‘Scripts, Skeletons & Scriptures: Writing About Writing in Yorkshire.

[Human]

It rained quite heavily overnight. As I looked out my window this morning, I reflected on the wonderful equation:

(Same view) + (different weather) = (different view).



The morning routine was the same as yesterday: breakfast, workshops, then lunch. I ate way more freshly-baked focaccia than I should have, but occasionally, just occasionally, food is so good that it’s worth the commensurate increase in body weight.

After lunch the big agenda item was my first one-on-one meeting with a presenter/author at 4pm. That gave me plenty of time to go for another walk, to the nearby village. I had two items on the agenda once there: to go to the shop, and to go to the cemetary.

Having received directions from one of the staff, I set out through The Door At The End Of The Garden.



I came to this sign: a “Public Footpath” to the village. I was not given directions to take this path to get to the village. But what could possibly go wrong? I took the path.


Why, oh why, oh why, oh why, won’t I ever learn?

At first the “Public Footpath” was simply a narrow, but easy, bushwalking track – the sort of thing that you’d find, say, in the Blue Mountains or any number of Australian east coast sub-tropical rainforests.


Then it became just a tiny bit more precarious… It rained heavily last night, remember, so the track was slippery. Very slippery.


Then things started to get decidedly dicey, especially given the slippery surface, and I started to think that this was the sort of track that was best not taken alone, in case one person slipped and the other needed to go or call for help…



…Then the edge of the track stopped taking on the characteristics of a “slope”, and came to be more accurately described as a “cliff”.


To make matters worse, on the left (the non fatal-fall side) was a quite impenetrable wall, trapping me on the cliff-face…


Yes, it must be acknowledged that there were some beautiful views to be had…





But seriously? This was a “Public Footpath”? More like a public death-trap. I kept thinking that I was one slip away from my doom…


Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.

 

[Human]

Eventually there was a gap in the wall. I’d survived! “Free at last!” I thought. I walked along the path just as it started to rain heavily. I just had time to put on my trusted Kathmandu Gore-Tex jacket, when the rain stopped.



I emerged to see some signs of civilisation.



I continued on another path, before arriving at the Church building.



I found its cemetary.


And within a few minutes I’d found this grave. I have a colleague at work, an English teacher, who would have killed me if I hadn’t come here and gotten these photos.


One thing for sure: I was most definitely not returning via the same path I came! I walked through the village, and along the road, before arriving at the familiar and welcome path back to the house.






On the minus side, I didn’t make it to the shop. On the plus side. I did not slip and plunge to my death. That’s a win in my book.

 

[Human]

I made it back (just) in time for my 1-on-1 meeting with one of the authors who is presenting here.

All I'll say is that it was an amazing experience which gave me some brilliant pointers about how to make my writing so much better than it is -- in fact, if I can manage to do what was suggested, what I write might, just possibly, one day be good enough to be considered for publication.

After another delicious dinner and a stimulating and inspirational evening session with a visiting author, several of us sat up with the authors and chatted and quizzed them informally over a glass of wine.

I also received an incredibly kind and generous offer related to my day in Manchester on Saturday, but I'll hold off talking about that for now. Time for bed!

 

[jastel]

"Public Footpaths" in the UK are not what we think of as a cement "sidewalk" here.

They are usually old paths used for centuries to get to places, it just means the farmers cant stop you using them or fence them off for themselves...

There are other types that allow horses or bikes etc as well.
Some are very well used, some not as much....

 

[Human]

"Public Footpaths" in the UK are not what we think of as a cement "sidewalk" here.

They are usually old paths used for centuries to get to places, it just means the farmers cant stop you using them or fence them off for themselves...

There are other types that allow horses or bikes etc as well.
Some are very well used, some not as much...

I wish I’d known that yesterday! It was kinda fun though… as well as a little terrifying.

 

[Human]

I’m on a bit of a high as I write this. The day isn’t over, but it’s shaping up to be the best of my trip.

This afternoon I had my second 1-on-1 meeting with a presenter. The author I met with is, by any definition, highly successful: she has written a string of bestsellers over a period of over 15 years. She writes brilliantly; I aspire to be able to write like she does. My 1-on-1 experience yesterday was amazing, but also harrowing; it resulted in me having to re-write something I wrote from scratch (the new version is exponentially better).

So I didn’t know what to expect today.

I had given her a different piece of work to critique. She described it as “brilliant”, “important” … she said that “only you can write this, and it is imperative that you do”. She suggested some improvements but she also said that even as it is, it’s good enough to attract the attention of a publisher.

Wow. Wow.

Wow.

For the second time in two days, I walked out feeling quite emotional.

Our meeting had been early in the afternoon, which gave me time for a mid-to-late-afternoon walk to Hebden bridge. This time I followed instructions to the letter after walking through The Door At The End Of The Garden, and after a pleasant, but steep, downhill walk I arrived at Hebden Bridge successfully.





