A few weeks ago Graham and I were stood on Harberry Hill looking south across Teesdale. I could see the scar running beneath the scarp edge of Holwick Moor. I was trying to figure out how I had previously overlooked such a massive outcrop of limestone, Graham put me right ‘it’s the Whin Sill’..of course it is. On returning home my mind kept taking me back to the Scar, we decided to return.
The Tees – Powler’s frozen suds.
The road to Holwick
To-night it is the New Year’s night, to-morrow is the day, And we are come for our right and for our ray, As we used to do in old King Henry’s day. Sing, fellows, sing Hagman heigh !
If you go to the bacon-flitch, cut me a good bit, Cut, cut and low, beware of your man ; Cut, and cut round, beware of your thumb, That I and my merry men may haye some. Sing, fellows, sing Hagman heigh !
If you go to the black ark, bring me ten mark, Ten mark, ten pound, throw it down upon the ground, That I and my merry men may have some. Sing, fellows, sing Hagman heigh !
If New Year’s Eve night wind blows south,
it betokenth warmth and growth;
If west, much mild and fish in the sea;
If north, more cold and storms there will be;
If east, will bear much fruit;
If north-east, flee it, man and brute.
Happy New Year Everyone
The Smell of Water 