Clearing the air

Foggathorpe. Interesting name for a small, very small village which straddles the main road from Market Weighton to Selby. 

Village may be a generous label for what is in effect a collection of buildings which give the impression that they turned up expecting something big and momentous to happen at that very geographical location but were ultimately disappointed.

The largest structure appears to have been a roadside inn but as with many similar establishments in this country its fate was sealed with the introduction of the smoking ban and the absence of a celebrity chef to pull in foodies from all over. There are some signs of its former stature but it now appears to be a family house. With the consumption of alcohol came the antidote of Methodism and close by is a squat and symmetrical Primitive Chapel, its foundation stone eroded so as to confuse any chance of dating the build other than 18......something.

Other premises will have served as the shop and/or Post Office when the local population were able and happy to patronise their own amenities but now it is but a short drive for the 233 residents (2001 Census) to the wide range of retail facilities in the much expanded former coalfield town of Selby.

A few older cottages have survived with their shallow forecourts giving only a small buffer zone to the frequently thunderous passing traffic. Their brickwork, once bright and defined in Flemish Bond is now drab and vague with a grubby coating of dirt and grime thrown up in the wake of the flow of vehicles.

Artisan dwellings have been lost to new infill development but of a bland executive box type with the only concession to former style being the use of reclaimed or sympathetic brick. The traditional brick patterns have gone however with thermally efficient cavity walls in a boring stretcher bond. Mimicking Flemish with cut headers would be out of most self build budgets.

I drove through the village today, as I have on many previous days en-route, to work in North Yorkshire but unlike other times I took the left turn at the crossroads marked by the former public house in its south-east quadrant. Station Road ,in name, gave a clue that Foggathorpe may have enjoyed better accessibility until the railway line will have axed by Dr Beeching on the basis of unsustainability of the rural service. A pair of five bar gates on either side of the narrow lane mark the old crossing point but I could not see the usual lodge type house which served as the tied accommodation for the railway company employee and family. A slight turn in the road and I had left the village/hamlet/community.

It was a brief relationship and I did feel a bit sad about it. This was compounded by the later discovery that my favourite thick leaf book,  "Pevsner's Guide to East Yorkshire" had no reference at all to the place and the frontispiece map of the county was blank where Foggathorpe should have been.

It may be time for a campaign to restore it to the map. I have given this some thought.

Unfortunately if Pevsner cannot conjure up anything of noteworthy mention, even a stone milestone marker, mounting block, obscure monument or a building or feature of local architectural or historic interest  then there is little chance of anyone doing so.

Foggathorpe sounds a bit Scandinavian in origin but according to the inventory of the Domesday Book it was given to the Standard Bearer of William the Conqueror for reward of service and at that time was called Fulcathorpe . 

The other claim to any fame if it can be called that is that the hamlet gives its name to the local soil type.

Perhaps the occupants could adopt the full  geological terminology as a unique selling point although "slowly permeable seasonally waterlogged stoneless clay and fine loam" would take up an extremely long road sign rivalling that of the much more tourist friendly Welsh exponents of the same.

On the day of my passing through the morning had been blisteringly hot but standing water across the carriageway indicated that there had been a series of the now common flash-flood inducing downpours in the preceeding hours.

The impact of cool rain on overheated tarmac threw up  a strange tropical mist which lapped and enfolded the car. The impression was of motoring through a swamp like atmosphere of truly science fiction proportions.

It all made sense to me at that point and Foggathorpe will remain with me as a descriptive word for such fascinating weather phenomena. 

I will of course be sending a collective apology to its 233 souls for what may be seen as a bit of an insult on the place that they obviously love.