Mick Garratt

A Mystery Beneath our Feet on Cold Moor Last Sunday, the weather gods allowed a final memorable spectacle of blue skies over the North York Moors before the autumnal gloom. From the heights of Cold Moor, the view towards the Wainstones was as grand as ever, but my eye was drawn not to the distant crags, but to something rather more curious: that single dressed stone in the flagged footpath — bottom left of the photo.

A Mystery Beneath our Feet on Cold Moor

Last Sunday, the weather gods allowed a final memorable spectacle of blue skies over the North York Moors before the autumnal gloom. From the heights of Cold Moor, the view towards the Wainstones was as grand as ever, but my eye was drawn not to the distant…

Sleights and the Perilous Descent of Blue Bank Once upon a time, Sleights must have seemed the very picture of rural contentment: a quiet, respectable village where weary visitors might escape the clamour of industrial England amid green hills and fresh air. It was, one suspects, precisely the sort of place where Whitby’s prosperous merchants might choose to end their days, away from the bustle of the harbour and the smell of fish.

Sleights and the Perilous Descent of Blue Bank

Once upon a time, Sleights must have seemed the very picture of rural contentment: a quiet, respectable village where weary visitors might escape the clamour of industrial England amid green hills and fresh air. It was, one suspects, precisely the…

Larpool Viaduct: The Brick Monument of the Esk Larpool Viaduct at Whitby stands today like a brick-red monument to an age when Victorian railway engineers thought artistically, even as they fought mud, tides, and buried forests. Completed in 1884 to carry the Scarborough and Whitby line across the deep valley of the River Esk, it was built entirely of brick, a deliberate rejection of iron whose corrosion was feared in the salty coastal air.

Larpool Viaduct: The Brick Monument of the Esk

Larpool Viaduct at Whitby stands today like a brick-red monument to an age when Victorian railway engineers thought artistically, even as they fought mud, tides, and buried forests. Completed in 1884 to carry the Scarborough and Whitby line across the…

Cringle Moor and the Cult of the Drone A splendid day upon the Cleveland Hills, warm, sunny and kissed by a breeze so genteel it could almost be mistaken for civility. Cringle Moor was heaving, of course, the Viking Chase Fell Race transforming it into something between a checkpoint and a human anthill. And there, above the sweating masses, hovered the latest curse of modern leisure: the drone. That infernal, buzzing contraption—the plaything of those who believe a GoPro makes them Fellini.

Cringle Moor and the Cult of the Drone

A splendid day upon the Cleveland Hills, warm, sunny and kissed by a breeze so genteel it could almost be mistaken for civility. Cringle Moor was heaving, of course, the Viking Chase Fell Race transforming it into something between a checkpoint and a human…

The Twisting Plume of Ingleby Greenhow A familiar landscape, yet on a still autumnal day in the Vale of Cleveland, when not a single turbine blade so much as twitches, an unexpected sight smudges the view. A solitary plume of smoke twists into the air, unsettling in its beauty, creating a scene both ordinary and strangely unfamiliar. At first glance, it seems to rise from deep within the valley, somewhere near Ingleby Greenhow—if my eye has not deceived itself.

The Twisting Plume of Ingleby Greenhow

A familiar landscape, yet on a still autumnal day in the Vale of Cleveland, when not a single turbine blade so much as twitches, an unexpected sight smudges the view. A solitary plume of smoke twists into the air, unsettling in its beauty, creating a scene…

The Lettered Board Inn and the Mystery of the Two Georges A lonely crossing on the Lyke Wake Walk. Halfway between exhaustion and achievement. This was once the place where weary walkers would find their support party, waiting with flasks of tea and stodgy puddings to fortify them for the bleak march across Wheeldale Moor. That was half a century ago. The ruin that once stood here, Hamer House, has long since crumbled to a mere mound, a short stretch of rubble wall the only clue that anything human ever defied the wind here.