I strolled down the main street, Market St; the first stop, for the simple reason that I thought the women in my life would enjoy its wares, was The Yorkshire Soap Co.

Before now I didn’t think it was possible to spend over GBP 100 on soap, candles, and fragrances, but I managed it.


Next stop was Spirals – the shop that my wife had ordered from online. It was indeed a very nice gift shop.



I bought more stuff for my wife, but I couldn’t resist making one purchase for me. Will I dare to wear this around Melbourne? You betcha.

 

[Human]

Having walked down the hill to get to Hebden Bridge, I had no inclination to walk back up the hill – especially considering my purchases. So I caught the bus back up the hill. I loved listening to the Yorkshire accents during my trip.


Tonight we have free time after dinner, and if all goes according to plan I’ll be taking part in a quintessential English cross-cultural experience. I am seriously excited!

 

[FlyingFiona]

Wow that is such fabulous feedback about your writing. How encouraging to hear you have a viable project and ability to write it. Well done on your work so far.

 

[kookaburra75]

I’m on a bit of a high as I write this. The day isn’t over, but it’s shaping up to be the best of my trip.

This afternoon I had my second 1-on-1 meeting with a presenter. The author I met with is, by any definition, highly successful: she has written a string of bestsellers over a period of over 15 years. She writes brilliantly; I aspire to be able to write like she does. My 1-on-1 experience yesterday was amazing, but also harrowing; it resulted in me having to re-write something I wrote from scratch (the new version is exponentially better).

So I didn’t know what to expect today.

I had given her a different piece of work to critique. She described it as “brilliant”, “important” … she said that “only you can write this, and it is imperative that you do”. She suggested some improvements but she also said that even as it is, it’s good enough to attract the attention of a publisher

That must be so inspiring. In my line of work I can whip out a consultant report in no time but fail at anything truly creative. My sister-in-law is an English Lit teacher, and has penned a few short stories and essays and is looking forward to doing more - especially since my brother who is a science teacher is always off overseas looking after school excursions. If you don't mind sending me details of the writers workshop I think she might head off and have her own 'excursion', while my brother minds the fort at home.

Our meeting had been early in the afternoon, which gave me time for a mid-to-late-afternoon walk to Hebden bridge. This time I followed instructions to the letter after walking through The Door At The End Of The Garden, and after a pleasant, but steep, downhill walk I arrived at Hebden Bridge successfully.

And there I was thinking your ramblings through those wild paths was research for a murder mystery, where would they stash/find the body? You were really just lost.

I bought more stuff for my wife, but I couldn’t resist making one purchase for me. Will I dare to wear this around Melbourne? You betcha.
View attachment 467711

Wear it in Fitzroy, you'll blend right in with the hipster/barrista crowd

 

[Human]

Last night small group of us set out after dinner…



These are called dry stone walls. They don’t contain any cement, are held together with gravity, and are centuries old. They took a lot of skill to build!


I was very excited to arrive at our destination: my first English Pub!!



It was quiet when we arrived. I had been strictly instructed to imbibe a pint of bitter. It was served at slightly below room temperature. I’m very glad to have had the experience, but I’m not sure I’m hooked…




The pub gradually filled up….


… in time for the Pub Quiz!!


It went for two hours. A lot of the questions were about British politics and obscrure sitcoms from the 90s which I wasn’t a lot of help with. My team, the Vivacious Verbal Vixens, came last.

However, the last placed team received a consolation prize…


We returned to the house at midnight by the light of the almost-full moon. I was very tired and didn’t get enough sleep last night, but it was very worth it!

 

[RooFlyer]

And within a few minutes I’d found this grave. I have a colleague at work, an English teacher, who would have killed me if I hadn’t come here and gotten these photos.

I just realised the significance of that grave, and the sadness behind it. I think I read some of her poems at school.

 

[FlyingFiona]

I just realised the significance of that grave, and the sadness behind it. I think I read some of her poems at school.

You prompted me to look up who she is. What a sad story. Why is she burried in Yorkshire? I didn't see any record of her having lived there.

 

[drron]

I bought more stuff for my wife, but I couldn’t resist making one purchase for me. Will I dare to wear this around Melbourne? You betcha.
View attachment 467711

Love your choice. This is my headwear for the current trip.

 

[Human]

And there I was thinking your ramblings through those wild paths was research for a murder mystery, where would they stash/find the body? You were really just lost.

You should never underestimate my ability for incompetence!

 

[Human]

You prompted me to look up who she is. What a sad story. Why is she burried in Yorkshire? I didn't see any record of her having lived there.

I believe that the reason she's buried here is because of her estranged husband, Ted Hughes. The house where I am staying, and writing this, was formerly owned by Ted Hughes.

