A Very Yorkshire Weekend
Day #01:
Exploring in Yorkshire proves to be totally unfair. Or more specifically, the architecture of Thirsk and the surrounding area stands as some of the best I have ever seen. Utterly picturesque, it fills me with jealousy coming from my Suffolk roots. I wanted every house we drove past, no matter how quaint or grand, to become the victims of my portable lens, capturing and maintaining these structures forever — I would soon discover later in the day how the landscape would pail in comparison.
Back at our temporary home of caravan B12, there was much deliberation over the proceedings of Day #1 of our holiday. Eventually we settled on exploring Thirsk, home of the James Herriott museum and The Yorkshire Vet’s veterinary practice — as seen on TV! While I myself am not a fan of either, I am a fan of museums. I can’t remember last setting foot in one, and as somebody about to enter a three year Uni course which is 50% history, I thought it would be appropriate to explore. Despite our journey taking longer than anticipated thanks to roadworks and diversions, we soon arrived and parked up. Once done we made our way through the town square of Thirsk, before turning a side road to approach our museum. Once booked in and masked up — welcome to covid times — we proceeded inside. While mother and her boyfriend had been before, three years ago and in a vastly different social and medical climate, this was my first time going. I had no clue what to expect of the museum, especially as somebody who’s not at all a fan of who the museum is curated to memorialise. Still, my expectations and mind both remained open. In we went…
What struck me initially was just how vintage the entire place was. Make your way around the layout of the museum — converted from the house James Herriot lived and operated in — and you bear witness to several rooms dressed as they were back in the day. There’s a living room with a piano, study with a wireless and even a retro-style television, complete with a square screen and low quality resolution. Playing on it was an episode of All Creatures Great And Small, which I thought was “just a TV show about a veterinary practice”. How wrong I was! It’s based on the stories and life of James Herriot himself. It also stars one Peter Davidson, known better to me after portraying the 5th Dr Who from 1984 to 1986. I played a game with myself while touring the museum, of trying to find as many Peter Davidson’s as possible. Results incoming.
After making our way through the kitchen, complete with faux food displays and vintage style mustard and pickled peaches, we reached the garden. Pause for photo opportunity with James Herriot statue, admire vintage car, proceed toward the barn. In there you watch a short video about the life of James Herriot from birth to death and stop along the way at notable points. Next on the tour was where it really got interesting for me, a fan of classic Doctor Who over the revival; to me it’s the flared lights, poor production quality, primitive visual effects and the rush to produce episodes which makes the 1963 to 1989 run of Doctor Who my favorite. An important note because, following the video screening in the barn, you step into a reproduction of the All Creatures Great And Small set. Complete with script, BBC cameras and overhead monitors showing live set feeds, it felt as though I was in BBC Studio B while Doctor Who was being filmed around the corner in Studio C. For years as a child I dreamed of being in front of the camera as my own incarnation of Dr Who, and in many ways would argue I am now, so to see a reproduction of behind the camera and on set action was an educational experience. You could probably see my eyes light up as I went around, taking photos and digesting the environment as best as I could.
After using a lift to gain access upstairs, we slowly walked around an interactive area for children. While I didn’t engage in fake calf pulling and puzzle assembling, I was intrigued by the cross section of an Ox’s eye and various stages of a baby Chicken , both encased in preserving liquids. Next we moved onto a vast display of veterinary instruments, from syringes to massive teeth pulling devices. What struck me most was the sizes of needles, baby animals in jars, the skeleton of a chicken — which I found hilarious for some reason — and a model train you could play with. I was stood for about five minutes watching two trains go from a station, disappear into a hill and back again. Once we explored the dedicated room to the revival of All Creatures Great And Small, complete with an original scale model of the original set, we retraced our steps and found ourselves in the gift shop. Ten minutes later, we were stood outside. An hour and twenty minutes had passed and we were all now starving hungry.
