May 2008

Your letters

I was interested to read the article on Mark Brennand in your March issue. My late husband, Dennis Morton, made scores of models from old roofing slabs but always refused any publicity. It all started when we had to leave our moorland farm at Outlane above Huddersfield in 1966 because the land was taken for the M62. My husband was an expert drystone waller and loved building anything from stone.

He got a job managing a small farm, owned by an auctioneer, working for him in Doncaster cattle market. In this area there are no walls, just hedges and ditches, so he really missed having no walls to build.

He decided to experiment by breaking old roofing slates, which had been discarded, into tiny pieces and building them up drystone-wall style. His first ones were filled with concrete and put in the garden.

Gradually he moved on to hollow ones, and as the farmers in South and West Yorkshire saw them, they asked him to build for them. If a farmer was demolishing or re-roofing a farm building, he would save the old broken roof slabs for Dennis to collect and turn into mini-masterpieces.

He also worked in the cattle markets at Penistone, Barnsley and Hope.
His models have gone all over Yorkshire and Derbyshire, and one church even ended up in America. He made many as wedding presents for the girls who worked for the auctioneers. When he stopped working full-time on his sixty-fifth birthday in 1995 we started going on coach tours to Scotland. He would take photos of the castles and monuments we saw, and then made models of them through the winter in a workshop he built himself.

He died of cancer in 2005 aged seventy-five. My sons and close friends now have the models we had in our garden as I only have a tiny strip here. I have kept a windmill and the monument from Lock Fyne where Bonny Prince Charlie landed. I have dozens of photos of the models to remind me of the wonderful selection of churches, houses, wishing wells, birdbaths, houses and windmills he made.

Mrs Joan Morton, Retford

What’s sauce for the goose…

The River Don flows past the banks of my garden in Penistone, so it is natural that my Aylesbury ducks and several mallards, plus an old gander and goose, should enjoy a happy life there. This year, however, the goose, being ever hopeful, sat on a nest full of eggs for well over a month with no results. On the day she despaired and left the nest, I heard loud squawks of ecstasy and discovered that, having met a mallard with thirteen tiny ducklings, she must have been maternally overcome and decided there and then to take over. This strange event continued until the little family were full-grown and sharing with the mallard mother, the tired old gander tagging on behind, and they never failed to bring the whole family to my doorstep several times a day for food.

Margaret Marsh, Penistone

Mickey Plum brings back memories

Regarding the enquiry about the poem Mickey Plum (‘Can you help?’, March), years ago I was on a holiday organised by the Sunday school movement aimed at children meeting other scholars from different areas.

We were away for a week, and midweek we children were told we must arrange a concert on the Friday night. Everyone had to take part by singing, reciting or playing a musical instrument. No one was excused, and the theme had to be related to any area of the country and of our own choice. Sharing a room with three other girls, we made our choices. One girl chose to recite ‘Mickey Plum’. She spent every moment practising, to the extent that by Friday we could all four recite it with her. Needless to say, the concert was a great success.

I have not heard this poem since that concert many years ago, but I can recall a few lines:

“As I was walking down the road, who do you think I met
But my old pal Mickey Plum?
He sez, ‘I’m giving a party, would you like to cum?’.
Well I thowt a bit and I thowt a bit and then I sez ‘Aye, Ah’ll cum’.
Well, it were a party!
Some woz laughing, some woz dancing,
Nobody was glum at the party of my old pal Mickey Plum…
I met a pal just down the road, he sez
‘Old Mickey’s dead, funeral’s on Thursday, would you like to come?’
Well I thowt a bit and I thowt a bit and then I sez
‘Aye Ah’ll come’.
Well it were a funeral
Some woz singing, some woz glum,
But I, I woz crying for my old pal Mickey Plum.

Mrs J Ashworth, Gargrave

Hospital food with a difference

The article on Yorkshire Teacakes (March) reminded me of my favourite teatime delicacy — Yorkshire curd cheesecake. My home town is York, though I now live in Thanet in Kent, but whenever I visit I try and sample at least one curd cheesecake. When I broke my hip on my last visit, my son, who lives in Surrey, remembering my fondness for the delicacy, brought me one when he came to visit me in hospital. The unavailability of good curd cheese down here prevents me making my own, so that it is now a longed-for treat on my rare visits north.

Mrs Monica Leonard, Kent

No dogs allowed

When out walking with my daughter and son-in-law, we approached a stile. Kirstie climbed over first and Alan waited for me. I reached the stile and Alan lifted a bar at the side. I looked down to see the space which had appeared. Kirstie called out: “Mum, it’s for dogs.” I had a sudden vision of me crawling underneath. I couldn’t stop laughing and said it would make a good cartoon. Later in the year I painted a card (below) which my family thought I should share with Dalesman readers.

Sheila Thompson, Rotherham

Come rain or shine

Your article in ‘Dalesman’s diary’ (April) regarding signs of rain was interesting. As a boy/youth in the 1950s I worked on farms in holidays in the East Riding between Hull and the coast. It was unusual to hear a curlew, but whenever that wonderful sound was heard, the bird was referred to by one of the regular farmhands as a ‘muck bod’. As Yorkshire has that wonderful mixture of rain and shine, I cannot recall if this preceded a downpour, but no doubt the name was based on some folklore or experience.

John Butler, by email

Roller Corner Cramp, anyone?

Further to the ‘What on Earth?’ mystery (March), below is an illustration from an old catalogue lent to me by Tony Routh who is director of Gayle Mill Trust. I had taken the March issue with me when a group of us were doing some work at the mill. Tony was so obsessed with this puzzle that he hunted through books and catalogues long into the night. Eventually he turned up this ‘Patent Roller Corner Cramp’ priced 9s 6d, and also the Archimedian drill from January’s ‘What on Earth?’.

L Mason Scarr, Bainbridge

Amy, wonderful Amy

I think our region could do better in relevant names than the clumsy ‘Robin Hood Doncaster Sheffield Airport’. Since airwoman Amy Johnson was born in Hull and was educated at the University of Sheffield, why can’t the aforementioned airport, or that in Humberside, be renamed in her honour? Let’s face it, she has far more to do with aeroplanes than Robin Hood.

John Taylor, Bingley

‘Ey up’ spreads across the globe

In a small shop in the old quarter of Jerusalem, you may well be greeted with an “Ey up!”. When we were there ten years ago, the shopkeeper was trying to learn some colloquial expressions from the many foreigners he served. He was very taken by the “Ey up, chuck!” from a lady in our group. He produced a notebook, and asked me to spell it phonetically for him so that he could write it down and learn it.
That was quite a bizarre challenge.

Ruth Daniel, Cookham, Berkshire