Things ancient and modern

Here you might be surprised the ancient or rather slightly older thing is Doncaster's station not the gothic church that would like to dominate the skyline of this ancient town. The station was built in 1848, some five years later the 12th century church of St George burnt down completely and had to be rebuilt by, well who else could do the job, none other than our old friend Sir George Gilbert Scott. I'm told that the bill for rebuilding came to £43,126 4shillings and 5 pence and even Queen Victoria raided her piggy bank and gave £100. It's Grade1 listed and has interesting things in it you would love if you could see 'em (try here).

A new shopping centre/bus station/railway interchange thing has sprung up since I was last in these parts. I think it's called Frenchgate, something like that, anyway new to me.

Doncaster station is still as busy as I remember it. This is where the suits get off, taking their loud conversations with them, and head for the mainline London train ...

Now Doncaster or Donny as the train conductors and locals call it is only here because the Romans needed a place to cross the river Don and move on up North to York and civilisation. They fortified the place and, because they knew no better, they named it Danum, the natives called it Don - ceaster, the roman fort on the river Don, sensible eh?. Not wishing to flow against the tide of history this is us doing just that crossing the Don and moving on ... next stop Sheffield which is also on the river Don but named after a different river altogether.

¿Qué gigantes?

¡Válame Dios! —dijo Sancho—. ¿No le dije yo a vuestra merced que mirase bien lo que hacía, que no eran sino molinos de viento, y no lo podía ignorar sino quien llevase otros tales en la cabeza?

                                                                                            Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra

I've been trying to find out exactly what climate is and I've failed completely. You'd think with all the stuff and nonsense spouted out it would be easy to say climate is such and such; but no, no-one can come up with an agreed definition. So I haven't a clue what is meant by the term "climate" (and I'm guessing you don't have much idea when it comes down to it). I read that "climate is what you expect; weather is what you get" but that isn't really helpful in tying down a definition, is it? Best I can figure on the matter is that climate is past weather all averaged out (and maybe fiddled with by clever folk with fancy machines) but it's past weather nonetheless, that is to say, climate is history and it's also an artefact, something that only exists because we say it does. (To some poor folk climate has developed almost god-like properties, and it's an angry god too that needs propitiatory sacrifices such as cutting off the electricity to appease it... these people are completely mad it goes without saying.) Now just as history can't be changed, so climate can't be changed; only the weather can change. Now if you've ever read the small print on investment opportunities you'll be aware that past performance is no indicator of future returns. So worrying about climate change and doing something about it is just tilting at windmills ...

These desaforados gigantes are near Thorne between Goole and Doncaster on land, Hatfield Chase, reclaimed from marshes nearly four centuries ago by our friendly Dutchman Cornelius Vermuyden when the climate was cooler than it was yesterday so they say.

The Fair Maid of Goole

I've been though Goole many times by train but never set foot in the place or, to be honest, given it much thought. So what can I tell you about Goole that you don't already know? You'll know that  a Dutchman, one Cornelius Vermuyden,  diverted the river Don (~1629) into a navigable cutting known to this day as the Dutch River which met the Ouse just above the confluence with the Trent. Where the Dutch River met the Ouse up grew or rather developed the village of Goole. (Goole is first mentioned in 1362 as Gulle, a word meaning channel or drain outlet.) The village of Goole was used then for shipping coal from the south Yorkshire coalfields in barges. It developed into a large inland port with the arrival of the Aire and Calder canal. This led to building a town proper, known then as New Goole. The railways arrived in 1848, it's on the Hull to Doncaster line, the motorway, M62, is close by. It now has light industries, Siemens are building a train factory there and the port is thriving and some 18,000 souls inhabit the place.

Now as to landmarks Goole I'm told has a church (below) and two water towers (above) known as Salt and Pepper. There's apparently  a fancy crane or hoist in the docks but I couldn't see that from the train...

... and as our train is departing so we must bid this place adieu...

The Ouse

So to avoid any confusion this is the Ouse. Not the Great Ouse the we met in King's Lynn, nor yet the Little Ouse not even the Sussex Ouse; just the plain old Yorkshire Ouse that runs down from above the city of York until it reaches the Trent and forms the Humber. Like the Great Ouse, this river brought trade and invaders up into the heart of the country to the ancient trading city of York. It has been estimated that a sailing ship could reach York in a few hours from Hull on an incoming tidal bore known locally as the aegir. In 1066 Harald Sigurdsson, king of Norway, aka Hardrada (the hard ruler) took his Viking fleet of several hundred ships up the Ouse to York in one day and defeated the inhabitants at the Battle of Fulford.

So the river is historically important, less so now that Hull took away York's trade, sea going vessels go no further inland than Goole and Vikings have found oil and gas in the North Sea and have settled down to making detective films instead.

The bridge we are going over is the Ouse rail bridge near Goole for we are on a day trip to Sheffield on an  errand so ridiculously silly that you really wouldn't believe grown up, responsible adults would countenance such behaviour.

Hull Fair Rides Again

Photo by Margot K Juby

It's that time of year again when a car park in west Hull is taken over by the biggest travelling fair in the country. It's the week of Hull Fair again, just as noisy, bright and brash as ever, just as crowded as well. This year more folk than ever have crammed into the place, so many the police had to close the street off at one point last weekend. I don't much like the thing itself but, as Margot reminds me every year when I moan about going, it marks the passing of the seasons, autumn can begin now the Fair is here.

The weekend in black and white is here.

A Big, Beautiful Wall

Before we leave Castle Rising to its slumbers just one last gaze upon the earthwork ramparts that reach 120 feet in places and the ditch that surround the keep and the two external baileys.

Such defences might make you think the place was under threat and was somehow of military importance. It seems, however, the place had no strategic value and was just a vanity project, an expensive, over done hunting lodge. The ramparts were just meant to impress and they still do.

The Neighbours

Sticking this castle in the Norfolk countryside involved shifting an existing village slightly to the north. The village, known then as Risinga, gets a mention in Domesday as belonging in 1086 to Odo,  half-brother of William the Conqueror and bishop of Bayeux, who, as a cleric, could not shed blood so took to the battlefield wielding a club. There's an old church you can see poking out from behind the trees named after St Lawrence or Laurence if you prefer ( I'm a 'w' Lawrence man myself). St L it was who, it is said, calmly sat up during his martyrdom by grilling, and stated that he was cooked on one side and would they kindly turn him over and cook the other ...

This tree bears a memorial that it was planted by the Princess of Wales on December 28 1865, there's another nearby allegedly planted by her hubby. They must have been bored between Christmas and New Year and popped out for a spot of gardening.

After one thousand years the village of Castle Rising belongs to the Sandringham Estate, yes, that Sandringham which is just up the road, the road where the elderly Queen's consort had his accident earlier this year. And, on the subject of keeping things in the family, the castle, though run by English Heritage, is still owned by a descendant of  the guy who had it built, William d'Aubigny ...one lord Howard of Rising.