By the time we left Guisborough on the Thursday afternoon the light was going but I so wanted to stop on the way back to Saltburn and see this Grade 2 listed church. I had a glimpse of it earlier as we passed through Skelton, hidden from the road by trees like a burried treasure.
We drove down the little lane and parked outside the neighbouring cottages. All seemed quite sleepy and so still and peaceful – a little corner of heaven.
Once again I could not believe that these notices on graveyard gates are necessary…who in their right mind would let their dog foul in a graveyard.
There is only a grassy path leading to this Georgian church, the old graves stand like a guard of honour to the right hand side and little mounds of snowdrops have naturalised here and there.
I knew we were in for a treat when we saw this window beside the entrance. It is like something time forgot.
The whole place had vases of mainly dried flowers dotted around on dust laden window sills with a sprinkling of pine cones or seedheads, but a hint that someone is caring for this redundant church. I hope my photos do it justice, the light levels were so low making the pictures grainy but I have not adjusted them as it adds to the atmosphere that we experienced…quietly we crept around feeling like an intrusion.
Like many of these old churches, there has been rebuilding and additions over the years and the version you see here took place in 1785, replacing an earlier medieval building. The first thing that strikes you is the flat plastered ceiling running the whole length of the church and the beautiful rose coloured plaster of the walls. Quite often in churches you would find a vaulted ceiling and this flat ceiling feels quite out of place and very low, cutting through the windows up in the gallery.
I didn’t spot any lighting or heating pipes so I am presuming there is neither. The old wooden pews are the box type with rows of little carved wooden doors.
The rather grand pulpit is set to the side of the aisle, adorned with a frill of lace and opposite is a raised room off to one side which would have seated the well to do family of Skelton Castle and housed a welcoming warm fire in the fireplace. What a difference wealth meant in those days.
There is a large expanse before the alter and this side door is left open presumably to allow a little more light to flood into the place, revealing all the plaques of bible texts and tributes that adorn the walls.
The gallery is reached by a simple but narrow wooden staircase at the back of the church.
On the widow sill at the top of the staircase we found this rather gorgeous ‘crown’ of coloured glass – a Round Community Lantern. I am sure it is a most beautiful sight once lit.
Round the back of the church you can see Skelton Castle through the railings.
The grounds surrounding the church are shrouded with mature trees and the old graves stones seem to march on into the woodlands – just beyond this point is a sharp drop down to the beck…I was almost expecting to see a mass of tangled graves lying in the valley below as if they had marched right over the face of the banking.
I hope the occupants of nos 1 & 2 Church Lane do not mind I sneaked in this little photo of their charming abodes. The light had just been switched on and it looked so warm and welcoming inside the cottage as cottages do. I wonder if they are the Friends referred to in the notice and the ones that keep this old church from being forgotten forever.
I expect though there are no weddings, christenings or even funerals taking place here now, but a candlelit carol service at Christmas would be so magical.
Once we were back on the road it was a short drive into Saltburn and as dusk was settling in the place began to light up and an opportune time for taking more photographs.
The Pier was empty now – though we noticed from our apartment window that many brave souls have been walking up and down all week no matter what the weather. It had become bitterly cold and the tide was coming in quickly with waves crashing about underneath the structure.
We eventually headed back to the warmth of the apartment and a very welcome hot drink.
I covered our trip to Kirkleatham Museum in my last post. Saturday was our last day in Saltburn. We packed the car and left just after 10am and met the owners who were about to go in to clean. It was dry, calm, sunny and the although there was snow on the surrounding hills and passing cars it was by far the warmest day since we visited my mum the Sunday before. We did not want to waste this change in the weather just travelling home so we decided to stop en route at Nunnington Hall.
We happened to have a free National Trust voucher as well as a flask of soup and sandwiches. Nunnington Hall is yet another fascinating place…but that is certainly another post.
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed the photos. Our week in Saltburn was a much needed break and despite the weather we saw some fascinating things and learnt a lot about life in the the local area. I have no doubt we will be booking this apartment and visiting Saltburn again.
Oh my goodness, we have been back from our holiday now for over a week, and what a dreadful week last week was, not a brilliant home coming.
I had this post about our little trip out to Staithes and Runswick Bay almost complete but never had the chance to proof read and make it live. So before I report on the horrors of last week I will take you back to the holiday week.
The weather over the week got far worse rather than better, so we had to choose our trips out carefully. Sketching was impossible, even from the car, as there was no let up in the rain. On the Wednesday we stayed in the apartment, DH did a lovely little sketch from a photograph whilst I did some writing for the blog post.
