Skipton, Grassington and Kettlewell: To Upper Wharfedale and Beyond! Part 1

A Medieval Castle and a Honeymoon Village

Sunday is our wedding anniversary (45, since you ask) and for the last ten years I have assiduously reported our celebratory excursions into the world of ‘fine dining’. But not this year. Restaurants are opening up, those that survive anyway, but hedged around with so many rules that the ‘special experience’ they offer would be ‘special’ for the wrong reasons.

‘Poor you,’ I hear you say under your breath, with varying degrees of sincerity.

But we had to go somewhere. Much as we like Swynnerton, we were desperate for a change of scene, so we struck out for the Yorkshire Dales, more specifically the village of Kettlewell in Wharfedale.

Skipton was marked on the original map, but Kettlewell or Aysgarth are far too small

And why Kettlewell? Because on the 26th of July 1975 we left our wedding reception in Solihull in the late afternoon and drove north to Kettlewell where we spent the first week of our married life.

Lynne, Yorkshire Dales July 1975
Lynne's hair is still this colour, and no, it does not come out of a bottle

We looked so young, but time has corrected that failing.

Me, Yorkshire Dales July 1975.
My hair seems to have changed colour

Skipton

North Yorkshire
Just a part of God's Own

Craven

So, on Saturday 25th of July 2020 we enjoyed the rare experience of a free-flowing M6 to Preston, (courtesy of Covid and recently completed roadworks). From there we headed to Skipton, in what the locals call God’s Own County. The small town (pop 15,000) lies just outside the Yorkshire Dales National Park, but stakes its claim for tourists’ groats by dubbing itself ‘Gateway to the Dales’.

Skipton is not in Wharfedale, and describing it as 'Beyond Wharfedale' when coming from the south is stretching the fabric of reality, but there is no word with the exact nuance of  'pre-yond'.

With a poor weather forecast and many attractions closed, we had taken the precaution of pre-booking a timed ticket for Skipton Castle. Skipton Market fills the High Street four days a week, in non-covid times that could have caused a delay with parking or finding a café for a socially-distanced cup of tea and a tea cake (with a wedge of Wensleydale), but not today.

Skipton Market

Skipton Castle

The entrance is through the Gatehouse in the curtain wall. It's at the top of the High Street next to the church. Despite it being flanked by two stout towers, if I were a medieval warlord, I would look at this flattish, unhindered approach and lick my lips. The gatehouse is crowned with the Clifford’s motto ‘Desormais’ (‘Henceforth’), described as a ‘proud challenge’ in the guide book, but sounding to me more like an admission of being rubbish and a promise to try harder. Not being warlords we gained entry by meekly showing our ticket.

The Gatehouse, Skipton Castle

Inside the gate is a grassed area with the medieval castle straight ahead…

Skipton's Medieval Castle, with the entrance and Lady Anne's steps on the left

…and to the right a 16th century extension which is the home of Sebastian Fattorini. Antonio Fattorini migrated to Yorkshire from Italy in 1826 and set up a jewellery company. The family firm prospered and expanded. They bought Skipton Castle in 1956 and although they now operate from London, Birmingham and Manchester the castle is their registered office.

Skipton Castle and its 'modern' extension

A wooden motte and bailey was built in 1090 by Robert de Romille. Little is known about him, but he is believed to have been an adventurer who came over from Normandy to fight for the new Norman kings and was rewarded with a chunk of Yorkshire. In 1102 that became quite a large chunk when Henry I gave him Upper Wharfedale and Upper Airedale as well.

A stone castle was later deemed necessary to deter marauding Scots – though the nearest corner of Scotland is 80 miles away. The Romilles ran out of heirs in 1310 so finishing the job was given to Robert Clifford who was made 1st Baron de Clifford. He just about got it done before being killed at Bannockburn (1314). So killed by a Scot while marauding in Scotland - a fatal case of irony.

The Clifford’s held the castle for the next 350 years; it is their motto over the gatehouse, their flag flying from the watchtower and mostly their work visitors see. After the Civil War, Lady Anne Clifford (1590-1676), gained permission to restore the badly damaged castle. We entered by climbing Lady Anne’s steps and passing under her stone tablet.

Lady Anne's tablet, Skipton Castle

The Great Hall is beside the kitchen. It was here medieval life was conducted, all ate in the Great Hall and all slept in the Great Hall on the same rushes. The castle is well equipped with windows, which makes it unusually light, but the glazed skylight running the length of the hall must be a modern intrusion.

