Mobile town crier

Today I found out about ‘thankful villages‘. These are places, also known as ‘blessed villages’, which sent people off to the war and they all returned. The villages are in England and Wales.

There’s a sign as you enter Catwick in Yorkshire, as we did today. Catwick is doubly thankful because no one died in the second war either.

Not so lucky was the village of Mappleton where there was a chap who didn’t return.

The man on the ride on mower let us into the church so we could photograph the war memorial.

We were in Mappleton in order to visit the beach so we could have a bit of fossil hunting. According to one source, if you turn right you’ll trip over them. I can vouch for the fact that this is not actually true.

Lorna and Darren managed to denude the beach by filling their car with rocks. After lugging everything up to their car we made ourselves very comfortable in the excellent cafe where Anthea knows the owner.

Our morning on the beach was lovely though I discovered that Anthea has a sand phobia. Because of this, she and John went for a wander along the grass path. They encountered a fisherman and a swan.

I found a very comfortable pair of rocks. One for the butt the other for the back. It was a strangely comfortable arrangement.

As comfortable, no doubt, as the old town crier we spotted in Polkington earlier on.

Actually, I spotted him in his scooter while the women, who felt the need to visit all 30 charity shops, had him pose for a less mobile photograph.

Back at the beach, we eventually left and made our way to Beverley.

The other weasels headed off for the Minster while Anthea and I took up residence in Nellie’s. It wasn’t long before the others joined us there.

I thought that maybe they didn’t like the Minster or, perhaps, they’d been thrown out for being weasels. But, no, it was because they only had 15 minutes before closing.

They ran around all the highlights before making their way to our rendezvous in the newly christened ‘Weasel Room’ in the pub.

While in the main bar, Anthea and I noticed that Bob was still seated in the same place drinking as he had been on Monday. Also there was a bit of a kerfuffle with the town drunk who the landlady threatened to ban. Like every other pub in town had already done. He was so drunk he thought I was Father Christmas.

Locals aside, there followed a couple of pints devoid of technology which was very refreshing indeed.

Obviously, there’s no photo.

Back at the house, we went out and bought fish and chips following a pint in the Market Tap.

Actually, we felt awfully sorry for the man in the Tap. He was trying to serve someone who was being distracted by another customer effectively blocking anyone else who may have wanted a drink.

Still, eventually it all worked out and we enjoyed a drink before heading back to the house.

There followed a rather noisy meal with talk about such strange subjects as nun’s milk, beehive teabags and house spiders.

It was not a late one for a change, because everyone kept falling asleep mid sentence.

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