Showing posts with label UK-England-Yorkshire (North). Show all posts
Showing posts with label UK-England-Yorkshire (North). Show all posts

Saturday, 26 July 2025

Fifty Year Together (2): Celebrating at The Angel at Hetton

Continued from Part 1....

The Restaurant, the Angel at Hetton


North Yorkshire
The Angel Inn at Hetton first opened its doors to the public in the 15th century and has been serving food and drink ever since. Its latest incarnation started in September 2018 with the arrival of chef-patron Michael Wignall, his wife Johanna and their team. Wignall had previously been executive head chef at Gidley Hall in Devon.

He has ambitious plans for the Angel, the big first step, winning a Michelin star, being achieved in October 2019. He describes his style as casual and contemporary and his food as being modern, technical and meaningful which he explains as every element brings flavour or texture, enticing diners to experience new combinations and ingredients. (Phrases in italics come from angelhetton,co,uk.)

I am bemused by the repeated use of the word ‘casual’ on the website. There is nothing casual about the way Michael Wigmore designs, cooks and presents each dish. Lynne and I do not eat casually, we take small flavour-packed mouthfuls and taste, discuss and savour. There is nothing casual about the large, well-trained waiting staff who glide purposefully between the tables. But, when we need to talk to them, the conversation is informal. No one wants or expects obsequious Victorian servants, or supercilious butlers. Perhaps the word they wanted was informal rather than casual.

Our Dinner

The Angel offers a choice of five or seven course tasting menus. Twenty years ago we might have chosen seven, but even with tiny courses that is now too much, so we went for five.

The Angel menu

Numerate readers will observe that the 5-course menu has nine courses. The Wagyu and Cheese, options we eschewed, are the missing courses from the 7-course menu, allowing an upgrade, should the diner feel peckish. Bread is never considered a ‘course’ and Snacks are what more formal/less casual menus would call canapés, so not a course either.

Snacks

Baron Bigod is a Brie-like cheese made on the Suffolk/Norfolk boundary. I know no finer cheese and I have written about it in both Suffolk and Norfolk. A bonus point for top quality ingredients but sadly turning Baron Bigod into a mousse dimmed its unique subtleties. The tuile was clever, but the Alsace bacon perched on it rather overwhelmed the mousse.

Baron Bigod mousse and tuiles

Parfait. A chicken liver parfait in a boat of puffed rice, was as soft and lovely as a parfait gets.

Chicken Liver Parfait

Chawanmushi. The first of several Japanese touches. Lynne and I have been privileged to eat our way over the last two decades from Malacca up through every country in mainland East Asia to Beijing in the North. Sadly, we have never visited Japan, and as Japanese flavours are becoming ever more popular, I am playing catch-up. Chawanmushi is a custard made from dashi, sake and eggs. This was a lovely little pot of a totally new flavours. I really enjoyed it.

Chawanmushi

The snacks accompanied our pre-dinner G&T where we were introduced to the Hooting Owl Distillery in York. Among their many products are four gins named for the four corners of the county. I had West Yorkshire, with all the cumin and turmeric of a Bradford curry, Lynne had South Yorkshire, based on liquorice and enough mint and rosemary to grace a Barnsley chop. We live in an age when artisan gin distilleries hide round every corner and behind every bush. Even the finest distilleries must struggle for exposure amid a tsunami of mediocrity. Hooting Owl should surf that tsunami; gin does not get any better than this.

Tomato

Textures of tomato, the subheading says, and here are tomatoes, some normal, some with skin off, some semi dried. Ricotta and basil are mentioned and clearly visible – they are welcome as old friends, of the tomato. XO, so as far as I know, is a Chinese sauce involving dried scallops and shrimps, Jinhua ham, garlic chilli and shallots. I did not recognise it here. There is seaweed, a Wigmore trademark, and I thought the waiter mentioned a white Japanese tomato with yuzu. I ate a tomato that seemed to be struggling awkwardly with citrus but I thought it was red.

Tomatoes, The Angel at Hetton

Lynne liked the elements, but could not see how they came together, I was just a little confused. What a shame we started with what we thought was by far the weakest course.

