“Those gorgeous flowers blooming in the meadows around here look good enough to eat.” I had overheard this comment, in an American accent, from a visitor to the Wensleydale Creamery in Hawes. I mention this later to Joe Ivison. “They do if you’re a cow,” he says. “They like munching dried flowers in their winter hay.”
Joe, a nonagenarian, is seated on a hillside bench above the ford crossing Gayle Beck. This is where the hamlet’s elders hold court during summer afternoons. Today Joe’s companion is sixtysomething Mike Webster, who was the creamery’s engineer for many years. Both offer advice, sometimes unsolicited, to visitors pondering the ford.
An old car tyre swing dangles from a sycamore branch by the beck. This is Laiker End, “laik” meaning “to play” in Yorkshire.
A flat limestone slab stretches the length of a cricket pitch across the river bed from this bank, with its hill and its huddle of houses. On the far side there are eggs for sale, with an honesty box.
In spate conditions, the water here can rise wheel-arch high, preventing vehicles crossing. During this dry spell, however, the beck is only inches deep, and cars and vans easily splash through. But it’s apparent that looks deceive. “Go back!” Joe shouts as a group of slinky-togged cycling club riders dismount and walk their steeds to the water. “The bridge downstream is safer.” The cyclists confer, then retreat, calling: “Thanks, pal.”
Mike says sometimes strangers try to pedal across, unaware of the undulating dimples under the water that become slimy with algae, causing tyres to skid. “And down they go. Crash.”
A rider and her horse pause by the beck. Joe has told me that in his clog-wearing youth he had problems with the iron caulkers on their soles, which could also skid underwater on the crossing, causing a tumble. And today’s mild-steel horseshoes are no better; a horse could slide on the wet rock, fall, and even break a leg. This horse is picking its way through a pool to one side. “Knew they’d go that way,” he says. “Local knowledge. They’re from a farm up the hill.”
