A week in the Lakes (6)

We love church buildings, cathedrals, monasteries, abbeys...  I think we would if we were atheists, but being theists somehow imbues these ancient buildings with a certain je ne sais quoi. Special.

We hoped to see Sedburgh's Parish Church of St Andrew on Wednesday, but were thwarted yet again by the total absence of parking spaces because it was Market Day. We drove on to Dent to visit the other St Andrew's Church, which had been full of a wedding on Saturday.

I think I'm in agreement with those who doubt that this was really written by a 17th century nun - unless it's been re-written since in a more modern vernacular - but there's no denying that whoever did write it had a great awareness of the human condition, and a lovely sense of humour!

From the church, we walked to the nearby Dancing Flags.

A Mobile Bank serving the village one day a week

These are not pennants that salsa. These are huge, limestone blocks that were once used by the weavers of Dent to soak their fabrics, making them shrink and become thicker. They're called the dancing flags because they used walk or dance over the sheets of fabric as they lay in the shallow water that flows over the flagstones.

Feeling hungry, we hoped we'd find somewhere to eat on our way into Yorkshire to revisit the moors, heading for Hawes, the ropemakers, the railway station museum and the river. Memories.

The somewhere to eat was The Craven Heifer in Ingleton. A huge fish, chips and mushy peas, by far the best I've had for a very long time.

Our moorland crossing didn't disappoint either.

It;s a poor photo, but those are Oystercatchers playing noisily above me

Then Hawes...

And then a bendy, hilly, beautiful drive back to our cottage.

A week in The Lakes (2)

Saturday awoke to much brighter skies, and the hills were starting to shrug off their misty shrouds. The wind throughout the night had been incredible. We reckoned that it was being channelled between the hills along the valley of which we were at the end. The sound of it actually woke us on occasion. But it had blown itself out by the time we set off for Farfield Mill, primarily in search of a woollen blanket of a particular size, but also to look around the numerous craft shops. It transpired that blankets don't exist with the dimensions we'd been looking for.

Dent, snuggled breezily into Yorkshire's Dentdale, is a pleasantly old-world little village. Several of the roads are cobbled, most of the buildings hundreds of years old.

We started in the Museum and Heritage Centre, a small building crowded with artefacts from Yorkshire history. Fascinating!

We had a first-class lunch in the 17th century Stone Cross Tea Room before looking around the rest of the village.

The ancient church stands atop a hill looking out over the village and the dale. There was a wedding going on inside at the time, so we postponed that visit.

As we walked away, however, we had the privilege of the sight of a vintage Rover arriving to collect the bride and groom. We had a long chat with the owner who had had the lovely old car for twenty-two years, half of which he'd spent renovating her. She was in lovely condition.

Needing more food that we'd been able to get from Spar, we headed off to the nearest Sainsbury's several miles away, experiencing on the way not only the inconvenience of  the shop's website bearing a typo'd postcode, but also the fact that satnavs get lost around these parts! We saw this sign in Dent, and two other similar ones out on the countryside single-track up-and-down, long and winding roads.

The weather was warm and dry, and getting warmer.