by Marc Latham
Yorkshire literature is best known for the Brontes of Haworth, in the west of England’s largest county. However, the Ilkley Literature Festival has become an important event in the modern literary calendar, attracting famous writers from Britain and abroad. Its north Yorkshire location also provides an ideal gateway to the Yorkshire Dales National Park.
The Ilkley Literature Festival has been showcasing local and international writing since 1973, when it was opened by the poet W.H. Auden. It was biennial at first, before becoming annual in 1988.
Visiting guests have included Maya Angelou, Margaret Atwood and Benjamin Zephaniah, and it also showcases local creative talent, such as Ted Hughes and Simon Armitage. In 2012, as part of the London Olympics celebration, six of Armitage’s poems were carved into rocks to create a forty-seven miles long Stanza Stones poetry trail from Ilkley to Marsden in south Yorkshire.
This October’s festival features a mixture of celebrity writers, such as Brian Blessed and Simon Schama, and special themes. The latter includes the history of the reader and self-help books; Brontes history and legacy, and the contribution of Black and Asian soldiers in last century’s world wars.
Ilkley
Ilkley is a picturesque town in the Wharfe Valley, with the Wharfe river on its eastern side, and a rock plateau rising above the western. The latter is known as Ilkley Moor, and is the subject of Yorkshire’s unofficial anthem, On Ilkla Moor Baht ‘at. The song is about a man courting a woman while questioning her decision to walk on the moor without a hat – bar hat. The first published version of the song dates from 1916, so it is a century old this year; although it is thought to have been sung as a folk song for a couple of generations before being written down. The Cow and Calf rocks on the southern edge of the moor are popular landmarks, as well as providing small sheer cliff-faces to climb.
Archaeological evidence suggests Ilkley has been home to human settlement for at least 4000 years. A stone circle known as the Twelve Apostles on Ilkley Moor dates from the Neolithic Age. Ilkley’s moor forms part of an extended plateau between Wharfedale and Airedale called Rombalds Moor. Rombalds has the second highest amount of stone-carved artwork in Europe.
Britons, now sometimes called Celts; with the latter word derived from the Greek word Keltoi, meaning barbarians, used by the Roman invaders to describe the inhabitants they found in the most northern corner of their empire; developed an intricate artistic culture in the Bronze and Iron ages.
Germanic tribes such as the Angles and Saxons entered after the Roman exit in the fifth century, forming an Anglo-Saxon identity mostly remembered in writing through the memoirs of monks such as the Venerable Bede and legendary sagas such as Beowulf. The Vikings arrived in the ninth century, and made nearby York the capital of their territory. The common suffix dale derives from the Old English word dæl, and has cognates in the Norse word for valley: dal.
Skipton
About ten miles north-west from Ilkley is the town of Skipton. It features a well-preserved medieval castle with a fascinating history. It was the last Royalist stronghold in the north during the English Civil War, under the command of Sir John Mallory. Parliamentarians laid siege to it for three years between 1643-1645.
Skipton Castle was built in 1090 by Normans who had recently defeated Anglo-Saxon King Harold at the Battle of Hastings in 1066. Hastings is in the south of England, and one of the reasons for Harold’s defeat is that many in his army had only just returned from defeating a Viking invasion led by Harald Hardrada and Tostig in the east Yorkshire Battle of Stamford Bridge.
Ironically, the Normans themselves were descended from Vikings who raided the north coast of France in the previous century, before settling and assimilating: the word Norman deriving from Norseman.
Robert de Romille was the first baron of the castle, and his descendants lived there until the line died out. King Edward II then installed Robert Clifford as the Lord of the castle and Guardian of the surrounding Craven district in 1310. Between the castle’s outer walls entrance and the main building there is a chapel dating from that century. The Clifford family lived at the castle until 1670.
The last Clifford, Lady Anne, planted the yew tree that still stands in the Tudor-era Conduit courtyard. It is a fine sight on a sunny summer day, with its greenery rising high enough atop a twisting trunk to feel the warmth of sky above the castle walls.
Although the castle has six drum towers, and well-preserved living quarters, it can look quite small from its front, as the entrance is on street level. However, while walking behind the castle in Eller beck to the impressive Skipton Woods, the castle looks dauntingly high and mighty. It is easier to imagine its Civil War impregnability looking up from the walkway over the Springs Branch canal.
This Leeds-Liverpool canal tributary, which is also called the Thanet Canal, was used to transport limestone from local quarries. It was opened along with the main canal in 1773, and extended in 1794. The Skipton to Bingley section of the Leeds-Liverpool canal was the first to be opened, as it was flat enough to not need locks.
