Yorkshire Dales Quotes

There's no such thing as bad weather, only unsuitable clothing.

We should never judge, really; we never know the full circumstances and it’s easy to become

It’s cold and clammy in the alley like White Scar Cave in the Yorkshire Dales. Dad took me when I was ten. I find a dead cat lying on the ground at the first corner. It’s gray like dust on the moon. I know it’s dead because it’s as still as a dropped bag, and because big flies are drinking from its eyes. How did it die? There’s no bullet wound or fang marks, though its head’s at a slumped angle so maybe it was strangled by a cat-strangler. It goes straight into the Top Five of the Most Beautiful Things I’ve Ever Seen. Maybe there’s a tribe in Papua New Guinea who think the droning of flies is music. Maybe I’d fit in with them. “Come along, Nathan.” Mum’s tugging my sleeve.

Yorkshire's autumn was as great a gift as Yorkshire's summer. I loved watching the rusting of the leaves while the dales mellowed to shades of ochre, and rose hips and blackberries grew deliciously fat on their branches. The morning mists were mystical and magical to me, and the rose-glow of the evening sun lent the sky a hypnotic light that matched any Cape Town sunset.

Tea and baked goods feature heavily in the majority of my stories, not just because they suit the life of the W.I., but because food is so often much more than fuel. It’s a way of taking care of ourselves, of creating bonds and memories and friendships. It’s a language we all speak, a common ground between everyone. Even dragons.

Think, Carter. Use the “little grey cells”, as Agatha Christie’s Poirot says in the stories. All the great detectives spent time reflecting on the case. Remember Sherlock Holmes playing his violin far into the night.’ ‘And injecting himself with cocaine?’ interjected Steph. ‘You won’t be doing that, will you, sir?’ she asked cheekily. ‘No,’ replied Oldroyd. ‘The similarities between myself and Conan Doyle’s creation are few, apart from our brilliantly perceptive minds.

but murder:

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You don’t go around accusing people of murder without being pretty certain of your ground.

The villagers were used to pothole rescues and the occasional accidental death. Murder was a different matter, especially of a man known as the local rogue. This was no outsider’s crime where the body had been brought in and dumped. This, in all likelihood, had been committed by one of them.

Power structures were always the same: everyone gets kicked by the people above them and then kicks the person below, especially in an organisation like the police force where rank is all-important.

a well-educated person was not someone who knew the answer to every question, but someone who knew where to find the answer?

There’s nothing the ghoulish public like more than gawping at the scene of a murder.

That was a much bigger and more difficult thing than people realised, he thought. To be alright.

That’s what Hannah Arendt called the “banality of evil”. She was talking about Adolf Eichmann, an unremarkable bureaucrat whose day at the office involved organising the transportation of Jews from Budapest to Auschwitz. Evil’s very ordinary; it’s close to us all the time, just as goodness is. It’s a dangerous illusion to preen ourselves up on our feelings of superiority

Police were like the rest of officialdom generally: they interfered with your work and made things difficult with their regulations and bureaucracy.

had

Any suggestions, then, on what two ladies of a certain age were doing driving a cat around the Dales at 8 p.m. on a cold December night?

there was a duckpond on the village green across from the hall that no one paddled in, partly because it was rumoured to be bottomless, but mostly because it was home to two permanently enraged geese.

She was one cat allergy away from being the village’s designated eccentric as it was.

clothes, was damp and when Oldroyd

I like coffee. Coffee is how I get through the day without arresting everyone I meet.” Not entirely an exaggeration. She’d tried to switch to alternating decaf and full-power once in her early days with the police, and had nearly punched her partner for chewing his gum too loudly. She worked best when caffeinated.

He is good at it,” Mortimer said. “Just more good will to all and less death head stares on the details, I think.” He paused. “Was there a sea serpent fighting a unicorn skeleton on that?” Amelia snorted. “So you didn’t spot the zombie centaurs trampling the pixies? Ugh. He’ll grow out of it. I hope.

he wasn’t quite sure what the High Lord was thinking of, calling a full Furnace of dragons.

Miriam thought that they might not be that silly, but they might be that stubborn, which was quite often very much the same

How dreary-swift with naught to travel to is time?

Evil’s very ordinary; it’s close to us all the time, just as goodness is. It’s a dangerous illusion to preen ourselves up on our feelings of superiority to those who commit these awful crimes.

We should never judge, really; we never know the full circumstances and it’s easy to become self-righteous. We should always think: “There but for the grace of God”.

You have to support your children in the bad as well as the good times.’ She was not alone in that conclusion. As Prince Charles wandered over the Yorkshire Dales on his green mission, a phalanx of psychologists, royal watchers and indignant mothers condemned the Prince for his behaviour. ‘What kind of dad are you?’ asked the headline in the Sun newspaper.