The Lettered Board Inn and the Mystery of the Two Georges

A lonely crossing on the Lyke Wake Walk. Halfway between exhaustion and achievement. This was once the place where weary walkers would find their support party, waiting with flasks of tea and stodgy puddings to fortify them for the bleak…

Lieutenant Wilfred Littleboy: Remembered on the Day he Fell, 9 October 1917 No one can say for certain whether young Wilfred Littleboy ever scrambled down the steep bank to cross the new bridge over Skelton Beck and wander into Old Saltburn, with its whitewashed cottages huddled beneath Cat Nab and the gaiety of its fairground by the sea. It is difficult to picture a spirited boy resisting the lure of that curious conical hill, yet perhaps his father’s position confined him to the more respectable west cliff, where the genteel rode the tramway down to the pier rather than risk the steep descent.

Lieutenant Wilfred Littleboy: Remembered on the Day he Fell, 9 October 1917

No one can say for certain whether young Wilfred Littleboy ever scrambled down the steep bank to cross the new bridge over Skelton Beck and wander into Old Saltburn, with its whitewashed cottages huddled beneath Cat Nab…

Echoes of Killi: A Brief History of Kildale Hidden behind the trees to the left in the photo stands St Cuthbert’s Church, its quiet stones guarding secrets far older than the building itself. During construction in the 19th century, workmen uncovered a remarkable find: several Viking graves, complete with swords and traders’ weighing scales. The discovery hinted that Kildale was once far more than a remote dale—it was a settlement of standing, perhaps astride an ancient trade route.

Echoes of Killi: A Brief History of Kildale

Hidden behind the trees to the left in the photo stands St Cuthbert’s Church, its quiet stones guarding secrets far older than the building itself. During construction in the 19th century, workmen uncovered a remarkable find: several Viking graves,…

Along the Howl: Echoes of Old Marske Marske can justly claim to be among the oldest settlements on the Cleveland coast. The lonely tower of St Germain, with its small cemetery, stands upon ground that has been holy for some fourteen centuries, the first church being raised there in the Saxon age. For many generations, worshippers from Redcar and Coatham made their way along the sands and dunes to attend services, for St Germain’s was then the only church in the district.

Along the Howl: Echoes of Old Marske

Marske can justly claim to be among the oldest settlements on the Cleveland coast. The lonely tower of St Germain, with its small cemetery, stands upon ground that has been holy for some fourteen centuries, the first church being raised there in the Saxon age.…

Grazing on the Common Roseberry Common is, as its name implies, Common land. Once belonging to the Lord of the Manor of Newton, it was vital to village life. Here the people gathered fuel, grazed their livestock, and scraped together the means to keep both body and hearth alive through harsh seasons. If you look closely, you may spot a flock of sheep grazing on the grass to the right of centre.

Grazing on the Common

Roseberry Common is, as its name implies, Common land. Once belonging to the Lord of the Manor of Newton, it was vital to village life. Here the people gathered fuel, grazed their livestock, and scraped together the means to keep both body and hearth alive through harsh…

RIP SKIPPY: A Memorial Nobody Wants Just below the summit of Roseberry Topping—a name that sounds like a pudding but is in fact Teesside’s iconic hill—there’s a large crag sandstone, rock that was laid down millions of years ago. The hill itself has only existed for twenty thousand or so, which makes it practically new money in geological terms. Moss and lichen crawl over the rock, nature’s version of interior design, unfolding at a pace that makes paint drying look impulsive.

RIP SKIPPY: A Memorial Nobody Wants

Just below the summit of Roseberry Topping—a name that sounds like a pudding but is in fact Teesside’s iconic hill—there’s a large crag sandstone, rock that was laid down millions of years ago. The hill itself has only existed for twenty thousand or so, which…

How Hush: A Gorge Carved by Water and Industry Another glimpse from Thursday’s wander through Swaledale: this is How Hush, a scar across the hills carved not by nature but by centuries of lead mining. Lead was likely valued here long before history began to take notes. The vast Grinton–Fremington dykes, which probably marked prehistoric tribal boundaries, bear silent witness to early human presence in the valley, though there is no evidence that the folk were aware of the riches beneath their feet.

