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- Dec 2, 2005
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To say that it is nothing more than an accident of birth, and that there are indeed some rather rotten parts of Yorkshire, among the English, the folk of 'God's Own County' are unusually proud of their heritage. They take pride in their reputation for being outspoken to the point of tactlessness, 'calling a spade a spade', and for having a no-nonsense disposition, an innate thriftiness, and a gruff gallows humour. They are confident that no other English county can best them, at anything really, certainly not any southern 'jessies', and least of all the neighbouring northern county of Lancashire. The House of Lancaster may have triumphed over the House of York in the English War of The Roses, but most Yorkshiremen would laugh at the very thought of such a thing. Yorkshire, and please accept my apologies if this is entirely incorrect, is perhaps like the Texas of England - only with flatter hats and much more varied ('character building') weather.
Much of this Yorkshire chauvinism may be carried out with tongue firmly in cheek, but flat caps are raised and thinning locks scratched at the very thought that the entire human race does not aspire to be a Yorkshireman. Years ago, many Sheffield folk, who had the 'brass', would 'up sticks' on their retirement, and move to Bridlington, on the north Yorkshire coast, which was really like Sheffield-On-Sea, and of course was 'still Yorkshire'. Then some southern 'ne'er-do-well' created the county of Humberside, and the good Yorkshire folk were sent into exile for 20-odd years. There was indeed much wailing and gnashing of dentures!
So with this insight into the Yorkshire mindset, dear reader, you may possibly understand the sheer contempt and scorn, that might be felt towards a place that not only failed to appreciate the singular honour of being part of God's Own County, but actually resented not being part of the inferior county of Lancashire.
Todmorden is the place of which I speak, a mill town which sits in the upper River Calder valley, close to the Yorkshire-Lancashire border. Tod was historically part of the latter, but has long been included within the boundary of West Yorkshire. Rather than displaying unending gratitude for the honour bestowed upon them, some of the inhabitants actually agitate to secede!
Coming from the southern part of Yorkshire, I had never heard of Todmorden until I moved further north, and was subjected to a tirade about the place by a disgruntled Church of England minister. He was in every other sense a very mild-mannered, liberal fellow, but when the subject of the ungrateful heathens of Todmorden came up, he became almost apoplectic with rage. "They're neither fish nor fowl, neither one nor t'other," he assured me in a broad Keighley accent, warning me about the place as if he was referring to the very fleshpots of Gomorrah.
So it was when I raised my intended visit to Todmorden with various traders in Leeds market before I set off. "Eee! It's a funny place," said Kevin. "Like gooin' back in time. Ah did 'ouse clearance theer other week, an ah seen me seventies sen walkin' dahn street, wi' big flares an' t' star jumper, an 'air al'ovver shop!"*
Big Paul, one of the Two Teds, was sure to mark my card about their historic treachery towards the sacred county, just in case anyone else hadn't. "Thi can't mek the minds up if the in Yorkshire o' ovver border"**, he told me dismissively.
Any experienced traveller knows that border lands can be hostile places, and I knew that I would be going close to the edge of the map, where in ancient times it was written 'Here Be Monsters'. Nonetheless, I steeled myself for a visit to the disputed Caldedale town and it's weekly flea-market.
It had been some years since I last visited Tod, and as I stepped from the train I was surprised to see that the old railway offices had been turned into a series of artists studios. Hippy Hebden Bridge (see http://www.bladeforums.com/forums/s...shire-With-A-Knife-The-Wizard-s-Quest-Part-11) was creeping further up the Calder Valley for sure. Despite this incursion, I could not help but look upon the poor Lancashire-bound souls that were still on the train with pity. God help those who are forced to dwell there I thought.
I assailed fellow pedestrians in the most exaggerated Yorkshire accent I could muster, but no one took offence, even when I cried out in alarm at the presence of the 'Lancashire Cotton Company Limited'. Todmorden was more pleasant than I remembered, perhaps the weather helped, for once this 'dark valley' with its own micro climate, was in tune with the seasons, and it was a bright sunny day.
I soon found my way to the lively market, and began to make my way among the stalls. There were plenty of interesting items, including some lovely old tools, and prices were very fair. I bought an old razor, which was rusty and in need of cleaning. Unfortunately, it does not match the Joseph Rodgers box it came in, but is nonetheless an interesting item, which I reckon has given a lot of clean shaves.
I bought a small axe from a pleasant middle-aged hippy, only passing up two larger Elwells because they would be too heavy to carry.
Unfortunately, the only knives on the entire market were on the stall of a chap I had bought from in Skipton during The Wizard's Quest (see http://www.bladeforums.com/forums/s...he-Wizard’s-Quest-Part-16-–-The-Week-That-Was). He had a row of the advertising knives in which he specialises, but nothing of interest caught my eye among them. I did ask about a worn old whittle-tang Bowie, but the price was rather ridiculous. Further along the stall were some fake SAKs, but like everything else on the stall, they were overpriced, and frankly, of little interest.
I had a look round the small indoor market, where I bought a hunk of focaccia from a nice chap who runs a continental foods stall there. Tod is certainly more cosmopolitan than it once was, and despite the prior warnings and admonishments, it seemed friendly too.
I next ventured to a large antiques shop, where I sadly found nothing of interest, before going for a coffee in the up-market vegetarian restaurant situated next door.
As it was a beautiful day, I decided to walk the five miles down along the historic canal to Hebden Bridge, and was looking forward to re-visiting the antiques centre there. Unfortunately, when I arrived it had inexplicably closed for the day. I shall visit another time, as I may do Todmorden. Despite my lack of pointy bargains, I'd had a pleasant day out in the beautiful Yorkshire countryside, where the sun always shines on The Chosen - well until the next shower anyway. No doubt the weather is far worse in Lancashire.
The Hunt Continues!
Jack
* - Translation - "Like going back in time. I carried out a 'house clearance' (an estate sale) there recently, and I saw someone who was dressed like I was in the 1970's, with flared trousers, a pullover with a star motif, and long hair."
** - "They cannot decide if they are part of Yorkshire, or in fact of Lancashire."
