A Yorkshire Lass at Heart
Connections and re-connections in God's Own Country.
Michael and I have just returned from a magical week exploring the ups and downs of the Yorkshire Dales. (For readers abroad, the Yorkshire Dales are one of 34 Areas of Outstanding Natural Beauty in England). A magnificent rolling landscape of rugged hills and verdant dales, laced with wild rivers and gentle babbling brooks. Dotted with centuries old stone farmhouses and picturesque villages built to last under vast, sweeping skies that can change from summer blue to winter black in the blink of an eye. Herds of multi-coloured cows and black-faced sheep with bouncing lambs graze on the lush fields. The bravest, or most brainless of them, depending on your outlook on life, casually roam the roads, staring defiantly at passing cars without taking a break from their relentless ruminating.
Crumbling ruins of medieval abbeys and castles are scattered across the National Park, some well known landmarks like the imposing Norman castle at Richmond, but others appear out of the landscape unexpectedly, surprising little historical treats for visitors. Cobbled market towns overflow with tea rooms vying for customers with the best homemade cakes, independent butchers selling superb quality local meat and irresistibly moreish pies. Even the smallest hamlet has room for a traditional pub, welcome retreats for thirsty hikers and cyclists and hungry motorists, all enjoying the spectacular scenery and fresh air in their own individual way.
Those who drive up the steep, near empty narrow roads that zig-zag across the moors are rewarded at the top with the most dramatic and breathtaking views. Vistas that need to be breathed in and savoured, even if the wind bites and the cold stings the face. Cloud shadows race across hillsides, piercing shafts of light alter the tones of the countless greens and quickly change the mood from ethereal lightness to menacing darkness - a painter’s paradise. Michael stops the car and I get out to stand in the presence of something difficult to explain, an intangible connection to a land I feel part of, even though I have never spent more than the occasional week here at any one time in my life.
These indefinable moments affect me deeply. In the roaring silence, buried emotions appear unexpectedly; an acute awareness of being insignificantly small amongst nature’s grandeur, anger at my own human race for taking such beauty for granted. Gratefulness that I have each of my senses to absorb and capture the glory all around me, a fleeting feeling of being lifted out the world I inhabit into something impalpably bigger. Vivid memories come flooding back of childhood family visits to see my Yorkshire Nan and small army of aunts, uncles and cousins, so many of them now departed.
Despite spending the majority of his adult life ‘down South’ my Dad was extremely proud of his northern roots and still counted himself a Yorkshireman, even though his thick accent dulled over time and his visits back home became rare in later life. I find it quite strange that since his death a few years ago I have felt a pull to return to his home county more and more frequently. Each visit makes the invisible tie a little stronger, drawing me back to both familiar and new places that fill my soul with his spirit.
Luckily Michael doesn’t mind me dragging him ‘up North’ every now and then. I think he has realised by now that I have an ulterior motive and a person would have to have a very cold heart not to love the scenery and the affable, take-as-you-find Yorkshire people. The days were spent marvelling at the awe-inspiring views, wandering around the small old towns, learning about the regional history in tiny museums manned by friendly, enthusiastic locals. Eating warm pasties in the car with crumbs going everywhere, while sheep stood in the rain munching on the grass just outside the steamed up windows. Tasting previously unheard of cheeses and local beers, chatting to anyone and everyone and looking in estate agent’s windows wondering if we will ever win the lottery.
Eating, drinking and laughing in the most joyous company of new friends Carole and Gerry from Scotland who we met in Richmond for the first time in person. Carole (@pebbleandpinecreative) and I found each other on Instagram last year, one of those happy, random encounters with a kindred spirit who somehow fits in like a missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle. A salt of the earth couple, as my Dad would have said, who drove all the way down from Kinross for a very short couple of days, making our stay even more special and we both waved them goodbye with a heavy heart.
Seven days full of sheep, sky, conversation, rivers, cheese, waterfalls, sheep, laughter, cream teas, pies, pubs and more sheep. I happen to be very fond of sheep. Michael likes pies and we both love cheese and conversation so altogether it made for a very happy week away.
As with all holidays, the time went by far too quickly and soon it was time to repack the bags for our journey back to Suffolk. It seemed we had accumulated a lot more baggage to take home than we arrived with, which is always a bit risky with a small Mini but we managed to squeeze it all in, including enough cheese to last until Christmas and Doreen’s most excellent triangular Black Pudding.
It was a wrench to leave those green hills behind, but I have a dream that one day I will return to a small stone cottage with more than just a suitcase and a key I won’t have to return at the end of the week. A simple two-up, two-down with a little garden on the hillside where I can spend my last years looking at the sheep across the dales until the day my eyes close, for the last time. And I shall rest, very much in peace, with all those that went before me.
Lots of love,
Lindsey x
(All photos Lindsey Dickson)
PS. There are two podcasts from the holiday, Easy Friendships with Carole and myself chatting away about everything and nothing and Si' thi' Yorkshire, recorded by Michael and I on the last night, rambling on, as we do, about our stay in Richmond.
For those who like listening to a story, you can hear me reading the post on the VoiceOver at the top of the article.
This brought back so many memories of my time travelling through Yorkshire with my parents. I do hope to get back to England soon, a bitter sweet journey, to repatriate Mum and Dad and visit some of the glorious gardens on my bucket list to see. You captured some beautiful images, that with your permission, I'd like to paint. I paint in watercolour and feel your bucolic scenes are perfect for the medium. May I please?? ♥☺
I have just found you. I live in Suffolk and have done for the past 40 years. Previously lived in Yorkshire and loved to get out into the Yorkshire countryside. When our family was younger we spent many happy times in Muker, Swaledale. Walking the footpath to the stepping stones where our then little girls would paddle and play in the water. One of my favourite places that we return to as often as possible. Just reading your words I can breathe the Yorkshire air and smell the oils in the sheeps fleece. I also love textiles and have often brought a fleece or part of back with me for felting.