Blind Jack, George Moore, Mother Shipton, Philip Larkin, Barnes Wallis, Bon Scott, Peter Pan and The Maid of Perth

I'm quite interested in public statues of famous (or just worthy) local people, and this post is about several of them. The first three are at Knaresborough in Yorkshire; the others mainly in Scotland. 

Let's start with Knaresborough. I went there for the first time on my way up to Orkney this year, and prowled the town on 29th April looking for shots. I got plenty. Knaresborough has a nice town square, but its glories lie downhill on its riverside: the gorge of the boaty River Nidd, the amazing railway bridge high over that river, and various attractive lanes and paths that link the riverside with the town above. Here are some views.

On the way down from the town centre, I passed this plaque concerning Blind Jack, a multi-talented eighteenth-century road builder, whom I'd heard of before.

 

Later on, I encountered the man himself, taking his ease on a seat in the town square, one arm resting on what looked like a measuring wheel, doubtless connected to his road-building profession. I don't know how he could do the things he did, but it just shows how a disability can be worked around.    

Back to the riverside. I'd found an inscription on this handsome church gate pillar. It mentioned George Moore, a notable modern benefactor of Knaresborough. 

And then down in a little park on the riverside was this rather lifelike statue of him. 

It struck me as unusual that he should be shown in a business suit with slip-on shoes. I suppose I'm too used to seeing statues of people dressed in togas, or some kind of fancy uniform with sword, sash and medals! But actually most modern statues do clothe the subject in ordinary contemporary clothing. Here are two other examples that come to mind: the poet Philip Larkin at Hull Paragon station, and Sir Barnes 'Bouncing Bomb' Wallis at Herne Bay. 

Philip Larkin, as taken by me in 2018. An impatient man in a hurry. He was still in a hurry when I returned in 2024, although nobody else was.

Sir Barnes Wallis stands on a tallish monolith at Herne Bay, looking out to sea. Presumably his Bouncing Bomb bounced where it was meant to go. Or perhaps not, as Herne Bay's pier has vanished, except for the pier head stranded far out at sea, with nothing to connect it to the shore.

Close to the little park on Knaresborough's riverside was the road bridge over the River Nidd, and I'd hoped to see signs of a pretty path that would take me along the lovely river bank to Mother Shipton's Cave, apparently once the abode of a lady notorious for her prophesies and magical arts - a witch, or at least a 'wise woman'. She was active a few decades before Blind Jack. Again, I'd heard of her before. But I hadn't heard about the long-established tourist industry that had grown up to exploit her memory.

The place had become an entertainment, with the emphasis on spectacle and thrilling the kiddies. And the entrance charges were exorbitant for what was there. If on my own, I'd have to pay a tidy sum (£15 on weekends) to pass through the gates and walk the half-mile or so to the cave. Or I could drive there and park, paying a king's ransom to do so (£39 on weekends). The charges were shown at the pedestrian entrance. A shock to many, I'd say. Click on the picture below to see the charges on the grey boards, and see if you can make sense of it.

So, supposing I turned up in my car on a Saturday afternoon with four children. (Most unlikely, but I dare say it would be possible in a parallel universe) We would all be covered by the humongous car charge of £39. But oddly, they would charge the same for the five of us if we come on foot! No, I don't get it. In any case, it's daylight robbery. 

Fortunately I didn't have to select how best to spend money on this: it was closed for the day. But I won't be back. I only wanted to see the Cave, and it obviously wasn't secluded, secret, hard to find, mysterious, and a suitable subject for an atmospheric picture or two. Much more like queueing to see one of the caves at Cheddar. Or a ride at Alton Towers. Sigh.

Still, in the town square was Mother Shipton herself - not as an old crone but as a younger woman, yet clearly a lover of pointy hats, all the same. She sat near Blind Jack. They probably whispered to each other.

Let's leave Knaresborough and beam down to Scotland. First stop, Kirriemuir, which is north of Dundee, and not far from Forfar. When there in 2022 I came across this rock star. Bon Scott, of AC/DC no less. 

He's not actually holding up that power wire!

It's a very sad truth that these high-profile music people mostly die young, and being a heavy metal frontman is certainly not the secret of long life. In fact I attribute my living to the somewhat ripe age of seventy-three to never becoming a rock legend. Thank goodness I walked away from it. What a lucky escape!

Kirriemuir has other claims to fame, the chief one being the birthplace of J M Barrie, the author of Peter Pan. Tourists flock there to see this rather twee statue of Peter Pan in a revealing miniskirt. 

Personally, I think Bon Scott's statue has far more noise and exuberance to it. The one to see.