Wine. Etna Rosato, Pietradolce.
The sommelier was a bright and cheerful young woman, who took on the impossible task of finding a wine to compliment a dish of tomatoes with apparent enthusiasm. Michele Faro’s 11ha vineyard is on the side of Mt Etna 700+m up the mountain. He uses the local Nerello Mascalase grape and some of his vines have been producing for 120 years. His rosato is exceptional. Minerality and acidity come from the volcanic soil, while the vines generate a range of fruit flavours, with strawberry dominating. We could not find the redcurrant and cranberry mentioned by the sommelier, but we did find an orangey citrus note. I enjoy a good, dry rosé, and this was a very good dry rosé indeed.

Bread

Bread is never counted as a course but there comes a point in all such meals when somebody comes along and plonks down a basket of high-quality bread at a moment when you really have no use for it. Michael Wigmore , however, makes a laudable attempt to make sense of this interlude. Hokkaido milk bread is a light, fluffy bread in a shape suitable for tearing and sharing. With it came Ampersand butter, a traditionally made, batch churned cultured butter produced near Banbury, and a couple of dips. Colonnata lardo is a speciality of the Tuscan village of Colonnata. It is pork fatback cured for 6 months with layers of sea salt, garlic, rosemary, sage, pepper, and other local herbs/spices. Semi-liquid bacon is my best attempt at a description. The other dip was the rather more familiar taramasalata.

Bread, The Angel at Hetton

Not Wine. Poiré Granite, Eric Bordelet, Normandy
Our sommelier’s pick for this was not a wine but a sparkling poiré, or perry, in English. I rarely drink cider, and I had never previously tasted perry. Poiré Granit (referencing the local geology) is made by former sommelier Eric Bordelet in Normandy. It is made, we were told, in a way that more resembles champagne than cider. The retail cost is also reminiscent of (cheaper) champagne but unfortunately, the taste is not, and neither of us really liked it. Probably my first and last glass of perry.

Cod

This small, squat, white cylinder in the middle of its huge plate looked so lonely I felt sorry for it.

Cod, the Angel at Hetton

Then I unpacked it, removing the kombu, a variety of kelp very popular in Japan, and shifting the strips of cuttlefish to one side. Beneath it, balancing on the cod were two small, transparent circles of what I took to be potato, was this a homage to cod and chips?

I nibbled the kombu; it was all right. I nibbled the cuttlefish; the thin strips were remarkably tender. Lynne orders cuttlefish whenever it appears on a menu, but I am deterred by its resemblance to a bloated, yolkless boiled egg. The flavour is stronger than squid and it tastes more of the sea, but these strips were about texture not flavour.

Cod unpacked, The Angel at Hetton

The dark blobs were, presumably, smoked pike roe. There is no way of transferring the blob and its flavour to your mouth with a standard knife and fork. Michael Wigmore might aim for ‘casual’ but leaning forward and licking the plate would probably be a step too far.

The cod itself was remarkable. Surprisingly solid, but with flakes sliding across each other as if lubricated. The flavour was deep and intense; I never knew the humble cod could taste so sumptuous. I keep a list of platonic ideals, the food that has reached perfection. This makes the list, it is the cod that God would eat (if God a) exists, b) eats and c) likes cod.) Oddly I already have cod on my list, the product of a fish and chip shop in Reykjavik that was so fresh it was almost fluffy, so pristine it had to be eaten swiftly and in its entirety. There is room for both, apart from being cod, and being perfect, they have nothing in common.

Wine Rioja Blanco, Viñedos del Contino, Rioja Alavesa
I am old enough to remember when Rioja blanco spent years in oak barrels and the wines were stiff with oak. I rather liked them, but they went out of fashion and Rioja became all fruit flavours and crispness, often too thin and acid for me. Now a leading producer has put some oak back. The young sommelier was quick to note the oak was only to add structure and texture not oaky flavours, before admitting a hint of smoke and toast. I thought it struck a fine balance between oak and fruit, and was an inspired choice, few whites possess the structure to take on the dense flavoured cod.

