Thursday, 7 June 2018

55 Years Ago - Up past Sunnyslack to Watterfalls

(55 years ago – somewhere around 1960)

Up past Sunnyslack to “Watterfalls,
Past Maisies dad’s farm and Coldwells,
And past lonely barn stood there forlorn,
Right up through heather to very top,
Here was smallpox hospital so they said,
Not today just a farm with bordered wall,
With Linnet and Twite singing in the sun!
With Lapwings dive bombing and fluty,
And giant Curlews “warbling” away.
Those are the memories as a kid to keep.

(somewhere around the year 2015)
Up past Sunnyslack to Watterfalls,
Now a new built detour past Coldwells,
And John’s got Mr Booth’s owd farm,
Lonely barn is a house with other buildings built around it,
And reaching top of Watterfalls,
Owd Smallpox hospital is still theer, but
Where’s the Linnets and the Twites,
Where’s the Lapwings? I miss their fluty calls,
Still the odd Curlew about, But a bit barren!
Wow! Whats that I can see not far away?
Lots of poles with big blades turning fast!
Reeping the wind to make the Electricity.
(somewhere between the 1980s and 2010)
From Grane Information Centre and crossing two moors,
One called Haslingden, and one called Oswaldtwistle,
And trying to dodge them peat bogs and dykes,
With ancient silver birch trophies in that washed peat,
O’er to Dry Hill to watch the Dotterel trips and
Never far away those special “big” Wheatear,
Making their path from Africa to Greenland!
And calling off here for their rest!
Somedays up past Priestentax – a lovely name!
And on to Thirteen Stone hill, to dream its history,
One day startled by a Osprey carrying a roach from the res,
Watching him devour his wriggly catch on that very hill.
Watching Snipe “drumming” at dried up Warmwithens
And later flushing Snipe at nearby Snipe Holes.
(Today – 2nd June 2015)
Well it was all great fun while it lasted!
Thank you for those special memories……….

Wednesday, 2 May 2018


"He thunders sounds like a disowned Magpie,
and twist and turns and sometimes dormant to the trunk he hides,
with a flash of crimson past, he's off with angry "tchick",

Just here were Paris meets the bells of blue,
and Woodruff and Orpine await their blast.
Chuckling Warblers hiding but fidgeting their notes,
Sir Lancelot poses, and silently witnesses all,

With wind and song been battered through this stranded nest,
which spawns the life to later rest".

(1st May 2018 whilst sat in Lancelot Clark Storth)

Tuesday, 10 April 2018

Fathomed Grey

"For windswept bows towards the East,
While cruel over sea and land rose the beast,
Larks singing, Wheatear chase to their base,
Hollies and Haws interspersed the fathomed grey,
Their blood in winter drips from those prickly ones,
Tables eractic of crumbling grey sweeting your delight,
Warm to the back and now it all begins with
Songs and angels everywhere"

Written on 10th April 2018 whilst sat on a limestone boulder on Holme Park Fell with the warm sun shining down to give both warmth to the back and inspiration - Its a true tale of what I can see in front of me NOW

Sunday, 5 November 2017

"Dad and Charlie Snuffy liked a pinch" 

Mi father would seh,
Tek some snuff lad,
It’ll clear thi tubes,
With finger and thumb
Owd it up to nostril
And sniff up til eyes wattered,

And nuuze smarted

He luvved his snuff did mi Dad,
Bowt little square packets,
And for his birthdays,
We bowt him “Hedges”
In a special silver rah’und tin,
And that always brought a smile.
And his heyes would lite up,
Cum on then let’s have a pinch!
He’d seh as soon as hi si tin!

Remember going to Billy Walsh’s shop
At top of Carr Mill Brow to buy the stuff,
It was a big thing then in 50s and 60s,
Lots ur fuuk like to tek the stuff!
He had a mate called “Charlie Snuffie”,
he met up at Parkys when putting his bet on,
And Charlie always cadged a sniff of the snuff
And every now and then Charlie would shayt!
Jon Ed, come here a getten a present for thi,
And sure enough out came a packet.

He’d grip his hand and on back,
place two little piles of snuff,
He had it measured to a fine art,
Then sniffed up like a good un!
And then there was a quick shek to head
That towd thi he were a happy chappie,
A miss dad lots but dount miss his snuff!!

