{"id":2786,"date":"2016-09-08T22:53:45","date_gmt":"2016-09-08T22:53:45","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/?p=2786"},"modified":"2016-09-14T11:33:39","modified_gmt":"2016-09-14T11:33:39","slug":"2786","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/2786\/","title":{"rendered":"Whale-road, Horse-road: The Wolds Again"},"content":{"rendered":"

The sullen, lead-coloured weight of the North Sea and the strangenesses of the Yorkshire Wolds still press on me every so often. And when it comes to writing there are at least three sides to every coin. So I have a number of strands when I write about the land of my largely miss-spent youth. Why you should care, I don’t know, but some people rather like the stuff, so what the heck – the pictures are nice, anyway…<\/p>\n

\"selwick\"<\/a>
selwick<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

<\/p>\n

1) The Real Thing<\/h2>\n

One strand (particularly appropriate term here) is composed of various posts and stories which deal seriously with the genuine folk-lore of the Wolds and the Holderness coast. A few formal tales of these are in the offing, returning to my interest in the drowned villages, the sacrifices of the fishing folk and the curious villages inland, with their Norman churches and local myths.<\/p>\n

\"monolith3\"<\/a>
rudston monolith<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

I’ve been back there a lot recently, and if you’ve read about the ‘woe water’, the Gypsey Race, then I can confirm that it is suitably low and quiet \u2013 this is the upper bed at the moment, in Wold Newton itself:<\/p>\n

\"the<\/a>
the gypsey race<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

We photographed (ie. the Editor-in-Chief did) various other fascinations, but were refused a chance to visit the monument to the Wold Newton Meteorite \u2013 driving down a narrow, un-signed lane, we were blocked by a fallen tree, so we ran away.<\/p>\n

\"treefall\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Clearly not meant to be that time. If you’ve not seen it, the monument is inscribed thus:<\/p>\n

On this Spot, Decr. 13Th, 1795<\/em><\/p>\n

Fell from the Atmo\u017fphere<\/em><\/p>\n

AN EXTRAORDINARY STONE<\/em><\/p>\n

In Breadth 28 inches<\/em><\/p>\n

In Length 36 inches<\/em><\/p>\n

and<\/em><\/p>\n

Who\u017fe Weight was 56 pounds.<\/em><\/p>\n

THIS COLUMN<\/em><\/p>\n

In Memory of it<\/em><\/p>\n

Was erected by<\/em><\/p>\n

EDWARD TOPHAM<\/em><\/p>\n

1799<\/em><\/p>\n

\"holderness4\"<\/a>
holderness<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

Instead we visited drowned Auburn again on the coast, and took the dogs to the pub, which seemed as good as most meteorites given that it had Hobgoblin Gold on draft, one of the finest pale ales.<\/p>\n

\"pubdogs\"<\/a>
chilli and django wonder how long it takes us to finish a pint<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

2) “Mother is Loose Again”<\/h2>\n

My second strand is a long-running and somewhat incomprehensible series which started by accident, that of ‘The Journal of J Linseed Grant’<\/em>. Noted recluse, contemporary of both Conan Doyle<\/strong> and J K Rowling<\/strong>, this aged fellow survives endless assaults by his malevolent housekeeper Mrs Gumworthy in order to continue his work on such masterpieces as – Ebediah Crake: The Least Successful Wolds Murderer in History<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Fragments from his journal can be found regularly on Facebook, though someone has already threatened to collect them one day and make them more widely available.<\/p>\n

From the journal of J Linseed Grant, 18<\/em>th<\/sup><\/em> June: \u201cGambling is a curse on our household. Had to increase the allowance of the Dog that is born of Kangaroo. He lost everything in an extended evening of gin-rummy with the black dog and a passing badger. The badger was sick in the umbrella stand before it left. These animals are most vexatious. Mshindi, the under-gardener, tells me that his ancestral spirits have killed some of the rhododendrons by mistake. At least, I think that is what he said. Swahili spoken with a broad Yorkshire accent is not the easiest of languages to comprehend. Father slightly better today \u2013 if that is indeed Father\u2026\u201d (Fragment written on a betting slip, mostly in violet ink)<\/em><\/p>\n

