Open Writing

A crunch of grit below my feet, starlight across the hills as I tramped towards the first youth hostel. Well, not exactly my first -- I’d hostelled once when I was a national service man -- now I was truly free.

Friends told me of the kindly reception I’d meet in the Yorkshire Dales hostels. I was about to try it out.

‘Come in, let’s have your membership card, supper’s almost ready.’

I had an appetite in those days and two years in the Air Force sharpened it. We sat by the spluttering fire, just me and the two wardens. They yarned about some well known hostellers, places I could visit next week, life amongst the fells. After National Service it felt like kingdom come.

Two days I walked alone crossing Ingleborough and Wernside in the late autumn sun. Third day I dipped into secret Dentdale, its steep sides enclosing a rambling old house, now a hostel packed with weekend visitors.

I remember the comradeship of a noisy dining room lit by oil lamps, candles on the way to bed, little sense of health and safety in those days. We’d just won a war.

From Dent I crossed to Garsdale Head, hoping to meet legendary Jack, warden of a remote hostel perched on top of the hill. As I entered through the kitchen door there
was a scream. A terrified farmer’s wife was minding the place for Jack Lonsdale and never expected a young man to arrive through the wrong door. She calmed down and we became good friends later in the evening, telling me about her own adventures youth hostelling with a horse.

Two nights later I came to Aysgarth famous for its series of waterfalls along the river Ure. I was welcomed in by Mr. and Mrs. Gummerson, famous for their Yorkshire hospitality and most popular youth hostel.

Rationing was still in force, but Mrs. Gummerson accumulated a stock of food points during the previous summer season and now had ample stocks in her larder. I remember feasting on meat and potato pies made in saucers and a hearty pudding to follow. And in those days I never put on weight.

Later I enjoyed a rare hostel treat -- sitting in the wardens’ private lounge with the famous Jack Lonsdale who I missed previously. I was warned that occasionally he rarely spoke a word, but tonight he was in good company and chatted amicably. Star turn was the Gummersons’ two collie dogs who played dominoes with one another on the hearth rug......

As autumn turned to wintry conditions I headed for Kettlewell and its notorious warden and the modern charms of Malham youth hostel.

So my first week of hostelling came to a close. On the last morning I tramped down to Skipton to take a bus home to Manchester, thinking of my welcome escape from service life and dreaming of a romantic future -- whatever that was to be.