The canal helped make Skipton a boom town during the Industrial Revolution, with many mills starting up in the nineteenth century. Cotton, iron, wool and silk were some of the products produced locally and shipped globally from Liverpool.
Yorkshire Dales
Skipton is the local gateway to the Yorkshire Dales National Park, with buses weaving out from the town along country lanes to picturesque stone-built villages. A few miles from Skipton is Malham. The small village is famous for its 260-feet high limestone cove and paving, which was the setting for a scene in Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows Part 1.
While Leeds, Bradford, Otley, Ilkley and Skipton all have nice nature within and around them, once you reach Malham, Kettlewell or Buckden travelling north you know that you are well and truly within the Yorkshire countryside.
A protected Dales park was created in 1954. Only a few villages and houses interrupt nature for miles around, and it is difficult to remember that two of the country’s largest cities are only about twenty-five miles south.
The Three Peaks fell-running race has been taking place each spring since the park opened, with this year’s event being the sixty-second. The three 2000-feet-plus Pennines peaks are Ingleborough, Whernside and Pen-y-ghent.
Between the peaks is the Ribblehead viaduct, with the twenty-four arches providing a fine foreground for Whernside photos. Whernside is the highest peak in Yorkshire, and also provides the county border with Cumbria. The viaduct was built between 1870-1875, with ten per-cent of the 1000 workers dying during that time. The Ribble valley became a temporary home for shanty towns full of workers and their families, inspiring an eight-part television series Jericho. The towns’ names often derived from the bible and Crimean War (1853-1856) victories.
Cumbria seems to have influenced the name Pen-y-Ghent, as Pen means Head in Cumbric, as it does in Welsh. The mountain’s head faces south, and its higher part’s extension above the long body, and out from its lower part, before it levels off at its foot like the outstretched feet of a lion reminds me of the Egyptian Sphinx.
There is evidence of 4000-year-old buildings on Ingleborough, and the second part of its name derives from burh, an Old English word for a fortified place. It has been assumed for years that it was a hillfort village, but an information board on one of its paths advises that a newer theory argues it could have been a special location for spiritual occasions, like Stonehenge in the south.
NOTE: The author covered Leeds transport in a previous TravelThruHistory article: www.travelthruhistory.com/html/cities73.html
If You Go:
There are regular buses and trains from Leeds and Bradford to Ilkley and Skipton, and local buses from there into the Dales. A good place to start planning your trip is the West Yorkshire Metro website
Other Links:
About the author:
Marc Latham traveled to all the populated continents during his twenties. He studied during his thirties, including a BA in History, and spent his forties creative writing. He lives in Leeds, writing from the www.greenygrey3.com website. He has had a Magnificent Seven books published, most recently completing a trilogy of comedy fantasy travel by web maps and information. The blogged book’s theme might have inspired the return of the X Files. The Truth is Out There and all that, and the books are available on Amazon and other bookstores.
Skipton Castle by Robert Linsdell from St. Andrews, Canada / CC BY
All other photos by Marc Latham:
Standing stone with Pen-y-Ghent in background
Limestone rocks
Skipton castle front
Skipton castle court with yew tree enjoying sun
Clapham path under crepuscular beams
Ingleborough peak
by John Thomson
I’m in Glasgow visiting relatives, recalled to the city by blood ties and circumstance. Glasgow is Scotland’s largest city, a little shabby in parts I must admit, its once busy dockyards replaced by a shopping mall, an amusement centre and a transportation museum. Thankfully, many of Glasgow’s magnificent sandstone buildings remain intact, a reminder of its better days when the city was flush with pride and Scottish architect Charles Rennie Mackintosh was at the top of his game. The Mackintosh story, like the city itself, is a bittersweet tale of success, decline and ultimate redemption. Not familiar with the name? You’ll recognize his furniture. His straight, high-backed chairs are cultural icons often associated with the British Arts and Crafts movement and although I’m not a fan of his chairs – too rigid for me – I have to acknowledge their importance.
I start my Glasgow tour on Sauchiehall (pronounced Sock-ee-hall) Street and work my way west. Glasgow converted its two main downtown thoroughfares, Buchanan and Sauchiehall Streets into pedestrian malls years ago and getting around the central core is a pedestrian’s dream. A gentle rain sprinkles the pavement but as soon as it starts, it stops. I’m barely wet. I climb Scott Street to the Glasgow School of Art considered the pinnacle of Mackintosh’s architectural career. Completed in 1909, it’s an imposing structure with a domineering command of its surroundings. It reminds me of a fortress. The western wall is tight and dense with narrow loopholes from which I imagine the inhabitants, if they were medieval archers, could shoot arrows if the city were under siege. The northern wall on the other hand has lots of large windows giving it an airy feel and letting in lots of light too. After all, this is an art school. Form follows function.
