The North South Divide

As a ‘comer in’ – born a southerner but now long term resident of the north – I can perhaps better understand the various arguments that linger around the old chestnut of which is best: North or South?

Politically at least, it appears to me that the north has ALWAYS been the poorer relation.

I’m not too sure you would want me to blog about politics: besides I was keen to consider that divide in some of the other, more important things of life.

In terms of landscape, community, relationship and quality of life I was keen to test the market. 

North or South? I guess we all have an opinion on that question!

My extended walk on Wednesday and the people I met along the way gave me the perfect opportunity to ponder that issue more deeply. So it was that I headed out for a 24km walk straight from my front doorstep. 

The chilly morning air hit me without warning and I shivered. Despite 3 layers of walking gear I was cold. Freezing actually! It reminded me again of my southern based family and friends dotted around Essex, the West Country, Kent, Dorset and Hampshire and my mum and sister living further south in the lower reaches of south western France. 

I suspect they were also pretty cold on Wednesday, but a northern chill is far more biting in my view. I guess it is fair to claim that on any given day in the year, somewhere in the south is always at least 5 degrees warmer than poor old COLDerdale. My claim is unlikely to be backed by the science, but that’s my opinion and it helped me just a little as I shivered and shuffled out on Wednesday morning. 

Weather envy is a great motivator when you feel an injustice and I soon warmed up after the first 100 metres as I begrudged those southerners their more favourable temperature swing.

South 1 North 0

I decided to make my walk up as I went and so with no real focus with regards to my end destination I resolved to trudge through Upper Greetland and across Norland Moor and then decide my target as I approached the Ripponden drop.

In those first 2 miles I exchanged a cheery ‘Hi’ to everyone I passed. They all reciprocated: sometimes I spoke first, sometimes they greeted me but there was never a ‘head down no eye contact’ encounter. It made me think back to my first 28 years of life in the south. Was my mind tricking me or do people exchange greetings far more if they reside north of the Watford Gap? Leaving all stereotypes aside, I think they do and the north wins hands down on that front.

South 1 North 1

After reaching Norland I headed further west and once again tackled the steep descent into Ripponden, this time on a footpath I had never previously used.

Just 2 weeks ago the famously steep Ripponden Bank had occupied me on a similar walk for a good 2 hours as I searched for my lost headphones. Thankfully I finally found them on my 4th trip up that particular hill! I was understandably keen therefore to avoid that knee cracking descent this time. 

I saw very few people during these next few miles, but the scenery, despite the weather was simply stunning. I hope my attached photos do it some justice.

Ever since I moved to Halifax back in 1995 I’ve been keen to disprove the assumption that ‘Hell, Hull and Halifax’ are brothers in arms. Hull I can totally understand! Halifax? Never!

Weather wise we in the Halifax area cannot really compete with the south downs of Kent or the flatlands of the New Forest, but scenery wise in my opinion we frequently win hands down. The elevations so prevalent in our Pennine landscapes were all around me once again and lay below me in all their ‘gritty’ glory. The steep sided valley of Ripponden was simply majestic!

As I looked I remembered once again the introduction of the local strap-line dreamt up by costly consultants for Calderdale Council just a few years ago? “Pretty gritty” was the tag they wanted to adopt for Calderdale. It allegedly cost either £25,000 or £400,000 depending on who you spoke to and attracted venomous comments aplenty when it was first announced. The more polite was “a waste of taxpayers money!” Many were unrepeatable! 

On Wednesday there really was something ‘prettily gritty’ over Ripponden and I realised that those consultants clearly had a point when they made their choice. 

The black faced stone which is the common building currency of this side of Yorkshire, loomed dark and undistinguishable within the pale and wintery morning light. It was gloomily striking.

Smoke from a multitude of wood burners hung heavy in the dank air. A southerner unversed  in this Pennine landscapes might well have labelled the scene ahead of me as ‘grim.’ To this observer it really was grittily beautiful. 

South 1 North 2

I slithered and slipped my way down into the valley and after clearing the footbridge over the Ryburn river below Kebroyd Mills I began my equally steep climb up the other side of the valley. 

