To the North

Two thousand miles across England and Scotland in five days - in search of stories.

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It’s early morning as I set off from the south of England, heading north. Above the motorway, the signs simply read ‘To the North’. Ahead of me lie five days, nearly 2,000 miles and a series of editorial commisions, each leading to a different story.

Over the coming days, I’ll travel through the Yorkshire Dales, the Lake District and the Pennines before reaching the north of Scotland, in search of stories and images.

Yorkshire Dales

As soon as I leave the motorway, the landscape starts to change. The roads narrow, the hills turn greener, and I choose the small winding lanes that weave through the landscape. The fields are
divided by centuries-old dry stone walls. Generation after generation, farmers and crafts men have maintained these walls, building them from carefully stacked local stone.

A few years ago, I was sitting on a bench at a small station in the Yorkshire Dales when a man came and sat beside me. Before long, he was telling me about his work as a dry stone waller, someone who builds walls without using mortar.
By the time my train arrived, I found myself looking at the landscape with different eyes. Those walls had been quietly shaping the landscape for centuries, built stone by stone using a craft passed down through generations.

"I love travelling alone. It creates space for unexpected
encounters."

Scattered across the landscape are solitary stone barns, built from the same local stone as the old stone walls. There’s something quiet and timeless about the Yorkshire Dales.

Antique frames from the Dales

Along the way, I stop at an antique shop, hoping to find a few simple old frames for my photographs. I’m never looking for perfect ones. It’s the worn wood, the odd scratch or a beautiful patina that catches my eye. Combined with my photography and words, an old frame becomes part of the story itself.

With two frames tucked under my arm, I step back outside. Inside, it had felt like wandering through a cabinet of curiosities, where lifelike statues of Native Americans stood alongside heavy dark oak furniture from the Dales, stuffed exotic animals and shelves of old English china.

The Struggle

Crossing into the neighbouring Lake District, I drive over The Struggle. The narrow, steep mountain road climbs steadily towards Kirkstone Pass before I once again find myself on the small country lanes, heading for my first Airbnb in the Pennines, the mountain range stretching some 400 kilometres through northern England.

Kippling Cottage

It’s evening by the time I arrive, but in June it’s still light. ‘Low New Houses and Kippling Cottage’, the sign beside the road reads. I open the gate and follow the gravel track towards the old farmhouse. After stopping to close it behind me, I continue down into the valley, weaving slowly between sheep as lambs skip out of the way. Waiting by a second gate, Caroline gives me a wave.

She tells me that she and her husband spent many years working in Antarctica before settling here.

"It hasn’t been a working farm since the 1950s," she says. "The land and the sheep belong to our neighbour. He’s the farmer."

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She shows me the small cottage they rent out as an Airbnb, attached to the old farmhouse.

"I’ve been told that a woman in her nineties once lived here," Caroline says. "She lived downstairs in a simple kitchen with anopen fireplace. Every evening she climbed a steep ladder to the little loft where she slept."

The ladder has long since been replaced by a wooden staircase, and a small wood-burner now sits inside the old fireplace.

Outside, the temperature has dropped. I light the wood-burner, heat up some supper and let the stillness of the Pennines settle around me. Before long, after a long day on the road, I fall asleep in the armchair beside the fire.

A Wild Garden

The following morning I’m up early, camera in hand, standing in a garden.

I found it almost by accident while searching online for somewhere to stay. The rooms in the old country house were already fully booked, but as I scrolled through the booking site, the house itself — with medieval origins — and its wonderfully wild-looking garden immediately caught my eye. Clouds of cow parsley surrounded the old stone walls.

Henry, who owns the house with his wife Anna, shows me around. They’re both musicians and run a B&B in the family home, which has belonged to Henry’s family for generations.

The garden is a beautiful blend of English cottage garden and wild landscape. Long grasses sway in the breeze, mown paths
winding gently through them, and the cow parsley is flowering everywhere. Climbing roses and fragrant honeysuckle scramble across the old walls.

"We love our slightly wild garden," Henry tells me. "Native plants grow alongside old cottage garden favourites, and they’re good for wildlife as well as supporting biodiversity."

His great-aunt first created the garden, and over the years his mother added much more to it, especially the roses.

"A garden this size takes a huge amount of work to maintain, so allowing parts of it to grow a little more naturally isn’t just better for wildlife — it’s better for us too. A win-win," Henry laughs.

I spend hours wandering through the garden with my camera. Everywhere I look, something is flowering, climbing or catching
the light.

"Clouds of cow parsley surround the old stone walls"

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The Ponies from the Fells

That afternoon, I’m meeting Glenis, who lives with her family on a farm just outside Keswick in the Lake District. They keep sheep, cattle and Fell ponies.