Quail

Like the cod, the quail gave us a new view of an old favourite. In Portugal Lynne always buys and cooks quails, though our quail eating started long ago in France where they serve it guts and all. This quail breast was more tender, more moist and fuller flavoured than any I have met before. Onto the list it goes.

Quail

The carefully arranged accompaniments included:

Cotechino, an Italian sausage usually made of pork, but here made of quail. It was rich, savoury and subtly spiced.
Boudin Blanc, literally ‘white pudding.’ A ‘Full English’ breakfast usually includes black pudding, a sausage made from pigs’ blood, fat, cereal and spices. A ‘Full Irish’ can offer both local local black pudding and white pudding which is largely the same but without the blood. The French versions are similar but minus the cereal. They are softer, not a breakfast food, but more like paté. Michael Wigmore’s was very delicate in flavour.
Three tiny girolles that punched above their weight – I could have managed five!
Jerusalem artichoke ‘chip’ that supported my belief that there is little it can do that is not done better by a potato.

Wine. Pinot Noir, Winnica Turnau, Zachodniopomorske.
The sommelier seemed delighted to have sourced a Polish Pinot Noir. Winnica Turnau started planting in 2010 and today has 37ha making it Poland’s largest winery. Vivino display some comments, generally positive, though one remarks that it is overpriced. It apparently retails at around £30 a bottle. I am delighted to have tasted my first ever Polish wine, but sadly Lynne and I both felt it was borderline unpleasant. In retrospect we should have sent it back, but lacking experience of Polish wine, it had all gone before we were certain.

Peach

This was a very pretty dessert sitting in a delicate shortcrust pastry cup with baked white chocolate on the base and a peach sorbet on the top. I had to look up namelaka. It is a glossy, stabilized ganache made from white chocolate, milk, cream, and gelatine. So that is more white chocolate. balanced with fruit and flowers and a crumb beneath the sorbet. It is all very sweet and lovely.

Peach

Wine.“Kika” Chenin Blanc, Miles Mossop, Stellenbosch
Chenin Blanc is not generally considered a grape for the finest wines, either in South Africa or beside the Loire, but it is susceptible to ‘noble rot’ if left on the vine long enough. The grapes then shrivel, losing water but not sugar or flavour. Vinifying such intensely sweet grapes makes enough alcohol to kill off the yeast before it has consumed all the sugar, leaving sweet, or in this case, intensely sweet wine, balanced by the Chenin Blanc's high acidity. With a flowery aroma and a palate of honey and ginger, it is beguiling and even sweeter than the dessert it was paired with. Miles Mossop names his wine after family members, predictably his sweetest wine is named “Kika” after his youngest daughter.

Malt

The leading player in this act is the small brown truncated cone resembling a mini-Christmas pudding but tasting more like malt loaf – an almost forgotten memory. The menu also mentions dulce de leche; from Argentina (or Uruguay), it is a sweet, caramel-like spread made by slowly heating milk and sugar until it thickens and turns a rich golden-brown. I presume this forms the brown lines on the plate. Pearl barley also gets a mention, but where it was is a mystery. There was also salsify sticks, a vegetable I had not expected in a dessert, but they fitted well. I also noted a piece of pear, and a blob of something cool and dairy.

Malt

The menu also references Styrofoam, an inedible plastic used in packaging. I presume this is a reference to the pleasant crunchy stuff surrounding the main players and is a joke, of sorts. I may seem a little confused by parts of this dish, but we had been at the table for the best of three hours and drunk six glasses of wine (or perry) - not large glasses, but not small either. It was a pleasant end to the evening, not as sweet as the first dessert and not too demanding to eat (though describing it is another matter).

Wine. Anthemis, UWC Samos
The other way to make a sweet wine is to dump the must into alcohol of some sort, usually brandy, and so halt the fermentation before the yeast gets to the grape sugar. Anthemis is one such Vin de Liqueur. Made from Muscat Blanc à Petits Grains, it spends five years in oak barrels emerging a pleasing coppery orange. Intensely sweet, it retains the fresh aroma of the Muscat while the oak aging gives flavours of honey, smoke and toffee. It is possibly the only realistic answer to the question ‘what wine goes with Christmas pudding’? It also suits the malt loaf in this slightly less sweet dessert. It is a wonderful 'sticky' but, a little goes a long way.

