Standing there in the sunshine on the road, they appeared to me more than anything like a gang of prehistoric folk risen from some tumulus on the moor; features, garments, horses, vehicles – all were tinctured with Mother Earth’s reds and browns picked up from wild heaths, clay-pits, and sandy lanes. Although obviously poor, they were light-hearted – I had caught the lilt of a song before they came in sight. A blithesome spirit of acceptance, a serenity drawn from Nature’s bosom was theirs, and I could imagine them whistling cheerily as they bent their heads to buffeting storms.
Hall/Parson
THE NORTH RIDING PROJECT 
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