On the Train to Skipton, September 20th
I added notes on the stations on the Settle-Carlisle line because they compete for prettiest railway station, and are also part of the “Most-Charming-Stile” award for stations used by English footpath walkers — heh, not really, but almost.
Armathwaite Station: lovely red sandstone.
Lazonby/Kirkoswald Station: more Victoriana
Langwathby Station: “Brief Encounter” cafe!
Appleby Station: Red brick Victorian. Yet another film set.
Kirkby Stephen Station: buff stone Victorian
Garsdale Station: grey stone Victorian (with chimney pots)
Dent Station: high lonesome gritstone
Ribblehead Station: gritstone – emerald green dales and long, black tunnels.
Horton-in-Ribblesdale Station: buff stone with pretty windows
Settle Station: very pretty station, big town. Grey, grey, grey on grey stone.
Long Preston Station: a couple of modern glass boxes
Hellifield Station: 2 minutes later, grand Victorian glass roof sheds.
Gargrave: last stop before Skipton (move to bottom of linked page)
Overheard in the train:
“Sto-up toormentin’ yeh brootheh naow.”
“Yeh’re onnly mekkin’ ‘im ka-rye becos he’s a beg bebby — a big fower-year owld bebby.”
On arrival at Skipton, we were greeted by two drunks waiting to board the “Pride of the Dales” bus. We were waiting for Robin Bray to pick us up so with great relief we watched the drunks board their bus in gusts of beery cheer and smoke-tinged body odor. As they drove off, a brewery advert banner in the back window was revealed… “Drink is Folly,” for Folly Ale, a delicious local beverage.
I had called ahead and found to my surprise that:
A.) Robin was male and
2.) he was a bit older and stodgier than I expected from the rather tony image (music room, gourmet dinner menu choices) I picked up from the web page.
Also, the car was absolutely grotty inside and almost too full of junk in the back for our suitcases to fit. And — it smelled pretty rank and I had a moment of unquiet dread as to the state of our room in the B&B.
However, when we arrived we found a comfortable room upstairs with blackened oak beams, just off a comfortably shabby (ETA: There’s that phrase again) shared sitting room. Horse brasses were much in evidence, especially in the kitchen, along with toasting forks around the huge stone fireplace. The house was built around 1650 and was set in extensive but rather overgrown gardens along the River Wharfe.
Afterwords: Time Paradox, April 3rd 2004
I’m going to break this entry here because the timeline got really confused about then. Everything after the list of stations on the way in to Skipton was actually written on the last night we were in Grassington or on the train as we went south to London at the end of our stay. My actual entry reads:
September 25th
Once again we stopped moving and I stopped writing…
… and goes on to describe the last few nights in Scotland, which I’ve dealt with already as separate entries with “fake” dates. But from here on in, the entry makes it clear that things that we saw and did in Yorkshire happened in the past, so the next entry will pick up on the 25th.
However, our room at Bridge End Farm was comfortable, charming, and, yes, small. The sitting area had a wood fire going most evenings, which took the chill off. It was all done in faded cream and white chintz, which made a nice contrast with the whitewashed walls and dark beams. And those beams – they were serious headknockers. The door had old forged-iron fittings – very charming to my eye, but it sort of freaked David out to have what appeared to be a gate-latch keeping it closed. Heh.
The gardens were pretty, and appeared to have seen their best days when Robins’ parents-in-law were running the place, as I don’t think either Robin or his wife were up to the physical demands of heavy gardening. They did have a little water-feature in the front entryway that was nice to hear bubbling at night, though.
Robin and his wife were very nice, they had two quiet daughters, and they were all a bit… odd. In a nice but slightly uncomfortable way, as you’ll see in the next entry.