Another of my Dad’s books featuring the last Heartbeat bobby. Joe McFadden
Dad on set talking with the orginal bobby, Nick Berry
Dad at work in his study in the 1960s while he was also a bobby in Whitby
One of my favourite last photos of my dad, taken the summer before he died
My late father, Heartbeat author Peter Walker (aka Nicholas Rhea) in his study. He used to paste rejection letters to his walls to spur him on
Dad in the 1970s when he was press officer for North Yorkshire Police
The Countryman was my dad, Peter N Walker (aka Nicholas Rhea), who died on 21st April 2017 from prostate cancer.
He was a full-time writer for more than 35 years, and before that, wrote in his spare time from his job as a policeman. He wrote stories based on his experiences and they were turned into the hugely successful TV series Heartbeat. But he also wrote much more, including crime novels, detective novels, short stories, local history books, collections of folk stories and tales, and also columns for local papers.
When he was younger, he used to read the Countryman’s Diary in the Darlington and Stockton Times by a well-known writer and local history expert, Major John Fairfax-Blakeborough. The Major had always been an inspiration and source of encouragement to my dad, who dreamed of taking over his column, so when he passed away, Dad was thrilled to be invited to take over. He continued that column for 41 years, and another (Rural View) for around 30 years in the Malton Gazette and Herald. Despite his success, he had a huge sense of loyalty and would not give up the weekly columns, continuing right up until a couple of weeks before his death, although towards the end, they were a struggle for him.
After his death, I began to wonder what would happen to his columns, and felt it would be a shame for them to simply disappear after so many years. With support from my family, I called the editors of the papers who readily agreed to my taking them over, even though I don’t have Dad’s writing pedigree, nor his extensive knowledge of all things country and Yorkshire. But, as my brother pointed out, I do have access to my dad’s archive, 40-plus years’ worth of columns to draw upon.
So I decided to take each column from the same week 40 years ago and see what I could use to inspire my column for today. What I have found is not only a wealth of material, but that it is bringing back some memories that were long-since forgotten, memories of my dad, and of our family, of which he was so proud. And it feels like I am getting to know my dad in a way I never expected nor thought possible. It’s an honour to be able to do it and, step by step, week by week, it is helping me make my way along the long road of grief that his passing has left behind.
A native water vole, not to be confused with a brown rat. Image: Canal and River Trust
Following my recent columns about invasive plant and animal species, Martin Lacy contacted me on the subject of crayfish. If you recall, our smaller native white-claw is under serious threat from its larger American cousin, the signal.
Martin said: “On our great chalk streams they hold regular hunting sessions (for signal crayfish) and invite locals to come along and help with the promise of a feast at the end…They taste quite delicious.”
It’s certainly one way to reduce the population, but before you race to your local waterway to catch yourself a tasty free dinner, hold your horses. You need to get permission from the Environment Agency who are monitoring the handling of the troublesome crustacean and don’t grant permission to any old Tom, Dick or Harry. You must give valid justification for removing them from the water, and evidence that they will be dealt with responsibly. Having what might be termed a ‘Crayfish Drive’ like the one Martin describes, is a tried and tested way of controlling the pest.
There are some companies who have taken this concept to a commercial level and supply the hospitality trade with wild signal crayfish. But the rules and regulations are rigidly applied to ensure the disaster of ‘farms’ that led to this crisis does not happen again.
They use specially-designed traps that do not impinge on the other flora and fauna within the waterways, and ensure habitats are left as undisturbed as possible. Once caught, the crayfish have to be kept in special tanks with secure lids. Companies are not allowed to sell ‘live’ crayfish (we don’t want them escaping again!), but use what they describe as humane methods to ‘despatch’ them so that they have an instant and pain-free end. When you understand the harm caused by these invaders, it must surely be preferable to support this industry than import them from countries such as China, which is where the bulk of the current crayfish supply comes from.
Crayfish thrive in chalk streams, and the businesses I found operate in Hampshire and East Anglia. Although their activities help our native white-claw, they only have the capacity to operate on limited stretches of water, which means signals are still far too numerous in waterways that are not fished. However, there are some successes, such as the release earlier this year by the Yorkshire Crayfish Forum of 182 juvenile white-claws into Haverdale Beck on the North York Moors that were successfully bred in a hatchery based at Flamingo Land near Pickering.
While researching this, I came across more information about our precious water vole, whose numbers have been slashed by another invasive pest, the American mink. It has been reported that over the past 50 years, numbers of water voles have reduced by over 90%. It is our most threatened mammal.
If you are familiar with Ratty from Wind in the Willows, then you will know what a water vole looks like. They are often mistaken for a water rat, but are not closely related to that rodent. I also discovered another startling fact – there is no such thing as a water rat in Britain. What many people call water rats are in fact brown rats or water voles.