How Hush: A Gorge Carved by Water and Industry

Another glimpse from Thursday’s wander through Swaledale: this is How Hush, a scar across the hills carved not by nature but by centuries of lead mining. Lead was likely valued here long before history began to take notes. The vast Grinton–Fremington…

Grinton Smelting Mill Grinton Smelting Mill is one of the best-preserved lead mills in the Yorkshire Dales. It sits in Cogden Gill, just south of Grinton village, at the confluence of two becks. The site offered water, level ground, and easy access to ore. One of the becks had to be diverted, culverted and partly covered to make space for the building. In the Dales, lead smelting mills once stood in their dozens.

Grinton Smelting Mill

Grinton Smelting Mill is one of the best-preserved lead mills in the Yorkshire Dales. It sits in Cogden Gill, just south of Grinton village, at the confluence of two becks. The site offered water, level ground, and easy access to ore. One of the becks had to be diverted,…

Who Was Mitchell Atkinson? Most of you know I am no admirer of memorials. Benches, plaques and carved rocks scatter the moors like litter. Yet this one is somewhat different, as if justified by age. Hidden off the main paths above Greenhow Botton since 1972, I had no idea it existed until I came across it, a few years ago now. At first sight I thought it a just shooting butt, but the circular dry stone wall carried a metal plaque: “

Who Was Mitchell Atkinson?

Most of you know I am no admirer of memorials. Benches, plaques and carved rocks scatter the moors like litter. Yet this one is somewhat different, as if justified by age. Hidden off the main paths above Greenhow Botton since 1972, I had no idea it existed until I came…

The Bridge at Baysdale: A Relic of a Lost Priory This bridge in Baysdale is more than a quaint curiosity. Its single arch spans Black Beck with quiet dignity, yet the quirky little parapets give it certain character. These are later additions, added in the seventeenth or eighteenth century by someone with a flair for decoration but little sense of symmetry. The bridge was originally built to serve a Cistercian priory, which has long since disappeared, its stones reused in the farm now in its place.

The Bridge at Baysdale: A Relic of a Lost Priory

This bridge in Baysdale is more than a quaint curiosity. Its single arch spans Black Beck with quiet dignity, yet the quirky little parapets give it certain character. These are later additions, added in the seventeenth or eighteenth century by…

Aireyholme: The Humble Launchpad of Empire’s Favourite Navigator From the summit of Roseberry Topping, the Cleveland landscape performs its finest impression of timeless rural charm: undulating green fields stitched together by hedgerows, with Aireyholme Farm sitting unobtrusively in the middle like it’s been dropped there by a distracted cartographer. This was the patch of the country where the young James Cook grew up, his father working respectably as farm manager while the son no doubt stared out at this very view and dreamt of horizons a little less… parochial.

Aireyholme: The Humble Launchpad of Empire’s Favourite Navigator

From the summit of Roseberry Topping, the Cleveland landscape performs its finest impression of timeless rural charm: undulating green fields stitched together by hedgerows, with Aireyholme Farm sitting unobtrusively in the middle…

Michaelmas: When the Devil Trod on the Brambles and the Lord Held Out His Hand The ling has faded, overtaken by the red leaves of bilberry. A fine day, and fittingly Michaelmas: the day the Devil put his foot on the brambles, ending the season for blackberries. A myth, perhaps, but tidier than admitting people simply tired of picking them. Michaelmas once mattered. It was one of the four quarter days, when farms changed hands, rents were demanded, and labourers were hired.

Michaelmas: When the Devil Trod on the Brambles and the Lord Held Out His Hand

The ling has faded, overtaken by the red leaves of bilberry. A fine day, and fittingly Michaelmas: the day the Devil put his foot on the brambles, ending the season for blackberries. A myth, perhaps, but tidier than…

Osmotherley Moor: Sheep, Turf and Shooting Rights Dramatic skies hang over Black Hambleton, its summit almost clear of cloud. The view is from Solomon’s Lane, a grand name for a track that no longer exists. The surrounding expanse is Osmotherley Moor, part of which is “waste land of the manor,” now the subject of an application by the Open Spaces Society to have it registered as “common land.”Notice of an application to register waste land of the manor as common land.

