Taking the cure at Fountains Abbey

River Skell seen from Surprise View, quite a climb but worth the effort for the view of the Abbey in the background

The Lake, with Fishing Tabernacles either side of the bridge - the Valley of the Seven Bridges is away
 to the bottom left of the picture

The Watergarden.

 

 The place is so very special because my Dad took me there as a child. He used to go on holiday to Ripon, where his grandad was a gentlemen's hairdresser (he didn't like the term 'barber'). At one time his three sons - my grandad, his two brothers Arthur and Albert, along with his half-brother Edgar, all worked in the business. Albert was killed at the end of  October 1917 near Ypres, while Arthur was badly wounded in a mine explosion on the Western Front.
He was rescued from the carnage by a German patrol. Taken prisoner, he had to have extensive surgery, which led to him losing over half his stomach. Arthur, who never married, returned home to Ripon, where he took to wandering late in the evening and during the night - Studley and Fountains were his favourite stamping grounds, and I like to think that here he found peace after the horror, loss and suffering of war.


             Cure of Fountains

In the Chapel of the Nine Altars by moonlight

And in the Valley of the Seven Bridges at dusk

Arthur, a man scarred by war and captivity

Chooses to walk alone and in peace

Under the ruins of the great tower

And by the fishing tabernacles

His cares and pain are eased by

The beauty of ancient tranquillity

Here gods and Greeks and Aislabie’s folly temples

Wrestle for attention in the moonlight and cool

Of evening shade

And the curse of war is banished

By Arthur’s nocturnal wanderings.

 
For more of my family history, the life story of Ripon's oldest Barber and a 100-year-old mystery, read Heirloom.

Marketing Heaven

Called into a cafe in Ripon for lunch and noticed a sign in the window advertising a job vacancy. Half through my food, a young woman came in to inquire about the work. They explained to her that she wouldn't be working in the cafe itself, but that the job involved walking around with a board and handing out fliers. Marketing of a sort, but I don't think the putative applicant was that impressed by the terms and conditions...

Homage to Finkle Street

The trip to Ripon Library culminated in the discovery of my great grandfather's obituary, as well as that of his son, my great uncle, who died in WWI. Also discovered that three great aunts all 'succumbed to pneumonia on attaining womanhood' (1937 speak for died aged 19, 23 and 25, so heartbreakingly young). Now hope to learn more about their brother who emigrated to Australia three years after the end of WWI. At 80, my great granddad was 'Ripon's oldest hairdresser' when he died - says so in the title to his obituary, left me feeling rather proud of the old boy. He worked in his own shop, at 7 Finkle Street, top of the Market Square - must have done a roaring trade on market day, with various of his sons, for just over 44 years. That's a lot of snipping.  Bet he also did a nice line in 'something for the weekend, sir?' sales.