The End (for tonight)

We finished the evening with coffee and sweet treats – petits fours to those less casual. We had enjoyed an excellent dinner, with great invention and with some real standouts. We had a good time, but it required a long period of concentration. Much work goes into producing such meals so we owe to the chef to take it seriously – and to us, to get our money’s worth!

Coffee and sweet treats

Breakfast

We awoke refreshed and got up in leisurely fashion. Last night the courses had been numerous, but the portions small enough not to interfere with our capacity to enjoy a good breakfast.

Breakfast presents Michelin starred restaurants with a problem. Diners go into the evening meal prepared to try novel combinations and new flavours but are rather more wary at breakfast. The solution is usually to go for top quality, but familiar ingredients simply cooked. This does not mean they cannot produce a dish worthy of my platonic list – I will remember the scrambled eggs at the Yorke Arms in nearby Ramsgill in 2013 for the rest of my life.

At the Angel the breakfast menu appeared to have another five courses, though the toast and preserves were presumably to be eaten together.

We started with yoghurt, made in-house and enhanced by a layer of fresh fruits and nuts, then we ate the trout, home cured and lightly smoked over hay and accompanied by crème freche and dill. The yoghurt woke the palate, and the trout (a breakfast first) was very delicately flavoured.

Yoghurt and trout

The toast is Shokupan, another Japanese milk bread, which went nicely with the ampersand butter and the preserves, made in-house like the bread and choux buns. Filled with tonka bean chantilly the buns were unbelievably light, while the filling was delicious,

Toast and choux buns

The meat was Nidderdale sausage, prize winning pork sausages made by Farmson and Co in Ripon. The bacon, also produced, was more of a slice from a bacon joint with a sweet-cured rind than the usual back bacon, but none the worse for that.

Sausage and Bacon

Last up was a soft-boiled free-range Cornish egg. I am not sure Cornish chickens per se produced better eggs than Yorkshire (or even Staffordshire) chickens, but this was a fine egg and with the yolk dripping across ampersand butter, truly memorable. I have no photo, but if you have read this far, you probably know what an egg looks like.

And that finished our wedding anniversary gastronomic adventure. We may have risen eager to take on breakfast, but when we stood up from the table, we knew we had sacrificed lunch. It was worth it.

'Fine Dining' posts

Abergavenny and the Walnut Tree (2010)
Ludlow and La Bécasse (2011) (restaurant closed, post withdrawn)
Ilkley and The Box Tree (2012)
Pateley Bridge and the Yorke Arms (2013) (No longer a restaurant, post renamed Parceval Gardens and Pateley Br)
The Harrow at Little Bedwyn (2014)
The Slaughters and the Lords of the Manor (2015)
Loam, Fine Dining in Galway (2016)
Penarth and Restaurant James Sommerin (2017) (restaurant closed, post withdrawn. JS has a new restaurant in Penarth)
The Checkers, Montgomery (2017) (no longer a restaurant, post withdrawn. Now re-opened under new management)
Tyddyn Llan, Llandrillo, Denbighshire (2018)
Fischer's at Baslow Hall, Derbyshire (2019)
Hambleton Hall, Rutland (2021)
The Olive Tree, Queensberry Hotel, Bath (2022)
Dinner at Pensons near Tenbury Wells (2023) (restaurant closed Dec 2023, post withdrawn)
The Cross, Kenilworth (& Kenilworth Castle) (2024)
The Angel at Hetton, North Yorkshire (2025, Golden Wedding Celebration)

Fifty Years Together (1) Chasing Memories Around Wharfedale

Back to Where it all Started

Heading North


North Yorkshire
Fifty years of marriage requires a celebration, but as we set out to do just that, only I knew where we were going. This has become the traditional format of our anniversary jaunts, though neither of us can remember how it started. Lynne took the wheel (eyesight problems make it unwise for me to drive) and I directed her north up the M6, and 80 miles later north-east onto the M65. From the end of the M65 at Colne (of ‘fond’ memory to some) we travelled cross-country to Skipton, Gateway to the Yorkshire Dales.

