There's a purse in my soup (From Gazette & Herald)

There's a purse in my soup

I'M gonna ride to the ridge where the west commences etc, don't fence me in! Well, I didn't get to the west today, but slightly north on to Ryton Riggs, which must be just as good. "Gaze at the view 'till I lose my senses," says the song, and for those with the time and inclination there's lots to see if you only stop and look on Ryedale's open prairie, but no one's written a song about it yet.

Norman Race, who lived at North Farm, has lots of memories about this area, and noting that I'd previously mentioned Ryton, gave me a reminder about The Riggs. The road leading west from Garrow Lodge, which takes the traveller to Great Habton, is shown as Ryton Riggs on the OS Map, but so far the origin of the name "Riggs" still escapes me. Chatting with John Sturdy, who I met walking along Ryton Lane as I came homewards this afternoon, he suggested that the word had its origins in the farming community. He told me that a sheep in the lambing stages, and lying on its back, or on its spine so to speak, used to be referred to as "lying on its riggs". So, did the word relate to a ridge? he wondered.

As for the road leading north-west from Garrow Lodge, I've often asked if this had a name, but no one ever came up with one. Not until one reaches the point where the lanes to Ackland Farm and White Lily intersect do we reach a stretch of road with the name of 'Dicky Grounds Lane', which, after that double right angled bend, then becomes Oliver Lane as far as Double Dykes, when it becomes Blansby Lane. They really went to town with names on the last stretch, but the starting bit from Ryton, for over a mile, didn't get a name at all. Perhaps its time for someone to go down in history and give it a name. Every road should have one!

Even the road we all refer to as Ryton Lane isn't officially called that, for it starts from the Old Malton end as Edenhouse Road, and after a mile its name changes to Riggs Road. Old Rytonian Jack Rex, now living in Pickering, will, I reckon, have more memories of Ryton Lane than most folk living today. He walked it to school at Old Malton, and then, as he got older, to Malton School, from 5 years old to 14, winter and summer in all weathers, and many times never missed a day off school during several years. He reckoned he's walked about 14,000 miles back and forth over this period, but I estimate that it will be nearer 16,000, and he got through some pairs of boots on what was a rough old track.

Jack told me that his father used to dose his boots with mutton fat, to try and keep the wet out because, in winter especially, they were soaked through by the time they got to Old Malton School, and were to 'sit in' all day.

As a private road, and gated, each farmer or tenant along the route had a key, and he told me that if the doctor was expected to any of his family, he had to go and wait at the locked gate in order to let him through. He tells me that the remains of the old wooden bridge of 1880 were still visible sticking out of the river when he was a lad, and that there was a hut close to one gate, near Eden Farm Lane, and here sat Jimmy Johnson who collected the tolls payable by non land occupiers. A very select and private place was Ryton. It's still very special! I've no doubt a lot more memories will surface ere long.

Folks lose their purses in odd places, so it seems, for a customer of Heron, in Malton's main street, told the staff that she'd lost her purse in the shop, she thought, and asked that she be contacted if it was handed in. They said of course they would, and duly did, when one of them re-filling one of the freezer cabinets, found the elusive purse nestling amongst the frozen chips. By the time its owner got back to collect it, it had thawed out a bit, which was fortunate. And talking of purses, I keep my loose cash in one of those pocket containers, with a spring at the top, so that you have to squeeze it to open it.

Called at Safeway last week for some bargain item or other, and thought I'd have a bowl of soup for my lunch, which would save me a job. Bowl filled up, just about to sort out the correct change, when my purse literally jumped out of my hand and landed, where? Yes, you've guessed, bang in the middle of the bowl of soup. Tomato is was, just for the record. Half the bowl of soup disappeared, most over the counter. The purse floated and none got inside, and the attendant took it and washed it under the tap, and then dried it for me. No one panicked - it was just as though it had all been well rehearsed. My soup was replaced, my purse got a wash and all was quickly back to normal. Thank you ladies.

Spring-loaded, soup-proof pocket purses for men available at the bag shop in Yorkersgate - well, they deserve a mention as well after that!

"Politicians are not people who seek power in order to implement policies they think necessary. They are people who seek policies in order to attain power." Evelyn Waugh (1903-1966).

Updated: 10:34 Wednesday, October 16, 2002