Bargain trip revealed black horse mystery
“SHALL we try a bit of ‘van-kin?”
“What’s that?” Joanie replied
“It’s like camping but in a van”.
We had 24 hours of freedom and I needed a fix of the coast, the smell of the sea – oh, and fish and chips.
So I tapped in Bridlington, borrowed a camping stove and cool box, raided the cellar bar and headed off with assorted blankets stuffed into the boot of my nine-seater Tourneo, better known to the rugby club as ‘Woody’s Fun Bus’.
Two hours later, after passing through the glorious East Riding crop-lands, buzzed by low-flying woody’s, medium height red kites and squadrons of highflying acrobatic swifts, we pulled up on the prom.
Windows open, glad rags squeezed on and we were on the town.
Bridlington: although the view across the staithes to distant white cliffs was stunning, the town itself would not draw me back.
We found a good pub away from the white noise of the karaoke and amusement arcades and had a great chat with a couple of lads from Leeds.
Unfortunately we lingered too long over the ale and every single one of the 10 chip shops was closed by the time we decided to dine.
Reduced to pizza and chips, we sat in the largest conservatory in the world with rain dripping onto the floor around us through the many cracks in the glass roof, each one taped up.
For people watching it was a great place, but left me almost despairing.
On the practical side, we were able to park on the prom, not too far from the public toilets: the van was very comfy and we awoke to an absolutely beautiful teal-dawn.
A couple more hours sleep and we set off to explore the hinterland on our return leg.
Joanie had spotted a couple of Norman churches hidden away behind a wind-blown blindfold of corn and barley, with another small crop of houses around them, which brought us to the tiny village of Farnham, a Saxon village dating from the sixth century AD.
It is situated on a magnesium limestone ridge, to the west and south-west are low lying lands, which were called ‘mires’ or carrs’ – these of course have all been drained for the aforementioned crops.
The history of the village is, in part, tied to the history of the town of Knaresborough – some two miles to the south.
The Saxon period ended with the conquest of England by the Normans in 1066.
The great Norman survey, known as the Domesday Book, has reference to Farnham and records that in 1080 the Saxon church, St Oswald’s, was already there.
This was in part replaced by a Norman church, built in 1100 AD with later additions over the centuries.
William the Conqueror rewarded his knights by granting them ‘manors’ – great areas of land to control.
One such ‘manor’ was centred on Knaresborough and known as the ‘Honour’ or ‘Lordship of Knaresborough’.
Farnham was one of the villages in the Honour, in an area known as The Liberty.
The church and yew-lined graveyard were attractive enough, but next door was an amazing farmhouse and run down stables.
There was no one about so we explored and I am so glad we did, not least because the demolition men could be in any day and all the hand-made red brick history will be lost before you can shout JCB.
Tucked away at one end of the stables was a little tack room, complete with fireplace and wooden saddle hangers still in place and then, best of all, was the black horse, which was painted on the chimney breast.
Oh how I’d like to know more about this handsome chap, when was it painted, who painted it and what was he called.
Maybe we will be the last people to see it.
We tried to google ‘the black horse of Farnham’ there and then, but to no avail.
However, and most apt for a wildlife column, we discovered that in the gravel pits outside the village, the first ever American Diver to be seen in the UK was spotted in 2007.
To conclude: the ‘van-kin’ was a great success: £30 fuel, £20 pizza and chips, £30 on beer.
An absolute bargain for a belting 24 hours – watch this space for the next instalment.