THE NORTH RIDING PROJECT

When you approach Skinningrove from the east you suddenly see the great iron works perched high on a steep cliff like a castle of the Rhine, chimneys fuming, and down below it, hung on the almost vertical slope, that invariable adjunct to Yorkshire industry, the pigeon houses and allotments of the workers.  Further down still, right in the sharp cleft of the wyke or valley, is the village of Skinningrove: a few jumbled rows of brick terraced houses which no doubt sager men than I have condemned but which I think, in some strange way, are beautiful.

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A slum it may be, but it is a happy slum, where families have lived for generations, everyone knows everybody else; there are a couple of dozen good ‘part-timer’ boats that go fishing in a serious way, a fine big pub called for no reason that anybody can think of Timm’s Coffee House, and a good club.  Authority does not carry much mandate down there, people can have their allotments and their pigeon houses and do much as they like.

Seymour/Companion, 1974