The Traditional County of Yorkshire
Skipton and Kettlewell are marked, Hubberholme is just north of Kettlewell and Hetton is north of Skipton inside the National Park

Below is how we looked 50 years ago today. What we look like now will be revealed (more than once), as this post wears on.

Wedding Day, 26th of July 1975

Skipton

We paused in Skipton for coffee and then took a short walk through the busy Saturday market to the gates of the castle and posed for the day’s first photo opportunity.

Outside Skipton Castle (hardly changed, have we)

Over the gate is the word 'Desormais' (Henceforth) the slightly two-edged motto of the Clifford family who owned the castle from 1310 until after the Civil War.

We did not enter the castle, but we did in 2020 and it features in a post called Skipton, Grassington and Kettlewell. We did, however, drop in to the adjacent parish church as we had never been there before.

Around 1300 a stone church was built on the site of a 12th-century wooden chapel. It has undergone many alterations since, sometimes because of damage (in 1645 from the Civil War and in 1925 from lightening) and sometimes because later generations thought they could do better, and sometimes they could.

The most eye-catching parts of the church are the rood screen, which bears the date 1553...

Tudor Rood screen, Skipton Parish Church

... and, looking through the screen, the reredos. Designed by Sir George Gilbert Scott in 1870, it is set off by stained-glass window of about the same vintage.

The reredos and the east window, Skipton Parish Church

Kettlewell

From Skipton we  entered the Yorkshire Dales National Park and found the B6160, the ‘main’ road that runs the length of Upper Wharfedale, …

Along the B6160 into Upper Wharfedale

… and followed it to Kettlewell. Fifty years ago we spent our honeymoon here, and apart from more and more dwellings being tarted up as second homes/holiday cottages it has changed little. Today the village has under 300 permanent residents.

Kettlewell had three pubs in 1975 and, remarkably, still has three pubs today. We stayed at one of them, the Blue Bell Inn, which has had its ups and downs over the years, but currently seems to be doing well.

Our honeymoon hotel
The paint is fresh, otherwise nothing has changed since 1975

Here is Lynne nursing a glass of Guinness Zero outside the Blue Bell as we waited for our lunch.

Lynne waiting for lunch outside the Blue Bell, Kettlewell

Despite many attempts over the years, I have yet to capture the charm of the village in a photograph. Here, though, is a photo from my 2020 post Aysgarth and Kettlewell showing the bridge over Kettlewell Beck at the top of the village. We played Pooh Sticks here in 1975, in 2020 and again today (and a few months ago played at the original Pooh Sticks Bridge in Ashdown Forest – we hope to go professional soon.)

Pooh sticks bridge over Kettlewell Beck in 2020

Hubberholme

Just as we did five years ago, we drove northwards up the dale through Starbotton to Buckden where we turned left towards Langstrothdale, following the tiniest of roads to the hamlet of Hubberholme, the smallest, pleasantest place in the world, according to novelist JB Priestly.

The compact Norman Church of Saint Michael and All Angels at Hubberholme was sturdily built to survive almost 1,000 years of Yorkshire weather. We came here in 1975 on the first full day of our marriage on a visit suggested by my best man Chris Noble, sadly no longer with us. He sent us to find the carvings of Robert Thompson (1876 – 1955), known as the ‘Mouseman of Kilburn.’ On returning in 2020 we found the church locked (the baleful curse of Covid) so we came again, on perhaps a more significant day.

The Church of St Michael and All Angels, Hubberholme, photo taken in 2020

Early in his furniture making career Thompson started signing his work by carving mice into it, and the rodents can be found on the oak pews and the choir stalls at Hubberholme.

I wandered round, searching for mice and found nothing. Lynne left the back of the church, where she had been reading about JB Priestley, whose ashes are in the churchyard, and joined me in the search. For a while she was equally unsuccessful, and then she spotted one, and then having seen one, she saw another, and another. She had found quite a few before I found my first, looking without seeing has always been among my special skills. We found lots eventually, but I doubt we them found all.