Mackintosh was not only an architect but a designer too and the original Willow Tea Room on Sauchiehall is a prime example of his handiwork. Recruited by local businesswoman and teetotaller Catherine Cranston in 1896 to dress up her establishments, Mack designed everything – tables, chairs, room dividers, wall decorations, napkins and cutlery. The Tea Room, one of two in the city, has been preserved as a Mackintosh museum with the original stained glass door and replica furniture and yes, they still serve tea. Angularity is the prevailing theme – there are those high backed chairs again – and everything conforms to Mackintosh’s singular, unifying concept.
I get off at the Kelvinhall stop and walk to the Hunterian Art Gallery on the grounds of the University of Glasgow. Mack’s 1906 residence or at least parts of it – the hall, dining room, living room and the main bedroom – have been moved from their original location and reassembled here for public display. It’s breathtaking in its simplicity. Mackintosh and Margaret have designed everything themselves right down to the fireplace decorations. They even knocked down interior walls to create more space, a radical innovation at the turn of the nineteenth century. Sunlight bounces off the stark white walls accentuating the open plan. The angular motif that I first saw at the Willow Tea Room, lots of right angles and variations on the square, is repeated in the floor, the furniture and the wall decorations. Everything is co-ordinated. A bit too co-ordinated. I feel like I’m in a museum piece, which of course I am, and long for the remains of a half-eaten breakfast on the dining room table or a pile of dirty clothes at the foot of those oh-so-perfect matching beds. I wonder if Mack and his wife ever felt the same way. Probably not. I have to admit the duo were ahead of their time though. Their turn-of-the-century digs look like they belonged in the 1930’s.
I learn that young Mackintosh was quite the celebrity when he completed the Glasgow School of Art in 1909 but when he left his employers, Honeyman and Keppie, to strike out on his own, tastes changed and his business faltered. He and his wife Margaret retreated to London to concentrate on textile design. And when that didn’t pan out the couple eventually retired to southern France where Mackintosh renounced architecture entirely and spent the rest of his life painting watercolours.
Today he’s Glasgow’s favorite son and the city isn’t shy about promoting him. He’s been immortalized, idolized and commercialized. It’s impossible to leave Glasgow without hearing his name, his handiwork or for that matter, a Mackintosh souvenir. One can’t have too many coffee mugs.
As I board the plane to return home, I ponder the Mackintosh phenomenon. Yes, his buildings are stunning. Built to withstand the Scottish climate, they’re solid, substantial structures in contrast to those flouncy neo-classical buildings in vogue at the time. Scholars have called the style Scottish Baronial, tying Mackintosh and his ideas to the Scottish Renaissance of the early twentieth century when there was a creative surge in Scottish arts and letters. Perhaps he deserves his fame because he stripped away superfluous decoration in favour of detail that complemented the building’s integrity, paving the way for Modernism. Perhaps it’s because he involved himself in total design – integrating architecture with wall treatments, light fixtures and furniture. Mack pre-dated future “starchitects” like Frank Gehry by decades. Perhaps it’s all of these things, a combination of accomplishments both historic and aesthetic.
About the author:
If you love Wuthering Heights devoutly, the words “bed and breakfast” can inspire fear. Would the broad beamed ceilings and mossy walls be protected, or would they be swallowed up into an upscale conversion? Bronte’s “Thrushcross Grange”, or as it is known in reality, Ponden Hall, is exactly as its hero and heroine would have it.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take your bags,” he said as he stepped out the front door. I ushered my daughter into the long, narrow hallway lined with wellies and jackets. It is still a family home. We entered the sitting room to the right and met the home’s other half- Julie Akhurst, a warm and inviting hostess bearing tea and cookies.
We were upgraded you to the Heaton Room, the first of many kindnesses Our room was as if a home of its own. Two twin beds were at opposite ends of the room while a large four-poster graced the interior wall. Stephen had built a warm fire in the hearth in front of the chairs and sofa, and the ceiling reached up to a height that made the room grander than a suite. It was quiet enough to hear the cows chewing the grass outside our window, and when we went to bed, a slight wind rattled the windows occasionally, but seemed to promise calm.