Osmotherley Moor: Sheep, Turf and Shooting Rights

Dramatic skies hang over Black Hambleton, its summit almost clear of cloud. The view is from Solomon’s Lane, a grand name for a track that no longer exists. The surrounding expanse is Osmotherley Moor, part of which is “waste land of the manor,”…

Freedom to Roam: Lessons from Sweden Back home on my own patch, though I still feel justified in milking our recent sojourn in Sweden for another post. In 1706 Kräkmyren was dammed to divert its water to the Falun Mine. Sweden was the…

Back home on my own patch, though I still feel justified in milking our recent sojourn in Sweden for another post.
In 1706 Kräkmyren was dammed to divert its water to the Falun Mine. Sweden was then at war with Russia, and Russian prisoners of war are said ...
www.fhithich.uk/2025/09/27/f...

Where the Rogsån Meets Varpan The Rogsån river slips quietly into the northern end of Lake Varpan, where the small settlement of Österå rests. Today it seems peaceful, but in earlier centuries this was a centre of roaring furnaces and hammering waterwheels. From the 1400s until the mid-1800s, copper smelters lined these shores, owned by miners tied to the vast Falu Mine. With water power driving the bellows, ore was transformed into copper, and heaps of discarded slag piled up into the landscape we still see, as on the far bank.

Where the Rogsån Meets Varpan

The Rogsån river slips quietly into the northern end of Lake Varpan, where the small settlement of Österå rests. Today it seems peaceful, but in earlier centuries this was a centre of roaring furnaces and hammering waterwheels. From the 1400s until the mid-1800s,…

The Silence of the Ski Jumps The ski jumps tower over Falun, stark against an empty arena bare of snow. Without the clamour of spectators they seem even more imposing, a reminder of the engineering that went into their creation. Every summer, rain gnaws at the slopes, an annual battle with erosion. Falun’s twin hills—the Normal (K90) and the Large Hill (K120)—are both Olympic standards, hosting jumps measured not only in distance but also in style.

The Silence of the Ski Jumps

The ski jumps tower over Falun, stark against an empty arena bare of snow. Without the clamour of spectators they seem even more imposing, a reminder of the engineering that went into their creation. Every summer, rain gnaws at the slopes, an annual battle with…

Beneath the Blue Sky of Falun A family visit to Falun in Sweden. Today the skies are clear, but three centuries ago the air here was so thick with smoke and fumes that the heavens were rarely seen. When Carl Linnaeus travelled through Dalarna in the summer of 1734, he wrote of Falun’s air as foul and suffocating. It was then one of Sweden’s most important towns, its wealth pulled from the ground.

Beneath the Blue Sky of Falun

A family visit to Falun in Sweden. Today the skies are clear, but three centuries ago the air here was so thick with smoke and fumes that the heavens were rarely seen. When Carl Linnaeus travelled through Dalarna in the summer of 1734, he wrote of Falun’s air as foul…

Floods, Mills and a Sunday Flush A flood warning late last night prompted me to wander down the village this morning and along the river. The so-called “waterfall” was in full spate, though hardly dramatic enough to warrant excitement. It is not a waterfall at all, of course, but a weir built in 1840 thanks to local benefactor Thomas Richardson. Its medieval predecessor had been swept away in a violent summer flood, when the bursting of fish ponds at Kildale sent a two-metre wave crashing through the villageInformation Board at Waterfall Park.

Floods, Mills and a Sunday Flush

A flood warning late last night prompted me to wander down the village this morning and along the river. The so-called “waterfall” was in full spate, though hardly dramatic enough to warrant excitement. It is not a waterfall at all, of course, but a weir built in…

Rudolph and the Power of the Fly Agaric Apparently Reindeer are known to seek out the Fly Agaric mushroom (Amanita muscaria), the red and white toadstool once used by Lapp shamans for its hallucinogenic effects. Midwinter rituals involve…

Apparently Reindeer are known to seek out the Fly Agaric mushroom (Amanita muscaria), the red and white toadstool once used by Lapp shamans for its hallucinogenic effects. Midwinter rituals involved eating the fungus, falling into a deep sleep, and ...
#Folklore
www.fhithich.uk/2025/09/20/r...