Written by Bryan Yorke on 5th November 2017

Wednesday, 8 March 2017

"Ay! to a bird that looked like a mouse (8th March 2017)

Wednesday 8th March 2017 

"Ay! to a bird that looked like a mouse"

Just like a mouse (but not a mouse)
A mouse going vertical,
running up a tree from bottom to top,
probing here and there with his long downward curved beak,
Oblivious to us humans watching from so close
Then he would start it all again on another trunk of another tree,
Running up a tree from bottom to top,
But this time he would run faster than before,
He must have been getting fed up and yes,
That was it he flew off to a distant tree.

Each day for three I climbed to the very top,
To a Trig where you can see all around,
For today I was in search of and I found!
No more than lots of imaginary “Shrikes”
And not one moved but they held their ground,
Will tomorrow be so different?
I need to climb each day for four and to the very top.

Tuesday, 29 November 2016

Some of us are still Weeping!

Yes you did have us “beat” with that one Mr. Chin - g!
And now 50 years are passing this week!
I guess you felt it right on the day for us, and other days for them,
Maybe you thought not enough folk travelled on it to Bury or Manchester,
Or maybe tuther way to Baxenden, Accrington, Burnley and Cowne. 

Wakes trains were always full and steamed from under North Hag or (bonk!)
And Donkey Row was completely fogged owt!
Not Now!
And now 50 years are passing this week!
We’ve still got our “arches” down at Shore dear Sir,
And now we do have Ravens crossing its many bows,
And we’ve still got our memories of chugging (rather than buzzing!)
And the delightful (in its own way) smells of steam,
And fifteen years on in 1981 a “By Pass” shall be built,
Just where that very Station weeps!

28th November 2016

Thomas Beeching's report gave the go ahead to officially closed the Stubbins - Accrington railway line which took place on 3rd of December 1966 so I wrote this short poem to coincide with the 50 years since its closure.

Thursday, 8 September 2016

My Beautiful Garden Today - written 8th September 2015

My beautiful garden today
(Click over photo to enlarge)

Please come into my garden, you are so welcome!

I love my garden, especially today, because it's the best garden in the World,
I have searched everywhere today and cannot find one weed!
But I did find lots of nice things, of which I want to tell you about!

I have many boulders in my garden, but one very special boulder which lies in the Woods,
Special ! (Ssssh) because some very rare plants grows from the top of the boulder!
I call the plant "Polly" and she is a fern, but not just any fern she is "Cambricum". 
I have another three places in my garden were my Delta (Deltoid) lady grows. 
I try and check up on Polly and her offspring every year if I can - so look at Polly posing!

My Delta Lady "Polly" and she is "Cambricum"
(Click over photo to enlarge)

Its a joy to travel over silver waves which sparkle in the sun, just like they do today,
He crosses the canyons of dark and deep, and stretches his veins far and wide,
"He's gone over today" has "Old Man's Beard", a reminder I get very regular!
His flower has now turned to glistening silk 

A Joy to Travellers or is it a  Old Man's Beard (Click over photo to enlarge)
Clematis shouts "This is as far as I am going my friend" at least for now!
I'm from far South origins and must be at my Northern limits.
You've seen my best, and for the rest, come again another year!

His "beard" doth glisten in the mighty sun  (Click over photo to enlarge)

So to finish off! we go from old "wrinkly" to "crinkly",
Hart's Tongue has gone crinkly around the edges and looks different to the rest,
But to all the plants I have seen today your still "one from the best"

Harts Tongue Fern - Unusual variant!

Monday, 18 July 2016

The Norm has become the Rarity!

Lemon Petalled Atrorubens (Click over to enlarge)

The Norm has become the Rarity!

My beloved Hutton Roof,
A special place for Epipactis and a place where
The straight forward has become the rarity
And the rarity has become the norm.

Rubens or Borines which do you want?
A Schmalhauseneii mix for you Sir!
Today can be the purple wash,
Tomorrow can be the green wash.

But we have some green ovary specials,
With a brownier flower to bear and stare,
Called No.9, 9a,9b,9c and so on and on and on
And away until they are gone!

We have some Lemon Petalled beauties,
Small, mediums and largest and blessed,
Green stems or purple stems we have the mix,
Stunning our pupil since 2014 that’s young

What about a Palens Ma’am,
In Lutescens mix or you can have a green cream flavour,
Both are staring “wimperley” but this is only part
Of a start of something far more special.

