"To the outside world we all grow old. But not to brothers and sisters. We know each other as we always were. We know each other's hearts. We share private family jokes. We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys. We live outside the touch of time."
Clara Ortega
The kids and I were back on the train tracks and headed off to check on the Yorkshire branch of the family tree. Time to visit cousin Shoshone, my sister Lisa and Dave. I have to admit that public transport in the UK is like the ultimate runaway train roller coaster ride for the kids. In the US we go everywhere, and I mean everywhere in the car, I truly embrace my minivan dream Stateside. Riding the tracks, discovering the different stations is a real novelty for us. We are the fresh faced amateurs wheeling around the escalators, smiling and excited amongst the dour, gray, professional commuters who turn their noses up at our fumbling platform changes. We still look people in the eye and smile instead of fixing a stare just above their heads. The fast intercity trains that whizz through the smaller stations at top speed give us the biggest thrill, its like Thomas the Tank Engine on crack.
"Cousins are different beautiful flowers in the same garden."
Unknown
Shoshone Joy truly lives up to her name, perhaps I am a little biased but for an under one year old she is blissful. Intelligent, fast, enquiring and of course being born in Yorkshire she knows her own mind and what she wants. Shoni reminds me greatly of my maternal grandmother, I find it amazing how the gene pool skips around the generations. Although we were about to enter a different kind of pool. Jazz and Josh were besides themselves with excitement when Lisa had them take Shoni swimming for the first time.
"If you want to learn to swim jump into the water."
Bruce Lee
We had quite a week of party time in the beautiful village of Malton. In Roman times it was a cavalry fort and the area is still famous for breeding thoroughbred race horses. Mares and foals adorn the abundant farm fields surrounding the quaint hamlet with its old world cobbled square and church. The charm must have rubbed off on Charles Dickens when he was visiting the area as he wrote "A Christmas Carol" while staying in Malton.
"Everything I do is for my people"
Sacagawea Shoshone Indian Princess
Although we won't be able to share her first Christmas, it was beyond precious to be able to spend some time getting to know our own little princess. For such a wee bairn (small child) she seemed so perceptive and hammed it up for the cameras perfectly.
"Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
—parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme...."
Unknown
We took some time to explore the seaboard area. Scarborough is one of the wonderful traditional seaside towns that are scattered along the Yorkshire Coast. It dates back to the Vikings and in the 1200's King Henry II granted a royal charter for a trading fair to take place on the sands. The fair continued for 500 years and the legend of the song goes on seemingly forever. Some historians think the song is a throwback to the plague with the herbs used as a cover for the smell of death. The dramatic ruins of Scarborough Castle sit atop the headland which was heavily fought over during the Civil War of the 1600's when much of the town was destroyed. The town evolved from being an east coast fortification into a spa town in the 1700's. Scarborough's beaches had some of the first 'roll out bathing machines' to preserve a ladies dignity while she took a dip in the therapeutic salt water. In the last century the railway brought Scarborough its tourist resort glory days. In modern times Scaborough makes a play for the gray money, advertising heavily to the pensioner coach trips and outings. The promenade is still filled with nostalgic arcades, amusement parks and pubs of a bygone era. We decided to take a walk on the other side of the headland in the less illuminated setting of the North Shore.
"A cousin is a little bit of childhood that can never be lost."
Marion C. Garretty
In true British seaside tradition, we had fish and chips on the prom and enjoyed some of the town's regeneration art. One sculpture is called "Freddie Gilroy and the Belsen Stragglers". He was a retired miner and is captured wearing the traditional Yorkshire flat cap. Freddie was one of the first soldiers at the end of WWII to liberate the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp. It's an unusual piece created by Ray Lonsdale and loaned to the town. When the figure was scheduled to be moved elsewhere, Maureen Robinson, a petite old age pensioner stepped in and paid almost 50,000 pounds to have it left right there on the Royal Albert Waterfront Drive. I am always surprised by the small stories you find along the wayside of life. Human nature and the remarkable actions of individuals never fails to amaze me. I felt like a kid sitting on such a tall bench swinging my legs and enjoying a moment of truly gastronomic nostalgia - fish and chips sprinkled with salt and vinegar. It tasted even more reminiscent of childhood in the cold windy seabreeze. Tomorrow we would ride the Transpennine Express to York and change for the Northern Rail service to Saltaire and brother Rob. We were becoming dab hands (experts) on rail travel.