Below for anyone interested are a few photos and commentary of our day out on the Tuesday to Staithes and Runswick Bay.
We woke up to more drizzle on the Tuesday morning, but there was little wind which makes a big difference by the sea, so we wrapped up made a flask of soup and a few sandwiches and set off to explore Staithes.
For those who have never been it is the birthplace of Captain Cook and the old village, centred around the harbour, is down a long steep hill.
Only residents parking is allowed down at the harbour but parking at the top is more than adequate in the winter and free until the season begins in March.
The hill down to the harbour is not for whimps, neither going down or coming back up, but a sturdy handrail is provided to keep you upright. Once down into the village the footing is easier although there are cobbles to negotiate on the roadway. There is a mass of higgledy-piggledy housing clinging for dear life to the hillside, plenty of steps and nooks and crannies…and here and there you come across a narrow ginnel feeding its way through between the houses like a maze.
We questioned whether the houses in front would have been built after the houses behind or vice-versa. Did someone come along and build in front and block your view or did they squeeze in behind? Some of the cottages are almost completely hidden, tucked well behind with no view at all.
There are a modest amount of shops, some we found open, even though it is out of season and hardly any tourists about. We dodged into the sweet shop cum deli for a hot chocolate (best I had tasted so during the week – rich, dark and not too sweet), of course it might also have been the fact that just holding the warm mug helped to get the blood flowing to my fingertips once again.
The whole village is full of cute cottages and like Runswick Bay you can imagine going in a door at the bottom and coming out three houses above you.
After a good wander around we started back up the steep unforgiving hill.
We decided to move the car round to Runswick Bay and sat in the little car park overlooking the sea to have our lunch. There was still drizzle here and quite a breeze, but that didn’t stop the washing going out on the line!
Runswick Bay is one of the prettiest fishing villages, with a series of white washed cottages with red pantile roofs all higgledy piggledy and climbing up into the hillside. It was once renowned as an artists colony and has an obvious wealth about it – quite a noticeable contrast to that of nearby Skinningrove.
It has known disaster in the past when in 1682 the original village was destroyed by a landslide and it is said that no villager died because they were all attending the wake of a man in the only surviving cottage! The village was rebuilt but it has always been in danger of further landslides so in 2018 there was £2.28 million pound award-winning coastal erosion protection scheme put in place to protect the village in future.
Both the beauty and the drawback of the place is that no cars are able to get close to the houses. There is a residents car park provided and I expect for visitors and full time residents alike all shopping and baggage has to be unloaded and walked to the house. Goodness knows how they manage with furniture and appliance deliveries and even worse should any building maintenance be required.
The tight knit walkways are fun to explore as you never know where you might pop out from along the maze of footpaths.
On the Thursday we visited Kirkleatham museum which is well worth a visit to see the story of the steel works that evolved in the area after the discovery of iron ore in the nearby Cleveland Hills in 1850.
It is a fascinating exhibiton – I was amazed to learn that Middlesborough, now a sprawling industrialised town, was once a tiny hamlet with a farming community of only 25 people. It was enlightening to discover how steel is made from the iron ore in the large blast furnances. Those steel framed structures of the plants that you see, comprising of sheds and towers and long runs of pipes resemble a long forgotten theme park. On the outskirts of Middlesborough these old steelworks at the Lackenby works stretch for miles like an industrial wasteland. I am presuming these buildings are still operational but it is hard to tell as there is such a feeling of desolation to the area.
In 1967 the British Steel Corporation was formed as a national company and re-privatised in 1988. Eventually, through its chequered history and demise it has ended up being owned I believe by the Chinese. I thought this sign was quite poignant.
My grandad, and many of my relatives worked in similar steelworks in Sheffield – it was a protected job during the war and he worked long hours and was always in danger of a bombing raid. My dad was a metalurgist and he often went to the power stations as part of his job though I have no idea what he actually did there, I only know he has notebooks full of mathematical equations. He always said inside those large concrete cooling towers they were the size of a football pitch.
There was also an exhibition of textiles in their temporary exhibition space at the museum with some rather lovely textiles on display. I did weaving many moons ago in the attic at the Ramsden Art School as part of my foundation course, and a couple of years later aquired my own table top loom that was going to be put in a skip. The problem with these large looms is that they take a lot of yarn and you require a skein winder. When we downsized from a four storey mill workers house to the house we are in now there was no room for the loom and it had to be sold.
Seeing these lovely exhibits has made me want to have a go again with just a tiny frame.
