Tag Archives: yorkshire

Happy 200th birthday, Emily.


Today marks the 200th anniversary of the birth of Emily Bronte.

Haworth, where the Brontes lived, holds a special place in my, (and my children’s), hearts.

We visit the place as often as we can.

Here’s a little haiku I penned after a walk on the Moors with my daughters a couple of years back.

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Knee deep in heather,

Bright red sock wavers aloft,

Boot stuck in peat bog.

Brontë Parsonage Museum

Brontë Parsonage Museum

 

Brontë dining room

Brontë dining room

This is the room where, Emily, Anne and Charlotte did most of their writing. And that is the actual sofa in the background that Emily died on aged just 30. (I didn’t pass that information on to my children.)

Patrick Brontë's study

Patrick Brontë’s study

If you haven’t read Wuthering Heights yet, I urge you to do so. I promise you, it’s like nothing you have ever read before. It’s a complex and staggeringly passionate tale of unrequited love and dastardly deeds, set amidst the bleak and rugged Yorkshire Moors.

And, if you get the chance, watch the recent film adaptation by Andrea Arnold. It’s a pretty radical take on the book and one of the best interpretations I’ve seen to date. (See trailer below.)

wuthering-heightsIt’s not just the collective brilliance of the Brontë siblings that I find inspiring, but the whole beautifully barren backdrop of the moors. That, coupled with the picturesque cobbled streets of Haworth itself, makes perfect for a day out.

Haworth

Haworth

"Top Withins" Emily's inspiration for Wuthering Heights. (Now a ruin.)

“Top Withens” Emily’s inspiration for Wuthering Heights. (Now a ruin.)

"Top Withens" as it would've looked back in Emily's day.

“Top Withens” as it would’ve looked back in Emily’s day.

P.S. It’d be positively churlish of me not to also include this classic by Kate Bush… whose 60th birthday it also is today. Bit of a spooky coincidence, don’t you think?

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#149/365 – Pastry


And I’m not talking about the sweet kind, by gum.

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You can take the man out of Yorkshire, but you can’t take…

I reckon you know the rest.

Where would we be without pies and pasties, eh? Well, I’ll tell you – here’s where:

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Whether your fancy is a pork pie or a Cornish pastie, steak & ale pie or lamb samosa, you can’t beat a bit of pastry. Crusty or crumbly, flaky or filo; this manna from heaven would grace the great banqueting halls of Zeus himself, atop Mount Olympus.

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The Everly Pregnant Brothers sum it up the best in ‘No Oven, No Pie‘, on top of the Fat Cat pub in Sheffield. (U2 have nothing on this lot.)

Thanks to Paul Kirby for alerting me to their musical talent.

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#60/365 Fish & Chips.


Aye, ‘appen as mebby.

You can’t beat good old fish and chips.

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Well, actually you can. Depending on where you buy them.

I live in sunny Stockport in the County of Cheshire on the western side of the Pennines. (The Pennines are a ridge of hills and moorland than runs pretty much from the Scottish border down the spine of England and ends in the northern tip of the Midlands. So called by the Romans, after their Apennine mountain range that runs down the centre of Italy.)

But, originally, I am from Leeds on the eastern side of the aforementioned ridge of moors. And I reckon that fish and chips east of the border are infinitely better than the ones west.

Whilst leaning against the uncomfortably hot stainless steel counter of one chippy in Pudsey, (Leeds), the proprietor informed me of his secret:

“That’s coz we fry ar fish in’t beef fat,” he grumbled. “Ovver t’border, they use vegtabel oil. Bloody useless. An’, it ‘as to be ‘addock, not cod. Nah then, see thi’, di yer fancy sum scraps on tha chips?”

To be honest, I wouldn’t have tartar sauce anywhere near my fish ‘n’ chips. (That’s just someone trying to make it look posher than it is.) Nor any fruit. Ketchup all the way. And those mushies look a bit dry for my liking. Nowt wrong with a portion of beans if you don’t fancy the peas.

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Things I am grateful for #27/365


Yorkshire.

The largest, (and greatest), county in England.

And the place of my birth. (Lucky me.)

And the birthplace of the last legitimate English monarch – Richard III. (Not that I would advocate a monarchy now, of course.) An independent Republic of Yorkshire, maybe.

Feast your eyes…

Beverly

Beverley

Druids temple

Druid temple

Yorkshire Dales

Yorkshire Dales

More dales

More dales

Limestone crags

Limestone crags

Bolton Abbey

Bolton Abbey

Middelham

Middelham

Malham Cove

Malham Cove

Whitby

Whitby

Richmond

Richmond

Even more dales

Even more dales

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York

York

Fountains Abbey

Fountains Abbey

We have a lot of dales

We have a lot of dales

Yorkshire Sculpture Park

My daughter giving Sophie Ryder’s work the once over at Yorkshire Sculpture Park

Well, I'll be...