"Cricket is basically baseball on valium."
Robin Williams
Our arrival in Saltaire was timed precisely with a massive downpour and the only thing to do was make a run for it to the nearest pub and wait out the deluge. The "Boat House Inn" threw out unwanted Noah connotations so I had to steel myself with a pint or two of "Saltaire Blonde". This particular blonde adventure almost proved too much for me. The rain subsided long enough for us to venture outside and watch a distant game of cricket resume on the other side of the River Aire. How the sound of a corkie ball hitting a wooden bat hijacked me off down memory lane I have no idea, but it did. I mean I've never even been to a cricket match, as I girl I was always regulated to netball at school, in fact I find the whole game quite boring and have no clue of the intricacies of the rules. The senses of smell and sound are really the most poignant memory triggers of all. That smell of a certain coconut based suntan oil transports me back to a specific holiday in the sun. A certain english hairspray aroma delivers me back to a bouffant hairstyle at a sixteenth birthday party. When newly cut grass and cigar smoke smells are mingled together I can almost hear the roar of Dad's old lawn mower. Presently it was time to smell the freshly fallen rain on the way back to the Rob's house.
"Don't stand on'th edge o't'cut, mon, th'art teed faw in"
(Don't stand on the edge of the canal, my friend, you are certain to fall in)
The quickest way anywhere in Saltaire seems to involve a walk along the canal. Which stands to reason considering it used to be the life blood of the town. The Liverpool Leeds Ship Canal is a man made waterway which stretches 127 miles from Liverpool on the West Coast, over the Pennine Mountains, to Leeds in the East. Construction began in 1770 and it became the main artery for the mills and coal mines. The engineering of the locks along its length is a testiment to British ingenuity. As a kid I was always scared of falling in the canal. The flat bottomed canal barges don't draw that much water so I guess its only around 6ft. Yet the water is always dark and there were pike (carnivorous fish that eat ducklings) and snigs (fresh water eels) to terrorize my childhood nightmares. However walking along the towpath in Saltaire I needn't have worried about the canal, the black clouds and rumbling thunder were much more threatening and ominous.
“Life isn't finding shelter in the storm. It's about learning to dance in the rain.”
Sherrilyn Kenyon
Caught out by the sudden downpour we took shelter under a children's play structure and waited for the calm after the storm. I don't really mind the rain or getting wet but we didn't have that many clothes with us to change into. Hopefully the weekend would weather would improve as we planned to take a ride on a steam train and explore the Pennine Moors.
"I wanted to invent an engine that could run for ever.
I could have developed a new train, had I stayed in the railway.
It would have looked like the AK-47 though."
Mikhail Kalashnikov
The 957 Locomotive was put into service in 1876. These types of engines earned themselves the nickname "Ironclads" because they were put into service around the same time iron clad warships were battling it out in the American Civil War. Our journey today would take us from Keighley (pronounced Keethley) to Haworth, through the beautiful Yorkshire countryside. It was a weird experience at Keighley Station, we stepped off the modern train onto a regular platform then climbed the steps over to the platform bridge and entered the world of yesteryear. The other side of the station is around 100 years behind, carefully preserved with old fashioned ticket booths and hand painted signs. I fully expected to see Harry Potter wandering around looking for platform 9 and three quarters. The Worth Valley Railway opened in 1867, the steam locomotives hauled coal up the steep incline to the woolen mills. The mills relied on coal to create the steam for the looms. The railway closed with the demise of the textile industry in 1962 and enthusiasts now keep the industrial heritage alive. Every day the guard blows his whistle to the sound of slamming doors as the steam billows along a station platform frozen in time.