It’s a bit too complicated to explain, frankly, with a large cast of slightly unusual people. If you ‘follow’ me, you’ll see it eventually.<\/p>\n

3) A Different Kind of Horse<\/h2>\n

\"horseroad1\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Finally there is ‘Sandra’s First Pony’<\/em> \u2013 Wolds tales out of folk-horror, via H P Lovecraft<\/strong> and Enid Blyton<\/strong>. And here I have another set of choices, because some are mere amusements dotted around greydogtales<\/em>, some are darker explorations of fictional small communities \u2013 the past of the barghest, the finwives, things which move in the dense sea-frets, and such worrying remnants as the Children of Angles and Corners.<\/p>\n

It was rather an honour, therefore, for a story in the latter vein to be selected for October’s issue of a journal of literary prose. As their Autumn theme was to be Animals,\u00a0 it seemed only appropriate to offer them a rather more literary and thoughtful piece of work. If you’ve ever come across Mr Bubbles<\/strong>, the strange, slightly psychotic pony in ‘Sandra’s First Pony’<\/em>, then you may like to see what lies beneath the surface, in a serious tale which raises questions of his origins, his resources and the emotional link between the pony and his girl. This time, it’s neither light-hearted, Lovecraftian or Blytonian. It’s about bonds of the heart.<\/p>\n

The Horse Road <\/em>will be out this Autumn.<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n

In the meantime, if you want to dabble with (possible) amusement, this is a fair summary of where Mr Bubbles usually stands on arcane matters and dark incursions:<\/p>\n

The evening sun slumped on the horizon, lighting the high moors with all the vigour of a badly-poached egg. It was going to rain as well, despite what the barometer at home had said.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

That\u2019s not going to help, thought Sandra. She knew that every delve and hillock of this God-forsaken landscape held one or more of her foul adversaries. Such long shadows were their comfort, their slippers, pipe and fireside\u2026<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

She smoothed a faint crease from her jodphurs, and reloaded the pump-action shot-gun.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, Mr Bubbles, this is jolly annoying. I\u2019m out of cheese and ham sandwiches, the dog\u2019s run off and we only have seventeen cartridges left. What<\/em> are we going to do, boy?\u201d<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

The pony stared at her. His mane still shone, despite the incompetent light, and the ribbons from his big red rosette flapped in the growing wind. Second Place in the Ripon and District Pony Show. Second Place! Primordial evil wasn\u2019t going to take that away from him.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

He turned his head and saw the first glistening figures began to crawl from their hiding places. There was only one possible response. He scraped one front hoof against another, checking that there was still an edge on them.<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cKill.\u201d said Mr Bubbles. \u201cKill them all!\u201d<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

You can find the other stories dotted around greydogtales<\/em>. This is the pre-Christmas extravanga, still on-line:<\/p>\n

something annoying this way comes<\/a><\/p>\n

\n
\"selwick\"<\/a>
selwick<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
\n

Next time, something weird and far less about me, we hope…<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The sullen, lead-coloured weight of the North Sea and the strangenesses of the Yorkshire Wolds still press on me every so often. And when it comes to writing there are at least three sides to every coin. So I have a number of strands when I write about the land of my largely miss-spent youth. … Continue reading Whale-road, Horse-road: The Wolds Again<\/span> →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"iawp_total_views":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2786","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"yoast_head":"\nWhale-road, Horse-road: The Wolds Again - greydogtales<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/2786\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_GB\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Whale-road, Horse-road: The Wolds Again - greydogtales\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"The sullen, lead-coloured weight of the North Sea and the strangenesses of the Yorkshire Wolds still press on me every so often. 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