Here we have the very first on English soil I am told,
Called “Albiflora” and what a little gem it was
It lacks a lot of colour dear “Albi” green and  white,
I even looked through transparency at some of its sight!

Make a path to the bottom of this hill
Where flowers of purpurea live out their days,
It’s a sort of red wine colour they display some years,
Darker with canopy, lighter with sun.

To my North I can see a Helliborine change
Which is so pale and bright!
Often called a special or by name a
Viridiflora’s sight.

Bryan Yorke – 14th July 2016

Thursday, 18 February 2016

Larks, Throstles, Shrikes, Dukes and its all Cuckoo....

Hazel = Dormice (or dormouse!)
One of the labels for my agenda this year
Last year seen in Hutton Roof village,
This year I will search out the great Lancelot,

The Lark has given a Valentine’s treat,
From high so high and sometimes out of sight
He’ll sing away with all his might, our dear SKY!
A name fit for Dalton’s annual first returning Lark

By the middle of February the Throstle will sing,
From the top of his highest tree he’ll bring,
“Wee hoo whit” and “Her Kleep Kleep” and,
A patchwork song fit for a King.

March 7th can be a very good date indeed!
A “shrikingly” good day according to records past
He’s already impaled my mind with brutal shots
Of haw larders full of “Butcher’s” past plots!

Searched and searched for a “Duke” no more,
Amongst Primula’s smiling sunshine faces,
Other fluttering fritillaries will take to the air,
In fast flittering flight to wander their fair…

On May’s first Sun, they will ascend the Crags,
To hopefully hear the first Cuckoo’s call,
It’s become a tradition from many years past,
To seek the Cuckoo’s syllabilic echoing call

18th February 2016

Friday, 4 December 2015

A poem dedicated to the Swifts and Bats in the Belfry


God gave me his planet for today and no more,
That suits me fine, I can live with that, it makes it simpler!
I will have a far less selfish lifestyle today, after all days only come in ones,
So today it is! I can enjoy so much in one day, if I only open my eyes,
And look around at the beauty my God is always showing me.

Thanks to God today, I am not the be all and end all, and that I am aware of just that!
All creatures great and small are also equal in Gods eyes and loved by him just as much.
I believe his wisdom is passed on to me today by those same creatures if only I realize and accept.
But the lesson I must learn is to try and understand and be sympathetic to nature,
Learn it, accept it, and most importantly live with and amongst it, and not above it!

Man makes no life, he is purely but a tool, where nature makes everything,
That very power greater than I shall enlighten as soon as I am ready to understand,
Today I want to be ready to understand, and on his side,
And not struggling through on my own has most others seem to do.
If I look at nature long enough, and show my sharing attitude,
I might just get a very special feeling or reward for the very first time.

 Poem written by Bryan Yorke on 3rd December 2015

The Poem was written during a bout of frustration over a local political situation regarding the Swifts. And it is said that it can sometimes be a good thing to vent your frustrations by writing it down and in doing that it can help to bring about a better understanding of the situation or at least find a way to accept the situation.  One thing is for sure it certainly gets you going with inspiration. 

Monday, 30 November 2015

Wild, Wet and Wonderful!

Another day, another dollar! is what was said,
till retirement became the winner,
I can more or less do what I want today,
And I would love to go clambering around the fells,
searching out aspleniums and scollies and the rest,
But its raining yet again and it wont stop!
I wonder if cavemen worried about rain!
I have wellies, raincoat, leggings and a hat,
But have I the get up and go mindset!
Or shall I stay here at the computer thinking about it!
After all I could write about it all in the dark hours.
For starters, I will imagine it's sunny and beautiful,
just like it was not so long ago.
Then I'll try as Rud said (and be a man my son!),
And get up and taste reality at its very best,
Wild and wet and wonderful.

30th November 2015

Friday, 20 November 2015

The Vale Street Weaver

The Vale Street Weaver

From Vale Street and down to Mill in bottom,
You could hear lots of cloggy noise of wood with steel,
Clipping and thudding those polished setts that shone.
“To mill we’re going to weave the cloth”.

Every day before light, we trod that weary way,
Smoggy haze dimmed the flickering gas street light,
We’d chat the news of who’s courting who,
“Whilst on way to mill to weave the cloth”.