Great Hall, Skipton Castle

As castle life became more sophisticated, serious dining required a banqueting hall - though I am not sure a banqueting hall required a brace of early 19th century naval cannons. Business meetings would also have taken place here, but it would have been a dark and gloomy place before the addition of the bay window in the late 15th century.

Banqueting Hall (with Culverins) Skipton Castle

And the lord and lady would also require their own withdrawing rooms and bedrooms. The windows have a fine view and show how despite its level access from the town an attacker would find the approach from the north daunting. These windows were probably added by Lady Anne, after the threat of war had passed.

Looking north from the Lord's withdrawing room over Eller Beck, Skipton Castle

The muniment tower is less altered. Here all the documents and deeds concerning the administration of the castle were kept safe behind thick walls and hefty padlocks. Unfortunately, nobody thought to keep them safe from damp and mice, and most were lost.

Muniments Room, Skipton Castle

From here we climbed the watchtower which gives a view of the other side of the Gatehouse and then descended to Conduit Court. Across the court is a ‘new’ kitchen and beer and wine storage.

'New' Kitchen, Skipton Castle

The castle saw little active service until the Civil War, when as the last royalist stronghold in the north, it was besieged for three years. Badly damaged, it was surrendered in 1645.

Lady Anne Clifford was the only surviving child of the 13th Baron who died in 1605. After forty years of legal action, and the death of her uncle, who claimed the title, she was recognised as the 14th Baroness in her own right and took possession of the castle in 1649. Having not been involved in the siege she eventually gained permission to restore the stonework, provided the upper towers were thin and the roof too weak to bear cannon. She completed her restoration in 1659 and planted a yew in Conduit Court to mark the event.

Lady Anne's Yew, Conduit Court, Skipton Castle

Skipton

The, probably apocryphal, story of fleece being hung over the castle walls to lessen the impact of Parliamentarian cannonballs has been described as the origin of the fleece on Skipton’s coat of arms. The fleece actually refers to the derivation of the town’s name and the green background to its pastoral setting. The white roses represent Yorkshire, the chequer pattern and the wyvern come from the Clifford’s arms while the bars on the banner held by the wyvern comes from the de Romille arms.

Anne Clifford would be the last Baron(ess) Clifford to bear the Clifford name. She had four children from two marriages, but both her sons died in infancy. Living to the then remarkable age of 86, she outlived both her daughters, so it was her grandson Nicholas Tufton who become 15th Baron Clifford. The current (28th Baron) is called Miles Russell and is a distant relative of Andrew Russell the 15th Duke of Bedford. Anne Clifford's mother was Margaret Russell, daughter of the 3rd Earl of Bedford. So unmerited privilege rolls down the centuries along with a good dollop of in-breeding (I know nothing about the current generation of Russells, so this is a general point not aimed at anyone in particular).

The 12th century chapel of St John the Evangelist in the inner ward is in a poor state of repair. The most interesting features are the mason’s marks. Medieval masons were paid per dressed block, and this how they claimed their fee.

Mason's Mark (a crossed z), Chapel of St John the Evangelist, Skipton Castle

Leaving the castle, we took a circular walk starting on the footpath over the Eller Beck earlier seen from a castle window.

Walking above the Eller Brook, Skipton

From here the castle certainly looks formidable.

The curtain wall of Skipton castle from Eller Beck

Before moving on, I have to include a picture taken at the end of the walk. I am as delighted as anyone by a well-made pork pie, and it was good to see the people of Skipton queuing for their theirs, properly masked and (almost) obeying the new 1m social-distancing rule.

Queueing for a good Yorkshire pork pie, Covid style, Skipton

Grassington

If Skipton is the Gateway to the Dales, then Grassington, 10 miles to the north is the Gateway to Upper Wharfedale. Its industrial and agricultural heritage are illustrated on a stone in the square.

Welcome to Grassington

Lead mining became locally important in the 17th century and in the 18th century water-powered corn mills on the Wharf were converted into textile mills which flourished until the growth of Yorkshire’s industrial cities made isolated Dales mills uneconomic. The story is told in the Grassington Folk Museum, but the volunteers who run it have decided to give the remainder of 2020 a miss and return in 2021, hopefully under better circumstances.

Grassington Folk Museum

Grassington’s 'Devonshire' was the third 'Devonshire' or 'Devonshire Arms' we had seen locally. Robert de Romille, builder of the first Skipton Castle, also held the village of Bolton some 6 miles to the East. In 1159 Lady Alice Romille gave the Augustinian order land in Bolton to build a Priory (we visited in 2012, click here for that post), so the village became known (a little illogically) as Bolton Abbey. The Cliffords duly succeeded the de Romilles and in 1748 William Cavendish, Duke of Devonshire married a Clifford heiress, added the Bolton Abbey Estate to the vast Cavendish portfolio and precipitated the local glut of Devonshires.