Easterside: Where a German Bomber Crashed Easterside Hill stands guard over Bilsdale, yet is all too often passed by without a second thought. Perhaps it is too familiar, or perhaps the eye is stolen by the graceful turns of the B1257. Its striking form is no accident. A crown of Oolitic Limestone sits upon Calcareous Grit, itself resting on Oxford Clay. Over centuries, the softer mudstone shales have been carved away, leaving the hill’s steep and dramatic slopes.

Easterside: Where a German Bomber Crashed

Easterside Hill stands guard over Bilsdale, yet is all too often passed by without a second thought. Perhaps it is too familiar, or perhaps the eye is stolen by the graceful turns of the B1257. Its striking form is no accident. A crown of Oolitic Limestone…

A Schoolmaster’s Ruttling Death A day repairing a fence near the old schoolhouse, now a community centre for a dale’s families. Yet its walls may once have echoed with the rod and the recitation, for Bransdale’s children endured the Victorian discipline of Robert Johnson, their schoolmaster. And in 1874, Johnson met an end so vile that the newspapers thundered beneath the headline"THE OUTRAGE UPON AN OLD SCHOOL-MASTER AT BRANSDALE." York Herald, 9 May 1874, p.

A Schoolmaster’s Ruttling Death

A day repairing a fence near the old schoolhouse, now a community centre for a dale’s families. Yet its walls may once have echoed with the rod and the recitation, for Bransdale’s children endured the Victorian discipline of Robert Johnson, their schoolmaster. And…

When Castleton Fed a Queen From Castleton Rigg above Danby Dale, the eye follows the curve of the valley. To the right stands The Howe, and to the left, on the lower ridge lies Castleton, a village whose name carries the echo of a medieval stronghold. The castle itself rose on Castle Hill around 1089, and with it came cottages and workshops, likely clustering around Primrose Hill.

When Castleton Fed a Queen

From Castleton Rigg above Danby Dale, the eye follows the curve of the valley. To the right stands The Howe, and to the left, on the lower ridge lies Castleton, a village whose name carries the echo of a medieval stronghold. The castle itself rose on Castle Hill around…

Tornado in Commondale This locomotive racing up Commondale may look like a relic of steam’s golden age, but it is in fact a modern creation. It is the Tornado. Built not in the age of steam, but in 2008. A replica of the Peppercorn Class A1 Pacific, a type once common on Britain’s railways. All of the originals had been scrapped by 1966. Tornado is the only one of its kind to existTornado History.

Tornado in Commondale

This locomotive racing up Commondale may look like a relic of steam’s golden age, but it is in fact a modern creation. It is the Tornado. Built not in the age of steam, but in 2008. A replica of the Peppercorn Class A1 Pacific, a type once common on Britain’s railways. All of…

Goldrill Beck Set Free Mist and drizzle soften the view over upper Patterdale, where Brotherswater draws the eye and Goldrill Beck winds its way across the valley floor. Not long ago this river was forced into a rigid eighteenth-century channel, cut straight alongside the A592 at the edge of the wood beneath Hartsop above How. The result was a lifeless drain: too deep, too uniform, stripped of the pools, riffles and gravel beds that fish and other wildlife depend on, and quick to drive floodwater downstream.

Goldrill Beck Set Free

Mist and drizzle soften the view over upper Patterdale, where Brotherswater draws the eye and Goldrill Beck winds its way across the valley floor. Not long ago this river was forced into a rigid eighteenth-century channel, cut straight alongside the A592 at the edge of the…

Mediobogdum: A Harsh Posting for Rome’s Auxiliaries It was not my first visit to Mediobogdum, better known as Hardknott Roman Fort, but it was the first time the weather allowed me to see it properly. The forecast had promised worse, yet the skies shifted restlessly, throwing sudden light and shadow across the valley of the River Esk, a green quilt of fields stitched with stone walls and hedgerows, and dotted with trees.

Mediobogdum: A Harsh Posting for Rome’s Auxiliaries

It was not my first visit to Mediobogdum, better known as Hardknott Roman Fort, but it was the first time the weather allowed me to see it properly. The forecast had promised worse, yet the skies shifted restlessly, throwing sudden light and…