A Robert Thompson mouse, Hubberholme (they all look the same wherever they are!)

The company Robert Thompson founded: ‘Robert Thompson's Craftsman - the Mousemen of Kilburn’ is still going strong ‘creating the antiques of tomorrow’ from English oak – and ensuring they all carry at least one mouse.

The Angel at Hetton

Having gathered sufficient rodents, we headed back down the Dale, following the B6160 to Cracoe before turning west to Hetton. The village is on the edge of the national park and only 5 miles north of Skipton.

We drove straight past The Angel at our first attempt; its signage is so very discreet. Describing itself as a restaurant with rooms it relies very little, if at all, on passing trade, serving neither ordinary food, nor charging ordinary prices. This was the destination for on our special day, and I had booked months in advance.

The Angel at Hetton

Our room was over the road, in what were once the stables.

Our room in the stable

It was comfortable, large, light and airy if a little over-designed. The lighting looked eccentric, though it worked well when we figured out the switches, which were as discreetly signed as the Angel itself.

A mildly eccentric lighting system?

The bathroom sinks (one each) resembled hollowed-out ceramic tree trunks, while the bath was perfectly designed for a ‘brides in the bath murder’ - but 50 years too late for us. On the other hand, the shower was a shining light in a bathroom of over-designed oddities. It was spacious, the controls were easy to understand and operate, the temperature was easy to set and never varied, the maximum flow was pleasingly torrential, and I could run the sprinkler and the hand shower simultaneously. The best indoor shower ever. My best outdoor shower was at the Xandari Pearl, Marari Beach, Kerala.

At the appropriate time, showered and more formally dressed, we made our way back over the road for dinner. The review of our gastronomic adventure has a post all to itself.

Sunday, 26 July 2020

Aysgarth and Kettlewell: To Upper Wharfedale and Beyond! Part 2

A Waterfall and an Anniversary Dinner in Our Favourite Village


North Yorkshire
Craven
The 26th of July 2020, our 45th Wedding Anniversary, dawned cool and damp.

Breakfast at the Racehorses, Kettlewell, was appropriately socially-distanced, but that is not difficult when only three of 17 rooms are occupied. Still, I was pleased we were not the only ones unafraid to venture out and cautiously exercise new (and, it turned out, rather temporary, freedoms.

It was not a great breakfast. When we were here in 2017 breakfast included a slab of black pudding, now replaced by a triangle of greasy pap. That is really not what hash browns are meant to be.

Here is a reminder from the yesterday's post (Skipton, Grassington and Kettlewell) of how we were when we came to Kettlewell on honeymoon in 1975 when hash browns (the good and the bad) were still confined to the far side of the Atlantic.

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

How we are now will become painfully obvious as this post progresses.

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

Kettlewell to Aysgarth

It was a dismal morning so we got in the car and set off up the dale. The narrow bottom of the V-shaped valley has to accommodate the river as well as a B-road and I had forgotten how narrow that road is. The four miles to Buckden required several stops to pass oncoming vehicles.

The River Wharfe at Kettlewell, photographed on a sunnier day in 2017

On the valley sides the fields, hay meadows and grazing for cattle, were all neatly divided by dry stone walls. Each field has its own barn, a practice unique to this area. Most are of two storeys with cattle sheltered below and fodder stored above. Farms and farming methods change, many barns are now derelict, though some of the more accessible have been converted into tourist accommodation. The higher ground above, with no barns and fewer walls is rough grazing for sheep.

Another photograph from a finer day. No field barns but plenty of walls. The parallel walls at the top enclose a drover's road.

Changes in national drinking habits have seen vast numbers of pubs close over the last two decades. I am delighted that all three of Kettlewell’s are still in business, as is the Buck in Buckden and the Fox and Hounds in tiny Starbotton half way between. Starbotton has less than 50 permanent residents and over 60 houses, the ‘extra’ accommodation being second/holiday homes.