Water voles, like white-clawed crayfish, are truly beneficial to our waterways, and help maintain the right environment and water quality for it and other creatures to prosper.
It is often mistaken for a rat, as they are similar in colour and size, although the vole is more brown, while the rat more grey with a pale belly. Voles have a blunt nose, while the rat’s is pointed. Voles have a furry tale and ears that are close to its head. Rats have pink hairless tails, and pink ears that point up from its head. Lastly, water voles are herbivores, while rats eat any old rubbish, be it meat or veg.
It’s not all doom and gloom though. In April this year, Yorkshire Water reported unexpectedly healthy colonies of water voles at locations in the Peak District and South Pennines. They can also be seen in the River Esk on the North York Moors, thanks to a lottery- funded preservation project.
Have you been lucky enough to see a water vole in the wild? Do let me know!
Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me using the ‘Contact’ button on the top right.This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 14th Oct and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 12th Oct 2026
I was pleased to see some old customs still persist when I stayed in my home village recently, such as leaving home-grown apples on a doorstep for passers-by to help themselves
My mum still lives in the village where I grew up and although I visit her regularly, I don’t often get the chance to leisurely wander around, to take the time revisit the places and spaces that I used to walk past every day in my childhood.
A couple of weeks ago, I was lucky enough to do that when friends who have recently moved there asked me to house sit for a full week while they went on holiday. It gave me that opportunity of time, time to amble about in a place that is so familiar, and yet parts of which I’ve not visited properly for years.
I don’t know why I still expected to recognise almost everyone I met, or for them to recognise me. Of course they didn’t because, like me, the village has moved on and people have moved in. It’s one of those increasingly rare rural spots that is fortunate to still have a village shop and post office, a doctor’s surgery, two pubs, a café and a primary school. And yet, when I think back to everything that used to be there, so many amenities have vanished – a baker, a butcher, a petrol garage, a school, a grocery store, a chip shop and a quirky habadasher-cum-clothes-cum-shoe shop. It was a unique establishment run by an elderly lady from what was her front room. She sold a bizarre array of merchandise which never seemed to shift, and yet, if you needed a pair of wellies in a hurry, she was your woman.
I still class the village as my home, and myself as a member of its community, having been brought there as a baby in 1967 – nearly 60 years ago (good grief). Dad had been the bobby of the neighbouring village since 1964, but in 1967 was offered a new post from his boss alongside a new mortgage from his bank manager. It meant we could move out of the police house and into our very own cottage with a lovely long garden at the back where fun games were played while fond memories were made.
There are plenty of people who have been residents for as long, or even longer, than my mum. And yet, as you’d expect, there are plenty of ‘newcomers’ who I don’t know and who have no idea who I am nor my connection to the old place. I feel a sense of ownership, and yet a slight pang of indignation at the thought that these residents probably think I am the stranger.
One evening as the sun was setting beneath a lilac sky, I began my 15 minute walk back to my friends’ cottage after having had tea with my mum. I took the opportunity to dawdle, to absorb all the sights and sounds around me. The background music of a village settling down for the evening accompanied me – somebody trying to finish cutting their hedge in the fading light, others chitchatting behind closed doors, and actors’ voices, sound effects and theme tunes drifting through windows amidst the flickering glow of TV screens. The main street was still so familiar, largely unchanged apart from a few more parked cars lining either side. It was relatively traffic free as the evening light faded into darkness and the streetlights came on. As I walked past one of the pubs, I was pleased to see that it was busy with drinkers at the bar and diners in the restaurant. Like many such establishments, these hostelries have not had it easy in recent years, but these are still going, and hopefully will do so for many years to come.
As I pottered on, I felt the village still possessed its essential character, despite the fact that where were once open spaces, new houses now stood, but they were built with golden yellow stone under pinky-red pantile roofs, charming and cozy, as traditional Yorkshire cottages were meant to be.
Most heartwarming of all was to see echoes of customs past; on one doorstep sat a basket of eating apples with a ‘Help yourself’ sign (I did!). There was another selling free range eggs, while one more offered home-grown courgettes and squashes alongside honey & jam, with honesty boxes for you to deposit the small fee.
I felt very much at home.
Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me using the ‘Contact’ button on the top right.
This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 9th Oct and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 7th Oct 2026
Janice Brabban has been back in touch after she first contacted me looking for consistent advice on the control of the invasive species Himalayan Balsam that had found its way on to her land.
She says: “What a wealth of information your column has produced re. the Himalayan Balsam. I am so pleased I got in touch.”
She was delighted that there were contributions from fishermen and bee-keepers: “As much as I like honey I wouldn’t go for the Balsam type, it would seem unpatriotic!”
