The Lane To Gordale

A score or so sat down to supper, and that meal over enough light remained to allow us an hour or more out of doors before complete darkness fell

. The lane to Gordale is the most exciting evening walk from Malham. We had it almost to ourselves for the tide of sightseers is not large at this time of year and certainly not (more's the pity) at this time of day.

Gordale in the twilight has an atmosphere rare and lovely. We climbed and the sun sank in the western sky; a soft haze spread over the dale and a complete hush fell. At Janet's Foss (or Jennet's), where Cor dale Beck dropping over black wet rocks has excavated a deep pool below the waterfall, it was a nook from Faery. Waiting, we half expected nymphs and naiads to appear with white arms from the enchanted green depths. The dark hole of the cave behind the fall might well have hidden trolls or elves. Stories of Janet's Foss always included fairies, though fact did not give the cave any inhabitants other than eighteenth century mine workers.

After lingering here we were in the right mood as we entered the rift of Gordale to agree with every writer of the past who came here to exhaust his superlatives. Wordsworth did not actually visit Cordale; instead he gained inspiration from Mr. Westall's views of the Caves, etc., in Yorkshire. He saw the pictures then wrote with feeling of Cordale chasm Also and this pleased us, he recommended the pensive votary to enter Gordale at early dawn or as we were doing, at shadowy eve when the air glimmers with fading light.

Then he promised that the wanderer should meet a .. local deity with oozy hair and mineral crown. We looked for him as we picked an uneasy way over grey boulders in and beside the beck's course (for it has not decided yet which is its .. gainest way to the valley ahead), and we looked again when we stood between the beetling crags and felt water drop upon us from the overhanging ledges so far above. It was chill, gloomy, the edge of dusk, and a flutter of snowflakes came suddenly like white moths into the gorge, yet we had no desire to retrace our steps. Cordale is without doubt one of the wonders of Craven, none the less after two hundred years of boosting.

Thomas Cray was an early booster, coming here in 1769, staying not without shuddering for a quarter of an hour and thought my trouble well repaid for the impression will last a lifetime. He stood, as we did, shut in by rocks, gazing at the white waterfall in its descent from a higher ravine spanned by a natural bridge of rock. oozy haired deity appeared our chance of seeing him had vanished. It took us all our time to find footing on the rough stones, and back to the farmyard. Here out of a barn clumped the farmer, local though no deity, and no man to waste words on the sublimity of Cordale. .. Aye, Gord'Ie's reet enough but you don't want corns, said he. So farmers have tender feet to be touched up by the sharp stones in the gorge.

by: Adrian Vultur

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