My original plan was to go to Wetherspoons, located just around the corner. We made our way there, and I stopped in the WHSmith en route in an attempt to find more Lego Marvel blind bags. My attempt was unsuccessful, so I met mother and her boyfriend outside Wetherspoons. It wasn’t wheelchair accessible. Up the road was a Greggs, so we decided to stop there to grab a bite to eat. Once we chose our orders (I chose a tuna mayo roll, caramel custard donut and a caramel latte) we crossed the road and sat opposite a fish and chip shop called The White Horse to consume lunch at a late hour. Our chosen location prompted me to contribute an idea: “should we go see the white horse?”, a local monument carved into a hill that was only a sixteen minute drive from Thirsk. The idea was put on the back burner. By now we had 50 minutes until our parking ticket expired, so I dashed across the town square to a book shop cafe. Here I found a plethora of signed books, with options including: Julian North, Ellie Goulding, Paula Hawkins and Lisa Jewell. If I had the money I would definitely have purchased one, but sadly I couldn’t justify £20 for a signed hardback book. Even if the pages were all orange. I placed the copy down, a little sad, and rejoined mum and her boyfriend across the road. We walked back to the car park where a man engaged me in conversation about charging electric cars, and we soon made haste to leave to our next destination. Before making it there however, we stopped off at Skeldale Veterinary Service, which once played host to the TV show Yorkshire Vet. After taking a few photos, we put a new post code into Google Maps and drove on.
Next stop: the Kilburn White Horse. We arrived at the car park beneath it after driving down roads that go from steep to winding, with a massive drop down on one side. Once I exited the vehicle and looked up, you sadly couldn’t see the whole of the horse. What I did see though, was a flight of stone stairs leading up to the top of the hill the horse is engraved into. What followed will stand as one of the craziest things I have and will ever do. Wearing three inch platform boots, I decided to ascend to the top of the flight of stone stairs. It wasn’t until I was on the second set of stairs it hit me just how steep they were, with some being the height of a loaf of bread. I stopped a few times along the way to catch my breath, as did others attempting the climb in front of me. At one point I had to sit on a step and wait for mother’s boyfriend who was in tow. It wasn’t long before he surrendered a metaphorical white flag and made his way down. I looked up and saw the blue sky above me, knowing I was a mere thirty stair climb from the top of this hill. I knew you only experience one life, and not knowing if I would ever return to accomplish such a mean feat, decided to make the final climb. Am I glad to have done it? Of course, because as taxing and literally breathtaking as this ascent may have been, it pays off once you reach the top. Literally breathtaking becomes metaphorical, as the stunning vista you’re able to look over is astounding. Incredible, beautiful! I am also a massive fan of nature, and from the top of the mountain, you could see nothing but rolling fields mixed with blue skies and fluffly clouds right out to the horizon. It’s perhaps one of the most stunning views of nature I have and will ever see, with suffering a mountainous climb giving you the best reward.
Part of me wishes I took my book up alongside me, because I could have stayed up there reading until dawn fell upon me. Sadly I reasoned with myself to eventually leave, after capturing even more photos. Ones I will seriously cherish for a lifetime, show to all my friends and probably stick around the house. Luckily the trek down was far easier, and another man spoke to me, asking if going up or down is easier in my opinion. I told him down. By the time I reached the bottom, I agreed with my earlier estimation. By the time I rejoined mum and her boyfriend at the car, I collapsed to the ground in an effort to relax and regain my breath. I was then informed that not only was it the highest point in Yorkshire, it was also a journey of 151 steps up. Meaning I climbed 302 very steep stone stairs, all in three inch platform heels. By the time I reached the bottom, I could seriously feel it. I was sweaty, exhausted and in need of a drink. I climbed back into the car and we set off again, this time driving an hour to Scarborough for a drive along the beach.
PS: There were seven Peter Davidson’s at the James Herriott museum.
Day #02:
There’s something oddly poetic in listening to Keep The Faith — Michael Jackson while driving through rolling hills of Yorkshire. Nothing but trees, fields, shacks and sheep stretch out and surround you in each direction you look. Eventually you reach the ground, or tarmac rather, you’re driving along. It feels as though we’re foreign invaders into the land of Mother Nature, destroying her creation for our own merit and progress. Bring back journeys carried out via horse drawn carts, lasting days, riding and whipping throughout night and day. Distant trees evoke feelings of my own distant home of Transylvania and Castle Orava. Oftentimes I spend glancing over photos of the castle, high up in the mountains and surrounded by nothing but trees. These ones here look the same as they are there, connecting me internally over such a far distance. As we continue to invade the countryside and further pollute our air, we enclose destination number one before two and three for today. I may not be taking a plane from Heathrow to close in on a Transylvanian castle, but via a detour of Heartbeat, I enclose further and further to another home. Not a castle, but the ruins of an abbey. I have only read about, listened to and watched it on a modern high def screen. Today I will finally see it in the flesh, with my own undead eyes. I will be at one of many places I consider my true home, preferring to get lost in fictional escapism over true reality. With each second we drive closer to Whitby Abbey.