Despite the protective comfort of our warm duvets, we eagerly came down for traditional British breakfast. The Akhurst-Brown family invited us to join them at dinner because it would be late for us to take a taxi to the local pub the previous night and Julie proved she is an excellent cook with a delicious squash soup. Julie came in and out of the kitchen juices, fresh eggs, and warm homemade bread. Stephen pulled two large pillows in front of the stone fireplace so my daughter could sprawl out on the stone floors and watch cartoons. Listening to the family move behind us in the daily lives added more warmth to the room, aside from their heated stone floors and their giant Aga stove, than I ever could have imagined. Indeed it felt as if the haunted souls of Wuthering Heights had been set free.
Stretching eighty miles from the natural beauty of Solway Firth on the west coast to Newcastle in the east, it was built around 124 AD on the orders of Emperor Hadrian. He decided his Empire needed securing and he gave the order to build a wall across the northern frontier. The Wall took six years to complete and it’s thought to have begun as a rampart of earthwork and turf and then later replaced by local stone.
A splendid view of the Wall is seen at Housesteads in Northumberland at a section between Walltown Crags where it undulates for several miles over Whin Still ridge. I loved to ramble on top of the Wall itself where it is eight to ten feet wide and over ten feet high. I would stand alone on one of the Wall’s highest vantage points and look down on some of the most spectacular scenery in England, and immerse myself with thoughts of Roman legions patrolling where my own feet were firmly planted. I could envision them toiling to pull earth, cut turf, and lay stones, hewed, hacked and sawed and placed one by one to strengthen and form this massive barrier their Emperor had ordered.
When I walked I could envision the Roman soldiers marching to protect this well fortified defence. Forts were built every five miles and small settlements for housing sprang up, well equipped to provide shelter and storage. In this wild outpost of the Roman Empire, amidst the clamour of every tongue and the practice of every cult, the legions gathered together for training, sometimes to meet British tribes on the other side in friendly chatter or more often in deadly strife.
Few facilities existed then and I continued my trudge over undulating hills, past a tiny wood and down a small valley, dotted with grass chewing sheep with the occasional osprey swooping down to grab an unsuspecting field mouse, to the hamlet of Once Brewed where The Twice Brewed Inn served good hearty northern fare. Feet sore, body aching, a hot home cooked meal washed down with a local light ale, and I was in my heaven on earth and I have never found anywhere better. Forgotten was children’s writer Beatrix Potter’s Cumbrian house, Hill Top, where she created her characters Peter Rabbit and Jemima Puddle Duck. It would be seen another day. William Wordsworth, inspired by the same lakes and mountains, could also be remembered another time, and Dove Cottage on Lake Grasmere, where he lived for over fifty years, could be re-visited. But, during my allotted time with Hadrian and his Wall, I had deliberately stayed remote with my thoughts midst Nature’s grandeur and Rome’s remnants from empire building, aware that, just around a corner in a lane in Once Brewed, I had left a car which would transport me down the road back into Yorkshire and family happenings, where tranquility, dreams and contemplation would be put on hold.
The remainder of the city sprawls away behind and up the hills though nowhere is terribly far from the spread of farmland, coast and the wild. Sheep can be spotted grazing upon the hills to the south overlooking the old narrow port of Douglas, at the mouth of the Douglas River, hemmed in by solid rock breakwater walls. Low tide levels are readily earmarked on the sides of the piers where craft lay drunkenly upon the mud flats waiting for the inflow to sober them up.
Despite its relegation to third place tourism and its legacy are far from relics.
Minutely visible in the mirrors is the Edwardian Era Gaiety Theatre; a proud heritage building facing on to the main promenade with the ornate exterior a valid promise of what awaits inside. Opening in 1900, a year short of Queen Victoria’s passing, its rich upholstered seating with upper balconies, side theatre boxes and the expressive faces of cherubs and their statuesque kin holds silent witness to the many scenes on and off stage that have transpired over its many years. We were favoured there with a rousing rendition of Little Shop of Horrors so well presented I was surprised to discover the cast were not professionals. The sense of timelessness about watching a performance in this heritage theatre, where my ancestors had most likely sat as well, was as personal as it was poignant.
On the hills above is the must see Heritage of Man National Museum. Housed in its historic quarters, faced with ornate Celtic artistic adornments, its doors open to a chronological history which comes alive in dioramas, authentic artifacts, interactive displays which encapsulates the national story of the Isle of Man and its long history from prehistory to modern. Step into a sod roofed Celtic great house to hear a grandfather passing on to an enthralled child, a cozy home with common conversation between a Manx wife and Norse husband and displays enlivening images of the heady days of Edwardian era tourism. Gawk, amazed, under the expansive skeleton of a great deer which once roamed the isle.There are the makings of a long afternoon walking these halls.
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