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Alternative A-Z of Yorkshire: Prides of place
This is the third week of our new weekly series, the Alternative A-Z of Yorkshire – a list combining fact with a celebration of some of the quirkier aspects of God's own country
Canals
West Yorkshire textile makers knew there was a big world out there. But they were stuck in the middle of the country.
So they pushed a novel idea – shift the goods on water and forget the tracks and wretched roads. Nothing so ambitious had been floated before and an Act of Parliament in 1699 cleared the way.
Making the Aire and Calder navigable to link with the Ouse opened up the port of Hull. Textiles started flowing out in 1704 and raw materials from distant parts came back up stream. The waterway ensured the prosperity of Leeds, Wakefield, Castleford, Knottingley and Goole and it formed the eastern side of a through-route between the North Sea and Irish Sea with the Leeds-Liverpool canal. There was a fall-out over the route – Liverpudlian merchants wanted the canal to come via Wigan so they could get at the coal. West Yorkshire priorities were the limestone supplies from quarries around Skipton and the shortest route to the Mersey.
At 127 miles, it became England's longest single canal although, technically, it was never completed (a section of the Lancaster Canal was used to join it up in 1816). At Bingley, they built Five Rise Locks – the steepest and widest staircase of locks in Britain, where barges came to be raised by 60ft in 100 meters as they bore millions of tons of textiles at a stately pace out of the West Riding towards the coast and ships waiting to sail west across the world and to Africa.
The trickiest challenge was presented to the canal-building navvies by a company formed in 1793. The line of their route across the Pennine required the carving of a way through solid rock. The Standedge Tunnel, at just over 5,000 metres, would be the longest and highest in the country. But the engineering soon went awry and Thomas Telford was eventually brought in to sort it out. The tunnel cost more than twice the original estimate and took so long that by the time it was complete, other canals were already opened and had pinched its trade. Customers could not expect express delivery. Manpower was the only option. The boats had to be uncoupled from their towing horse prior to the arduous four-hour process of "legging". Mighty thighs were required of the man who had to lie on his back on the boat roof and push against the rock above to get momentum. It took four hours before there was light at the end of the tunnel.
The secret of the canals' success was moving stuff cheaply in bulk – more than a thousand boats worked on the Leeds-Liverpool. But then the railways did it better and lorries finally consigned canals to history and disuse. Local enthusiasts slaved in their spare time to to stave off decay and closure until the tide finally turned in the late 1960s. The British rediscovered their canals – this time as places of delight for anglers and for boaters, among them Harrison Ford and Calista Flockhart, who found a top speed of four miles per hour an antidote to rush-hour in Hollywood. Walkers and cyclists venturing on to canal towpaths discovered they were bowling along unique, long distance wildlife corridors. Michael Hickling
clogs
I grew up in the 1950s in a village where young lads wore clogs. Mine were made by Meakins of Skipton and I can still remember, 50 years later, the utility of these toughest of shoes. In winter, they were invaluable for breaking the ice on the stream and the snow would pack up inside the clog iron that rimmed the beechwood sole like a horseshoe. One tottered along on this icy platform sole until it could be removed – best by kicking a solid object like a stone or tree root.
The leather uppers were hard enough to repel serious damage from a hoof, dropped stone or a pitchfork prong. The boot sides guarded the shin and ankle. You could say they were as tough as old boots. I shall not pretend I wore them all the time but they are the only footwear I remember from that time, other than little boy's sandals. Peter Johnston (forgive me if the surname is inaccurate) wore them all the time. He was as short as me but stocky and the fastest runner among the handful of us, in what was then the farm-based, small community of Draughton. I always reckoned the clogs gave Peter extra pace but I couldn't run quickly in mine. His feet would clatter down the road, on legs like pistons.
Grown up and having left clogs and the village in my memory, I bought my second pair from a clogmaker in Carleton, about whom I was writing an article. It was an impulse purchase in the early 1970s and I used them in the kitchen garden and for odd jaunts into the ghyll above our old farm. There was a shake (crack) in one of the soles, which let in water.
Around the same time, I bought a pair of dressy clogs from a maker in Clitheroe. These were green chrome leather with a pattern cut in. The wooden soles were rimmed by rubber. They were low, really a shoe with a wooden sole. Green? Search me. A good idea at the time, maybe. These decorative, poncy clogs are the type you'll see at the dozens of clog
festivals that take place around the country.
There is an annual Clogfest in Skipton (July 6-8 this year) where the attractions will include Yorkshire Flatfooting by the dancers known as Sex on Tap. The organisers say that clog dancing probably started in the mills, when workers wearing clogs would tap their feet to the rhythm of the machines. "It's a very precise form of dance, with intricate foot movements tapping out rhythms with heel and toe. The Lancashire style uses mainly toe movements, while the Durham style makes more use of heels".