On the Friday afternoon we spent a couple of hours pottering around Guisborough – a bit of window shopping and a few minor purchases. On the way back, just as the light was going, we stopped to look around Skelton Old All Saints Church….but that is another post another day.
We are now catching up with ourselves after both our holiday and the eventful week we had last week, and given that this is a long enough post for anyone to read I will tell the tale another time.
Although I was trying to make our shopping stretch over two weeks I could not ignore all the items on offer at Sainsbury’s today, so I ended up spending far more that I had intended but I have a well stocked pantry to show for it. I can’t help noticing that some prices have leapt up again and even when on offer the offer now is dearer than it was the time before.
I have my audiolgy appointment tomorrow – I always dread it. The NHS hearing aids I was given are so hard to get used to they make the world seem a very loud place so I am tending not to wear them unless I have to. The audiologist is not impressed by my lack of progress – I know I should persevere but I have to be in the right frame of mind and this period of my life is rather stressful at the moment dealing with my mum seems to make my hearing worse.
You never know I might even manage a comment or two on the blogs I read. I do keep dibbing in and out as time allows but it was half term last week and blogging plus mum plus grandchildren do not sit well together…something has to give!
I will be back soon, thank you for reading. x
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Where do you go when it is damp, cold and continuous drizzle?
On holiday to the north Yorkshire coast of course!
And here we are.
And I am loving it…the winter bleakness, even the dull and damp weather can’t diminish my enthusiasm.
Our 1 bed apartment (see this link if you are interested) looks out over the sea; crashing frothy waves, the occasional surfer (brave), the more than occasional dogs running round and the rolling sea mist.
The journey north was quick last Saturday so we stopped off at Great Ayton (birthplace of Captain Cook) for refreshments and a wander. Too muddy for the little park, we wandered round the churchyard of this Grade 1 listed 12th century church – the Church of All Saints with its cute entrance gate. Though why there has to be an ugly’clean it up’ sign for dog owners attached to the ancient gatepost baffles me – surely no-one would be so disrespectful in a grave yard not to clear up after their pet.
The church is still used today for special services but has no electricity or heating. The tower was removed in 1880 and the whole place is a mix of different periods adding to it and taking away. It is though, a wonderfully peaceful setting and if I were to be burried one day this is the sort of place I would choose, under the great Yew trees with rampant blackberries, ivy and a carpet of snowdrops.
Members of the Cook family are burried here, though we didn’t stop to identify the graves.
I was quite taken by the old vicarage next door which you can see here over the wall standing in front of the newer church of All Saints. It is currently up for sale for the first time in its history and is quite a wonderful house – peeking through the shrubbery for a quick nosy I could easily see myself living there and all for £875,000. Dream on in my case.
Saltburn is not far away from Great Ayton so we arrived before tea, located the flat and dragged our bags up the never ending staircases to the 2nd floor (no lift) but then we need the exercise. We never pack light when going self catering – there are certain things I always take ‘just in case’ after finding some rather unsavoury equipment in previous rented accomodation, one is a sharp knife and our potato peeler (I find other peoples are often blunt),a cheese grater (we have come across some quite rusty ones in the past), a clean jug (I once discovered that it is quite common for some people to use a jug to take a urine sample in for the doctor – so I take my own…jug that is), my steamer (as we never boil our veg and most places don’t run to a steamer), a chopping board (as most will have had meat chopped up on them)….yes I am picky when it comes to the kitchen….oh and a couple of extra towels to supplement the ones provided.
I might add that thankfully – this apartment is well equipped other than the steamer.
Then I take my library of books – this trip I have included two on sketching, as that is one reason for the holiday, the Michael Mosely book Just One Thing to read and make notes, an interesting book called Shiny pennies and grubby pinafores : how we overcame hardship to raise a happy family in the 1950s by Winifred Foley, A Stitch in Time by Una Stubbs (recommended on someone’s blog and which I bought recently for £1.78 as new), last years Country Living Spring edition (still waiting to see this years in the shops), my February folder of magazine cuttings, notes and ideas and my planner.
So I am well stocked up.
On Sunday we abandoned our holiday for a few hours to go across to Yarm to visit my mum for the day. It was the best day so far…calm, sunny and really pleasant – so we bundled her into the wheelchair and pushed her the half mile to the local park and the cafe. It was a good visit and mum enjoyed herself so we were not expecting the barage of calls the following day when our holiday proper began. Sixteen calls throughout the day – I had set my mind to not answering any of them and letting it go to voicemail. It was always the same questions ‘when was the next carer going in?’, ‘why was I not answering straight away?’ Knowing the carers would alert me to any problems I knew she was safe and cared for and honestly…I just needed to enjoy one day of my holiday away from the never ending calls.