Before I knew it, roads became bridges and train tracks. A fine rain began to set upon us. It’s evident you’ve reached England once it begins to rain, various depths of puddle accumulating around you; the marriage of Yorkshire and rain seemed perfect. We first found ourselves at Goathland Railway Station, known better to some after being used in Heartbeat. Better known to others as the location of the Hogwarts Express, from the first two Harry Potter films. “I’m not going home, not really” rang true in my ears as I honestly fought back tears. It felt surreal to be standing on the same platform where Harry Potter would embark on a seven year, eight film journey of visual magic to destroy Lord Voldemort.
Next was where mother calls “Heartbeat land”, which doubles as Aidensfield in on location shots of the show. We had lunch — Whitby scampi and chips all round — in the Aidensfield Arms, located opposite Scripp’s Garage, now converted into a gift shop. We then proceeded to walk up the other side of the village, making our way through a variety of gift and sweet shops, before arriving at the village green. Today and yesterday it was inhabited by vintage cars, some used in the Heartbeat show itself. After seeing a large variety of Golliwog’s of all shapes and sizes — thankfully political correctness hasn’t reached these parts — and purchasing various gifts and confectioneries, it was back to the car. Postcode dialed in, directions loading; ever we grow closer to Whitby. Though with it being on a Sunday afternoon at half past three, I fear the many “Goth shops” will be shutting or closed by time of arrival.
You can see the Abbey ruins between the pumps of a Sainsbury’s petrol station; it causes me to wonder what the same site held, back when the masterpiece of Dracula was being written. Finally we parked up beside Whitby Abbey, where I began to wander inside the cobbled walls… Only to find an entry fee of £11. Could I justify such a cost? No. Instead I walked the perimeter, a large stone wall oftentimes blocking the view of one of my personal Mecca’s. This didn’t stop me from capturing the moment, taking various photos at different angles; my personal copy of Dracula in the fore with a blurred Abbey in the back; a selfie joining my current with my past.
I walked on to find the infamous 199 steps, and trailed down them to a narrow cobbled street. To my surprise, many shops remained open despite now being five in the evening on a Sunday. I darted from bookshop to bookshop, stacks upon stacks of Dracula before me. So many beautiful and unique pressings, all of which I wanted, none I could justify purchasing. I saw large varieties of various shots of Whitby Abbey too, all so beautiful but far beyond my price range. I settled on four postcards, one displaying the Abbey in it’s full glory. It will take pride of place on my bedroom wall once I go “home” to Haverhill. After reaching the end of the street, I walked back and ascended the 199 steps again — this time sans three inch platforms — and found myself back at the Abbey. More photos, trying to get “THE SHOT” before returning to the car park. Once there, I couldn’t see mother or her boyfriend anywhere. I grabbed my mobile telephone and dialed, only to find they were in the town. Back down stairs I went. Not the same 199 I previously climbed, but it may well have been. I took a more scenic, luscious route, filled with trees beside me and rows of buildings across from me in the distance.
Once back at the end of the street I previously visited, I rejoined mother and her boyfriend. I did manage to find various “Goth shops” still open, but the one I wanted to visit (called Pandemonium and visited by Joanna Lumley, another star I heavily admire, in her last travel show set here in the UK) was closed and on the other side of town. We soon decided to cross the bridge to side two and trundle down to the pier. On the way mother and her boyfriend watched as the bridge we just crossed turned to let a boat go under, breaking apart so the sail didn’t catch. Mother called for me to look, but as it was happening, I found a dedicated Dracula shop. Inside was a poster signed by the cast of the 2020 BBC TV show, starring Danish star and musician Claes Bang. In the other window stood a movie poster for Bram Stoker’s Dracula from 1992, with Gary Oldman as the lead with my beloved Richard E Grant in the cast also.