Richmondshire
Buckden is the end of Wharfedale, the Wharfe here emerging from a side valley known as Langstrothdale. We followed the B-road north through the hamlet of Cray where The White Lion, a former drover’s hostelry, is also still thriving, then steeply up the head of the valley and steeply down into Bishopdale on the other side.
Kettlewell to Aysgarth, 30 miles of Yorkshire's finest countryside (on a nice day)

Bishopdale broadens and runs into Wensleydale near Aysgarth.

Aysgarth Falls

Aysgarth is a small village lining both sides of the main road through Wensleydale. Unlike Wharfedale, Wensleydale is broad and U-shaped, the River Ure having had considerable help digging its valley from glaciation in the last ice-age. Consequently, the Ure is a much wider river than the Wharfe – and there is plenty of room for a much larger road – an A-road, in fact.

The parish church is half a mile down the dale from the main part of Aysgarth, just above the bridge giving access to the Upper Aysgarth Falls.

Upper Falls, Aysgarth

The river Ure drops 30 m east of Aysgarth. In one drop that would be big waterfall, but the Falls are in three sections over a mile of river, and each section has multiple steps. They are renowned for their beauty rather than height; whether the same can be said for two old codgers below, the crumbling remnants (speak for yourself, L) of the youngsters at the top of the post, is laughable debatable.

At Aysgarth Upper Falls

The Upper Falls have been a popular film location. In Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves Kevin Costner’s Robin having travelled to from Dover to Nottinghamshire via Hadrian’s Wall, met Nick Brimble’s Little John in North Yorkshire - director Kevin Reynolds had little respect for English Geography. They fought across the falls, and you can’t do that at Niagara.

Ten minutes walk downstream through the National Park car park and some pleasant woodland…

Near Aysgarth's Middle Falls

….are the middle falls. This is the biggest drop, though it is divided into seven steps, each so sharply cut they look artificial, though they are not.

Middle Falls, Aysgarth

The rain was holding off so we were happy to make the ten or twelve minutes stroll down to the curved lower falls.

Lower Falls, Aysgarth

Hubberholme


Craven
Leaving Aysgarth we headed back up Bishopdale, over the top and down to Buckden where we turned right for a short trip along the smallest of minor roads to the village of Hubberholme. It was a sentimental journey; we lunched at the George Inn on the first full day of our marriage and I was delighted to see the pub still thrives.

Tiny Hubberholme is also, slightly oddly, the site of Buckden parish church. The pews are the work of Robert Thompson of Kilburn who started carving mice into his work in 1919. Thompson died in 1955 but Robert Thompson Craftsmen Ltd continue the tradition of ‘mouseman’ furniture on the edge of the North York Moors.

The 13th century Parish Church of St Michael and All Angels, Buckden - in Hubberholme

The mice are small, discreetly placed and integral to the furniture, not stuck on like an afterthought. In 1975 we spent some time locating as many as we could but that is not possible now; these are the days of Covid and the church was firmly locked with the mice on the inside and us on the outside.

Kettlewell

Back in Kettlewell we had lunch – a sandwich and a cup of tea - in a café much frequented by cyclists. Here we encountered careful social distancing, disposable plates, and cutlery lobbed straight into a bowl of disinfectant after use. We are getting used to not being able to buy a beer or a cup of tea without giving a phone number, but I will be glad when that eventually disappears along with other Covid inconveniences. It is true, though, that apart from the return of the single-use plate, the effects of Covid – less driving, less flying, less generally - have often been environmentally beneficial. Even a grumpy old git must occasionally pause to appreciate a dark cloud’s silver lining.

Kettlewell

We spent much of the afternoon wandering round the village – apart from a short spell standing in the doorway of the village shop (closed on Sunday) hiding from the rain. Dale’s villages, like everywhere else, look best in the sunshine, but the relatively light-coloured limestone means they do not look overly depressing in the wet.

Kettlewell

There have been changes since 1975, the plethora of parked cars in the pictures above is an ugly but inevitable consequence of increasing affluence. Other changes are for the better. Most buildings today are in good condition and there are several that were once tired, or even on the verge of dilapidation. that have been rebuilt and updated. They look good from outside, while I would expect the comforts and convenience of the interior are beyond the imaginings of the original builders.

