Owner, Carolyn, was born and bred in Weardale and the poems below were written by her grandfather:


Springing heather, gleaming grass,
  Sunlit shadows of clouds,
Of billowing white, in the west wind’s flight,
  Speeding across the moors.
The stone-built sod-topped butts that stand
  Like sentinels still on the hill,
And one great superfluity
  Of glorious air to fill
Our lungs and life with health and joy
  The happy content of the free
True Knowledge of this perfectness,
  What can there better be?


Skies that fade in the evening light,
To the slaty blue of a perfect night,
A breathless lake all Nature’s mirror,
Reflects the hills with scarce a quiver,
Save where a black and hungry snout,
Makes rippling rings of a rising trout,
To break the light of the sunken moon,
That yellow glows like a toy balloon.
The play of oars, ripples that float
Far in the wake of the little white boat,
That sleepy old contented murmur
Of keen-edged reapers cutting clover,
And drifting smoke from a cottage hearth,
Welcoming home on their evening path,
Haymakers, hungry, hot, and tired,
To food and drink, and much desired
Sleep, in a whitewashed, raftered room,
Where there is neither dust nor gloom,
But fresh and cool through windows wide
There drifts the breeze of eventide,
And with it softly, gently stray,
The mingles scents of old land hay,
Cyringa, woodsmoke, earth and fir,
Ah happy, healthy days that were
Last summer; yet, the winter rife
Is but the advent of the life,
Each New Year brings again.