I moved to Yorkshire in 1987, in my early twenties. I’d visited several times already, and thought of Yorkshire as just another English county full of northerners. I was wrong. Apparently, Yorkshire people are very patriotic—if you can be patriotic about a county. They even have a Yorkshire Day every year, where all they seem to do is go around saying “Happy Yorkshire Day” to each other.
Unfortunately, this meant (as someone not born in Yorkshire) I was a guest, an alien, a visitor. And, “what’s that you say? You’re from Lancashire?! We won the war, you know.” “The war?” “You know—the War of the Roses.” “Oh. That war. Did you?”
It took a few years to get used to Yorkshire welcomes, but, eventually, I managed. Heck, I even have a bit of a Yorkshire accent now. Or maybe we’ll just call it a Pennine accent. It all seems normal to me, after 26 years in that special part of the North (which was apparently created by a divine being). I’ve almost perfected the art of being friendly without being accommodating.
I took these photos in the Yorkshire Dales village of Kettlewell, where all are welcome.