A guide to the Yorkshire Dales - the jewel in the crown of Northern England

John Hirst reflects on the Yorkshire Dales:

A guide to the Yorkshire Dales - the jewel in the crown of Northern England

"The Yorkshire Dales is a region in the county of North Yorkshire in England. The Yorkshire Dales contains some of the most spectacular scenery on (and under) God's own Earth. Once you have set foot in a Yorkshire Dale, you will be touched with a magic that will stay with you all your life, as any local will tell you".

"Welcome to
digital Malham ...

On these pages you will find information on the areas of outstanding natural beauty which surround the Yorkshire Dales village of Malham.

We encourage you to take some time out and discover some of the geological treasures that lie within".

Malham Tarn






Malam Cove







Janet's Foss

"Foss is the old norse word for a waterfall or force and Janet (or Jennet) was belived to be the queen of the local fairies who lives behind the the fall in a cave".





Gordale Scar

"To the north of the Mid Craven Fault in the Malham Formation is Gordale Scar, which was carved as a meltwater channel beneath the Devensian ice-sheet. The sides of this gorge overhang to a considerable extent, suggesting that there was once a great cavern, the roof of which has subsequently collapsed".

Stargazy Pie and how to improvise

Today, Nourishing Obscurity has a scoop.

Griselda Haveshott is a lady I met on my last trek through the west country of England in Lower Titcup, not all that far from Warminster at the local watering hole. When she told me she was the editor for practically everything at the evening newspaper, I just had to get her to guest post on this blog.

She took some persuading but here’s her first piece below without comment. Welcome, Griselda.


James has been corresponding with me for some time, I’m not sure why, and he asked me some time back to do a guest post on his blog. Well I don’t know but I said I’d give it a try if he’d edit it like so I wouldn’t look a complete twat. I write for the Greater Titcup Echo, the evening paper in Lower Titcup, down here in the west country and there’s hardly any time for my own writing, what with being the fashion editor, cricket correspondent and personal advice columnist, let alone Graeme Pollard, that’s my editor-in-chief, giving me the food and wine column as well now that Enid Barnes has left to have a baby and the twin boys are doing fine except for a slight bronchial complication with Justin, the younger by a half-head.

When I asked James what he wanted me to write on, he suggested women’s issues but I’m not the woman’s editor, that’s Bridget Proops, sister-in-law of the well-known Geraldine Proops, wife of Sir Raymond Proops the local squire round these parts although he’s sold off most of the manor and they’ve just kept up the Foss Hill house (we call it the Big House), overlooking Balsall Bridge over the Isk River. Actually, it’s just a stream really before it joins the Aster further down towards the lock but it’s quite pretty you know, the view from Squire Proops’s hill like.

I suppose the best way to open my account (my cricket writing shows out here) is to give you the recipe for Stargazy Pie. I’ve been accused by mean-spirited people of pilfering this from Jane Grigson’s Observer book of British cookery but it’s not, it’s mine, well some adjustments are mine anyway. And I never took nothing from Mrs. Beeton who’s not so pure herself when it comes to pinching ideas, is she?




Stargazy Pie

Roll out pastry for double crust pie plate. Cover the plate, brush the rim with water and roll out another piece for the lid. Keep it aside. Preheat the oven to 200 degrees C or 400 degrees F.

Clean and bone the fish …

NB: Anyone who knows the west country knows that pilchards went out long ago and now all you get is mackerel so clearly you have to compromise here. I suggest pigeons. Yes, I know, I know. You can’t get squabs anymore so the best bet is the readily available wood pigeon. Not as tasty but there you are.

Here we need to go to Mrs. Beeton (Ward Lock edition) who say lop off the heads of a brace of pigeons, cut each of ’em into four and lie ’em on their bed of gore (no, that’s Wallace, i’n it?). Well, all right. Let’s do the chopped bacon and hard-boiled eggs. Well actually, you need to lay the pigeon bits down first, making sure the heads are sticking off the edge of the plate, gazing up at the stars, I expect this dish has to be prepared at night or at the very least, mid-evening.

Push the mix in between the pigeon bits, put the pastry lid over the top, pushing it down to the pastry below so that it forms a wavy effect as if it’s all at sea, this dish like. Did I mention you have to do a pastry base first? Brush with beaten egg and bake for 30 minutes, though as it’s pigeons like well you have to give ’em 15 minutes extra at a reduced heat.