Some had a large brown tuck box under arm,
Which had straps crossing from either side.
Some were carrying their “Billy Cans”,
“Whilst on our way to mill to weave the cloth”.

Were here again at Mill to start up steely loom,
Another long day watching shuttle go past,
With belts, pulleys and deafening noise!
Whilst we weave that ‘plain Jane’ grey cloth

I hope I don’t need tackler today, and weft will be OK,
Until they bring another beam on bogey straight away,
I guess I can sing the weaver’s song to pass the time of day,
Whilst I weave a cloth of plenty to earn another day!

(Bryan Yorke - 20th November 2015)

Tuesday, 29 September 2015

Passerine and Hirundine Bird Migration over Hutton Roof

Passerine and Hirundine migration corridors over Hutton Roof  
(Click over sketch to enlarge)

This sketch shows the main directions of the movement of passerines and hirundines over Hutton Roof and in particular shows the "narrowed corridor" taken by the Meadow Pipits usually in the last week of September or the first week in October on their southerly migration. Quite a lot of the Mipits which come down the side of Farleton and also some that come down the Lune Valley will at the point of the "Kelker Well" make a lift and over the escarpment and onward across Uberash Breast or Uberash Roughs, over Dalton and continue South. Also of interest at Hutton Roof is the way that the Chaffinch passage instead of going directly South takes on a SW to NE and NE to SW, the Goldfinches also do a more direct South, yet the albas can be seen doing a SE.  Its as though most of the species have different routing corridors.

Friday, 4 September 2015


(Click over sketch to enlarge)

I sit beside a master’s grave,
Beneath a yew, he grew,
And thru St. Oswald’s heavy door,
I kneel and say my prayer.

Then onward past Dove’s abode
With spirits of lovely verse,
Past skaters rink on lily pond,
Where feathered songsters greet the air.

Across to Rydal, passed the Mount,
to little Church on side of hill,
A pew which sat the poet to pray,
Near Dora's field of Daffodils 

Poem - Bryan Yorke 4th September 2015
(Sketch - 2nd March 2013)

Saturday, 2 May 2015

Dalton Crags offer me a special peace and inspiration

My Dalton Crags (deforested) Stomping Grounds
(Click over sketch to enlarge)

I love to spend most days checking out this small piece of Cumbria.  Its a very special area which has so much to offer with its varied wildlife and its magnificient views over Morecambe Bay, but above all for me the chance to come close to nature and the bonus of getting large amounts of "inspiration".  Absolutely PRICELESS!!

Tuesday, 14 April 2015

Where Fairies dance to the Spirits tune

Where fairies dance to the spirits tune

Plunder the Glen, our dear Fairy Glen,
Where serpents hiss out loud, like,
Watchful guards o’er a bountiful bond!
Keep ever quiet to hear the creaking tales,
Of spirits weaving in and out of shadows,
Whispering their past in drunken mourn.

A worth of skilful touch to bubbling air,
That made the Fairies bent with glee,
And whisked off their feet in giddy spree,
Whilst glowing a faint flickering light,
As they brushed past the stillness of the night,
It’s still going on century on and on and on

Poem by Bryan Yorke dated 14th April 2015

(Haworth (A worth), Bentley (Bent with glee), Whisked (Whiskey)

Brimstone Splendour

(Click over photo to enlarge)
Photo: I took this at Beetham Holiday Homes Park - August 2009

If I threw a stone it would have no grace,
Unlike the flight of a fluttering veined leaf,
What looked white, is but lemon and green,
I’ve at last seen the brim of my angels delight,
For now you’ve descended amongst the crew,
To hide your splendour with camouflaged view.

