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Fat Rascals at Bettys DALES DAY The day was to be long and devoted to wandering one or more of the Dales. So, early in the morning, we got into our powerless 1.1 liter Rover and made the short run to Skipton to visit its market day. The population of Skipton is probably about 40,000, and four days a week they have a town market which is essentially, as far as we can tell, a sidewalk sale. But sellers come, many Pakistanis and Indians, and hawk their wares to locals, farmers, and tourists. We bought an umbrella for £2 . It was going to cost £9 in a department store, and we also brought a huge bag for carrying items back on the plane. Unlike other trips, we are collecting things and will come back with an extra bag full. Having negotiated a fine price for the bag, we asked the stall seller where to eat and he directed us to The Devonshire Arms, a fine country pub mostly filled with locals.
After the pub lunch we left via the rear door and started walking through gates and walled fences towards the hills behind the pub. The sights are incredible. We walked through the green fields and green pastures, opening and closing gates as we went, discussing what writing projects we want to tackle when we return home. It was idyllic, if not to say pastoral, Arcadian, and yes, even picturesque.
Then we motored on to Linton, a small village Theresa researched several years ago, that was awarded the “Prettiest Village of the North Award.” Its inhabitants number 52, according to the cigarette smoking, thin, older woman we talked with on the narrow, single lane, stone bridge. She said the village was divided into two parts, which is true, they being separated by a half mile of road. "Go to the other part for the interesting view," she said. We did and were rewarded with water falls on the Wharf River and of course those ever present, adjustable legs sheep on the steep hillsides.
Further down the twisting, hilly, road, after walking for about a half an hour, we came to St. Michael, a 12th century church. Other local walkers were in the church and, as most of the Brits we've met, they have relatives in the U.S. but have never visited them. Last stop for the day was at Barden Tower, which was one of the first of the old boys' hunting lodges of the 12th century. It is now a ruin but part of it is restored into a fine tea house. I, honest to god, had tea and crumpets! The ceilings were low, the beams exposed, and the finery to serve the tea and crumpets plentiful. The Inn at Barden Tower was such a kick that we returned several times on our dale trips. We then drove home through Bolton Castle ruins, more sheep, more hills, and more dales. This is great country! I finished the day by eating English strawberries and watching a show on a medieval mystic, something I would not normally do at home, but then neither would I have been in medieval castles and hunting lodges. |
