Exploration

We have received another report from the dark heart of Yorkshire where Sir Cedric Pudding, sponsored by The Royal Geographical Society,  bravely continues his exploration of the mysterious continent. On his intrepid journey, he has crossed rivers, climbed lofty hills, battled through luxuriant vegetation, seen off all manner of barking hounds, shooed away herds of dangerous bovine beasts and consorted with hostile natives.

Hoyland Hall, High Hoyland

"It was last Saturday when I set out for the remote hill village of High Hoyland where I tethered my faithful donkey by a magnificent early eighteenth century hall. It was a hot summer's day and many High Hoylanders were outside engaging in their native customs.

Bretton Hall seen across a sugar beet field  befriended by poppies

Avoiding possible confrontation, I diverted in a northerly direction towards the estate of Bretton Hall, thence to the hamlet of Haigh where a rosy-cheeked milkmaid of ample bosom gave me a beaker of milk fresh from the dairy. Fearing ulterior motivation, I quickly crossed under the M1 Motorway and followed the banks of the babbling River Dearne all the way to the settlement of Darton. To my great relief yon lusty milkmaid had not pursued me.

Cottage in the hamlet of Haigh

Church bells were ringing to announce the nuptials of a Dartonesque couple at All Saints Church - built in 1150. Not wishing to be swept along by the emotionally charged wedding party, I instead headed back across the motorway into Kexbrough, pausing for sustenance at a primitive roadside market place known as "Spar". There I purchased a "Gray" brand scotch egg and a local brew made from the kola and coca plants and presented in a tin.

Wedding Day at Darton.
"If it's too tight we can easily loosen the stays on your corset Carol!"

Onwards towards Cawthorne but I didn't dare to venture into the cannibalistic village itself. Instead I tiptoed by Cinder Hill Farm before turning north through Margery Wood. Though sunlight pierced the canopy, leafy shadows remained and my imagination was filled with visions of murder and milkmaids wielding three-legged stools. 

Cricket at Darton Cricket Club

Emerging from those arboreal nether regions, I returned to fierce sunlight in which  High Hoylanders were harvesting their humble cornfields - no doubt already considering the forthcoming privations of wintertime. Back at Hoyland Hall, my trusty steed Donny was waiting but I noticed a handwritten parking ticket roughly attached to his bridle - issued in the name of Lord Wentworth. A fine of two guineas was demanded and a further three shillings for leaving a pile of donkey excrement on the queen's highway.

Glancing furtively about me, I knew it was time to retreat to my safe encampment in Sheffield. I mounted Donny and slapped his rump. We were off."

Harvesting at High Hoyland