Well, us Draughton lads used heel, toe, anything that could crack, splinter or rent the object being kicked. If I wanted another pair of real clogs, I would go to our last clog factory, which is Walkley Clogs, in Mytholmroyd, West Yorkshire. Its clogs are widely exported and the specific safety clog meets EU standards – which is why the typical Dutch worker may be walking in Walkleys.
Frederic Manby
cobles
They are as much a part of the Yorkshire coast as the wind and the waves, and they have brought fishermen home safe since the time of the Vikings.
These are cobles, the sturdy little vessels which have plied the seas off Bridlington, Scarborough, Filey and Whitby for centuries, and still retain the unshakeable trust and affection of all those who sail in them, whether they be professional fishermen or anglers in search of a day's sea-fishing. It's doubtful if many of the hundreds of thousands of visitors who stroll around the harbours at Bridlington and Scarborough, or pass the Coble Landing at Filey on their way to the Brigg realise that the brightly-painted boats embody the very spirit of these coastal communities, and the formidable challenges of coping with the unpredictability of the North Sea.
For the roots of the traditional Yorkshire coble go back a very long way. The origins of the design lie in the longboats of the Vikings, and there are references to them in documents about the east coast dating back to at least the 1400s.
These days, the coble would be termed a "design classic", and so it truly is. Although the design historically varies from port to port and builder to builder, the classic coble has a distinctive, deep prow which allows it to be launched from the sands into powerful head seas, sweeping back to a transom stern equipped with a deep, slim rudder that
helps hold the boat to the sea. They are clinker built, using overlaid planks for both strength and watertightness. They are not the most elegant of boats, but they are among the toughest. There were once hundreds of cobles under sail or power on the east coast. Now, they are numbered only in their dozens as the travails of the fishing industry have progressively reduced their number. And yet they survive, because as long as people put to sea from often stormy beaches and harbours, the rugged little coble is the best friend they could have. Andrew Vine
cod
Trawlermen gave their lives for it, the poor gave their pennies for it, and Hull thanked God for it.
Cod brought wealth, sustenance and sometimes heartache to Yorkshire's greatest port, as the mighty fleet that once headed out to sea from the Humber brought back boatloads of the fish that for so long helped to feed Britain.
A third of all the fish eaten in Britain used to come via Hull, and cod was king. It was cheaper than haddock and a staple of poorer families' diets. There was so much of it in the seas off the east coast in the 18th century that fishermen from all over Britain headed there, and it became such a favourite part of the nation's diet that William Pitt the Elder referred to it as "British gold".
But Britain could eat far more cod than the North Sea could produce, and as stocks dwindled, the trawlers of Hull had to head farther afield, notably to Iceland. At its peak, Hull had the largest distant-water fleet in the world, with more than 150 vessels fishing for cod, often in appalling conditions that cost lives. Back in port, more than 50,000 jobs depended on the cod the boats brought home.
The Cod Wars were to end all that. Ugly skirmishes between Britain and Iceland were resolved by an uneasy peace deal in 1976, and it was to mark the beginning of the end for the great Hull fleet. These past 30 years haven't been easy for the fishing community, or for cod. The number of trawlers has dwindled to just a few, and the North Sea's cod stocks have become so depleted that the remaining fishermen face crippling restrictions on how much they catch.
Yet the nation's love affair with this ugly fish continues, and its scarcity has seen its price soar. But for all that, cod doesn't put much food on the tables of Hull any more. AV
co-op
Just as those who served in the Armed Forces never forgot their serial number, those of us brought up with a Co-op at the bottom of the street never let slip their "divvy" digits: the payment of the dividend was always a welcome addition to the family funds. Our Co-op was a lifeline in the days when supermarkets were in the future and your average grocer and baker charged top prices. It was a convenience store before the phrase had been invented. The roots lie in the early days of the 19th century.
The first co-operation in Huddersfield – the Co-operative Trading Association – came together in 1829. It limited itself to a maximum of 250 members and worked to a motto taken from the book of Isaiah: "They helped everyone his neighbour and everyone said to his brother, be of good courage."
They dealt mainly in furnishings, clothing, wool and fancy goods, trading their products for those from other societies, and in 1830 employed their first salesman who was paid 20 shillings (1) a week.
Huddersfield became the fulcrum of co-operation and it was here that like-minded members of a society which had been established in Rochdale came for advice. Rochdale's final dividend was to become the present home of United
Co-operatives, the largest regional society in the country with a turnover of 2.6bn and 18,000 employees. The main businesses of the society are food (biggest operator of convenience stores in the North), travel, motors, health care and funeral services. They are talking about joining the Manchester-based
Co-operative Group to create the largest consumer co-operative society in the world. As always, the members will decide.
Bill Bridge
Country Shows
Being the biggest British county, Yorkshire naturally has more country shows. Traditionally, the major agricultural gatherings start at Otley in May and finish at Pateley Bridge in September. In July, the centrepiece is at Harrogate for the Great Yorkshire Show.
