Approaching Thixendale via the road from Fridaythorpe to Brubberdale I see a heartbreaking sight as I start the climb towards Thixendale Grits, I stop to check and say a short prayer for a recently killed badger. He is lying at the roadside. I check for life signs and marvel at the size of its claws. The sleeping body seemed to be in good shape until it was hit by a car or maybe something else, something I don't want to think about. The mouth was open revealing huge teeth and fresh blood nearby spoke volumes, surely it could have been seen in time. Who knows. I restart the car, suddenly aware that a cavalcade of motorcyclists had been quietly waiting for me to move on. They too drove past Mr. Brock, driving slowly, paying their respects.
Out of Thixendale via Water Dale towards Birdsall eventually stopping near Thixendale Grange where I explored the top of Milham Dale. Though prepared to paint the cold wind beat me and I moved on. Meandering through beautiful countryside near Leavening, passing through Westow, with a short stop to explore an empty shop, possibly a studio for me, I head along the mis-signed road to Kirkham Abbey. On a bend I see a footpath sign with space for a car to park and so I turn round and am soon walking through Howsham Wood. The path is an access road through the wood which makes walking easier. It is a mixed wood and contains some interesting Scot's pine. Below me I see, through dense planting a ribbon of light which turns out to be a river, the River Derwent, heading for Howsham Mill where an experimental Archimedes screw is generating electricity. Then, I hear a noise. Peering through the wood I see a single locomotive on what appears to be an elevated rail track. It must be the York to Scarborough line which amazingly allows Trans Pennine trains to travel direct from Scarborough to Lime Street, Liverpool. As I paint a chap walks towards me quickly. He gives me some useful information, including some news about the hunting specialist tailor from Westow. He had known him and sadly mentioned that he died a couple of years ago and his shop had been absorbed into another building. Again, would have made a nice studio. Westow is a special place for me as family members had been evacuated there from Hull when it was bombed in WWII. Years ago I visited with one of the evacuees and an elderly man ( maybe the tailor ) shuddered when I asked if he remembered them. As I paint George sits at my feet. Then some distant voices and I look up to see Reginald the young sausage dog ( not rabbit )happily running towards us. He proved very friendly but a little disconcerting for George as, being a little dog, he needed to jump up to touch noses. Another dog walker passed and later we chatted, about Churchill's secret army and the Free French.
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