August 2011

Your letters

A very special place

How I enjoyed the May article on Hackfall. My association with Hackfall goes back through my mother, now deceased some forty years, a cousin of the Harland family who lived at Victoria House in Mickley, Ripon. She used to visit them from the early 1900s.

I was born in 1939 and well remember bus trips to Mickley in the 1940s and 1950s and my favourite schoolboy expedition was always to explore Hackfall.

The majority of the trees had been felled and the challenge was to get all the way through to the other end and walk to Grewelthorpe. The halfway point was Barrows field, a favourite blackberry picking spot in season.

In my early visits, a tree in the corner leading to the second part of the woods still stood and on it were carved my mother’s and father’s initials and a love heart. They were married in 1917.

Next stop was Fisher’s Hall, or just plain Fisherman’s Hut to me, and Mowbray Point was always extremely difficult to find, but well worth the climb. Mum always talked of other places she could remember as a young girl – grottoes and fountains and the like – but all seemed to have been re-claimed by the vegetation.

The path through to Grewelthorpe was a real challenge but, in later years when I was old enough to imbibe, a welcoming pint in the Crown was the ultimate prize. But then there was always the return trip.

Moving to Oz in 1974, I thought my days of visiting Hackfall were over but a holiday in1989 saw me back there for two visits with my wife of twenty-five years. We managed to find our way through to Fisher’s Hall on both occasions. It hadn’t changed.

Hackfall holds such a special place in our family that my eldest sister, who passed away aged ninety last September in Townsville, requested that her ashes be scattered – where else but in Hackfall.

Michael H Booth, Busselton, Western Australia

A head for heights

Regarding Yorkshire Traditions in April. In the 1970s we lived in Scholes, a neighbouring village to Barwick, prior to migrating to Australia.

We have photos of our friend, the late Arthur Nicholls, climbing the famous ninety foot pole in 1978, and one of his wife Ann and mother Madge waiting anxiously below.

Tradition held that whoever was to climb the maypole had to release the ropes at the garlands used to erect the pole, then shin up to the top and spin the silver fox. No cherry pickers or safety ropes then.

When Arthur came down to earth again, a half-smart character safe in the crowd said, “Bet you can’t do it again.”

Arthur said, “How much?” And when the man replied “£10”, Arthur went up once more.

A magnificent feat.

Arthur passed away in April 2008.

Bob and Sue Cottam, Barcaldine, Queensland

Quirky names

In 1882 my father was christened Canham (his mother’s maiden name) at Aldbrough on the Holderness coast.

His name had to begin with a ‘C’ as his brothers, in birth order, were named Arthur, Benjamin, Donald, Edwin, Frederick, but the seventh was Septimus.

Five survived the First World War but uncles Sep and Edwin have dwelt in the outskirts of Arras since April 1917.

Did any other East Riding farmers have alphabet syndrome?

Poor grandma, a farmer’s daughter, had to bear seven others, daughters and miscarriages, but lived to be eighty-nine.

They made ’em tough in ’odderness in them days!

Geoffrey Teasdale, Marshfield, Gloucestershire

Making his mark

I read with interest in the Dalesman last year about John Welburn the pondmaker.

I shall be ninety years old in September and when I was seven the pond on our farm at Broadholme needed doing.

Mr Welburn wheeled his barrow with all his tools in from Fridaythorpe, across fields and Dales. It was a lovely pond.

Memories are wonderful, no one can take them away from you.

Nellie Marwood, Old Malton

Cycling all over

The June edition brought many memories back to me. First, Cam Head, the Walk. I did it in 1949 with my young man, by bike, from Horsforth.

I was on an ordinary ladies’ bike, he on a racer type. The scenery was wonderful. A long ride and a hot day made me very tired but victorious.

We were married in 1952 and cycled many miles together – we had no car. Even when we were blessed with two girls we got them cycling, sometimes using the train.

