined in the English Civil War but within its decaying facade lies habitable rooms that once housed Mary, Queen of Scots but then again, virtually every castle in England claims to have had the treacherous old queen as a visitor at some stage. The castle is a tourist attraction now but had closed for the winter a couple of days before we were there so we never got a look around. Instead we set off back from whence we came via an alternative route. This took us onto moorland where the only other life was sheep – endless sheep – and a farmer training a sheepdog that appeared to still have some way to go. Eventually we dropped back down into the village of Carperby where a pint of the afore mentioned Belgian Lager (apologies to the Yorkshire gods)  was imbibed at the local boozer. We extended the walk back to the hotel and took in some footpaths less well trodden. The area is a tangled web of public footpaths that appear on maps and are properly signposted but some of them don’t appear to attract many feet. We made it, however, a ten mile walk through countryside that was attractive, spectacular and bleak all at once.

Having scraped a not insubstantial amount of sheep excrement off our shoes we relaxed, trying out the bath, and then  got ready to go out for tea. The B&B didn’t do dinner – the clue is in the name –  so armed with the recommendation of the owner we set out for Leyburn and the Sandpiper, one of a healthy number of pub/restaurants in the area. It was good too. The following morning we had to set off for home. We visited Hawes on the way, a small town that is quite big in Dales terms. It was a nice place to wander round even if it did have slightly too many antique shops. There was a rope factory – more interesting than it sounds – and an old station that has not seen a passenger alight a train since 1964. The Wensleydale Line ran between Northallerton on the East Coast Main Line and Garside on the Settle-Carlisle line and the eastern section has been restored as a heritage line. The long term aim of the Wensleydale Railway is to restore the eighteen miles to the west that remain dismantled. When they do they will have one of the best heritage lines in the country. Hawes is also home to the Wensleydale Creamery. Here you can purchase the only Wensleydale cheese that is made in Wensleydale. Cheese is popular stuff as witnessed by the huge number of people visiting its shop and visitor centre on a damp November Wednesday. There were many different cheeses to try. I felt it my duty to try them. Most were delicious. Some were foul.

So our all to brief visit came to an end. You know me, I like to travel. I’ve been to some fascinating places, seen some wonderful sights and endured long journeys to get there. I’m probably guilty of forgetting that there are great places to visit on the doorstep. The Yorkshire Dales is one of those yet it has taken me nearly fifty years to return to it. And me a Yorkshireman too.