14th April 2015 - Bryan Yorke

Friday, 10 April 2015


(Please click over sketch to enlarge)

Today (April 10th 2015) I also witnessed 
"A Confusion of Willow Warblers" 
whilst up on Hutton Roof birdwatching
other collective nouns are known to be: 

"A bouquet" or a "fall"  or a "wrench" of Willow Warblers
Willow Warbler family is "Sylviidae"
"Flying in the dark through a moonlit sky,
Falling from high like little angels,
Floating down on a wavering leaf,
The confusion has now begun.
Our dear little Willow Warbler"

Daytime closed you was not seen,
Whilst morning wakes your plenty,
So tred so soft our leaf explorer,
A “bouquet” of special prize to us,
Our dear little Willow Warbler

Your music is a descending tale,
Which finish the year hou whit,
A choir with pairs sings thy will,
A “Fall” would be a lot of thee,
Our dear little Willow Warbler

Sylvia’s hand of lucid intricacy
You thread that weave so delicately,
To house and raise a splendid cast,
It’s a start to a “Wrench” fulfilled
Our dear little Willow Warbler 

(Poem written by Bryan Yorke on 10th April 2015)

Monday, 6 April 2015

Beauties on the brink!

(Click over to enlarge - Northern Brown Argus on Rock Rose)

So silent to hear a primrose shine with song,
Whilst burgundy flutters by to tell the World,
She’s living on the edge of her paradise lost,
But scatters her love in hope for tomorrow.

A special rose of yellow adorns the roughs,
Where Argus is not but a giant and only a fly,
Yet flaps his wings to the radiant warm sun,
His dream to search where the angels lie.

High on a ride would be my lasting will,
To dodge the spirits that have flit before,
My colour is of earth or wood or tree,
I play my sweet viola, so not to frit away.

Let it ring across the scorched peaks
Where the air is thin and wanders bleak,
Up high you reach on upstretched wing,
In the land of which the Curlew sing. 

Its Knott for me to taste the Scotch,
Nor Argue bold for we are sold to thee,
Why only here, you’ve chose your home,
Pray keep it strong, the side to roam. 

6th April 2015 – Bryan Yorke

Friday, 3 April 2015

Good Friday 3rd April 2015

Its Friday, Oh so good!
Accustomed to walk to top of the fell,
With rucksack, my only cross to bear,
Weaved in and out of crags so pure,
Overhead passing music to my ears,
Whilst serenade from the Lark arising,
Carpets of imagined flowers in unseen bud,
Hide for now, to await their day soon,
When Fritillary will fly to fill this sweet place.
Thank you on high for all this,
Its Friday, Oh so good!

Sunday, 29 March 2015

The Language of the Song Thrush (March time)

The Language of the Song Thrush (March time)

Now is the time, the perfect time to listen to the Song Thrush,
some may call him a “Throstle”,
There are others (sad to say) who would call him (Throttle),
He sits so high he cannot go any further if he tried,
It’s such a special time of the year for him to show to
ANOTHER, and the World at large, and what a show,
He will sing and sing and sing for one hour at once,
I love to write down his song in my little book,
In a language he would never understand!,
Wee hoo whit,
Wee hoo whit,
Wit Woo,
Wit Woo,
Her Kleep Kleep
Her Kleep Kleep,
Chit chit chit chit,
See-it, See-it”
I think I could listen for hours at such a wonder,
Whilst all the World around are rushing everywhere,
This little fellow imparts his "wolf whistles"
and his love to all who’ll take time to listen

29th March 2015

Saturday, 28 March 2015

Understanding that picture on that wall!

Checking out works of art in Edinburgh Art Gallery - 2013

Have I the time to stop and stare
At someone else’s creation,
It could be a blank sheet of white,
Turned into a masterpiece of colour.

They have created that piece for all,
But pretend they did it for me,
It’s got to be worth stopping to stare,
And try and understand its depth.

Their story can’t be told by glance,
It wants to show you its fine romance,
And it will if you let it for sure it will,
But time it wants for its finer points.

Got it! it’s there, right there,
The story I found from within that work,
For you alone was the spirit to find, then feel,
Then cherish and hold within.

When you feel the spirit you have won!
The prize of what the author really meant,
For you to receive its riches..

(It was fabulous to try and understand Rembrants and Van Goth’s but even more fantastic to try and understand the unknowns or should I say the unknowns to me!)

I got told off whilst in the Museum, although I had already been there looking at works of art for over one hour previous, before a usher quickly came over to me when she saw me pointing towards a “umpteenth million pounds” worth of Rembrant,  and  she said how on earth have you managed to come in here with a umbrella (closed might I add). So I then pleaded my innocence in a strange accent to her which she struggled to understand! and then she replied in her strong Scottish tongue "you must go immediately to the security storeroom and leave the umbrella there if you wish to resume looking at the works of art")

The Opportunist JACKDAW

Yes this really did go on and unless I had seen it for myself I probably would never have believed, but sure enough this opportunist JACKDAW was there helping himself to the cattles coat.  Whats more I also got the impression that the cattle was actually enjoying it!  But I bet he felt cold that night in one particular spot!

