June 2009

Your letters

A forgotten author

I was delighted to read the 70th anniversary article by Phyllis Bentley, originally printed in Dalesman in 1958. For several weeks previous to seeing this edition, I had been reading once again my collection of Phyllis Bentley’s books in the order of their publication, and once again lamenting the fact that these wonderful books are no longer in print.

It is tragic that all those books, so beautifully written and so thoroughly researched, are now only to be found in second-hand bookshops, and very rarely even there. A lifetime’s diligent work has been ignored by Halifax, the town where she was born and bred. Her books are a vital part of our Yorkshire heritage and should be available in schools, libraries and shops to be read by all who are interested in English literature and in the history of the West Riding. Books specifically written for children are included in Phyllis Bentley’s writings. To read these exciting tales is a wonderful way for children to learn about their own locality and its colourful history.

I had the good fortune to meet Phyllis Bentley twice. The first time was when she was the guest speaker at the Princess Mary High School’s Speech Day in 1949. I also visited her many years later at her home when she was living at Warley, Halifax. Her sitting room was bounded by bookshelves which held all the varying editions of her own books – a tremendous achievement.

Phyllis Bentley is one of Yorkshire’s most notable authors; she loved Yorkshire and worked hard all her life to promote the county. She did write an autobiography entitled O Dreams, O Destinations, but no one has written a biography of her, there is no Phyllis Bentley society and none of her books are in print. In my opinion this neglect is deplorable. She seems to have been forgotten except by people of my generation, and I am seventy-eight. Is there anyone out there amongst a younger generation who could rectify this situation?

Mrs Jean Hammond

Rudston’s roman pavement

I want to say how much I enjoyed the 70th anniversary edition of Dalesman.

I was glad you reprinted the picture of the article from April 1962 of the pavement found at Rudston (page 49). When it was first uncovered, it was said to be a house floor. I must have first seen it in 1933 as it hadn’t a cover on then – I was only seven years old at the time. What you can’t see in the small photo is that it was made up of hundreds of small square tiles.

My parents and I often stayed in Bridlington and we saw the site a couple of times. I have driven through Rudston a few times in the last fifteen years and often wondered what happened to the remains – no wonder I couldn’t see any sign of it if it is now safe in a museum.

Mr J R Buckley, Scarborough

Settle’s loss

I was interested to read “It began with the mounting steps” (April), in particular about Town Head being demolished.

I had the pleasure of staying there when the Rev Maurice Edgar retired there, his father having been the doctor in Settle.
Maurice Edgar had been on the staff of St Augustine’s, Kilburn when my husband was a boy, and I understand Maurice used to have some of the St. Augustine boys to stay with him in the summer, my husband being one of them. He would put them up in some old stables in the garden. And how they loved going. Very soon my husband, Arthur, regarded Yorkshire as his spiritual home.

We married in 1942 and were living in the south. Towards the end of the war, Arthur became vicar of Coniston Cold and Bell Busk and later on, went to Ripon.

We thought Town Head was a delightful house and its position really was the head of the town. Many years later we visited Settle and were shattered to discover this gem of a Victorian house had been demolished.

Mauriel H Lander

The family Waugh

I was very interested in the article about the Rev Benjamin Waugh (Feb).

In the 1920s my parents lived in Goldthorpe and had a bakery there. At that time the son of the Rev Benjamin, who had started his ministry as an Anglican, was the Catholic parish priest.

My father often gave Father Waugh a lift around the area, and Mum would make him a sandwich to eat along the way. Always grateful, he would say how happy it made him to be able to give the bus fare he had saved to someone in need – and there was plenty of need in South Yorkshire at that time.

On their journeys they spoke of many things. My father never forgot those times, he found him a most remarkable man and he held him in very high regard.

Father Waugh’s great friends were our Indian Doctor Jayakai and his French wife. When he died he left them a handsome oak secretaire bookcase, with a brass plate stating that it had been presented to the Rev Benjamin Waugh as founder of the SPCC.
On retirement, Dr and Mrs Jayakai lived at Filey. Long dead and with no children I wonder what happened to the bookcase. I hope it found a good home.

Mrs B Huebner, Yarm, Cleveland

Yorkshire poetry

Re the query from a Mrs Greenwood in the February issue about poetry about the Yorkshire Dales. I would heartily recommend Stone Wall Country and Summer’s End, two small volumes by E Margaret Buckle published in 1980 and 1986.