She was also very impressed with the advice from Chloe Lawrence, Invasive Species Project Manager at Tees Rivers Trust: “Really good that they have got other groups involved. I think that’s what’s needed and maybe the £3m grant means more publicity for Himalayan Balsam…It was interesting that if plants are removed from site, it is considered controlled waste and needs a licence. I will have to remember that – and how would that tie in with the advice from Darlington Borough Council to put it in a garden skip? But yes – burning on a woodland site, well, you just wouldn’t do it!… Some of the verges round here now seem to have been cut right back to hedge, so that should help. Thanks again for mentioning HB in your column!”
Mick Garratt also contacted me to share his experiences. “Last winter, the Tees Rivers Trust was actively seeking local volunteers to help survey and remove Himalayan Balsam along the River Leven. Unfortunately, I was away when the training was scheduled, and the opportunities didn’t happen after I returned…However, I did record sightings on the INNS Mapper app, as they had requested (INNS = invasive non-native species).
“I also know of a property-owner in Yarm along the riverbank who has chosen not to remove the plant because they think it looks pretty!”
That is one of the drawbacks. Its prettiness means people do not appreciate the damage it is doing to our riverbanks and the flora and fauna that surrounds them. They may also be mistaking them for similar-looking more welcome plants, such as Rosebay Willowherb and Purple Loosetrife, which have similar leaves and flowers.
On another note, I’m delighted when people find my old columns which trigger memories prompting them to get in touch. Regular reader Les Myers wrote me a message after reading some of my archive pieces (which can be found at www.countrymansdaughter.com). He came across one from February 2018, published following the death of well-known Daleswoman Hannah Hauxwell.
Les wrote: “I met Hannah Hauxwell when she must have been near the end of her life. She lived in a tiny cottage in Cotherstone next to the Red Lion pub. I was a meter reader.”
One day, Les had gone inside her house to take her readings. “She was a person who never threw anything away if she thought it would come in useful. She must have had 100 Utterly Butterly tubs piled up, as well of lots of other junk. She wore a pair of trousers with at least six patches on them.”
Hannah was from that ‘Make Do and Mend’ generation where lack of money and scarcity of materials, alongside a very stoic attitude, meant that rather than throw anything away, you fixed things that were broken, and darned or patched worn out clothes. In her day, these skills were essential for survival and so everyone learned them, bar of course the most wealthy who could afford to employ help.
The world is recognising the value of second-hand clothes, and it is now a badge of honour to declare your outfit is made up of charity shop finds. I’m due to attend a wedding in Spain soon and need several outfits. With the cost of the flights and hotel, I can’t justify spending even more money on new clothes. Therefore I’ve been glued to Vinted (the online platform that allows people to buy and sell unwanted clothing). I’ve got some fantastic bargains, unworn items at a fraction of the cost of new.
The downside is that it is addictive, and I am am not sure I have actually saved any money, for hanging on the back of my bedroom door now are several ‘new to me’ dresses that don’t even fit.
I will have to sell them on Vinted!
Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me using the ‘Contact’ button on the top right.
This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 2nd Oct and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 30th September 2026
The aggressive and non-native signal crayfish with its distinctive flash of white at its claw joint. This voracious beast is driving our native species towards extinction. Picture from the Non Native Species Secretariat website.
As I mentioned last week, I came across a reserve for the white-clawed crayfish on a recent walk near Threshfield Quarry in the Yorkshire Dales where information boards explained the threat from its foreign cousin, the signal crayfish. The reserve was a small pond designed with the specific needs of the crayfish in mind such as places to hide from predators, the right food, and of course, no sign of the dastardly enemy.
This problem was mentioned by reader John Aston from Thirsk who listed it among a number of invasive plant and animal species affecting our waterways. He’d read my columns about the troublesome invader, Himalayan Balsam, which prompted him to get in touch.
On that note, you may remember that it was the appearance of Anna on The Great British Sewing Bee TV programme that sparked a whole series of columns on this particular invasive species. Anna had highlighted the issue by featuring the pretty pink bloom on an outfit she had created and I was rooting for her because not only was she exceptionally creative, but she came from our very own York. I watched the final last night and guess what? She won! Go Anna!
The white-clawed crayfish is our only native species of crayfish and populations have been decimated by its bigger and brasher American counterpart. This vicious marauder was brought over from the north-west USA in the 1970s and 80s to become a delicacy on fine dining restaurant menus.