The longest cycle and train ride was to Edinburgh YHA and we rode back home in two weeks at our lasses’ request, who were then in their teens.

Our next nostalgic journey from Dalesman is ‘Lost Village – West End’. We too had cycle runs there and cuppas in tea places – we were a popular group in those days. There were cyclists’ tea venues all over, we never owned a car.

Mrs Barbara Buckley, Horsforth

Down in the woods

My sister and I recently paid a visit to Skipton and walked through the woods as our goal was to see the bluebells.

We were not disappointed, it was so beautiful. What a delightful stretch of woodland, it was magical. Although there were plenty of bluebells, the ground was carpeted with wild garlic and we were amazed to find some pink bluebells.

As we strolled past the round dam, a mother duck proudly brought her brood of six fluffy chicks to show off. And as we sat to have a drink and relax, a heron circled overhead – a lovely day out.

May I add though, that anyone taking their dogs, please keep them on a lead. The mother duck was frightened away by a small dog allowed to run loose.

The owners were old enough to have more sense.

Our thanks to the Woodland Trust.

Maureen Keeton, Derbyshire

Lliving with rationing

Regarding the old photo of Bedale (May) and the ‘No Coupon’ stall… On Easter Monday 1948 my brother married, when clothes and cloth were still on clothing coupons.

Mother was lucky enough to come across a ‘No Coupons’ stall in Walsall Market, which meant we were able to buy enough material to make bridesmaid dresses.

At the time I worked in a grocery shop where I started at the age of fifteen in March 1946 – the same week the rations were reduced. Sugar was 8oz, marg 4oz, lard 1oz, bacon 1oz, butter 2oz, a week.

Eggs were seldom seen – we once had a delivery of Irish eggs, and I think they’d been on the boat a month as they were all ‘singing’ when they arrived. My sister sat in the yard and threw them one by one into the grate where she’d left the tap running, I didn’t envy her that smelly job.

The bacon often arrived covered in maggots, and we’d usually cut the side into three and leave it soaking in vinegar and water while we went to the pictures, and tackled it after coming home. Customers usually praised the bacon that we’d treated like that.

Tea was 8oz one month and 12oz the next month, soap was one 8oz block and one small packet of soap powder a month, sweets were 12oz a month.

Bread was supposed to be rationed but not while I worked in the shop – our bread delivery man always gave us pages of bread coupons and we never asked customers for them.

In July everyone was entitled to an extra 1lb of sugar for jam making (big deal!) – jam normally came off the sugar ration.

Now I’m retired and have never been so wealthy in my life. I worked in a shop in West Burton after I left Walsall – all prices were government controlled. Pity they don’t do it now and let the farmers have a proper price for their products – instead it’s more like a supermarket back hander.

Lily Parker, Gwynedd

Tough driving

The item about motor trialling on Sutton Bank (June) made me think about the number of ‘notorious hills’ in Yorkshire during the early motor age.

In most cases the hills concerned were not really serious climbs; not even rating a ‘steep hill’ road sign.

Even so, I can still hear my late father quietly chortling as he drove our Bedford Romany motor caravan by all the ‘stuck’ cars… it wasn’t the vehicles that had failed in most cases – it was the driver’s incompetence.

Until quite late in the 1960s few cars had synchromesh on first gear. So to engage it when moving, the driver had to double-declutch to synchronise the various gear speeds so they would engage.

Far too few could do this and so the roads to places like Whitby would rapidly become blocked with stalled cars on every serious climb.

Yet all these poor drivers needed to do when on the moors was obey the bus company signs: ‘UNITED! Compulsory Stop! Engage 1st gear and retain to next sign.’

I expect vanity played its full part.

Bill Houlder, Pontefract

A different world for kids

Seventy-three years ago I lived in Manningham, Bradford, where there is a church called St Paul’s.

