Yockenthwaite Is How They Named Me
“Yockenthwaite is how they named me…. He was a man who cleared this land around me…. But he was not the first.
Through the centuries people have visited me. They sit on my stones for rest, for peace, for thought, for discussion and of course to eat, as they travel across these moors.
I am always here for them and I am thankful when I hear their voices…. Happy voices, always…… nearly always.
The river babbles to me as she swiftly flows past, singing sometimes as she rushes over the limestone shelves that are her bed. She is beautiful and has kept my company. She never complains to me, but I can tell when she is upset…. She roars!
Trees used to surround me, but some farmers….strangers from over the seas… cut them down and tried farming on this poor land. The trees will never come back and it saddens me. They were a happy throng and I miss them.
Small stone houses were built around me. Yes, ‘people’ again…. I feared that they would move me or break me up, but for reasons of their own, they decided to care for me.
But that was a long time ago and those people left this valley when the plague came…..
Around me, some of them were buried. It was a joyous time for the villagers. I do not know what they celebrated or what they worshipped., but death did not worry them. It seemed to strengthen them.
But still they sat amongst and on my stones. I was grateful that they allowed me to be a part of their short lives.
The valley was quiet for centuries. The River and I were joined by sheep and we love them. Generation upon generation of them lie amongst us and climb upon our backs. They are very happy creatures and they belong here.
More recently, people have returned in colourful clothing and bearing sticks which aid them to walk upon our trails. They walk past us and through us. They picnic whilst sitting on us and they love us for being here.
The River and I are happy. Yockenthwaite is happy.”