Demand led to commercial farms breeding them, but what they did not take into account was that, unlike salmon and trout which, due to a distinct lack of limbs, obligingly remained confined to their ponds, these crafty crustaceans had legs and therefore were able to climb out of the ponds and amble to freedom. If they couldn’t escape over land then, thanks to their scarily big sharp claws, another option was to burrow into the muddy banks until they were beyond the boundaries of the farm. Failing that, option three was to scuttle into the water pipes feeding the pond (which they did to protect themselves from predators) to find that these pipes led somewhere, and so they kept on scuttling, ultimately finding themselves at the opposite end. With one splash they were frolicking in open water.
Once liberated, these prolific breeders began to make whoopee, kicking the smaller, more passive and less randy native white-clawed crayfish out of their homes, leaving them exposed to hungry otters and that other ‘liberated from breeding farms’ pest, the mink. But that was not all – the poor white-clawed crayfish were left with very slim pickings for food, as the greedy Yanks were always first to the table, and just for good measure they also infected their British counterparts with the delightful ‘crayfish plague’ for which they had no resistance due to the fact they’d never been exposed to it before. It was a crayfish calamity which is still having repercussions today.
Round of applause then for those short-sighted idiots who brought signal crayfish over here without a thought for the potential impact on our one and only native species. The scientific blinkers were on, wilfully ignoring past disasters caused by introducing invasive species into the country in the vain hope that all would be OK; that a crayfish wouldn’t think to use its legs to simply crawl to pastures new. How could that be? The American mink catastrophe was still at the forefront of many people’s minds too (brief summary – American mink were imported and bred for their fur. They also escaped their farms through inadequate security and a few well-meaning but dim anti-fur campaigners who thought setting them free was a good idea. Our now almost extinct native water vole would beg to differ).
There are some very hardworking organisations and volunteers who are desperately trying to help these threatened species survive, but unless the invasive predators are brought under control, it is highly unlikely that our freshwater crayfish or our water vole will ever recover.
So if on your travels you see a white-clawed crayfish reserve, also known as an ‘ark’, then stop a while and take time to read those information boards explaining what the conservationists are trying to do. And hopefully, one day, we will learn from our past mistakes.
One day.
Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me using the ‘Contact’ button on the top right.
This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 25th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 23rd September 2026
The invasive Himalayan Balsam is colonising the banks of our streams and rivers leading to erosion and the decline of native insects and plants. But experts have told me how it should be tackled
My plea for specialist advice on how to tackle Himalayan Balsam has borne fruit. Reader Janice Brabban owns some woodland near Darlington and was horrified to discover it had been invaded by the troublesome plant. She was having difficulty finding out the best way to deal with and dispose of it, and felt she hadn’t received consistent advice from the places she had tried so got in touch with me.
Thankfully, help has come from a proper expert, in the form of Chloe Lawrence, Invasive Species Project Manager at Tees Rivers Trust, who explained that there isn’t one single body with responsibility making the situation more complicated. “Landowners, under the Wildlife and Countryside Act, are responsible for ensuring they don’t spread onto other land, although they don’t have to eradicate them. Councils and local authorities are responsible for invasive species on public land, but not private land. There are also several government bodies, including the Environment Agency, DEFRA and the Non-Native Species Secretariat, all of which have different roles in areas such as prevention, early detection and management.”
She advises: “Himalayan balsam is relatively easy to manage by pulling it out by the roots, making sure the stem is snapped below the first node. It can also be strimmed or scythed, and there is even a biological control being used.”
Chloe acknowledges that although management is easy in theory, the plant is prolific across the UK. “Unless management starts at the source, ideally at the highest point of a watercourse, seeds will continue to spread downstream from upstream populations. Balsam has explosive seed pods which can spread up to seven metres, with each plant producing up to 800 seeds.”
But there is hope, because the Tees Rivers Trust has been awarded a £3 million National Lottery Heritage Fund grant specifically for an invasive species programme, which aims to establish a more unified approach.
Further advice came from George Winn-Darley, a member of the Yorkshire Derwent Catchment Partnership and the Yorkshire Esk and Coastal Streams Catchment Partnership, who is very familiar with our irksome bloom.
“It’s important that balsam is managed before it goes to seed,” he says, “particularly as the hot weather this year has meant it is seeding earlier than usual…The plants can be left in a pile away from any watercourses and will wilt down within a few weeks…They can also be burned on site, although I’d be particularly mindful of the wildfire risk across the UK.
“Seeds only remain viable for about two growing seasons, so if you can stop it going to seed for two consecutive years then you should be able to eradicate that patch…It is shallow-rooting and very easily pulled up by hand but if you lie it on the ground it is likely to root again so you need to hang it over a branch or something so that it dries out and dies which it will do very quickly. You can just knock the flower heads off before they start to create seed, cut it or strim it or just beat it with a stick to prevent it flowering and seeding…By and large you don’t see it in fields that are cultivated or grazed because those activities stop it from thriving.”
