Diary of Pip Rippon

Been out of Hellsborough for ten days or so, so back out for a biggish tour; I've missed this place. Out across Wadsley common, then up through Coumes Wood and onto Onesmoor, now sans yellow snough weed. Down to Bradfield and then up and over Castle hill.

This will be my last day in Hellsborough for a while, as I'm travelling in the offworld. Heading out towards for the Dragon's Den at Wharncliffe side, but alas, for a change I was beaten back by fatigue, so returned without much fanfare to Outibridge, stopping by a place named for some exotic species of flapper not indigenous to these parts, and another place in this village that doesn't like the idea of a barker on the premises. Strange folk.

Shad surprised me today, and not at all in a good way. We had done several thousand paces, out and about around Bradfield and its surrounds, when Shad ran off ahead; the last I saw of him for several moments, was as he clear vaulted a stile, somewhere near Stubbing lane. When I finally caught up with him, he had decided that it would be a fun idea to roll around in what can only be described as the most heinous substance that has ever assaulted my nostrils. Demonspawn dung, no less. We were some distance from any source of water to try and wash the muck off, so I had the indignity of leading the smelly beast for some time before I was able to dunk him in the Loxley and clean some of the filth away. He wasn't impressed, but fortunately kept his temper under control.

The vast majority of my diary writing concerns things that I find and experience in Hellsborough and The Dark Peak, that, after all, it what this whole thing is all about. This journal entry is different. I wanted to talk about an experience before I ever visited Hellsborough.

This experience was long before I started studying for my PhD, I was still an undergraduate and despite having a lifelong love of all things supernatural, and investigating many strange phenomena in Yorkshire and further abroad, I had never found anything that hadn't already been discovered by someone else, usually many times before.

The study of folklore is a strange thing, some would say a pointless thing - why study old wives tales, they say - what is the point, what can you learn - how does it improve our understanding of, well, anything?

To be fair, this is often my more logically orientated brothers and sisters who work in the STEM fields -- that is Science, Technology, Engineering and Maths -- that raise these things. Likewise, those of us in the arts and humanities refer to them as techies and nerds that are sometimes just missing the point in their headlong dive into the pursuits of wealth, prosperity, the future of humanity, and deeds of that like.

Might it be them, I reason, that is missing something by not learning about the achievements of our forefathers and mothers?

I mean a tale maybe a tale, but it had a genesis somewhere, otherwise it wouldn't have gained any traction to begin with, would it?

Think of the modern day meme. Memes can spread incredibly quickly these days via social media. They change as they encounter different cultures, different ages groups, different tribes -- they mutate, take on lives of their own -- is that not exactly like folklore? Are old wives tales, legends and myths not just ancient memes?

Maybe, but why investigate the origin of memes? My logical friends say. And the argument -- discussion -- starts anew.

Sooner or later someone will mention God. It's always a surprise to me how many devotees of evolution; dedicated biologists and geneticists, also commit to having faith in a supreme being.

Isn't God a meme? An old wives tale?

I just can't reconcile the two at all myself, but I guess that's all good, it's all just a part of life's rich tapestry. Possibly I have been influenced by d'divi - Dunlockslyn

As a folklorist I strive to understand the significance of beliefs. To me, folklore means something –- to the tale teller, to the song singer, to the believer -- no story would be re-told unless it continued to have some relevance to its audience.

There is an amphitheatre in the beacon woods where the flappers sing sweetly, quite a magical place, where you feel at peace and where the murk -- on this occasion at least -- was thin and not as oppressive as it sometimes can be. Spotted some propaganda on today's walk: Don’t worry wooltards! Despite their apparent stupidity, they do, as the poster says, provide vital protein and resources for Hellsborough folk, and I do always keep Shad on a firm leash whenever we are anywhere near them.

Up on Wadsley common. A humid day, there must be something not quite right with the humidity plant, since the ether is hot and sticky and far warmer than you'd expect for the time of year. Instinctively I know that Shad is in need of a drink -- not sure how that works, an undead barker needing a drink. I'm guessing, but assuming that it's some sort of muscle memory type thing; he remembers from when he was flesh that he needs water, even though he'd be perfectly fine without it -- but anyway, used local knowledge to locate the nearest source of possible refreshment, taking a route down off the common, from the edge, through the devil's drop and spike hagg. A minor disaster though, the stream -- usually in full flow, was dry. So down further, into the old quarry near the Hood house. We found a new "lake" there, never seen it before. Shad sat in it for a good time.