Yorkshire Day

1st August 2024 – Whether they are bah t’at or wi’ t’at, I’d like to wish my fellow Tykes a Happy Yorkshire Day.

For the uninitiated, confused over this ‘tattery’ of which I speak, I’m referencing lyrics within the unofficial Yorkshire folk anthem On Ilkley Moor Bah T’at. The refrain telling of a hatless Yorkshire fella’s trials and tribulations strolling steep and windy moorland within the aforementioned spa town’s borders.

Ilkley, a town within Bradford parish, which bears evidence of habitation as early as 11,000 BC is dissected by the A65 carriageway, stretching from Leeds in the east to Cumbrian town Kendal to its west.

Incidentally, I can’t say with certainty this road was known as the A65 when this folk song was penned, or indeed in 11,000 BC. Although, I can hazard in an uneducated guess, in the latter’s case it wasn’t.

From memory, there’s certainly no clue in On Ilkley Moor Bah T’at’s lyrics relating to UK road naming conventions…… Or, indeed, any reference to any local thoroughfare. 

That being said, the absence in the lyric of “Wheear ‘ast tha bin sin’ ah saw thee stroll t’ A65” bears little, if any, relevance to this blog’s topic.

I’m here to wax lyrical about the splendours of the three million acres nicknamed ‘God’s Own County’, not to highlight the A65’s merits. Or, indeed, those of Armley’s Gyratory System, the M1’s Lofthouse Interchange, or any other road infrastructures servicing our beguiling region.

I’m bah t’at (without hat) while ascribing this tribute to the county of my birth, and long-time home. The landlord of my apartment thankfully decreeing the wearing of millinery within his property as optional… And even if it wasn’t optional, as the edict couldn’t be effectively policed, I would still be hatless… God, I’m such a maverick!

To be honest, apart from the occasional adornment of a flat cap, which my beau observes makes me look a “Right tw*t!”, I rarely wear a hat. As a result, it’s unlikely you would ever witness me strolling West Yorkshire’s streets wearing a stetson, trilby or any other headwear… Although, I did recently wear a rather fetching bucket hat at a music festival.

GJ Strachan’s gratitude at having Yorkshire as a place to lay his hat (if he wore them) never diminishes. England’s largest county bequeathing rugged, scenic splendour of the Dales to the west; sweeping moorland and steep North Sea coastal towns to the east; the north’s quaint market towns; along with the Peak District National Park and commerce underpinning regions in the south. 

The sum of these contrasting parts creating a wonderfully diverse place. Sights affording those visiting  to recently state on TripAdvisor that “Malham Cove was an impressive geological sight. Wasn’t it, Mavis.“… “That hill at Robin Hood’s Bay maybe blinking steep; but the views were stunning. Weren’t they, Mavis!” And “Mavis and me thought Thirsk was a particularly enchanting market town.“

Footnote – I have no idea who this fella uttering joyous reviews is (which, as I’ve just made him up, isn’t surprising). It’s clear, though, he and his wife Mavis enjoyed their Yorkshire vacation…. That’s if it is his wife… They may be ‘living over the brush’, as my dear old mum described couples residing together without a band of gold on their ring finger… Gary, remember they’re fictional. Move on!… Oh, and best remove the reviews from TripAdvisor!

If truth be told, although I’ve regularly tarried to Yorkshire’s north, east and west parts during my three score years on this planet, my sojourns to the counties south have been infrequent.

My odysseys to that area mainly restricted to work meetings/courses around Barnsley and Sheffield. Regions with proud industrial histories who formerly (but to a lesser extent these days) supplied coal and steel globally.

It has to be said, though, as my visits south have been mainly work related, in a role I neither enjoyed or played to my strengths, I’m yet to forge the fond memories I bear for the rest of our county.

Anyhow, Happy Yorkshire Day to fellow Tykes wherever you are… As you sit there supping your mug of Yorkshire tea, watching your Yorks puddings rise and wander the moors hatless, I’m sure you’ll harbour similar fondness for the region I (and Mavis) cherish so much.

A resplendent place I’d always want to call home… A county of which I’m so fond that if we ever split, I’d even let it keep the kids and The Beatles albums… Well, the kids!!