At that moment, two posters in a shop window were more important to me than anything. Mother may adore Heartbeat and The Yorkshire Vet, but Whitby and Dracula is my territory. I resonate deeply with the story of a lonely, bloodsucking creature, hundreds of years old and irritated by the light. Who goes from living in a castle in his lonesome to a bustling city, searching out love and satisfying bloodlust. After reaching the end of the pier, we trundled back through town, window shopping and taking in the variety of smells surrounding us. The more I smelt fish and chips, the more I desired it. Sadly I didn’t satisfy my hunger for it tonight, but my time will come, I will make sure of it.
We soon reached B12 just before the sun began to set, and the sky was a gradient of orange and pink delight. It was as though a sea of mallow had been painted and instilled above our heads. Inside we went, and I flicked on the television to see Crimes Of Grindelwald had just started. I made dinner for myself, as did mother for herself and her boyfriend, and all three of us sat watching the film. Once it ended, I finished my book. Soon I will lay my head down in bed, ready for the coming week ahead.
Day #03:
Cannon Hall Farm is today’s destination. Mother says it’s been featured in The Yorkshire Vet and is a two hour drive from B12. No matter, as I brought snacks this time, and my book as ever. I listen to Paper Moon — Joy Downer while reading first. Once the album finishes, I fold my book away and take out a veggie bake. Before going to Greggs in Thirsk, mother and her boyfriend visited the local bakery and picked up two pastries for pescetarian me. They’re salty but delicious, and I took the second of the two they kindly got me along for brunch, as well as a whispa bar. They scratched the itch of hunger, then I returned to reading.
40 minutes from our destination, I just put my book down. I finished at page one hundred, chapter ten. Now I’m listening to Blood On The Dance Floor — Michael Jackson, which is tied with Dangerous as my favorite song of his. I sit in the back seat admiring the scenery that’s become all too familiar by now. Trees, fields, sheep. This is farming land, we’re still invaders. But soon shift to civilians as the car verges onto a motorway, blue signs for Manchester and Leeds and THE SOUTH hanging overhead. Now there’s a sea of wind turbines in the field closest to us, power lines running through, dwarfed in size in comparison to the turbines. It feels as though we’re headed for the city as opposed to a farm. As much as I hate it, part of me has missed the urban twang I see ever so briefly.
In mid September 2019, I decided to stop eating meat. I was at a family barbecue at my sisters house, in a bit of a bad mood. For no reason whatsoever I decided there and then, no more meat — but in reality, this was something I had wanted to do since learning Prince was vegan in 2015. I don’t know the exact date that fateful day was when I decided no more meat — aside from fish, officially marking me pescetarian, but I eat vegan where and whenever possible — but my headcanon is it was September 13th. Today is September 13th, roughly two years on since I stopped eating meat. Today was also the first day I went to a farm to see animals up close and personal since making a massive dietary choice. Let me tell you, it was an emotional one.
WE NOW INTERRUPT THE REGULAR SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING FOR A TALE OF: MORALITY.
“Mine is the running hot water of the daughter of morality. This little Prince thinks a lot about you, see? Baby, baby, baby I’m guilty in the first degree!” — Prince, Temptation (1985).
I had reservations about going to a farm. Cannon Hall is another thing mother watches on TV, and I was sceptical there would be nothing there “for me”. Scared there’d be nothing I would like or care about. As it happens, I cared about everything. Perhaps a little too much. The first thing that set me off was all the children with their parents, gathered around the same enclosure as us to watch ferret racing. Despite being a trans woman, I have immense baby fever and seeing all the toddlers being so cute and fidgety made me want one, and my own little queer family, all the more. One of the four ferrets was called Disco Dave and was racing in a blue tube. I said to myself he bears the name of a winner, and silently backed him to win. Disco Dave let me down by coming in last place. Even still I feel betrayed.
Following the ferret racing, and a wrong turn on foot, we made our way to “the roundhouse”. Not the Camden concert venue sadly, but a circular barn full to the brim with sheep and goats. The cutest, sweetest, funniest and mischievous little things! I can see why Baphomet, the deity of the Knights Templar, was modeled on a goat. I saw many jump onto hay troughs, ram into their friends with their horns, and even use their horns to scratch their back shoulders. Their slight aggression didn’t scare me off from standing there, gazing lovingly at them. I wanted to pet one, take one home, and stood for ages admiring them all. They perked up their little heads and looked at me whenever my face appeared over the metal fence gates. It felt like a connection, or them saying hello at least, before they turned away to continue feasting. I couldn’t resist but smile at them, wave at them, and playfully threaten them if they turned away while attempting to take a photo. There was one particular breed of goat with floppy ears, brown patches and mostly white fur which reminded me of a particular kind of dog. I fell in love with them all and now consider them my people. I wanted to join them, tell all of them how I’m not like the others. I won’t eat them, but I will love them endlessly. I was the same with the multitude of sheep spread between them in other sections of the roundhouse.