I didn’t enjoy the day much in the end it was as bad not answering the calls as it is answering them. I rang her just before the last carer came as I always do and of course she was not pleased that I had not answered her calls and I said I couldn’t possibly be on the end of the phone all the time and sometimes had to have a shower, go shopping or to the doctors etc. Her huffy reply was she wouldn’t be bothering me anymore ever again, which of course then makes the guilt too much to bear and my palpitations worsen and a sleepless night ensued. It was well after the early hours and a long conversation with DH wondering how we can manage this new period in our lives as mum becomes more anxious and needy of us and has to call for reassurance as soon as a carer leaves.
So on Tuesday, true to her word, we had no calls. I rang her at my usual teatime call and told her who the next carer would be and when Vera was on the TV and she was grateful I had rung. I rang her again at 8pm to tell her to put Vera on (thank heavens for Vera on a Tuesday) and all is well again. I expect it will be business as usual again now and she will have forgotten our conversation of me not being on the end of the phone all the time.
Whilst dodging the calls on the Monday, we had a stroll around the centre of Saltburn, checking out possible places for a drink or a meal and having a browse in the craft and gift shops. We returned to the apartment for lunch, a healthy egg salad open sandwich on rye bread and afterwards drove out to Skinningrove, the next coastal village down.
If you have never been and experienced the delights of a gritty, down to earth northern coastal village, then Skinningrove is the place. Fogotten in time, and with no injection of any serious funds from the council budget, I presume, it has a raw charm which I quite like but would not appeal to many who no doubt would prefer the nearby picturesque villages of Staithes and Runswick Bay.
The original cottages, in what would have been a small hamlet, are so lovely. Built with the local sandstone blocks of a soft orangy-brown hue, topped with red pantiles, they once housed families making a living through fishing or agriculture, before the industrialisation took hold.
In the early history of the village there would have been only 13 dwellings, but this was all to change when a seam of iron ore was discovered and in 1848 the opening of nearby Loftus ironstone mine attracted, not only a large workforce, but the building of long rows of tightly packed terraces to house them in and the place expanded within 40 years to 348 dwellings resembling something that looks more at home on the outskirts of Manchester.
This dense mass of red brick terraces (the remaining ones now rendered and painted) with only a back yard and no garden covered the valley bottom and was encased either side by steep hillsides, the mine workings being on the top.
Photo Credit: Facebook
The sheer scale of the model village is absolutely awesome, I couldn’t avoid showing this picture I found from the local Nostalgic North Riding group – my original link through to this photo did not work on all devices so I decided to include the picture (I am never very sure of what photos I can copy from the internet so I hope this one will be kosher). It is said to have had over 80 small shops within this tight knit community. I would imagine that these brand new two or three up and two down houses in red brick would have been thought a luxurious place to live in the day but now suffer from needy maintenance and repair.
These terraces are some that remained after the clearance in the 1980’s
On our stroll around the streets we came across a few notable things.
I thought this hidden away Fish and Chip shop in an old garage round the back of the houses quite enterprising.
And when we came across this sculpture the ‘shanty town’ of sheds littering the hillside on both sides started to make sense.
It is a land of pigeon fanciers. Makeshift huts and sheds, some in a state of near collapse are a continuing reminder of the dedication of the many pigeon fanciers that lived here.
The slopes of the valley would have been their only green space to grow a few vegetables and house their pigeons. It is hard to tell whether some of them are still in use or just abandoned; there seems little evidence of any gardening or winter crops…and not a pigeon in sight.
Eventually, this boom went into decline and progressive closure of the mines led to mass unemployment and in 1958 the last of the mines closed for good. The 1980’s saw extensive demolition at the heart of the village and the long terraces replaced with some very unspectacular more modern social housing, which does nothing to enhance the appeal of this village, but has given each family a small garden. The village has since been awarded the status of a Conservation Area – far too late in my mind. Many of the really old buildings had already been destroyed. Still you can’t help feeling that this village presents a true picture of its history, where the pleasant and picturesque sits tightly together beside the decay and decline and has become an enduring memorial to changing times.
Just as the village itself is in decline so is the hobby of keeping and racing pigeons – it is no longer a young man’s sport anywhere in this country.
