Happy Yorkshire Day! As the old saying goes: ‘Tha can allus tell a Yorkshireman, but tha can’t tell ‘im much’.
The number of acres covered by Yorkshire is more than the number of letters in the King James Bible. Yorkshire is England’s largest county and its boundary, over 600 miles long, was established more than 1100 years ago.
The word Riding is derived from a Danish word ‘thridding’, meaning a third. The invading Danes called representatives from each Thridding to a thing, or parliament and established the Ridings System. To this day, Yorkshire consists of a North, East and West Riding, along with the City of York, and that’s why there is no fourth, or South, Riding.
The origin of the Yorkshire rose is somewhat obscure, but it is said to have first been adopted by Edmund of Langley, the first Duke of York, in the 14th century. It represents the Virgin Mary who was often called the ‘Mystical Rose of Heaven’. During the War of the Roses the white rose was used as a symbol by supporters of the House of York. During the Battle of Minden in 1759, Yorkshire soldiers ensured a famous victory, displaying death defying bravery. During the battle, the Regiments wore wild roses that they had plucked from the hedgerows as they advanced to engage the enemy.
Yorkshire people are immensely proud of both county (commonly referred to as ‘God’s Own County‘) and their identity. It is sometimes suggested that Yorkshiremen identify more strongly with county than with country. They are often stereotyped as being warm and friendly but ‘bloody minded’ (stubborn) or argumentative.
The Yorkshire Regiment is now the only Regiment named for its county in the British Army, a distinction ‘Yorkshire Warriors‘ are proud to declare.
A poem to celebrate this great day:
Hi waitress, excuse me a minute, now listen, I’m not finding fault, but here, Miss, The ‘taters look gradely… the beef is a’reet,
But what kind of pudden is this?
Yorkshire pudden!, now coom, coom, coom.
It’s what? Yorkshire pudden d’ye say!
It’s pudden, I’ll grant you… it’s some sort of pudden,
But not Yorkshire pudden… nay nay!
The real Yorkshire pudden’s a dream in batter,
To make one’s an art, not a trade,
Now listen to me, for I’m going to tell thee,
How t’ first Yorkshire pudden wor made.
A young angel on leave from heaven,
Came flying above Ilkley Moor,
And this angel, poor thing, got cramp in her wing,
And coom down at owd woman’s door.
The owd woman smiled and said, ‘Ee, it’s an angel,
Well I am surprised to see thee,
I’ve not seen an angel before… but thou ‘rt welcome,
I’ll make thee a nice cup o’ tea.’
The angel said, ‘Ee, thank you kindly, I will’,
Well, she had two or three cups of tea,
Three or four Sally Lunns, and a couple of buns…
Angels eat very lightly you see.
The owd woman looking at clock said, ‘By Gum!
He’s due home from mill is my Dan,
You get on wi’ ye tea, but you must excuse me,
I must make pudden now for t’ owd man.
Then the angel jumped up and said, ‘Gimme the bowl…
Flour and watter and eggs, salt an’ all,
And I’ll show thee how we make puddens in Heaven,
For Peter and Thomas and Paul’.
So t’ owd woman gave her the things, and the angel,
Just pushed back her wings and said. ‘Hush’
Then she tenderly tickled the mixture wi’ t’ spoon,
Like an artist would paint with his brush.
Aye, she mixed up that pudden with Heavenly magic,
She played with her spoon on that dough,
Just like Paderewski would play the piano.
Or Kreisler now deceased would twiddle his bow.
And then it wor done and she put it in t’ oven
She said t’ owd woman, ‘Goodbye’,
Then she flew away leaving the first Yorkshire pudden,
That ever was made… and that’s why…
It melts in the mouth, like the snow in the sunshine,
As light as a maiden’s first kiss,
As soft as the fluff on the breast of a dove…
Not elephant’s leather, like this.
It’s real Yorkshire pudden that makes Yorkshire lassies,
So buxom and broad in the hips,
It’s real Yorkshire pudden that makes Yorkshire cricketers,
Win County championships.
It’s real Yorkshire pudden that gives me my dreams,
Of a real Paradise up above,
Where at the last trump, I’ll queue up for a lump,
Of the real Yorkshire pudden I love.
And there on a cloud… far away from the crowd,
In a real Paradise, not a dud ‘un,
I’ll do nowt for ever… and ever and ever,
But gollup up real Yorkshire pudden.
Copyright; Weston and Lee
Yorkshire Declaration of Integrity 2015
Your attention please:
I, (reader’s name) being a (native of) and resident in the East/North/West Riding of Yorkshire (City of York if within the walls) declare:
• that Yorkshire is three Ridings and the City of York with these boundaries of one thousand, one hundred and thirty nine years standing;
• that the address of all places in these Ridings is YORKSHIRE;
• that all persons born therein or resident therein and loyal to the Ridings are Yorkshire men and women;
• that any person or corporate body which deliberately ignores or denies the aforementioned shall forfeit all claim to Yorkshire status.
These declarations made this Yorkshire Day 2015.
GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!