It was quite the sight seeing such a large quantity of so many sheep and goats. You could ascend a walkway and gain a better vantage point over all the animals. I did, and was taken aback by the large number of everything. It also made me sad seeing them all so closely huddled together, hardly any space, and wondered what fate might befall them. Breeding for milk, perhaps even death for food? I had a little bit of relief when I turned the corner and reached some vast fields, filled with highland cows and donkeys. By this point it started to feel like a real life game of Minecraft, being surrounded by so many animals also included in game. The highland cow was quite a sight also, such a gorgeous ginger beast sporting massive horns and long hair. By this point, it’s hair was longer than my own. A little further down were the two grey donkeys, looking pensive into the afternoon air before taking a stroll around their paddock. It was much nicer to see them all with room to run around and explore, rather than being stuck in tight with their own kind, surrounded by metal walls. Just around the corner and up a bit was a white reindeer, who sadly had to have an eye operated and remains with just the one. It’s antlers look like there’s been some rubbing and was bleeding, which may be natural for them, I don’t know. But was still quite an unnerving sight. I left worried and sad for the beautiful guy.
What was most distressing mind you, was the barns full of pigs and piglets. They were surprisingly quiet at first, but as you got closer, you could hear them shrieking. Even though they were feeding from their mother, and some had to literally fight to latch onto a teat, the sound still made me worry. That shriek has somehow been associated with slaughter along the way, and I really don’t like hearing it. As I stood watching them feed, another sad thought overcame me. I was looking down at somewhere between ten and twenty piglets per pig, and there was a lot of mothers. I hated thinking about the fact they were all probably to be raised for slaughter, killed and made into food. This was especially evident as all of the information placards about pigs I saw commented on how good they were for food, and named a variety of different cuts. Is this really what the human race and planetary population has come to? Reducing a living, breathing animal down to the product of consumption and capitalism? Even before we started at the ferret racing, mother sat in the on site restaurant and consumed a bacon sandwich for her lunch. Going through the barns together, she probably had not a single ounce of guilt, regret or remorse. After two or three more barns of shrieking, laying and feeding pigs, it became a bit too overwhelming so I sought to leave.
By this point we’d almost reached the end of touring the farm. All that remained was a reptile house and various shops. Inside the extremely hot reptile house was various turtles, lizards, snakes, and even a family of ants carrying leaves around the entire building. Despite having major arachnophobia, I was partially disappointed to not see a tarantula so up close. I may be petrified of the eight legged devil’s, but it’s something I hope to one day overcome. We then went to the gift shop, where I got a bracelet covered in crystals and a V charm. Each different crystal has a different property too: quartz — master healer; rose quartz — love; tourmaline — balance & health; amethyst — protection & guidance. Recently I started practicing crystal healing, so this is a perfect addition to the collection. Something I can carry with me at all times, with stereotypical “girl colors” (purple and pink), and the first initial of my chosen name.
Next came looking around the other shops, with the first being for produce. What I’m guessing is it’s all mostly or entirely handmade and produced on site, being a farm and all. Various cuts of meat, cheeses of all variety, more chutneys and vinegar's that you could ever want or need. All for a hefty price too, but this is premium handmade stuff. What do you expect really? Mother got some strawberry milkshake in a glass jar, which I’m saving for when I get some buildable LEGO roses. I tried a sip, but every instinct of the pescetarian inside me was screaming “NO!!” It damaged my moral compass and I had to control myself having more, because even though I still eat fish, I try to do what I can at whatever point. Which is so much more than the majority of people on the planet.
“We’re all members of the Animal Kingdom, so leave your brothers and sisters in the sea” — The Artist, Animal Kingdom (1998)
This was an excerpt of Vicky Leigh’s ‘Lockdown Diaries: the Fact of Fiction’.
Release date: TBC.