"There's something about a steam engine. It's alive and it's very animated."
Ed Dickens
For Josh this was a "Thomas the Tank" experience deluxe. I have to say it was an enchanting way to bring history alive for all of us. We stepped into the Victorian carriage which was replete with antique suitcases on the overhead rack. The black upholstered cushions, ancient wooden floorboards and leather window sash straps reeked with authenticity.
“He traces the steam engine all the way back to the tea kettle.”
Benjamin Disraeli
Uncle Rob was even able to grab a couple of take away cuppas for our journey, although I think the old fashioned tea cans sitting atop of the engine boiler would have tasted better. As we chugged up past the old sooty mill buildings, the whistle signaled the open track ahead. The stunning Yorkshire scenery of dry stone walls and rolling green hills were framed by the worn wooden carriage windows. I imagined I would see the Railway Children waving from the crest of the brow. This actual train was indeed used in the filming of "The Railway Children" an adaptation of the children's book by E. Nesbitt. Lots of other productions have featured this "neck of the woods" (neighborhood). Pink Floyd filmed the "Wall" here and lots of TV productions such as "Last of the Summer Wine" and "Hound of the Baskervilles" used this setting.
“I've dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me ever after.”
Emily Bronte
The line actually ends in Oxenhope but we would alight at Haworth, amidst the Pennine Moors, this is Bronte Country. Patrick Bronte became the Curate of the church around 1820 and the family lived in the parsonage in Howarth village. Theirs was a literary family and the girls became poets and novelists. Charlotte the eldest wrote "Jane Eyre", Emily wrote "Wuthering Heights" and Anne "The Tennant of Wildfell Hall". The cobbled streets, ancient graveyards and stone houses have scarcely changed since the Bronte sisters roamed the wild and rugged moors 200 years ago.
“Yesterday afternoon set in misty and cold. I had half a mind to spend it by my study fire, instead of wading through heath and mud to Wuthering Heights.”
Emily Bronte
Haworth village is at the top of a steep climb up a cobbled street. Every year thousands of Bronte pilgrims walk this way up to the parsonage and even further on up to "Top Withins". This is the farm that is thought to be the setting for Wuthering Heights. By the time we got to the top of the lane my derriere was definately withering.
“Here is my journey's end, here is my butt;”
William Shakespeare
In England this 9 year old humor is lost in translation. However, it did get me wondering as to the origin of the word. Back when villages had to be ready to provide archers for their lord during war time the lane may have lead to the archery butts. The butt was the archers target. However, I think it probably eludes to a ploughing term from the days when a serf had butts or strips of land to work for themselves. Today Haworth is a full on tourist destination embracing all kinds of festivities. They even have a "Holly Scroggling" ceremony to welcome in the spirit of Christmas. This was still very much midsummer time though and caught on the breeze were the tell tale notes of accordian music and the clashing of sticks.
"Be not afeard: The isle is full of noises" William Shakespeare.
"Morris dancing is one of the Great English Mysteries,
like cricket and warm beer."
Rosemary Edghill"
Morris has to be the most bizarre representation of all things eccentrically English. No one seems really sure from whence or where it originates. The Moresca sword dance was a celebration of the driving out of the Moorish people from Spain in 1492. The wooden sticks perhaps substituted for the swords. The bells and the flowers are all as much a part of the tradition as the ale. We had stumbled upon the annual weekend of several troupes of morris men and women.
“You know full well as I do the value of sisters' affections: There is nothing like it in this world.”
Charlotte Bronte“
We wandered along the main street of Howarth and had lunch at the Black Bull. This is the renowned establishment where Branwell Bronte frequented and indulged his alcoholism and addiction to laudanum. We merely ordered fish and chips before heading back on the train. Rob had a date with the band to practice so the kids and I were fortunate to have a private show from very talented musicians.
The painter turns a poem into a painting; the musician sets a picture to music.”
Robert A. Schumann
“The person born with a talent they are meant to use will find their greatest happiness in using it.”
Goethe, Johann Wolfgang Von
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