September 2009

Your letters

A walking stereotype

When cycling one Sunday morning in the early 1950s, three colleagues and I were making headway up the East Yorkshire coast road between Hornsea and Bridlington with the intention of taking a break on the beach near Atwick village which, as far as we were concerned at that time, was unexplored.

Having branched off the B1242 highway, we came upon a local famer closing the gate to his field; we promptly pulled over to ask him directions to the beach at Atwick. The farmer’s head shook as he pushed back his cap and surveyed us with a puzzled glint in his eye. Out came our well-worn road map which immediately cleared the air. With a mischievous smile, the farmer delightfully pointed up the lane and enlightened us with the expression “Ah lad, tha means Attick.”

To complete our entertaining interlude from pedalling, one of our colleagues joined us, withdrawing a box of snuff from his jacket pocket. The farmer’s interest immediately transferred from his role of navigator to the snuff box, which my colleague politely offered him.

To take advantage of the snuff on offer, the farmer unfastened his jacket to reveal a tattered old waistcoat which, among other things concealed the remains of a Woodbine cigarette packet, a battered pair of spectacles and what appeared to be a pack of matches. However, the waistcoat buttons were the source of the farmer’s interest, one of which he squeezed with a grim determination between his thumb and forefinger. Then he helped himself to a sample of the snuff on offer.

Intrigued by this procedure I asked the farmer the reason for squeezing his waistcoat button. The reply came with a sly grin and a glint in his eye, “Well lad, if tha squeezes thy button so, it makes a dimple in thy finger and thumb which means tha gets more snuff.” Then after a moment’s thought he said “especially when it’s somebody else’s snuff.”

With this reply, we laughingly offered him another pinch of snuff and continued our journey as directed.

R T Pugsley, Lincoln

What a catch

I read with interest the article about Prince Ranjitsinhji (May).

When I was young I remember reading that during a cricket match at Hovingham Hall a famous Indian cricketer managed to catch one of the swallows swooping over the pitch in mistake for the ball. I have not been able to find this reference again, but assume this must have been Ranji. I wonder if anyone else has heard this story.

Stephen Beckett, Wigginton, York

A piece of history

I was very interested to read the article about the Luddites in Yorkshire (June).
Readers may like to know that the fittings of the Crispin Inn were moved to Shibden Hall in Halifax when the pub closed in 1959. These are actually from the second public house to occupy the site, both with the same name. The fittings are still on display in the Folk Museum at Shibden, for visitors to view today. For more information, people can visit www.calderdale.gov.uk.

Claire Selby, Curator, Social History

Day of rest

Regarding ‘Six Days Only’ (Dennis Goode’s letter, July), it was a little home cottage industry around Heaton. The house sold lovely nettle beer but only on the six days and never on the Sabbath, so the area around was called ‘Six Days Only’.

My husband’s parents had the farm nearby and my then brother-in-law and wife rented the little cottage attached to the farm. With no loo, no running water, but electricity and gas, it really was living in the country. Sharps Mill, as it was then, was at the end of the road but no buses went by there.

Mrs Maureen L Frear, Wakefield

Ouse mystery

With reference to J K Gardiner’s query (‘Can You Help?’ August), I too noticed (about fifty years ago) that the OS map marked the River Ure downstream of the confluence of the Swale and the Ure and, as an over-confident schoolboy, wrote to the OS to point out their ‘mistake’. I received a polite letter in reply explaining to me that they had not made a mistake, but the river at the Ure did not become the Ouse until joined by the Ouse Gill Beck.

As the Great Ouseburn Parish Website (www.great-ouseburn.co.uk) now explains, “The villages of Great and Little Ouseburn take their name from the river Ouse which starts as Ouse Gill Beck in the garden of the old Great Ouseburn Workhouse. At the original source of the Ouse (the spring now emerges approx thirty-five metres away) stands a stone column bearing the inscription ‘OUSE RIVER HEAD. OUSEGILL SPRING Ft. YORK
13 miles BOROUGHBRIDGE 4 miles’.

“Ouse Gill Beck flows for four miles before joining the river Ure (a broad river of sixty miles length). Here, the tiny Ouse Gill Beck usurps the power of the Ure and gives its name to the river which flows through York to the Humber estuary and into the North Sea.”

Michael Almond, Errol, Perthshire

Watch the birdie

I was interested to see your article on Threshfield School (May), and thought that readers might like to see this Threshfield School photograph (above), taken in 1905.

My father, his two older brothers and two older sisters were all pupils. My father, Archie Harker, is third from the right on the front row and I think the boy furthest left on the back row was his eldest brother. I am afraid I don’t know the names of any of the other pupils or the two teachers. Perhaps someone may see some resemblance to family members.

R E Wilson, Preston

Nowt so queer as folk

I enjoyed a recent article on Yorkshire Humour. People who work in shops can also relate many anecdotes about customers in our county.

A friend of mine used to work in a gents’ outfitters in Sheffield and he related to me that one day a lady came in and said, “I would like to buy a shirt for my brother please.” My friend asked, “Do you know his neck size?” “I am sorry but I don’t, so I’ve brought his scarf in to show you, so you will have an idea from that.” She then dangled a three-foot woolly scarf in front of the assistant’s eyes.

In a hardware shop in Sheffield a lady was even more vague when she said to an assistant, “Do you sell a product called Gelagnite, it’s for cleaning baths?” Phew, I hope no bath shrapnel from here in Sheffield has landed on rooftops in Skipton and I certainly hope no one was having a bath in it at the time!

However, one priceless gem from an ironmongers: “Do you sell hinges that make a door rise over a carpet?” The assistant replied, “Yes madam, does the door open to the right or to the left?” The lady replied, rather bewildered, “I don’t know, you see we live at the end house.”

B Wilkinson, Deepcar, Sheffield

Family home

In his article ‘What Lies Beneath…?’ (May), Martin Hickes mentions New Hall as being the home of the Fairfax family. Well, yes, it was from 1579 onwards, when Sir Thomas Fairfax of Denton bought it for his son Edward (the poet, and brother of the first Lord Fairfax). However, Sir Thomas bought it from the Pulleynes (there are various spellings) who had already been in that area over 200 years by then.

Brothers John and Stephen Pulleyne had the corn mill at Fewston in the 1350s and were millers – one brother one year, the other another. John married Isabella, daughter of Robert Wood of Swinsty Hall. Stephen later became a Reeve of the Forest of Knaresborough, and also set himself up as a Pardoner. For some unknown service rendered, John and Stephen were gifted one mark (13s 4d) by the Prior Of Bolton Priory in 1377. 

My father’s grandmother was a Pullan, and Stephen Pulleyne was my 17 x great-grandfather. I still live within easy walking distance of the place.
I understand that New Hall was dismantled when the valley was flooded, but the foundations stand on the little island at the top end of Swinsty Reservoir.

Roger Nelson, Bolton Abbey

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.