Summary
EYES peeled, we clambered over "the most romantic of Swaledale bridges", and climbed the dark, wooded bank to the hamlet of Ivelet. We were aware that we might not be alone. Water dripped down the roadside cliff like saliva dripping from a hungry dog's bared teeth.
Out of the trees, we walked across the broad meadows and through the squeezy stonewall stiles, the first dews of autumn wetting the toes of our shoes and washing our fears away.See the full content of this document
Extract
Screaming Drowns Out the Swale
The children climbed happily on the massively mis-shapen trees which had been pollarded more than 200 years ago. The gnarly trunks now run horizontal an...
See the full content of this document
Sponsored links