As children out playing, when we were at a loose end if it started to rain we would all go into the church. There was a corner made into a square with pews and on one side was a book case, a carpet was in the middle and there was a small altar and cross.

We would sit and chat and maybe look at a few books for a while. When the rain cleared we would always tidy up the books and leave, closing the door. I wonder what would happen today, is the church still there?

In Cartwright Place there was a nature club every Saturday morning and we used to go and learn about trees and flowers. We seemed to live in the park all year round; we were happy and content and we were all poor.

It is such a pity children can’t do it now, I suppose it’s not safe now.

Jean McKille née Gardner, Ingrow, Keighley

Behind the name

Ivan Broadhead (‘A strange infatuation’, June) writes of Kelfield, which he says was once known as Chelchefelt.

As one whose ancestor once owned the village of Kelk, in the Wolds, I would like to point out that ‘kelk’ comes from the Old English ‘chelche’, meaning ‘chalk’, the village’s fields being comprised of that substance.

Chelchefelt, then, must mean ‘chalky field’.

Christopher Kelk, Toronto, Canada

Town Head connection

I was glancing through my May Dalesman when suddenly, to my amazement, Town Head in Settle appeared in ‘Dalesfolk I Remember’ and the name Tot Lord.

When I met my husband he took me to Town Head for a break from the war, the first of several visits. The Rev Maurice Edgar had retired to Town Head, the family home, after being on the staff of St Augustines, Kilburn, which my husband attended as a boy.

Although I was born in Wembley and worked there, my parents were north country, and I have always felt a northerner.

It goes without saying that I loved Yorkshire and we were lucky enough to move there at the end of the war.

My husband was a curate when we moved to Coniston Cold and Bell Busk, between Skipton and Settle, and eventually on to Ripon where my husband joined the staff of Ripon Cathedral.

These were very happy years and we loved the people and the countryside. Town Head was a lovely house in which to stay, and a joy to visit. I was very sorry to learn it had been pulled down.

Muriel H Lander, Kibworth Beauchamp

Can you help?

Does anyone have information about Rankin’s Well up on the moors above Skipton?

It was one of my late father’s favourite places, and I have memories of Dad taking me up there on Saturday afternoons in the mid to late 1940s, when I was eight or nine.

The water tasted so good – perhaps because of the climb to it, but we only ever got Mum up there once.

On a recent visit to Skipton with my sister, I realised I know practically nothing about the well.

I can still find it and we discovered there is now a Rankin’s Well Road. A lady we met told us of someone who used to take bottles of water from the well to a relative in hospital.

A look at the Skipton Web showed a short piece suggesting that the stream from the well was the feeder for the open air pool at the nearby Moor View Baths.

And that is all I can find – it is not marked on current or old OS maps; it is not mentioned in any of my books on Yorkshire and I can find nothing on the internet.

Who was Rankin? Why is the well named after him? Indeed why is it called a well when in reality it is a spring with a small pool?

Was it really the feeder for the open air pool?

How could a small stream like that ever fill the pool? If it was the feeder, where does the water go now? Given that there is so little information available, why was a road named after it (not that I’m complaining – I think it is wonderful that local names are commemorated like this)?

Pauline Hey, Leighton Buzzard

Family Quest

I am holding a ‘family weekend’ on 24-25 September at the Darley Memorial Hall, Sheepcote Lane, Darley, near Harrogate.

Whilst this is primarily for those with an interest in the Houseman surname and related families, I am also interested to meet anyone with an interest in the people who live and lived in Nidderdale. Also in attendance will be the Darley Heritage Group and the Nidderdale DNA Project.

For further information please visit my web site: www.houseman.info.

Gary Houseman, telephone 07850 211967
or e-mail: gary@houseman.info

The Dalesman website contains a comprehensive alphabetical section on people searching for their Yorkshire roots. Please visit www.dalesman.co.uk.

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Dalesman, The Water Mill, Broughton Hall, Skipton, North Yorkshire BD23 3AG
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