We first got in touch after we bought Raven, a Fell pony bred by Glenis, for our farm. When I mentioned I’d be travelling through the Lake District, she invited me to visit. The message came through her daughter-in-law, Tina. "My mother-in-law isn’t really one for computers," Tina explains.

For the rest of the afternoon, Glenis takes me across the rugged fells on the farm quad bike in search of the ponies. We climb steep tracks, cross open grazing land and stop time and again to open another gatebefore finding them grazing high on the hillside. The view is breathtaking.

“Like the Gypsies, I too move on the next day. Scotland is calling.”

The Gypsies of Appleby

On my way back to Kippling Cottage that evening, I make a small detour through Appleby.

Every year in early June, the Appleby Horse Fair brings together thousands of Gypsies and Travellers with their their cobs and coloured horses, continuing a tradition that stretches back more than 250 years.

By the time I arrive, though, almost everyone has already gone. Apart from a few bow tops, the traditional horse-drawn wagons, and a handful of caravans, the fair has all but disappeared. On the road, I pass a few more wagons making their way home or heading for their next stopping place.

Perhaps next year I'll have better luck, and a slightly less ambitious schedule.

The Road to Scotland

Like the Gypsies, I’m soon on the move again. Scotland lies ahead, with two more stories waiting to be told.

Before setting off, I stop to photograph one final garden. Dalemain, a grand house built from soft pink stone near Ullswater, is known for its roses and pale blue Himalayan poppies, grown on the estate.

270 Miles North

From Dalemain, I drive 270 miles north to the Scottish Highlands. The following morning, I’m meeting Naomi, an artist who lives and works in a beautiful spot hidden away among the hills.

The motorway journey is long. Thank goodness for audiobooks. Only towards the end of the day I finally leave these monotonous roads behind me, winding my way through the Highlands towards the Airbnb where I’ll spend the next two nights.

The old farmhouse is remote. "Turn onto the gravel track just before the white bungalow and follow it all the way," the directions read. Almost every room has its own wood-burning stove. The cottage still carries the faint smell of the new wood-effect vinyl flooring that has recently been laid throughout the house. I throw open the windows, letting the fresh Highland air chase away the scent of new vinyl. Then I settle into the farmhouse kitchen, scroll through the photographs from the past few days and make notes on my laptop.

The Highlands

The drive to Naomi’s the next morning is breathtaking. The house she shares with her partner feels even more remote than the Airbnb where I'm staying. After driving along a rough track, wondering if this is the right way, I finally arrive. "Yes… I probably should have mentioned that," she laughs. The view from her garden stretches for miles. Naomi points towards a grey tower rising above the pine trees. "That’s Balmoral," she says. "The Royal Family’s Scottish summer residence." Snow still lies on the mountain tops beyond. "According to local stories, Queen Victoria used to stand here in the yard just to look towards Balmoral." We step inside her studio and both get to work.

By the afternoon, rain showers drift across the mountains, turning them a deep blue. The light changes constantly, and I lose myself photographing the landscape.

My stay in the Highlands is brief. The following morning I leave for Scotland’s east coast for my next commission. Gradually the mountains disappear behind me, giving way to broad fields and farmland.

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"Rain showers drift across the mountains, turning them a deep blue. The light changes constantly, and I lose myself photographing the landscape"

To the South

With my work finished, I begin the journey south once more. Tomorrow night I'll catch the ferry from Harwich, but first I'm spending one last night in the Lake District.

Dinner is fast food from a motorway service station, not my first choice, but by the time I arrive, the restaurant at the old inn where I'm staying has already closed.

The sun is just disappearing behind the hills as I arrive at The Drunken Duck Inn. More than three hundred years old, the inn sits high on the fells above Ambleside, making it the perfect place to break the journey home. My room looks out across the rugged hills.

The plan is to spend the following morning walking over the fells to Near Sawrey to visit Hill Top, the farmhouse where Beatrix Potter lived and worked.

Instead, I wake to pouring rain.

So it's on to Plan B. I spend the morning driving through the countryside in search of landscapes to photograph. The rain makes photography impossible. Browsing antique shops for old picture frames seems like a very good alternative.

By the afternoon, I leave Cumbria behind. Above the motorway, the signs once again point me in the right direction. With memory cards full of photographs, recorded interviews, a laptop full of notes and a small collection of antique frames, I follow them south.

Back home, in my studio on our farm, the stories will begin to take their final shape.

Limited Art Prints from 'To the North'

To the North
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2 comments

Leuk verhaal ! Vol progamma

Marijke

Heerlijk om te lezen en prachtig beeld! Wij zijn net terug van bijna 3 weken Lake District & Northumberland…wat een prachtig stukje Engeland is dit!

Suus

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