 

[VPS]

You prompted me to look up who she is. What a sad story. Why is she burried in Yorkshire? I didn't see any record of her having lived there.

She had a tragic life

 

[drron]

I learnt all about Sylvia at the age of 16 from an English tutor. She was a woman in her 80’s who had been a primary school head. She loved her poetry and I had to learn more about Sylvia.
She was an excellent teacher and I ended up writing about 30 poems.. No copies survived.

 

[Human]

Today has been a bittersweet day for me. It’s the final day of the course and I’m so going to miss this place, this community, these people, this indescribable experience. So I’m trying to soak in as much as I can. This morning we had our final workshops with the presenters. I’m about to have my final 1-on-1 meeting. And this evening after dinner we’ll have a celebration of each others’ work, including readings from what we’ve written.

My piece of writing that I’ll be reading tonight was written this week. It’s raw, emotional, powerful. If I’m not in tears at the end of it I’ll be doing well.

Before all that, though, I had the opportunity to explore this amazing area one last time. I had a specific purpose.

Once again, armed with instructions that were clear and specific (mostly), I set out into the valley.


I walked through some beautiful areas.



Once again I found myself walking along a narrow path next to a sheer cliff face. Some of the cliffs were human-made of old stone. I felt a little less anxious this time, though – partly because the path was nowhere near as slippery, and partly because I am now An Old Hand at this.




After about 20 minutes I reached my destination – this bridge. Depending on who one talks to, this is the oldest bridge in the UK, or the oldest bridge in Europe, or simply a very, very old bridge. What is beyond doubt is that it’s pre-Industrial Revolution, and almost certainly from Medieval times. This is most certainly a very, very old bridge and one of the oldest human-made structures I’ve ever stood on or in.



View attachment 467929



After marvelling at the bridge and its surroundings, I headed back. On the way back to my room I sat outside the house and soaked in the surroundings for one last time.




I had a sleep before dinner.

Tonight was our end-of-week celebration which as expected was an uplifting, emotional, bittersweet time. Tomorrow will be a very big day, but it will include the as-yet unfulfilled part of this Trip Report. Tomorrow it’s time to gaze at some Scriptures.

 

[RooFlyer]

After about 20 minutes I reached my destination – this bridge. Depending on who one talks to, this is the oldest bridge in the UK, or the oldest bridge in Europe, or simply a very, very old bridge. What is beyond doubt is that it’s pre-Industrial Revolution, and almost certainly from Medieval times. This is most certainly a very, very old bridge and one of the oldest human-made structures I’ve ever stood on or in.

That got me intrigued, and I eventually found it. Apparently called Hebble Hole Bridge, on the Pennine Way.

 

[Human]

Chapter 5: Silence in the Library

I named this chapter after one of my favourite Doctor Who episodes from 2008. It is also objectively one of the three greatest Doctor Who stories ever (along with Blink [2007] and Genesis of the Daleks [1975]). I thought of this chapter title weeks ago, when I was planning this trip (and this TR). I had no idea at the time how prescient and appropriate that title would be.

The Big Plan today was to get to the John Rylands Library in Manchester. It is one of the world’s greatest libraries (arguably, the greatest), and it contains a few things that I was ridiculously excited to see.

First, though, I needed to get there.

The plan was that one of the people on the writing course, a local from Manchester – let’s just call him Steve (his real name) – would drive me to Manchester in the morning and take me on a “library crawl” around the city.

Obviously it was an emotional morning because we all had to say our goodbyes and be out of the house by 10am. At 8:15am, the news filtered down…

Every single car in the street up the top of the pathway had been vandalised. Every one. Every tyre had been destroyed. Whoever did it had been indiscriminate – for about a 600-metre stretch, from our house to the village, every car had had its tyres destroyed.

No pun intended: this was massively deflating for all of us. So rather than our intended 9am departure, we had to walk up the path and wait for replacement tyres to arrive from near(ish)by Bradford. Then the tyres needed to be fitted to every car.

We observed the damage…



We waited…


We went into the village and fetched coffee…



We waited…


One of the locals said that this was the exact house that Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath lived in.


We made police reports…



We waited… Just as well it was a beautiful day! The temperature eventually got up to 21: definitely an Indian Summer in this part of the world!

As this was happening a local tyre man, from Punjab, arrived to help. He spoke hardly any English but it was just as well that one of our writing group spoke fluent Urdu!


We were really impressed by his generosity. I thought of the line from Hamilton: “Immigrants – they get the job done!”. He ended up fitting all the new tyres for free, saving everyone hundreds of pounds.

Finally the tyres arrived and were unloaded.


We got going just after 1pm. It was a slow drive to Manchester, most of which I couldn’t photograph because my phone needed a charge on the car’s wireless charger by then.


At about 2:30pm we arrived at our destination.