Restored Building, Kettlewell

There are spots without parked cars…

Kettlewell without parked cars

…but even road signs can take you down memory lane. A metal post near where the village roads meet the ‘main’ road may carry four modern signs, but the top one to Burnsall and Skipton is a 'pre-Worboys' as road sign aficionados (yes, they do exist) call them. The Worboys committee reported in 1963 on the shortcomings of the road signage of the day and suggested a complete overhaul and re-design. Their suggestions were put into effect from January 1965. I passed my driving test in 1967 so there were still plenty of pre-Worboys signs in those far off days when a gallon (4.5 litres) of petrol cost 5/11d (just under 30p) but they are vanishingly rare now.

Pre-Worboys road sign, Kettlewell

The (almost) famous and (almost) infallible Kettlewell weather stone was not, I think, here in 1975, but it is hardly new. You do not have to smile, as they would say in Yorkshire, but most people do.

The Kettlewell Weather Stone

At the east end of the village, where the path sets off to climb Great Whernside, (the summit is 3.5 km beyond and 450 m above the ridge in the photo)…

The eastern corner of Kettlewell

…there is a bridge over the Kettlewell Beck. Tradition demands we stop here for a game of Pooh Sticks. Tradition was maintained and I was, as ever, a magnanimous loser.

Pooh sticks bridge over Kettlewell Beck

Late in the afternoon the village became jammed with cars. The ‘main’ road to Skipton was closed at the Wharfe Bridge and the police were attempting to funnel southbound traffic onto an alternative, single track, road. Police at the southern end of the closure were attempting to do the same with northbound traffic. They were co-ordinating their efforts, but hold-ups were inevitable. Summer weekends always bring out the bikers, largely groups of middle-aged men attempting to re-capture their youth. Tragically, one had fatally misjudged a corner between Kettlewell and Kilnsey causing a temporary road closure.

Dinner at the Blue Bell

We may have been staying at the Racehorses, but it was at the Blue Bell we spent our honeymoon, so we had dropped in there earlier and booked our anniversary dinner. In 1975 there was little choice, regular pubs did not serve food, beyond a bag of crisps; those who stayed at the Blue Bell dined at the Blue Bell, those who stayed at the Racehorses dined at the Racehorses and nobody wandered in from outside.

Blue Bell Inn, Kettlewell

Social-distancing currently limits the number of diners so booking was essential, but there is still a problem for those eccentrics who wish to dine on a Sunday evening. Sunday lunch is big, but many pubs and restaurants close their kitchens late afternoon. Fortunately, the Blue Bell was serving in the early evening.

Pubs are all different and have been left to work out their own Covid salvation (or not bother, in some well-publicised cases). At the Blue Bell drinkers were outside, diners inside, and we had a room to ourselves. ‘There are no individual menus,’ we were told, ‘photograph the blackboard, go to your table and we will come and take an order.’ Now, that would have been a problem in 1975!

Blue Bell menu, Kettlewell

I lack the patience to go right through the menu listing everything unknown or unavailable in 1975, but the starters are:- garlic bread! 45 years ago garlic was irredeemably foreign (though the pretentious could buy it in our local supermarket – by the clove): Carrot and coriander soup (coriander? fancy foreign stuff, what’s wrong with parsley?): sweet chilli sauce (spicy foreign muck): haddock goujons (what in God’s green Yorkshire is a goujon?). British food was among the worst in the world, it is not yet among the best, but it has come a long way in the 45 years of our marriage.

Dining at the Blue Bell

The Blue Bell appeared to be trying much harder than the Racehorses whose menu was marooned in the 1990s. I had belly pork with apple purée, black pudding croquette and cider sauce, Lynne had a lamb kofta with feta and olive salad, yoghurt dip, flat bread - and chips (some things will never change). It was good pub food and we enjoyed it; the menu had been written with thought and imagination and the food prepared with care. Was it perfect? No, but we were not paying Michelin star prices. Was it value for what we paid? Yes. Would we go back? Yes.

27/07/2020

We had enjoyed a good weekend in a place of happy memories, and although both days had been disappointingly overcast, we had not been rained on that much. Our return journey was another matter. Dire from start to finish.

A lovely day on the M6