It is that kind of idyllic place, nestled into the surrounding hills with a beach on the doorstep and a peaceful atmosphere, where you want it to be beautiful and cared for. A place to treasure. But the reality is different. The community is still tight knit but there seems to be a complete disinterest in improving or acknowledging the decline of their surroundings. When we passed an old chapel, now used as a builders storage unit, I asked the guys working there what the inscription said on the carved stone above the doorway. They were quite amused came out to have a look and said they had never noticed it before! Looking on as an outsider this whole village feels more like a poor urban area and only the rugged beauty of the shore and hills around saves it.
I saw this quote on Facebook ‘History is made up of ordinary days, lived one at a time’.
This sums up this strange place where Skinningrove’s past has shaped the community that’s here today and will continue into the future.
It is Friday now and we still have more discoveries to make this holiday, sketching has been quite minimal so far given the continuous rain, but that doesn’t matter – we will try again another day…maybe even another holiday.
If you don’t know what to say…talk about the weather.
It is wintery – that’s all I can say!
I have found a gap in my time to write this post and now I can’t actually put thoughts onto paper. It has been one of those weeks, where instead of being busy and achieving little, I have done little and surprisingly, achieved a lot.
As I said a few posts back I had planned to look at our finances and paperwork during January and move on to reshaping our health and diet during February.
But February came rather too quickly.
And the paper mountain still resembles a mountain.
I thought I would have to abandon the paperwork task and all I had planned to do in terms of overhauling our finances and decluttering the paperwork to move on and keep up with the original plan, then I read somewhere the other day that there really is no rush to accomplish everything in January and this is the main reason that those well intended new year’s resolutions fail.
This advice has stuck with me and an alternative approach is just what I needed. So the paperwork clearout will continue before I switch to looking at our health and diet.
In the meantime, I can read up on ways to make our diet simpler and healthier. I am sure we will not expire before March through lack of a better diet, and my recent blood test results were good, so I have no reason to rush.
With this updated plan in mind I set about decluttering the files. Not an easy job. I didn’t do them last year and maybe not the year before either. I had accumulated a stack of papers beside my desk and another on the craft table, added to which we brought down a box full of old papers from the loft. The very sight of them each day has done nothing for my peace of mind and other than a kind overnight fairy coming and waving her magic wand I knew they would haunt me until I dealt with them.
So while DH and I have been recuperating from the virus, and the weather has been dreary I made a start on the mound.
Paper clutter is one of those tedious tasks; endless decisions about each piece of paper – toss or file?
Will I need it in future, would I know it was there and could I get the information online if needed?
I know all the advice is to get rid of papers and receipts, but I have been saved many a time because I have kept hold of documents and receipts and could subsequently get a refund or compensation.
So now all the paperwork is suitably sorted and filed away and all the files re-ordered and labelled and the filing drawer is a joy to behold when I open it. The old receipts are shredded and have gone onto the compost heap and last years are packed away neatly in a little box that will be stored in the loft ‘just in case’.
I have a little more packing to do for our week away. The weather has not been good here but it will be nice to have a change of scene and be besides the sea.
I am hoping to do a fair amount of sketching and take my watercolour paints with me. It will feel odd not to have any gardening to do like we had at the cottage. I will miss that and need to get used to a whole different kind of holiday going forward – one that is a holiday and not more work.
We will only be half an hour’s drive away from mum. We will see her on Sunday, but we will not tell her we are staying close by as she will expect us to ‘call in’ every day and that is not what this holiday is about. In fact I have not mentioned we are away because she cannot retain new information now so best not to have that conversation in the first place…for my sanity. Her mind is going sharply downhill now. Everyday she rings as soon as the carer has gone to ask when they will be back. They have a set routine of times but she seems to have lost the ability to understand time now. Five minutes to her is a very long time, so when the next visit is 3 hours away I get numerous calls asking when they are coming.
Once the 3 o’clock visit is over she rings to see who is doing the 6pm one and after they have got her to bed then the calls begin about what is on TV. It is like being in a loop I cannot escape from. I know the holiday will be continually interupted by phone calls but there is little I can do about that – dementia affects everyone around them as much as the person themselves.
DH has made a curry to take with us and some celery soup. We have some slices of nut roast in the freezer that we will pack as well, and I bought a quiche with my Nectar offer. We rarely have anything that is a ready made meal from the supermarket and we hardly eat anything with pastry but I do like a quiche every now and then – it is a shame I couldn’t fit in the time to rustle up a homemade one.
So by the time you read this we might be fully packed, in the car and headed north. I do hope so.
Goodness, I have just realised we will be coming home on Valentine’s day and I haven’t made a card for DH. Oops!
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where the journey takes me 2 