Balsam crowds out other vegetation on river banks, but dies back in frosty wether leaving exposed bare soil which is then washed away by winter rains causing the banks to erode, which also leads to water quality problems.
John Aston, from Thirsk, added, “Bees like it, and my beekeeping friends report that balsam honey is excellent. But most fishermen (and I’ve been one since 1963) loathe the stuff.”
John agrees with the methods on how to get rid of it but warns: “It’ll be back. All it needs is a seed on a walker’s boot or in an angler’s net.”
He lists other invasive species affecting our waterways, such as poisonous giant hogweed, knotweed, signal crayfish, demon shrimps, mitten crabs and American mink, all of which have thrived to the detriment of local flora and fauna.
Coincidentally, I came across a native white-clawed crayfish reserve on a walk near Threshfield Quarry in the Dales where information boards explained the threat from its foreign cousin.
But I’ll save that story for a future column.
Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me using the ‘Contact’ button on the top right.
This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 18th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 16th September 2026
The opening of the Heartbeat Experience at the World of James Herriot taken 29/08/26. L-R Neil Jones, Kate, Pawlett & Ian Ashton (all from the WOJH), actor David Lonsdale who played David Stockwell in Heartbeat, Mum, myself, my sister Janet, brother, plus my sons Joseph and Oliver. Picture by PMH Images.
L-R: My mum Rhoda, my brother Andrew, my sister Janet and myself in the recreation of my dad’s study at the World of James Herriot in Thirsk.
What a weekend I had over the August bank holiday! As I revealed a few weeks ago, the World of James Herriot offered to recreate my dad’s study in a brand-new Heartbeat-themed attraction at their museum in Kirkgate, Thirsk, with the ‘big reveal’ on Saturday 29th August.
I’d been brooding for a few years over what to do with the place where my dad spent so many years creating stories and plotting out books and columns. So when the offer came through, it was the lifting of a substantial emotional burden.
Packing up the study and transporting it to Thirsk has been hard work. We had to photograph and itemise everything we sent and hand it over in such a way that it made sense to those unpacking at the other end to enable them to rebuild it as accurately as possible. And with 40+ years of dust disturbed when we removed all those books, we sneezed a LOT!
There were emotional wobbles along the way, as you might expect when you see something you treasure so much being systematically taken apart and removed. We had to trust that the museum was going to take good care of it and do their utmost to recreate it. If it didn’t have the same look and feel that we loved and knew so well, then we would have questioned whether it had all been worth it.
I need to give credit to those tasked with that burdensome job – Ian Ashton, Managing Director, and his two fellow directors Kate Pawlett and Neil Jones, who were are at pains to ensure they did their best within the limitations of a room of a slightly different in shape and size. The worry of not getting it right was etched on their faces whenever we met them.
But in the end, it was such a relief for all of us when the final recreation absolutely embodied the spirit of my dad’s special place.
It’s not just about the study though, because alongside that, they have also created a whole Heartbeat-themed section, including a life-sized replica of Scripps garage doors, two genuine motorbikes from the TV show and a huge board of captioned photos of the main characters from the 18 series (thanks to Heartbeat Vehicle Rally stalwarts Jason Bullard and Lee Jones). Not only that, but a fresh-faced bobby can be seen about to enter the ‘police house’ wearing my dad’s very own North Yorkshire Constabulary-issue woollen cape and helmet.
There was one person whose approval was paramount – my mum’s. She was understandably hesitant about letting us take Dad’s things away, things that were personal and treasured, things she and he had collected together. How would she feel about the empty space left behind?
But when she saw it for herself for the first time, her fears melted away. She was amazed at how accurately her husband’s study had been recreated, almost exactly as it was. The old carpet was there, complete with the original holes caused by the wheels of his chair, and Mum’s home-made flowery curtains framed the two ‘windows’ that magically looked out onto our very own garden and drive. A dim glow shone from a familiar glass lampshade on to Dad’s collection of Heartbeat-themed fridge magnets that dotted the front of his grey filing cabinets, while rows of Heartbeat die-cast toy vehicles looked down from the bookshelves, just as they had at home. The walls were painted the same green, and decorated with the same items he had hung up – two framed TV Times magazine covers featuring Heartbeat cast members, some Guinness advertising plaques, an Aidensfield village sign, and a framed picture of his mother as a young woman. Most of the surfaces were scattered with collectibles, trinkets, books, mugs, pens and all sorts of clutter, just as Dad had left them.
Before, Mum had questioned why anyone would want to take the tatty carpet, her old curtains, or the dusty lampshade. But once she saw everything placed carefully where it should be, it all made sense. Dad’s study has found its permanent home for future generations to enjoy.
Whether you’re a fan of the show, a fan of the writer, or simply a fan of nostalgia, do go and have a look and tell me how you feel when you peer through the window into Dad’s study.
Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me using the ‘Contact’ button on the top right.
This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 11th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 9th September 2026
Archibald Leary’s medical record showing he was under weight at 8st 10lb with a temperature of 101F(38C). Picture courtesy of Benenden Hospital
Archibald Leary’s medical record showing the unusual word ‘asthenic’ which means frail and exhausted and was associated with people suffering from tuberculosis. Picture courtesy of Benenden Hospital
Richard Simpson has been back in touch with an update on his grandfather’s cousin, Archibald Leary, who was a post office worker in Wigan in the 1920s. He contracted tuberculosis (TB) and died in Benenden Sanatorium on 30th December 1930. The sanatorium was established in 1905 after postal workers were falling ill with TB but could not afford to take time off for treatment, and thus continued to infect their colleagues.
Richard had asked me if I was aware of any records of admissions to the sanatorium and I passed on some ideas as to where he could go.
The leads came up trumps, as Richard explains: “I contacted Benenden and they very kindly sent me a copy of his medical records which I have attached.
“As a retired GP they made interesting reading and it was clear that he was very poorly on admission. Good to know, however, that for himself and his family he received such good care and attention at the end of his life.”
It was quite remarkable that Benenden were able to lay their hands on the handwritten notes relating to Archibald so quickly, bearing in mind they would have been almost 100 years old, and no doubt just one record among thousands.
I noticed the word ‘asthenic’ was used in Archibald’s medical notes, and I was unfamiliar with it, and asked Richard to explain what it meant.
“It could have been a description of his physical state; i.e. frail and narrow chested, or more likely related to him suffering from asthenia which was a common term used in relation to patients with advanced TB indicating the general overwhelming tiredness and frailty, along with weight loss which was characteristic of the condition.
“Looking at his weight of 8st 10lbs, even without knowing his height, he was clearly significantly underweight and his temperature of 101 degrees Fahrenheit (which would be 38 degrees Celsius) would indicate that his TB was very active (hence TB stage 3).”
“In terms of his records, I suspect this is just a summary and that considering he was in the sanatorium for 90 days, it was highly likely that he had a separate set of day to day notes. Certainly nowadays they would be much more comprehensive! I am still amazed as to how quickly he was buried up in Wigan only a few days after his death and over a new year holiday. Do you know whether the Post Office Society would have been involved in arranging this?”
I couldn’t answer that question, but they may well have done so.
Family history research is booming, with websites like Ancestry and MyHeritage making it so much easier to trace relatives. I have dabbled myself occasionally, but usually end up down a rabbit hole being diverted from my original quest. I think you need endless patience and great detective skills to be able to build a comprehensive (and accurate) family tree.
On another note, reader Les Myers got in touch after reading about our family reunion with my dad’s old Mark 2 Jaguar at the Heartbeat Vehicle Rally in June: “It reminded me of the day my two cousins and I went from Middlesborough to Torquay loaded with camping gear. I’m now 79 and we were 15 (myself), 16 and 17. It was the days before motorways and in our turquoise Morris Minor it took us 13 hours to arrive!”
Les adds: “I will never forget that car and still remember the reg number – SPO 79. We camped on a sloping farmer’s field in Paignton. Sadly it poured down all week and the night before we were due to return we awakened to the pouring rain running through the tent. We had no groundsheets then but we all had camp beds (recently invented!). We looked at each other and said “Let’s b****r off home!” So in the middle of the night, we loaded the car and returned home safely.”
I’m relieved to hear Les and his cousins returned home without incident following his soggy adventure, and it’s clear that the car holds a special place in his heart, despite his story occurring more than 60 years ago.
Do you have any tales about vehicles that hold special memories for you? Do get in touch in the usual ways.
Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me using the ‘Contact’ button on the top right.
This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 4th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 2nd September 2026
Himalayan Balsam is pretty but not a native species and needs to be tackledFollowing my column about Himalayan Balsam, a very pretty yet invasive species of plant, reader Janice Brabban got in touch.
“Thank you for your article drawing attention to non-native invasive species affecting our countryside. I am a woodland owner in the Darlington area. An ancient spring arises in the wood and forms a stream lower down in the paddock. Last year I was horrified to find the stream surrounded by Himalayan Balsam, which I immediately removed (the roots are very shallow and can be pulled out easily). I have had to do the same this year albeit to a lesser extent. I found it difficult to obtain any advice regarding its control and disposal. Mine had come from surrounding hedgerows. The council advised disposing of the plants in the garden waste skip at the local recycling centre – I didn’t do that, bad advice, I thought.”