Thursday, 26 March 2015

Now two Great Grey Shrikes

(Click over sketch to enlarge)

On Wednesday March 18th 2015 we were very priviliged at Hutton Roof to receive the 2nd Great Grey Shirike which I managed to personally see them both on the 24th.  The second bird is of a darker phase than the bird that has overwintered with us.

 I just thought I would do this sketch to make note of the additional bird and for the first bird to lay down the ground rules to the new arrival.

No. 1 rule is that the Shrike must appear at least twice a day for the benefit of the local birdwatchers!

Another version showing one shrike looking down to the other Shrike
in a "subordinate" pose whilst instructions eg: ground rules are given.

Monday, 16 February 2015


Cridden guards you from the East,
It was that Hill of Stags,
A beacon fires to Hameldon,
But walk o-er bridge upon a Cloud,
To a point that tips the Crown
Before you came to Play the Deer,
Down and ordered Back – Up again,
No Stags upon them hills away,
No antlers hung by Stags heads 
For riches lie within thy peat,
Hazel shouts whilst birches shine like silver,
Sides with Pinner-ed becks and Cavern’s drip,
Slate-d tunnels of catacombs, and shafts to echo grand,
Breached flatts with peppered pits
Where such lonely wretched moor grass sits
Vibrato cries with Curlew’s mourn,
Gruffs and Roding beats of drumming snipe,
This time when honeydew rushes ripe,
Along this god forsaken place. 
Those becks that sent that gin to bloom,
That helped to power many a loom,
So precious to the marigold,
And sparkles to the stickleback
I can breathe, I can sip, I can swim, I can rejoice,
To a place what’s given this town its voice

16th Feb 2015.

(Explanation if preferred) 
The general area to where the poem relates is in the main the hill to the East/NE of Haslingden in Rossendale, Lancashire which are high grounds and part of the Pennines.

Photo: Cribden Hill is the hill to the top left hand side and at the summit is around the 1317ft (Trig Point)

Relates to Cribden or Cridden or Keirudon = The Hill of Stags in Haslingden or (Hazeldene), 
Beacons Lit on Cribden to signal: Hameldon, Pendle, Thievely Pike and Blackstone Edge.
Then walk over the top of Cribden and across to Clowbridge, (Bridge upon a Cloud)
Onward to the top of Crown Point (Point that tips the Crown)
Then further up still to Deerplay, where the deer played and played and played,
And they played all the way down into whats now Bacup,  and soon came (Back up) again.
Staghills, Stacksteads (Relevant Deer (Stag) naming areas closeby to Bacup)
Peat should include historic Stags, Deer, Silver Birch and Hazel Trees.
Reference to local Cribden topography and local landmarks upon its sides eg: Pinner Caves, Top O'th Slate Caves and Mining Shafts on the head of Cribden now smothered in its Moor Grass.
The haunting calls of Curlews and summer drumming snipe, that lovely sweet smell from the fields below. The waters from Cridden gave the first food to thirst, then it powered the industry in the vale, and freshened flora and fauna alike.  Haslingden  or (Hazeldene) was built on the sides of and lived by the fruits offered by Cridden.

At one time I worked in the Duckworth Clough Quarry which was blasted out for its fine Millstone Grit.  The quarry was later used for "landfill" purposes.  I remember on a couple of occasions being told by reliable persons that there was a preserved fossil of a Red Deer somewhere in the sedimental layers of stone within that area.  Never checked it out at the time!! SHAME.......

Cribdens “Iron Watter”

Dose them sties with iron watter lad,
It’ll shift them quickly I know!
Those were the words uttered by my father,
All them years ago, in fact sixty two years ago
And off we’d go o’er Sherfin to find that Brown stuff,

A calls it Brown Stuff or iron watter,
But being honest It was something magic,
And it always worked within twenty four,
It took them sties away and before long
I never had to go no more….

(this is purely another nice memory I have of the past and although the iron water did work for me, I am not advocating that anyone else should try it.")

