Ripon, Markenfield and onwards

On our way up to the Dales, we stopped at Ripon. We haven't been to Ripon for many years and last time we were there, it was quite run down. It's much smarter now, although the shopping is more generic high street than it used to be. Appleton's the butchers is still on the market square and still has a tempting display of pork pies and black pudding; I'm sure they had a bicycle made of pies and puddings in the window for the Tour de France. I think the Tour must have boosted tourism, because it all looked great on the TV.

I know lots of people don't like fields of oilseed rape,
and I must admit the smell is sneeze inducing. But this
looks great, doesn't it?

The cathedral is in much better nick than we remembered, too. It's got a Saxon crypt, tiny, cramped and bare, which I didn't recall seeing before. it's dedicated to St Wilfred, who also has quite a few churches dedicated to him around Nottingham. However, he is rather unpopular with many people, as it seems to have been Wilfred who swung the synod of Whitby to the Latin church and away from the Celtic church. The Celtic church is, at least superficially, more attractive, so to some, Wilfred is more of a villain than a saint. 

The cathedral has a chapel with tombs of the Markenfields, and after the tour we went to Markenfield Hall, which is just outside Ripon.

Markenfield is mentioned in the Domesday Book (1086) but the present building is thirteenth century, and a lot of the farm buildings seemed to be fifteenth or even sixteenth century. It's moated, and in lovely countryside, and very romantic. It's only open for a few weeks in the year, and there aren't many rooms to see, but what there is is worth the trip. It's intensely romantic. The chapel is still consecrated and used for weddings. 

Moat and Gatehouse

The Courtyard - see the little turret

Inside - the hall

The utility room

I kept wondering what the little turret at Markenfield reminded me of, and on our return it dawned on me that there is a copy in Nottingham's Lace Market.

 There are two important Victorian architects in Nottingham and one was into medievalism. He was called Fothergill Watson, and later changed his name to Watson Fothergill. Which gives rise to the sort of straight faced and unfunny joke that people who have been married for forty four years enjoy - well, not even enjoy actually, it's just habit I think. Anyway, one of us looks at a building and says "Is that a Watson Fothergill?" and the other replies "No, I think it's a Fothergill Watson."  ROFL.

After our visit, we drove on to Kettlewell and our walking friends, and all in all, I can appreciate why Yorkshire is known as God's Own Country. Look it up: the internet is never wrong.

Wharfedale

We have just had a couple of days walking in Yorkshire with our walking club. We stayed in Kettlewell and walked over to Grassington and Littondale.  It was very successful, and good because we don't know Wharfedale as well as we know the more northern dales like Teesdale and Swaledale. On the last day as almost everyone else left, we had decided to do a classic walk, from Malham, past Janet's Foss, up Gordale Scar, over to Malham Tarn and then down the cove and back to the village.  

We've done it a few times before; it's a super walk and quite likely we won't be up there for a while - until we're beyond it, maybe. So although it had been raining heavily during the night and was still raining when we set off, we were still keen, even though the limestone is horribly slippery when wet. 

Malham Cove

Since we were up there last, the walking traffic has increased to the extent that the National Parks Authority has had to pave all the way to Janet's Foss and then again along from the village to the cove. But the views are still tremendous. Malham Cove was the site of an enormous waterfall at the end of the ice age, and the tarn exists because it is underlaid by slate, not permeable limestone. It's pretty bleak up there, but there's a large shooting lodge, and the house and the landscape inspired "The Waterbabies" - which I didn't like as a child and never read to my children. It's creepy.

Janet's foss

We walked to Janet's Foss  (it's all foss, fell and dale in Yorkshire - it helped us sort out names in Norway) and then on to Gordale Scar. The stream was - well, not in spate, but pretty energetic. We did pause for a moment but then thought what the hell, we're doing this. A group of Liverpudlians, men of around forty I should say, were also hesitating, but went for it. We did get pretty wet, because as well as the normal waterfall spray, it was windy. My trousers were soaking; Phil's trousers were reasonably dry, but he had one wet foot. But we were seriously pleased with ourselves when we got right to the top. 

Approaching Gordale Scar

The men go up the waterfall ahead of us.

The next bit was fine, but quite a lot of the way to the tarn, we were walking into a really strong wind which kept blowing rain. It was like walking uphill and pretty unpleasant. But as we reached the tarn it calmed down and we sat and had a coffee and a snack. We saw lapwings and oystercatchers, as well as the usual jackdaws. The time of year is great for flowers and there were loads of kingcups up there. 

Phil at the top. 

Then we set off to the cove, and fortunately the wind had mostly dried off the limestone, so we could enjoy walking on the limestone pavement and down to the valley.

Climbers negotiating the overhang.

 
At the cove, watching the rockclimbers, were the Liverpudlians, and, chatting to them, it became obvious that they had climbed Gordale Scar because they weren't going to be beaten by a pair of O.A.P.s, which amused us. 

The limestone pavement

The view from the cove.The stream emerges from the bottom of the limestone cliff.
The group of people are watching the peregrine falcons.

I've got to say, it was very nice walking with just the two of us, being able to walk at the pace we wanted and stop to look at things when we felt like it. 













































We dropped into a cafe for tea and a scone, but, even better, they had Yorkshire curd cake. It wasn't quite as good as mine - a bit dry - but they'd been generous with the nutmeg. And it was an excellent pot of tea.