Of Brass Monkeys, May Blossoms and Other Perils
Growing up in Nottingham in the early 1960s, I shall never forget me mam barking “naer cast a clout till May is out” whenever I dared venture into the Spring air without full Arctic gear—duffle coat, string vest, probably a balacalva too. She assumed, and I dutifully followed, “May”meant ...
http://www.fhithich.uk/2025/05/05/of-brass-monkeys-may-blossoms-and-other-perils/
Yorkshire’s Pride: The Enduring Allure of Roseberry Topping
It has been some time since I inflicted a post about Roseberry Topping upon the world, the conical-shaped hill that looms over this northeastern corner of what is the historical county of Yorkshire, albeit a recycling of previous posts. Local pride be ...
http://www.fhithich.uk/2025/04/30/yorkshires-pride-the-enduring-allure-of-roseberry-topping/
On this Day in 1936, the Iconic Trig Pillar was Born
On 18 April 1936, a small band of surveyors gathered around a concrete pillar in a field in Cold Ashby, Northamptonshire, to begin the retriangulation of Great Britain. The previous effort, from the early 1800s, had apparently become too out-dated to be useful.
Thus began the era of the trig pil ...
http://www.fhithich.uk/2025/04/18/on-this-day-in-1936-the-iconic-trig-pillar-was-born/
When the Fool Returns from Africa: Musings on Cuckoo Day
I was spared the indignity of rummaging through an empty pocket for loose change on my Monday climb up Roseberry Topping, which is just as well, since I heard no cuckoo. According to local superstition, today—April 14th—is “Cuckoo Day,” the date when this allegedly symbolic bird is ...
http://www.fhithich.uk/2025/04/14/when-the-fool-returns-from-africa-musings-on-cuckoo-day/
Furze: Fodder, Folklore, and the Smell of Coconut
A sudden change in the weather, as if the sky has grown bored. No more sun-drenched optimism; just a grey sheet of disinterest overhead. Still, Roseberry manages to look charming, despite being surpassed by the only plant capable of making scrubland smell like a tropical cocktail — gorse. Its yello ...
http://www.fhithich.uk/2025/04/09/furze-fodder-folklore-and-the-smell-of-coconut/
Cleveland: A County No One Wanted
All Fools’ Day 1974—the perfect occasion for bureaucratic tomfoolery. On this particular day, the North Riding of Yorkshire relinquished half of Roseberry Topping to the nascent “County of Cleveland.” A curious choice of name, given that “Cleveland” means “hilly land” in Old English, whereas this new county ...
http://www.fhithich.uk/2025/04/01/cleveland-a-county-no-one-wanted/
An Abandoned Stone Quarry on Ayton Bank
Someone once told me, or perhaps I read it somewhere, that there were twelve quarries along the edge of the escarpment between Roseberry Topping and Easby Moor, including the one on the summit itself. Do not expect a citation; it is just one of those pointless facts that have lodged themselves in my b ...
http://www.fhithich.uk/2025/03/17/an-abandoned-stone-quarry-on-ayton-bank/
A Nisly Day over Aireyholme
An old book of weather proverbs I own offers an array of predictions for March, ensuring that, whatever the weather, one can always find something vaguely reassuring within its pages. One such gem is a French proverb: “When March is like April, April will be like March.” How profound.
The notion of “April showers” stems from se ...
http://www.fhithich.uk/2025/03/14/a-nisly-day-over-aireyholme/
Family Farms or Tax Havens? The Debate Over Farmland Inheritance
A picturesque view of Roseberry looming over the Cleveland Vale, a landscape dotted with the usual mix of arable and livestock farming. A typical lowland farm grows wheat, barley, and oilseed rape while also rearing cattle and sheep. These farms are mostly family-run or tenanted, th ...
http://www.fhithich.uk/2025/02/25/family-farms-or-tax-havens-the-debate-over-farmland-inheritance/
Roseberry Topping and the Lingering Trace of a Railway
A view of Roseberry Topping that will be familiar to anyone enduring the A173. A fleeting moment of brightness in an otherwise wet and windy day spent planting trees in Bransdale.