Serve with a jug of Malmsey wine. If James will have me here again, I’ll be back in a few days with advice for the lovelorn: you should see the hanky panky down our way, what with Joe Kelly and Anita Proops the younger (she’s one of the Proops, you know) but that’s a story for another day.

James, how did I go first time? I wanted to put in a photo of the quartered pigeons you know but I suppose you know best and all the pictures are from Wikipedia like.

Didn't have a photo of the pie with the heads sticking out so had to follow this idea and have a porcelain head sticking out of the middle of the pie.

Crossposted at Griselda's new site.

[gore's spin] doesn't alter the phenomenon though

Tom Paine has posted this:

Al Gore is the 21st Century's Karl Marx. His influential presentation of pseudo-scientific gobbledegook and its adoption as gospel truth by the gullible masses (of intellectuals) will kill millions of the real masses and ensure that hundreds of millions more live their whole lives in unnecessary poverty because of arrested economic development.

His ideas justify ruthless centralisation of state power on "humanitarian" grounds and are therefore irresistibly attractive to politicians of a certain ilk, who will live high on the hog behind closed doors while their subject peoples suffer and die. Stupid mug punters will fall for the spiel because it's "for a better future." It will all collapse in chaos, with only Guardian journalists and British academics still believing in it when the scales have fallen from everyone else's eyes. The parallel is exact.

Yes Tom, no argument there. The climate change issue is being used to centralize power on humanitarian grounds. Unfortunately it doesn't alter the basic phenomenon itself, which I've posted on many times. There is firm evidence at least to counter head in the sand sceptics but the best evidence is to visit Russia or other northern area and see it for yourself. Moscow is too "city" to be taken as evidence.

The point is that it does exist but has been hijacked by the Gores for political purposes, one of those purposes, I feel being to discredit the whole phenomenon, which I see has happened in most of the sphere already.

It's more complex than categorical statements would have us believe.

[adriano celentano] wild man of italian music

Adriano Celentano was, I believe, the first Italian popular singer I ever heard, long before I started studying Italian here or plagiarizing Welshcakes!

The youtube below is my favourite from the wild man of Italian pop who has attracted severe criticism over many decades for his outspoken views and antics, at the same time enjoying great adulation.

Una Rosa Pericolosa

Non provocarmi mai
non provocarmi mai
o scoppia la guerra tra noi
femminilità
son d'accordo ma
ma non marciarci sai
non distruggere
questo amore mai
è tutto ciò
che tu hai
quanti brividi dai
con quello sguardo provochi
Tu accendi i fiammiferi
che poi si spengono
e il buio ritorna
perché lo fai
ci son pericoli
che non si vedono
non sono evidenti
ti accorgi poi

Tu sei una cosa
pericolosa e preziosa
dipinta di rosa
che per il freddo non sboccia mai
nemici noi è un dolore sai
se giochi tu io non gioco più

I fuochi divampano
e accende il tuo fascino
non sai rinunciare e allora vai

Tu sei una cosa
pericolosa e preziosa
dipinta di rosa
che per il freddo non sboccia mai
nemici noi è un dolore sai
se giochi tu io non gioco più

I fuochi divampano
e accende il tuo fascino
non sai rinunciare e allora vai
oltre i limiti c'è l'ignoto sai
pensaci bene
o resti o vai
pensaci bene
o resti o vai
o resti o vai...

[velvet quiz] soft on your mind

1. The 1969 group, featuring Lou Reed and John Cale was the Velvet _____ .

2. The phenomenon whereby one is stuck in a well paid rut is known as the velvet _____ .

3. The story of the Brown girl who rides her horse to victory at the Grand National was known as _____ Velvet.

4. The art of velvet weaving probably originated in _____ .

5. Velvet's knitted counterpart is ___ .


Answers - highlight as usual:

underground, rut, national, kashmir, velour

[tennis, anyone?] tenth ball we've lost

Couldn't resist the above from Theo. Who'd be the ball boy?

Speaking of things ancient, which we weren't, Dick Madeley suggests that the:

Wormwood buttering rack, Edwardian rat-hair doormat, woodworm in French fluting and the set of wooden birthing stirrups ...