Here is a photo of "Iron Watter" which I took in 2008 up at Slate, Haslingden
Please click over photo to enlarge


Saturday, 14 February 2015



I held my tanner, and squeezed it tight,
In the hope of seeing a skylark sight,
For today is Valentine, for early birds,
Squeeze that tanner to the first larks song,
Will bring thi luck for the year long.

Towd that tale from Oxy Dave,
A Yorkshire man known to save,
Another man who looks for Larks,
Nice one to thee, top marks!

(Dave Barker over in Oxenhope Nr. Bradford,
Told me about this old Yorkshire Tradition -
But it will work with a Lanky or a Cumbrian tanner just as well)

14th February 2015

Friday, 13 February 2015

"It's a bonny place so knock it daern"

It’s a bonny place so knock it daaern,
So all can watch with a drooping fraaern.
There’s tons and tons of Hassy’s best,
Millstone Grit can’t be seen to rest!
Knock it daaern, Knock it daaern!

Vicarage that stood up on that bonk!
In its shadow was Martins bank
Grammar School was a buried Road,
Good few ton did mek that load,
Knock it daaern, Knock it daaern!

Major, would turn over in his grave if he knew,

What had happened to his Highfield view,
Lions at Carter Place have gone with rest,
We're left with a porch without its crest,
Knock it daaern, Knock it daaern! 

Town Hall! Council will have a Ball,

With all thi hard earned cash,
So lets get shut for once and for all,
Before they have their Annual bash.
Knock it daaern, knock it daaern!

It's only a building is yon Con Club
For some I suppose it was their hub,
Another fine place was Workhouse past,
Who needs a hospital on yon hill,
Knock it daaern, Knock it daaern!

And now another bites the dust,
Which once a brewer’s dream abode,
And later a place where prayers were said,
And now all but memories are read,
Knock it daaern, knock it daaern.

Even the "mighty" can fall but we'll not have a ball!
Salem, Trinity, Primitive and John Wesley preached!
but all went down with a "bang"
and no more did the bells ring or did the people sing"
 so Knock it daaern, knock it daaern!

 Nah! don't let it stand still,

or tha'll get a bill,

"Knock it daaern"

(wrote on 13th Feb 2015)

(I did this particular poem, because quite a few lovely buildings have been
knocked down in Haslingden during my lifetime
which seems such a shame.)

If you would like to see all the buildings which I mention in this poem
then please click here 

Wednesday, 21 January 2015


"Reflection" (Click over to enlarge)

"I listened for the roar of immortal Lions,
I heard viola play to the daffodil sprites,
Echo to echo, echoed from near to far
Whilst pebbles skimmed and shimmered waters free.

Muted Swans whistled with whispering silence,
As white as the snow that sweeps the raise,
Hourglass frieze with trickling sand,
Whilst Mere reflects her passion flow".

(21st January 2015)

Thursday, 10 April 2014

More Natural Sculptures Found today

I have now included two more "natural sculptures" which I have found and I hope you enjoy:
"Fused The Pregnant Ewe" found in Lancelot Clark Storth
(Please click over to enlarge)

"Spring Reflections" found in Lancelot Clark Storth
(Please click over to enlarge)

Wednesday, 26 March 2014


My Fresh Green "Whirlycurlymagig" - Birds Foot Sedge (Carex Ornithopoda)

The Bendy Entangled “Whirlycurlymagig”

You most beautiful green “whirlycurlymagig”,
A green so special, and later with yellowing and burnt,
You turn, twist, and intertwine with such ease,
You are special and have more bends in you,
You just keep bending and bending and twisting,
And curving.

You are so different, your leaves tell me so,
All they want to do is stretch out and bend over,
Until they touch the floor, many times, all over,
A true jungle within thee and stabilizers without,
You’re a totally different green to everything else,
And stand out from the rest, to the one that knows!

Your called a sedge, The Birds Foot Sedge,
In May you have a foot and its claw hooked!
Its ever so small to see, but it’s there as clear, clear can be.
“Carex Ornithopoda” is your Sunday best name.
But your not just any old “Carex”,
You are the special one, you are,
My fresh green “whirlycurlymagig”.

By Bryan Yorke
5th August 2012.

(This is one of many plants I managed to find on Friday last, but appealed to me so much because of its dense green colour which is not noticed that much, usually they have more of the lemony tinge to them- and when you looked close to it you could appreciate "the bendy entanglement")