News and Updates

I don’t know why I am heading to the North Yorkshire coast on the Bank Holiday weekend, but I am. Maybe it is reaching a dead-end at Howsham that I question the logic of this. Maybe it is sitting in traffic for over an hour queuing through Malton (not the first time I have experienced this). I am nowhere the route I want to be on, but this Bank Holiday traffic has defeated even my cunning back-road detours. I give in and queue, all the while listening to England’s ignominious dispatching for 67 runs by Australia at Headingley as I get steadily grumpier – two of my least favourite things combined.

On the remote marshes of Somerset, thrust far out into the Bristol Channel from the main roads west, stands a remarkable heap of earth and stones. The Pixie’s Mound is a Bronze Age round barrow marking the burial site of several people, whose remains were excavated in 1907 along with numerous beakers and Roman objects. It stands proud on a low ridge of ground with a great view across the wastes of Wick Moor that were traditionally thought to be the domain of the pixies. There are many local stories about the little red-capped pixies whose music emanated from the mound. Indeed, the folklore about the pixies had such a hold locally that the excavation had to be stopped for a time because of a lack of local workers who were prepared to carry it out. It was thought bad luck to dig here and even to cross the mound.

I have spent the last couple of weeks since the publication of The South Yorkshire Moors trying to promote the book and encourage local outlets to stock it. The promotional side is a black art and something I dread. It mainly involves sending emails into the media void and never hearing anything in response. It is universally unrewarding and a stark contrast to the instant affirmation provided by social media. However, lugging boxes of newly-pressed books around unsuspecting shops has become a surprisingly rewarding part of the self-publishing process. I am not a natural salesman, but I like to think my products speak for themselves and watching people open the books and light up is a pleasure to behold.

I recently asked my Dad for his memories about the moors around Sheffield for my new book The South Yorkshire Moors. I was interested how his experience of the moors growing up in Greenhill in the 50s/60s compared to mine growing up in Oughtibridge in the 80s/90s. Though on opposite sides of the city, the moors were accessible from both if not right on the doorstep. Here are his recollections, followed by thoughts from my own childhood.

In the course of writing my books, there are places I end up going back to repeatedly, normally because I have missed something first, second and third time. Chatsworth Moors, the furthest straggle of the gritstone peat moors of the Pennines down towards Matlock, hold their secrets close. While the moor directly above Chatsworth is reasonably accessible, those parcels to the south of Beeley Triangle are very difficult to access in the first place. You end up jumping over locked gates or searching the long enclosure-era walls for any way through. The OS map shows little of interest here; a few old quarries, the intriguing name Raven Tor and a line of diamond-shaped enclosures on Harewood Moor.

Over the early part of this year, I have been involved in a side-project created by Michael Stewart, writer and senior lecturer in Creative Writing at the University of Huddersfield. He devised four great walks around a series of stones carved with new poems about the Brontës and asked me to provide the maps and route descriptions. The Emily Brontë Walk is a suitably adventurous yomp across the wild moortops above Oxenhope and Haworth, but avoids many of the usual over-trodden paths. The Charlotte Brontë Walk is a lovely short loop through the countryside around Thornton, an area entirely new to me but very rewarding.