Mrs C J Pocock

A powerful dialect

Having recently read, and thoroughly enjoyed, Arnold Kellett’s Yorkshire Dialect Classics, I was reminded of an experience my wife and I had when we were in Hervey Bay, Queensland before Christmas.

Whilst waiting for a local bus we noticed a partially blind gentleman standing some fifty yards away. Because you can flag down a bus anywhere in many parts of Australia, we asked “Are you waiting for the city bus?”, to which he replied, “Yes I am, but where are you from?” “South Yorkshire”, I replied. The gentleman told us: “I’m originally from Stalybridge where three counties meet, Three Shires Head.” I told him I’d done some rambling round there, and from then on we found we had so much in common.

In retirement, he was working at the local university, helping children with special needs, which is what my wife and I did before retiring. He then went on to say he had written an article in Lancashire and Yorkshire dialect for the language department who did not have a clue as to what it was all about.

We became so engrossed in conversation during the journey that he travelled past the university bus stop, but, as it was a circular route, he was able to alight later. As he rose to get off he said: “Lovely to meet you lad. Never lose the dialect, it opens many doors.” How right he was!

Ken Coldwell, Sheffield

A childhood in Scarborough

What a delight it was for me to see David Morgan’s photograph of the Scarborough quay in the March issue.

As a child I lived just yards from there at Blands Cliff, and I used to fish from the quay, along with other local kids. I once caught fourteen herring on a sixpenny hand-line when I was lucky enough to drop onto a shoal feeding in the harbour! We used to watch the timber boats unloading, and were often given treats by the various crews when we ran errands to the town for them.
My memory dates from between 1957 and 1964. We used to get the best knickerbocker glories, made with local Jaconellis ice cream, from the harbour café which is just visible opposite the boat in Morgan’s photo.

Jo Sutton, Toodyay, Western Australia

Ron’s seat at Ravenscar

I thought readers might like un update on what has happened to this memorial bench on the moors overlooking Robin Hoods Bay.

Ron’s Seat was demolished in 2008 when it was found to be ‘rotting at the seams’ and likely to be unsafe, by Ron’s former National Park colleague Mike, who inspected it prior to giving it the annual preservation treatment.

There was much concern expressed at the ‘missing’ seat but now a new model has been provided by Ron’s family and made by local craftsman, Mark Laycock. It was erected and secured on the original site by Mike and Mark and looks great.

We hope that this new edition will be as well used and enjoyed as the first; it is in such a wonderful spot.

Marie Dowson, Fylingdales, Whitby

Lost on the moors

I had a similar experience as Ian Downing explained in his article ‘The day I nearly died’ (March).

It was 1955, Boxing Day, I was thirteen, and on my way to join friends at Burley Woodhead Youth Hostel. Many were the times we had walked north-east over the moor from the Dick Hudsons inn to pick up the Coldstone beck, and drop down onto the hostel.

This time, halfway across, the mist came down, it started to get dark and drizzle, and I was lost. After floundering about in peat bogs for some time trying to follow a stream, on coming to a water collection basin, I decided to stop there, because of the danger, as Ian said, of walking over the cliffs. Pulling my plastic cape over my head to make a tent, I settled against the wall and sat the night out.

At first light a track led to the road at Intake Gate and it was a simple matter to follow it round to the hostel, for 7.30am. The hostellers and the police had been looking for me all night, and were very relieved when I turned up. After a hot bath and some breakfast I was none the worse for the experience, but wiser, and was teased for years afterwards.

J C Walshaw, Dewsbury

A winning verse

On a recent HF walking holiday in Portugal, one of the leaders set a limerick competition. I was flattered that the group chose my verse as the winner:

Some people like walking in Wales
While others enjoy Lakeland trails
But Yorkshiremen shout
There’s no bloody doubt
There’s nowt to compare with t’Dales.

Stephen Barnett, Midhurst, West Sussex

We welcome readers' letters, which should be sent to:
Dalesman, The Water Mill, Broughton Hall, Skipton, North Yorkshire BD23 3AG
Or email: paul@dalesman.co.uk

The editor reserves the right to edit letters for length and clarity.