Of mild interest here is the embankment, now smothered in yellow-flowering gorse and lined with skeletal silver birch trees. This was once a curving rai ...
4th February, 1921: Redundancies at Roseberry Ironstone Mine
His day began long before any sensible person would even consider waking. At 4:30 in the morning, he and his wife dragged themselves from their bed, greeted not by comfort but by the biting cold. The morning’s first ordeal was the outhouse—an unenviable journey in deep winter, where snow, ice, and the ever-present r ...
Slippery Paths and Roseberry’s Summerhouse
A supposedly “gentler” path to the top of Roseberry Topping winds up the southern side from the Summerhouse Field. After last night’s heavy rain, the path has become a veritable death trap, with these walkers wisely prefering the rough grass for better footing. Ascending it is manageable, but descending? Practically suicidal. Avoiding the path mig ...
Burns Night: Tartan, Haggis, and a Global Legacy
Ah, Burn’s Night, that annual spectacle of tartan-wrapped sentimentality when the Scots remind everyone of their heritage. Beyond haggis, neeps, and tatties, there is, of course, The Address itself:
Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great Chieftain o’ the Puddin-race!
Perhaps not Robert Burns’s maximum opus for surely that superlative must go to ‘Auld Lang Syne’, which, ...
Cleopatra’s Needle and its Tenuous Connection to the North Riding
Let us journey back to this day, 21st January in 1878, to Gravesend, Kent. Imagine the children, thrilled to avoid school, lining the Thames estuary to witness the grand arrival of Cleopatra’s Needle. This 3,500-year-old, 224-ton, 21-metre-high granite obelisk had been towed from Alexandria to London in a cumbersome iron vessel shaped li ...
Flocking Together: Hebridean Sheep and Sheepdog Training
I heard, through the ever-reliable grapevine, that this small flock of Hebridean sheep at Aireyholme Farm is being used to train a young sheepdog. Predictably, just before this photo was taken, the dog had had its lesson, and the sheep were beginning to calm down.
Hebridean sheep are apparently the darlings of the sheepdog train ...
The Light: Conspiracy Bile Delivered Direct to Your Letterbox
There I was, about to embark on my virtuous trek up Roseberry Topping, coat in hand, when a free newspaper crashed through the letterbox like an unwelcome guest. A relic of a bygone era, I thought, since such things had ceased to grace my street years ago. Still, the design carried a whiff of credibility, enough to spark curiosity. A quick ...
An Unofficial Path Gets Official Attention
Ah, one for the history books. Last year, the main path up Roseberry’s eastern flank was given a facelift, and now it is this desire path’s turn. The one by the fence that skirts the hill’s south-east side, linking the Cleveland Way with the Folly Field. The upgrade might happen this year, or perhaps next—what suspense.
The grand vision is to craft a narrow path with ...
Tudor Christmas: Twelve Days of Saints and Swans
Up at an unholy hour to climb up Roseberry Topping and watch the sunrise. We were not alone. The place was packed, because apparently nothing says “Christmas spirit” like elbowing strangers on a hilltop. In Tudor times, you would not have found the masses up here. They would have been at Mass, fulfilling their religious duties before launching into ...
A Slog up Roseberry Topping and a Nod to Pagan Roots
I could claim it was a brisk dash up Roseberry Topping this morning, but in truth, it was more of a plodding trudge. Perhaps it only felt that way because I foolishly dressed for winter, not realising it would be unseasonably warm for Christmas Eve. This is the view from the summit, looking down on Aireyholme ...
A’ Thomasing: A Quaint Custom for St. Thomas Day
Yesterday was St. Thomas Eve, or so I gather from the indisputable evidence of my own post about it. Naturally, this means today, 21 December, must be St. Thomas Day—a grand occasion for destitute medieval widows, who marked the day by going “a’ Thomasing.” That is, begging for alms. In some places, it was called going “a’ gooding,” a term derived from ...