Janice wondered whose responsibility it was to control these types of invaders, particularly when they have such a detrimental effect on our own flora and fauna, but her efforts produced little useful advice. “I ended up drying and burning. I can see that it is still growing happily in local hedges around here, the Heighington area, and as far as I can see it will continue as no-one seems to know what it is or what to do with it. So thank you for bringing the problem to the attention of your readers.”
A few days later, Janice provided a further update: “I think I have got rid of mine for now but will check every year and pull it out. I know the organisations are low on resources, so don’t want to point the finger. Since finding it on my land I have become more eagle-eyed and spotted it in places in back of hedges etc. where I had just never noticed before.”
We have to thank people like Janice for taking the matter seriously and doing what they can to limit the damage. Nevertheless it would it would be good to hear from someone who is familiar with Himalayan Balsam and knows the best way to deal with it. Are there any protocols in place when a new invasive species is found, I wonder? Do get in touch if you can enlighten us further (contact details at the end of this column).
I was also contacted by Richard Simpson after he had read my piece about tuberculosis and the sanatorium at Benenden in Kent. The sanatorium was established in 1905 after many postal workers fell ill with TB but could not afford to take time off for treatment, and thus continued to infect their colleagues.
“My grandfather’s cousin Archibald Leary was a post office worker in Wigan who contracted TB and died in the Benenden Sanatorium on 30th December 1930 aged 38. From his Post Office sickness pay records, he was given sick pay for just short of 12 months before being ‘sacked’ on 14th July 1929. It was good to see he was still able to use the sanatorium even though he was no longer an employee…He was buried in Wigan on the 2nd January 1931…It is quite remarkable how quickly he was buried following his death considering the need to transport his body over the New Year period.”
It’s sad to know that Archibald may have been saved had antibiotics been available then. Yet he did have access to the best help and knowledge around at the time through belonging to the Post Office society. Even after his employment ceased he was still treated at Benenden Sanatorium (although you’d have hoped so seeing as it is likely his working conditions may have contributed to his illness!).
Richard added: “Are you aware of any records of admissions to the sanatorium so that I can do some more research?” I passed on some ideas to Richard as to where to go to find out more information. When I wrote the society’s history book in 2005, they had a museum, as well as the ‘Rising Mercury Society’, a ‘club’ for ex-patients that had been going for many, many years and which may be able to help Richard to access historical records.
Let’s hope he gets back in touch if he finds out any more about Archibald’s touching story.
Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me using the ‘Contact’ button on the top right.
This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 28th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 26th August 2026
Dad at work in his study which is being recreated at the World of James Herriot in Thirsk. It will be opened by Heartbeat star David Lonsdale on Saturday 29th August at 1pm. You are all invited.
I’ve been harbouring a secret for a while now but the time has come to share it…
My dad’s study has been saved!
I’ve written in the past about my concerns as to what is going to happen to it when we have to sell the family home. It’s been a weighty burden because it is tied so closely to Dad and his career. What were we to do with all the stuff that was so important to him?
Dad’s study is THE place where I feel closest to him, THE place where I can still feel his presence, the hub of his creativity. It’s a visual representation of what was going on in his head and how he organised his many ideas and resulting stories. For 35 years he toiled in that small room, producing book after book, column after column, article after article. The shelves are packed with reference books on all manner of topic, the most-important and most-used of them on the shelf just in front of where he sat. There are also filing cabinets stuffed full of 60 years-worth of papers and cuttings he’d collected, stored in an order that made sense to him. He created a card index that sat on top of the cabinets, without which it would be impossible for the rest of us to find anything. Beneath his chair, a hole is worn in the carpet from all his wheeling backwards and forwards to reach for things off the shelves or out of the cabinets.
The walls tell a story themselves, adorned as they are with Heartbeat-related knicknacks, such as an ‘Aidensfield’ village sign, a Claude Jeremiah Greengrass teddy bear, a framed copy of the cover of TV Times magazine from 23rd – 29th June 2007 featuring barmaid Gina Ward and PC Phil Bellamy’s much anticipated wedding. Nestled among the Heartbeat mementoes are more personal items, such as a framed photo his mother, my Nana Walker, taken when she was young woman, while elsewhere are a wooden rosary and a postcard of Pope John Paul II, a reflection of Dad’s Catholic faith. One of his proudest moments was when, as Press Officer for North Yorkshire Police, he was tasked with handling the media aspect of the Pope’s 1982 visit to York and he was able to attend the huge open-air mass held on the city’s Knavesmire.
I’m sure you can imagine how the prospect of it vanishing forever was simply too much to bear. We approached a few places a while back, but were disappointed when no-one was willing or able to take it.
A few months ago, though, I got a phone call from Ian Ashton, the Managing Director of the World of Jame Herriot in Thirsk. We had talked to him a couple of years ago, but at the time, the museum was not in a position to be able to help. However, times have changed!