As I climbed I became more grateful for the chill air. Climbing those steep valley sides makes your legs ache, your breath steam and your brow sweat. Within 5 minutes I was hot and bothered: all on the chilliest of bleak midwinter days. 

The path up was slippery and muddy and it often felt like I took one step back for every 2 steps forward. I reflected on my many walking experiences especially those further south. Was my memory playing tricks with reality? Did they really have similar quantities of mud and bog on the plateaus of Essex and Surrey? 

I reasoned that the better weather of the south must conspire to produce significantly less mud. We could only lose on the mud factor ‘oop north!’. The southerner in me rejoiced as their grudgingly granted, mud formed equaliser was awarded!

South 2 North 2

Above Soyland Town I made my first navigational error. 

Cold hands and a hot head always make me a lazy map reader: precisely the conditions that should make me much more careful. Annoyingly I bore too far left (south) meaning my recently chosen hope of attempting to catch a distant sight of Stoodley Pike monument was much further away by the time I corrected my error. No matter: I had never intended to aim for any particular target on this December morning so I decided to bear off and aim for Baitings Reservoir instead.

I stopped for a chat with 4 fellow walkers. One of them recognised me from my weekly swimming sessions at Halifax Pool where I took students from my school Ravenscliffe every week pre-Covid and pre my retirement. He was very complimentary about our school community. It was good to meet him.

It was really chilly on the tops above Ripponden and my feet were now caked with mud. Puddle-hopping became my ‘new norm’ for the next 20 minutes as the boggy footpath took on a Flanders-like consistency. The mud of the north most definitely beats that of the south in my view at least. 

In the distance a remote farmhouse was surrounded by a pall of grey smoke. As I got nearer I saw a solitary figure feeding the tongues of a small fire with straw and other garden waste. I stopped to chat. It was here that the North really came into its own.

Andrew was a good talker. In 5 minutes I found out that he was a local funeral director and that we had multiple mutual acquaintances. His wife had taught music as part of the Calderdale Music Service for several years before austerity had crept in, back in the 2010 era. Sadly, Andrew was due to direct the funeral next week of one of the parents from my time at the school. He knew the family well and their son whom I had taught. He laughed loudly as I regailed him with the story of how I threw a bucket of water over Joe in France on a school trip involving young people with special needs some 13 years previously. Joe still asks me about that bucket every time I see him.

Andrew was warm and engaging and he typified my positive view of so many northerners. It was good to talk. They are particularly good at talking!

South 2 North 3 

As I turned for home after leaving Andrew, with 6 miles still to walk I was fortunate to meet up briefly with at least 4 other people I knew. 

Judy another link to my time at school, was queuing at the Post Office in Barkisland. Wearing the obligatory mask I failed to recognise her at first. She hailed me from across the road and we proceeded to chat for 5 minutes: no doubt entertaining that long queue of customers who clearly enjoyed their free eavesdrop on such a chilly day. 

I met up with Tricia on her doorstep and enjoyed a socially distanced chat stood on her drive. Tricia is an active member of a local ladies Bridge Club that used to meet at the Ravenscliffe SpringHall building before the scourge of Covid struck. It was lovely to chat to her. Just like Judy and Andrew, she was a formidable conversationalist and very enjoyable company. 

Nearing home I met up with Sue on a darkening alleyway in Greetland. Sue’s son and my oldest son were best friends in their primary school days. It was good to catch up with yet another northern chatterbox. 

And so it was that 6 hours after heading out and with 24 kilometres of meadow, moor and mud under my belt, I arrived home as nightfall settled at the ridiculously early hour of 3.48pm. I was tired but my spirits had lifted.

My walk was mission accomplished. I had walked off my latest feeling of ‘Lockdown Limbo’. I’d explored more stunning scenery and had appreciated that the gloomy weather actually enhanced what I had seen. I had also met really nice people at the same time. A Northern saying often carries a truth. Yorkshire folk really are ‘salt of the earth’ types. In a time when meeting up is so restricted it was so uplifting to chat to people known and unknown. 

Single handedly they had all enabled me to settle the debate once and for all. Despite my roots, I had to admit that the North shaded it. That final barrage of conversation had secured the right result.

Final score: South 2 North 4

I’ll leave you to forge and articulate your own opinion!

Thanks for the read

Martin x