Finally, The Fair Maid of Perth, in that city's High Street. This is a statue - seated again - of one of Sir Walter Scott's fictional heroines, Catherine Glover, and the book he published in 1828 relates what her lover has to go through to achieve a happy ending with her. The proceedings are set around the year 1400, and it's a convoluted tale of bloody conflict and of people dreadfully done to death in the name of honour or revenge. To be sure, it's certainly not Mary Poppins. Well, I encountered this lady on 26th May this year. I was on my way home from Orkney, and was spending an afternoon in Perth. It was our second chance to make friends. I'd met her before, in 2017, on a previous walk around the city. Here she was, on that occasion.

She was still sitting there in 2025, and seemingly hadn't moved one bit. 

I decided to be sociable, and sat beside her. I made polite conversation. No response. Not a dicky bird. Perhaps she was pondering all the slaughter going on around her, and had no words to spare. 

Oh well, you can't get blood out of a stone. I left her to it. 

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Kites

I watched the film Mary Poppins on New Years Day in January, and was much moved by the closing scene in which everyone is flying a kite, and it all ends happily. I was once very much into kites. Why not rekindle that interest? So a few months later, at the end of August, I bought - I should say 'repurchased' - a copy of David Pelham's definitive book on the history of kites, kite flying, and how to make them at home. I got it from the Oxfam Online Shop for £13.94, including delivery. I bought the original copy (published by Penguin) in 1976, nearly fifty years ago, for £2.75. It wasn't durable as a paperback - the pages would come loose - and eventually I discarded my first copy, intending to buy a replacement. But I never did, until this year.  

The 1970s saw kites take off. Hitherto regarded (in this country) as mainly a children's thing, there was suddenly a renewed interest in them, possibly spurred on by the then-new sport of hang-gliding. One could now buy ready-made 'stunter' kites that could be manoeuvred to swoop this way and that on beaches and hilltops. Everyone seemed to want to do that. (It was harder than it looked)

I'd noticed all this. But what made me delve into kite history and kite making back then? I really can't remember now, all these years afterwards. However, I do have a picture I took on 17th April 1975 of my younger brother Wayne holding a kite he'd made. At the time he spent his Sunday afternoons helping disabled children in a local special school, and of course kites could be flown by those who were stuck in a wheelchair. I fancy he'd made it for the enjoyment of the children, probably as a team project with others at his local church (unlike me, Wayne was religious and wanted to do Good Things). Anyway, here he is with his creation, outside Mum and Dad's house in Southampton. I was probably going to give him a lift to the school in my pale yellow Renault 12. That's Dad's red and white Citroën D Special in the background. We were into French cars at the time.

That looks like Christmas wrapping paper to me, but otherwise the kite certainly looks the business. I can't recall what Wayne said about its performance, but I'm sure that my curiosity must have been stirred.

Back to David Pelham's book. It was a revelation. I read about the history of kites. About oriental kites in particular, for fighting and for spectacular display. About kites used for rescue and wartime purposes, and how they inspired the first attempts at flight, and many other things about these tethered aircraft. Here it is (the copy I've now bought in 2025). As ever, click on any shot to enlarge it.

Half the pages in his book were devoted to making the various kites he discussed. I attempted some of the simpler designs. I didn't need much in the way of materials or equipment: just dowelling,  appropriate fabric or plastic, a ruler, scissors, coloured tape, metal eyelets, some kind of reel, and a lot of cord. Here are some of my own creations from 1977.

I tried out that red and blue box kite on Stockbridge Down, west of Winchester. Although it was breezy, and the kite nicely made, it was too heavy to lift off. To be honest, I was rather glad it hadn't. Box kites are efficient fliers, and this one would have pulled me into the air if the wind had been strong enough to make it fly. (I'm afraid my sewing skills didn't go further than this back in 1977)

Later in 1977 I made a sled kite in what I called the 'J' series (J for what?), which did fly, rather well. And when it came to reels, I was inventive with bits of plastic tubing and fishing line.

I had a young friend at the time, who shared my kite-making and kite-flying enthusiasm. Here are some shots from 1979 and 1982:

Bryan Ferry of Roxy Music was the love of her life. Me? By this time in 1982 I was only months away from getting married. But that's another story.

As you can see, the inspiration I took from David Pelham's book lasted several years. I found kite-making and kite-flying absorbing and relaxing. Photography was restricted by cost, the limitations of the cameras I could buy, and few opportunities to go anywhere exciting. But kite-flying on, say, Wimbledon Common was doable. The Wombles didn't get in the way. They cheered and applauded.

Here are some of the kite-making pages in the book.

That last is the sled kite design that originated in 1950, but later modified with various types of cut-out, to provide stability and avoid inward collapse in flight. This is the kind I most like, partly because it's easy to make and rolls up for transport. 

Will I try building a kite in 2025? I'm toying with the idea, but I don't think flying it would be so much fun. There are now regulations on where you can fly these things, and how high. And what if the kite encountered a drone? I see scope for damage and recriminations. However...

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