... are not necessarily an essential accompaniment to the modern bric a brac home, to which he adds:

I’m constantly amazed by the success of shows that get misty eyed over common-or-garden tat.

Well yes, Richard.

[silly season] bit of doggerel

With apologies:

Silly season, and blogging ain't easy
Fish are jumping, and our friends are high
We're far less than rich, and the news ain't worth looking
So hush dearest bloggers, don't you cry.

One of these mornings, you're gonna rise up singing
You're gonna spread your wings and take to the sky
But till that morning, there is nothing to blog on
With your readership already out on the fly

In a few days it's my blog birthday and it began in that season where the major bloggers who ordinarily run fiendish comment moderation and word verification now deign to remove them and actually make it easy for the poor reader.

It's the time when those who rely on the MSM for material reap a bitter harvest [mixing the seasons a little] and when the beach and other fine places are calling. What of the dogged blogger then - the day in-day out type who toils to attract the reader?

Here's a toast to you - to all blogfriends who perhaps lack the resources, perhaps lack the plans to visit exotic climes, who blog on and on into the starry summer night with the cicadas kicking up a din outside your window, with the humid wind buffeting their evening stroll to the pub or with those green and pleasant hills beckoning to be walked upon.

Here's to my fellow bloggers.

[top ten] political blogs to think over

Suppose the Top Ten UK Political Blogs would need to include Iain Dale, Devil's Kitchen, Mr Eugenides ... and then the thinking caps then go on as to who would fill the other spots.

Bloghounds' Donal, Steve and Andrew would be strong contenders for a start. What of our economics bloggers?

And will the Scots be allowed in?

[housekeeping] one day out

Looks like one of those paint by numbers pics but it is more likely real.

Major day in Real Life today so light blogging, hopefully later ... plus visiting.

For Bloghounders, can't process anything just now, sorry but other steering committee hopefully will.

Have a good Monday, readers.

[day at the seaside] bloody hot

Marina di Modica

Not complaining, mind.

Following on from this morning’s post, arrived home and we’d been invited to the beach for the day. This might sound like a wonderful thing but not:

1. if one’s chest is as white as an old man’s flanks;

2. if one needs to be within range of certain facilities, at this decrepit age;

3. with the temperature rising into the high thirties;

4. if it’s envisaged by our deeply tanned hosts that we’ll lie around like lobsters for a few hours on a rocky outcrop near the end of the beach.

Blowhole at the Marina di Modica

We went down to Marina di Modica and it wasn’t half bad. The sea breeze caressed us, the sailboats were out, the base of a large umbrella was stuck down a rock crevice and provided moderate shade and it didn’t feel as hot as it was.

Actually, it was a shortish time, during which I saw an old brick factory from a century ago with blowholes below it which had been used for pumped water way back when, the area where the turtles lay their eggs in season, heard the story of the landowner – the last of the aristocracy – who sometimes loses so badly at cards that he sells off tracts of land which then become developed into villages and other good things and so on and so on.

We also saw the open air theatre which was originally intended as a swimming pool but because certain measurements went awry, they decided to turn it to its current purpose instead.

The place is where the locals go and there are practically no tourists, for a number of reasons.

Firstly, when the area was finally opened up thirty years ago, Modican families built holiday homes down there and very soon the kilometre or so inland was filled up with them.

This in turn meant that large scale western development was not really possible, foreign capital, in recompense, allowed to develop areas left and right of Marina di Modica.

Another reason was that the authorities have specific foreshore bylaws which preclude such development. For example, any dwelling along the coast is not allowed to be altered in style in any way – in other words, no modern renovations.

A third reason is the lack of reliable public transport to the beach area, making it a cars only affair.

View from the balcony of the holiday house. The split level is the thing here which gives a striking effect - that and the peach and pink coloured concrete.

So anyway, it was back to our hosts’ seaside house for an extended lunch after Welshcakes' leaping around the rocks like a gazelle but the Higham pegged out after that and was soon fast asleep on a recliner on a balcony shaded by a canvas awning and umbrella.

Next thing I knew, we were on the scenic route back to Modica where Welshcakes mercilessly, with cocktail sticks, punctured a chicken she’d rolled and stuffed and another sumptuous repast is sitting in the pan ready to be deep ovened as I write and sip.

How was your Sunday?

I liked the light and shade here - the neighbour's staircase providing shade for us and our balcony providing shade for the people below