They are creating a whole new Heartbeat-themed attraction within the museum, and at the centre is a recreation of my dad’s study. Not many people know that Alf Wight (James Herriot) was our local vet and even treated our cat! These two men were at the same time writing humorous tales about the quirky characters of North Yorkshire, both of which would be turned in to hugely successful TV shows. Thanks to them we now have the tourism honey-pots of Herriot Country and Heartbeat Country. What a lucky county we are!
I have (with some able helpers) spent the past couple of weekends packing up boxes while taking photos as I go so that the study can be recreated as accurately as possible. Heartbeat favourite David Lonsdale, who played loveable David Stockwell in the TV show, will unveil the study at 1pm on Saturday 29th August – and you are all invited! Just Google ‘World of James Herriot’ to find it.
Dad was such a humble man that he would have been bewildered by all the fuss.
But if you are the reason behind a TV phenomenon that attracted millions of viewers, that still has millions of fans around the world 16 years after it ended, and who in a large part is responsible for a tourism boom in Goathland and the North York Moors, then the least you deserve is a bit of fuss.
Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me using the ‘Contact’ button on the top right.
This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 21st and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 19th August 2026
I can’t live without my ear pods. They are the reason I am able to maintain a relatively clean house.
Following my column a couple of weeks ago about personal treasures that are worth more to us than money, Lucien Smith got back in touch to say: “Oh wow, Sarah! My mother would be thrilled not only how much I cherish her painting, but that it made the cover of pic of you post! Thank you.”
If you remember, Lucien treasured a painting done by his late mother when she was only 22 and called it his ‘save from a burning building’ item. I used a picture of the painting in my column, and then also on a social media post.
It led me to ask what would be your ‘save from a burning building’ item, and self-confessed maximalist Clare Proctor responded: “That is an impossible question! I would want to save my photos, my African treasures from my childhood, my tapestries that I have made over the last 40 years, the copy of Van Gogh’s sunflowers that my dad did, and Howard’s dad’s MBE….no hope of choosing one item!”
She added: “I love Lucien’s mum’s painting. We did that technique at school. We had to take a still life item and interpret it as something else. I chose the jaw bone of a cow and painted a washing line full of clothes! I think it’s in the attic…better add that to my rescue list.”
I’m not sure Clare would make it out of a burning building carrying that lot!
Janet Pearce is slightly more restrained and added: “My late husband’s love letters to me, journals, birthday cards and other jottings of his. They are all together…And my Dachshund!”
Once you start to think about it, your rescue list can get longer and longer. At least Hendrix, Janet’s beloved little dog, made it on to hers!
Sarah Mason agrees with Clare when it comes to pictures, but adds a couple of other items: “The photos and DVDs of my children. And Mum’s jewellery. Oh, and Mum!”
I’m not sure what Sarah’s mum would think about her order of priorities. I still have many photos kept in physical albums and would hate to lose them and the memories they represent. I am of that crossover generation where the first years of my children’s lives are all documented by physical photos, but then, come the advent of tablets and smartphones, I gradually switched to digital pictures only. I diligently printed them and put them into albums up until 2012 and then that’s where the albums stop. I remember feeling guilty at the time that I was letting the pictures mount up, and pledged that I would one day get them printed out. But the albums I had bought in readiness for that task still remain empty nearly 15 years later. Weirdly, I still haven’t got rid of them, despite knowing that it is unlikely they will ever get filled now. What can you do with empty photo albums? I’d love to hear your suggestions.
This subject also led me to wonder if there is anything you use on a daily basis that you didn’t realise you needed until it was invented (internet, computers, smartphones and tablets etc excepted). Clare’s answer to that is as follows: “I’m thrilled with my birthday present from my daughter – an electric throw to wrap around my cold tootsies in the winter.” Here’s another question – can we can rule out foot spas, spiralizers, and the Sinclair C5 as being useful inventions?
My ‘can’t live without’ is my ear pods – small wireless earphones that slot comfortably into the ear and connect via the Bluetooth to my iPad. The reason I can’t live without them is that I hate cleaning; it may be necessary but why does it have to be soooo boring? With these little techy miracles, I can put on a true crime podcast and my mind is magically transported away from the tedium. Because there are no wires, and I am not physically connected to my device, I can wander all over the house and never miss the plot twist of a gripping story. I can still hear it even when I put the vacuum cleaner on, so with no need to crank up the volume, neighbourly harmony is maintained.
Tell me then, what are your ‘burning building’ or ‘can’t live without’ items?
Do you have opinions, memories or ideas to share with me? Get in touch with me using the ‘Contact’ button on the top right.
This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on Friday 14th and the Ryedale Gazette and Herald on Wednesday 12th August 2026