Well, I’ll be…

Knaresborough

Knaresborough

Castle Howard

Castle Howard

Ooh look, another one.

Ooh look, another one.

Staithes

Staithes

Knaresborough

Knaresborough

Haworth

Haworth

Scarborough

Scarborough

Saltaire

Saltaire

York

York

Knaresborough

Knaresborough

York

York

Not another one

Not another one

 

Ian Howard

Top Withens, Haworth. Courtesy of Ian Howard.

 

Top Withens, Haworth. Courtesy of Ian Howard.

Top Withens, Haworth. Courtesy of Ian Howard.

 

A Kestrel for a Knave

A Kestrel for a Knave

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A picture-perfect start to 2013


I went to one of my all-time favourite places on this, the first day, of 2013:

Haworth – home of the Brontës’.

It holds a special place in my heart as it is one of the last places I visited with my stepfather before he passed away in 2003.

The reason it was such a special day, is that it was also the first time that I took my two young daughters to visit the Brontë Parsonage Museum.

Brontë Parsonage Museum

Brontë Parsonage Museum

It’s something I’ve been wanting to do for ages. I thought they might find it a bit boring and stuffy. But they really seemed to enjoy looking around their home and seeing how they lived, what they wore and what they wrote.

Brontë dining room

Brontë dining room

This is the room where, Emily, Anne and Charlotte did most of their writing. And that is the actual sofa in the background that Emily died on aged just 30. (I didn’t pass that information on to my children.)

Patrick Brontë's study

Patrick Brontë’s study

If you haven’t read Wuthering Heights yet, I urge you to do so. I promise you, it’s like nothing you have ever read before. It’s a complex and staggeringly passionate tale of unrequited love and dastardly deeds, set amidst the bleak and rugged Yorkshire Moors.

And, if you get the chance, watch the recent film adaptation by Andrea Arnold. It’s a pretty radical take on the book and one of the best interpretations I’ve seen to date. (See trailer below.)

Emily Brontë

Charlotte Brontë

wuthering-heightsIt’s not just the collective brilliance of the Brontë siblings that I find inspiring, but the whole beautifully barren backdrop of the moors. That, coupled with the picturesque cobbled streets of Haworth itself, made it a perfect start to 2013 a Daddy could ever wish for.

Haworth

Haworth

"Top Withins" Emily's inspiration for Wuthering Heights. (Now a ruin.)

“Top Withens” Emily’s inspiration for Wuthering Heights. (Now a ruin.)

"Top Withens" as it would've looked back in Emily's day.

“Top Withens” as it would’ve looked back in Emily’s day.

And if you’re wondering where the hell Haworth is … ‘A’ marks the spot.

Haworth, in the gods' county of sunny West Yorkshire.

Haworth, in the gods’ county of sunny West Yorkshire.

P.S. It’d be positively churlish of me not to also include this classic by Kate Bush…

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New poem – Wuthering Heights – A 21st century perspective.


WUTHERING HEIGHTS

A 21st century perspective of a town on the Yorkshire Moors.

 

© David Milligan-Croft

 

This old mill town

With its rickety fences

And drystone walls;

Neon facades

Sparkling off wet cobbles.

 

Everything’s broken and wet,

Held together by chicken wire

And nylon string.

 

Plastic shopping bags

Teased on barbed wire,

Raped by the wind.

 

Pylons and turbines bolted on

To an unwilling landscape,

Like sentinels over the vanquished.

 

 

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Republic of Scotland – Two Nations Divided


There’s been a lot of talk of late about a referendum on Scottish independence.

Let ’em ‘ave it! is what I say.

By that, I don’t mean open up on ’em with a battery of Gatling guns. I mean, it’s their country, it’s up to them.

If it was me, I’d vote yes.

Some people say it will result in England, Wales, NornIrn and Scotland having less muscle in Europe.

Is that what independence is about – political and economic might?

I thought it was about being able to determine your own destiny.

Being Free.

But it did get me thinking about England and the proverbial divide between north and south and whether it was time for a referendum on whether we should split the country in half.

Below is a rough border of where I think England should be divided.

North / Saarf divide

Then I was wondering about what we should call these two ‘new’ countries. And I couldn’t help getting my hackles up about when the glorious House of York was duped off the throne by that pesky Henry Tudor, (who was Welsh, by the way), and his turncoat ally, Lord Stanley.

So to redress the balance, and to give Yorkshire back its rightful inheritance, I thought this might be a suitable name for the new Motherland:

The Democratic Republic of Yorkshireland

Then I started to get a bit giddy. I don’t know if it was the power going to my head, or my formative years being filled with “Guess the pink bit” on the map of the world, but I thought this iteration was a marked improvement.

The Commonwealth of Yorkshireland

Of course, we’d need a new flag as well. I was thinking of something simple…

White Rose

Anyhoo, I think it’d be a great idea. So, I’m nominating myself as the inaugural President of Yorkshireland.

All those in favour say: Aye, ‘appen as mebby.

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