It has yet to add the word Royal to its title but it is an event as fit for kings and queens as it is for commoners, aristocrats, gentry, the merely filthy rich, the farmhand, moorkeeper. Dog handlers and cake makers mingle with show jumpers and bee keepers.
There's much mingling on the showfield, too. Once, these shows would offer a rare, perhaps only annual, opportunity to say hello to someone. Mobile phones and the internet have shrunk the planet but they are nothing like the real thing, face-to-face contact. Malham and Kilnsey vie for the best setting. Malham has the distant backcloth of the renowned Cove, Kilnsey is almost under the shadow of the beaky Crag. Gargrave, however, is in a gentleman's park, and if the rain spares us, it can look very good. As a visitor, you can check the achievements of cake makers and bean growers. You can enter races which take you up and down the fells. You can watch cricket at Pateley Show, or you may enter your dog or yourself in some competition.
The only thing I ever won was seven shillings and sixpence and a drink after beating a Malhamdale farmer's stockman up and down the pole in a show tent (two poles, I was in my prime, and the judgment of farmer and hired hand may have been clouded by gin and Theakston's respectively). The main thing is that you don't need to behave badly to enjoy any of these shows. In fact, I'd advise against it. Getting to just one will give the stranger an insight into the rural community, how it works and who works there. FM
Cricket at Scarborough
...in Festival week
Is there a more beautiful phrase in the English language than: "Cricket at Scarborough"? Not for a Yorkshireman who loves cricket and Scarborough.
Those three words are sufficient to create an image so vivid and perfect that it could be framed and hung like a painting: the swell of foam from North Sea summer waves, the squawk of gulls in swooping mid-flight, the North Marine Road Ground sealed in baking heat; white and sea-green striped tents, deckchairs in primary colours; sun-burnt faces; a flag coiled around the flagpole on a breathless morning.
Ritual attaches itself easily to watching cricket at Scarborough, and a sense of ceremony accompanies it, too: the slow walk to the match – preferably taking in a sea view; the lumpen bag choked with food and drink and all the accoutrements necessary for a day's cricket – books and newspapers and pens and a portable radio.
The first drink of the day is taken just as the clock nudges past noon. At lunch, the bag is unpacked and a solemn inspection of the pitch – swept, rolled and re-marked – takes place.
Across the outfield, a hundred games are being played with seaside bats and balls. And late in the afternoon, there's a final effort to finish the Yorkshire Post crossword.
Repetition never dulls this familiar routine. "Whenever a pilgrimage through the cricketer's England may begin it must surely end, if the traveller have any sense of the appropriate, at Scarborough in Festival time," wrote JM Kilburn. Cricket correspondent of the Yorkshire Post for 40 years, Kilburn captured the essence of the week more exquisitely than anyone before or since.
"Cricket on holiday," was his description of it. "Scarborough is always new yet never changes," he added, surveying the cliff separating the bays, the Norman Castle, the hotels and boarding houses, the spread of sand, the Spa and the harbour. Interrupted only by the war years, the Scarborough festival has run since 1876 and its history is intertwined with cricket's golden names: Grace and Bradman, Boycott and Hutton.
But the matches – whether run feasts or wicket laden – are somehow secondary to the experience of being merely there. Kilburn – who else? – explained it without flaw: "Once visited, Scarborough takes hold of you inexorably... the spell is laid never to be broken." Duncan Hamilton
Cutting edge
Sheffield's coat of arms, granted in 1843, features Thor and Woden, each with an arm resting on a shield.
The mythical gods smiled on an area blessed with coal, ironstone and rivers to drive the waterwheels. Spanish iron, for a sharp edge, was unloaded at Bawtry and the tool and cutlery makers could absorb the cost because they had skilled workers and high quality grindstones driven by the fast-flowing rivers.
By the mid-18th century, the Sheaf, Don, Rivelin, Porter and Loxley averaged between three and six water-powered wheels per mile. Around 1740, Benjamin Huntsman, a clockmaker in Doncaster, invented cast steel – the most important discovery ever made in Sheffield.
At the same time, cutler Thomas Boulsover invented the process of plating copper with a thin layer of silver known as Sheffield plate. By 1850, the city was making 90 per cent of Britain's steel and Joseph Rodgers became the world's largest cutlery company keeping the "little mesters" going at his or her special skill, whether grinding a blade, polishing it, applying a handle.
The inscription "Made in Sheffield" was an even bigger winner when local metallurgist Harry Brearley invented stainless steel.
The city's edge was later dulled by ferocious competition from Far East cutlery makers and for a time it seemed that Thor and Woden might be better depicted pushing a shopping trolley at Meadowhall. But the core industry, even after savage cut-backs, has since risen again to become a world player in specialist steels. FM
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Weather for Yorkshire
Saturday 11 February 2012
Today
Cloudy
Temperature: -1 C to 1 C
Wind Speed: 9 mph
Wind direction: South east
Tomorrow
Light rain
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