Can any of your readers throw any light on the name of the transport company whose horse and vehicle this was. I think the writing says Freerider? What is not in doubt is the telephone number of 111 which I am taking as being Leeds 111? The photograph is of my great grandfather John White (seen centre with the white beard and flat cap) and shows the annual trip out for afternoon tea that he paid for as a treat to the senior members of the congregation from his church in Burmantofts, Leeds. I am unsure which church this was from as family legend says he often preached at the Salem Congregational Church but most of his children went to the churches in the Beckett Street/Burmantofts area of Leeds. John White was born in Scotland in 1846 and died in Leeds in 1923 so am unsure of the date of this photograph, what I do know is that John White was a compositor and it is believed, when he retired from work, he was the head compositor of the now-defunct Leeds Evening News. He was so proud of his work that he even had compositor written on his gravestone in Beckett Street Cemetery, Leeds.
Maurice White, Ripon

Here we go, down Memory Lane! Andrew Millham and his “life-changing week at Malham Tarn” took me back to 1959 when, at 17, I was doing A-Level Geography at Pontefract & District Girls High School. With Val, my best friend, then and now, we were sent to Malham Tarn Field Studies Centre for a field course. The landscape is ages old and will be the same for Andrew as it was 61 years ago when we were there. I remember with awe the clints and grikes atop Malham Cove; seeing water bubbling from Aire Head Springs, a mystery still that this is the source of the River Aire, mind-blowing for me from Hensall where the lazy old Aire meanders to the Ouse at Airmyn; clambering to the top of Gordale Scar via a frozen rockscape which was possibly Janet’s Foss. Inspirational yes but clouded by the cold and discomfort of unsuitable clothing. Most of us didn’t have the special boots/shoes specified in the requirements together with a sleeping bag and warm clothing. Nevertheless mum went off to Goole to purchase at an expense above and beyond her budget sturdy shoes; I probably had a duffle coat from C&A and the sleeping bag (into Peter Kay territory now!); we dug out an old, ex-army funnel-shaped zip up bag in a hairy, itchy, khaki wool material. So that week I was never warm and suffered blisters from new sturdy shoes. The last day, like Andrew, we were put in groups each with a specific task, which I do not remember. We set out onto Malham Moor into a fog as enveloping as a grey, off-the-scale tog duvet without the warmth. We had a compass which we couldn’t use and a packed lunch of CHOCOLATE SPREAD (Peter Kay again) sandwiches. With Yorkshire common sense, having reached a stone wall we clung to it round the enclosure, ate our sandwiches in its shelter and that was it – mission unaccomplished! Our presentation was a hastily concocted account, complete with diagrams delivered with as much flair and conviction as we could muster. Val reminds me that we got a round of applause… ”Oh what a tangled web we weave…”
Enid Hanavan, Chorley, Lancashire

Having been a long-standing reader of the Dalesman (a habit inherited from my mother) I found that there was never enough written about the area of Yorkshire from whence my family originated… Settle, Giggleswick and Cononley – until the June issue! Nelson’s business was a stone’s throw from where my grandfather, David Peacock, had his solicitors’ office in the Settle town hall… and latterly in Martin’s Bank chambers) – a brass plaque still bears his name on the pillar outside what was the bank. David’s wife (my grandmother) was born and lived in a house (Brooklyn) in Cononley… another Nelson family connection. My grandparents lived in Giggleswick, initially, in West House on Bell Hill and then moved all of 25 yards to the lovely house The Well House opposite what was then the vicarage next to the ebbing and flowing well. My grandfather was an avid cricketer, so the Marshfield cricket ground in Settle was almost a second home to him. I remember watching the Yorkshire team playing there, Fred Trueman, Don Wilson, Brian Close etc, and Freddie Trueman said it was he that hit that ball all the way to Carlisle! My mother Ruth, who was married in Giggleswick church, was laid to rest in the churchyard back in 2004. Thank you for the June issue for bringing back some lovely memories.
Jerry Wagstaff 

Last year I bought an unwanted pair of modern new cycling shoes from a fellow club member. The first time I wore them my foot slid from under me when I put it down to stop at the roadside. I thought it would be an easy task to get the soles and heels modified to make them safe. It was not be, as every shoe mender I took them to said they couldn’t help as they were plastic. Shortly after moving to Skipton I caught the bus to Settle to explore. As we slowed down to come into the square I spotted the cobbler’s shop. The first thing I did when I got off was to walk back to have a look. I didn’t have the shoes with me but explained what the problem was. Again I was told that being plastic there might be a problem, but to bring them in anyway. They were sympathetic and happy to help as I believe the son is a cyclist. I am delighted to say that they found a solution to my problem and I can now use the shoes safely as they have non-slip soles and heels. I can’t recommend them too highly as even a humble pair of cycling shoes was given first class treatment.
Sheila Simms, Skipton

My friend’s mum, the late Betty Airey, had a wealth of Yorkshire dialect monologues, which she learned by heart, and often regaled audiences at village (Airmyn) concerts, and W.I. meetings etc. She was a lovely lady and delivered them with hilarious gusto. The one I am searching for concerns a lady, who, on expecting visitors, did a lot of baking, in true Yorkshire style, and waited and waited in vain, each verse ending in “thoo nivver cum”. The day she gave up hope and started distempering the pantry, “thoo cum!” All I can remember of the poem is:

“I med sum grand mince pies
And parkin pigs wi currant eyes
I med a cake, put icing on it”

And there unfortunately, is the wealth of my knowledge, does anyone know this particular poem? More importantly, would they send me the words, as many memories will ensue. Years ago, Mrs Mothersdale senior, was a patient on our ward, and I was lucky enough to chat to John, and Roberta. I asked the two Mrs Mothersdales if they knew the poem, but sadly they didn’t. So, this is a last ditch effort on my part.
Sue Lilley, Goole (formerly of High Street, Airmyn), email:

Reading the letters in The Dalesman and the letter of the month reminded me of the time I was on HMS Endurance in the Antarctic in 1969. My mate and I had been ashore in Port Stanley for a few drinks and as we passed the ships galley we noticed that the shutter wasn’t quiet down. This was about midnight and we were starving, we lifted the shutter and jumped inside to see if there was anything to eat, on opening the walk in fridge door we saw the biggest block of cheese in the world, our eyes lit up and we were soon carving large lumps of cheddar and really enjoying our spoils. But this didn’t last long, all of a sudden the galley door opened and in walked the duty chef. Now we were for it, before he could say any thing we offered him our next day’s tot of rum, (in those days we were entitled to a daily tot of rum) his eyes lit up with the thought of his and our tot of rum, he readily agreed. The following day at midday he came down to our mess for his rum and we just looked at him and said sorry we have changed our minds, you can have a sip instead, thus we avoided a serious charge being brought against us, I really do like cheese. My mate and I often talk and laugh about the incident that night all those years and miles away.
John Pittock, Steeton, West Yorkshire

My wife and I met Paul Hudson at his book launch in Scarborough in 2003 (I think) and he warned us that we – in Bridlington – would need wellington boots the following day as snow was forecast along the east coast. This did not occur. Luckily we had not bought the wellingtons! Diane and I met him again (see photograph, above) when he visited the Harbour Museum to do his weather forecast a couple of years later. He interviewed me on the north pier in a very strong wind and asked if I was always dressed like this. I replied that I represented my hero, Kit Brown, who gave his life in 1898 in an attempt to save his son Fred in an incident involving the lifeboat Seagull.
Mike Wilson, Bridlington

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