The Devonshire, Grassington

The Earls, later Dukes of Devonshire are all descended from the formidable Bess of Hardwick, 1527 – 1608. We visited Hardwick Hall in Derbyshire, click here for that one in 2018. The family remains immensely wealthy and the 12th Duke, Peregrine Andrew Morny Cavendish, still lives in Chatsworth House (Bess’s bigger and grander Derbyshire pile) and still owns the Bolton Abbey estate – and more besides.

Before leaving Grassington I must mention this splendid stone pineapple. It stands outside Grassington House, once a Georgian gentleman’s residence now describing itself as ‘fine-dining restaurant with elegant rooms.’ The pineapple appears to have been one of a pair and looks a little lonely on its own.

Stone Pineapple, Grassington

We drove up the dale, past Kilnsey where the huge limestone crag had the usual complement of dangling climbers, to Kettlewell…

Kettlewell, a Tale of Two Hotels

...where we checked in to the Racehorses Hotel.

The Racehorses Hotel, Kettlewell

A surprising choice, maybe, as we spent our honeymoon at the Blue Bell just across the road.

Bluebell Inn, Kettlewell

At check-in they asked if we wanted dinner. Given all the covid restrictions it felt wise to say yes.

Back in 1975 neither had tables outside and licensing laws would not have allowed them to open in the afternoon. In 2020, Saturday afternoon with pubs freshly re-opened,  drinking was popular (my photos were not taken on Saturday afternoon). All drinking was al fresco, despite it not being the warmest of July days.

If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. After a promising start in my youth, the brewing industry must consider me a great disappointment. I ordered my first pint since last December (sorry second, click here for Bodiam and Rye) and we went to sit on the ‘riverside terrace’. The only free table was more ‘car park’ than ‘terrace’, but I must admit a pint of Timothy Taylor’s Landlord is a thing of beauty and a joy for 20 minutes (as Keats almost said).

We ambled round Kettlewell, which has changed remarkably little in the last 45 years. Many old buildings have been smartened up, and there have been a several barn conversions, but despite (I suspect) many houses being second/holiday homes, the village’s soul appears blessedly intact. But more of that tomorrow.

The 'new' Kettlewell, soul intact

We might be eating at The Racehorses, but we visited the Bluebell for a pre-dinner drink. Their Covid rules (and every pub has to make its own) decrees that inside is for diners only but it was still warm enough for a drink outside. In 1975 a pint of Theakston’s and a gin and orange cost 50p. Times have changed, Theakston’s became part of Scottish and Newcastle in 1987 (though it has been back under family control since 2004) and Lynne no longer puts orange-juice in her gin. Two large gins and a shared bottle of tonic (I am ever thrifty) with not too much ice were served exactly as requested. And a good gin it was too, if slightly more than 50p.

A G&T outside the Bluebell, Kettlewell

Back in the day the Racehorses was more upmarket than the Bluebell and out of our price range. We returned in 1995 (20th anniversary) and found the Bluebell not what it had been. We stayed there but ate, and ate well, at the Racehorses. In 2017 we brought guests and booked the Racehorses which gave us a decent pub dinner, and had a drink in the Blue Bell, which again failed to impress.

This year we booked late, we might have chosen the Blue Bell, but it was full and the Racehorses was not. Could we have learned something from that?

Diners at the Racehorses were impeccably socially-distanced. The menu was not particularly interesting but at least offered a steak and ale suet pudding – I am a succour for anything encased in suet. Lynne ordered scampi, she does that when feeling nostalgic for the 1970s.

We had a long wait for our food, though I doubt much time was spent cooking it. I do not expect everything in a pub kitchen to be cooked from scratch, they do not charge Michelin star prices, but I could see little, possibly nothing, on either plates that had not come out of a packet and been either microwaved or popped in a deep fat fryer. Was, I wondered, my disappointed at being served frozen peas unreasonable when at home we are enjoying sweet, fresh peas from the garden? And my overly dry suet pudding was unredeemed by a bowl of generic gravy. Covid excuses can be made and it was not expensive, but even so we were unimpressed.

Tomorrow will be our wedding anniversary (next post), and we had intended to dine at the Blue Bell, whatever the Racehorses had served us.