Yorkshire has many places with very silly names. Rise, Jump, Settle. Idle. Wham. Giggleswick, Land of Nod, Netherthong. Robin Hood (yes, not ‘Robin Hood’s Bay’). And everyone’s favourite, Wetwang.
Plus Booze, where I was this morning. The hamlet of under a dozen houses is up a steep, steep lane off Arkengarthdale, not far from Reeth in the northern Dales. I was here for the Reeth Show this fine August Bank Holiday Monday, and I couldn’t resist popping in. Or rather, up.
The nearest booze to Booze is the renowned Red Lion Inn in Langthwaite, the village a mile down the hill from it. It’s been run by landlady Rowena for the last 45 years, and I sampled a fine pint of zippy Black Sheep IPA there last night, when I stayed in St Mary’s Church up the road.
This morning it was closed, so no chance of a coffee. But I tackled the 1 in 4 hairpins that clamber up the hill to Booze and give drone-like views over the dales and hills. A local woman on an MTB inched her way down, brakes squealing. It wasn’t an e-bike: I suspect like me she’d be pushing on her way back up.
So steep is the cul-de-sac road to Booze that in 2008 the Royal Mail refused to deliver any more, citing Health and Safety, protecting the bad backs of the drivers who were sometimes forced to reverse down. Normal service was soon resumed after road surface improvements.
Sadly, there are no signs for the place. Nothing at the junction on the main road saying ‘Booze >’. No ‘Welcome to Booze’ when you get there. And no Booze Inn or Booze Shop: there’s nothing apart from the farms and houses, not even a phone box. (The image at the top of this blog post is, obviously, a fake for amusement purposes. The true view is below.)
The only sign in Booze is one where the public road becomes a footpath, warning cyclists and horse riders that there’s no way through. Perhaps all the inhabitants have to push their cars from here. Or perhaps they just don’t want visitors.
The only thing I drank in was the views, but they were intoxicating enough. I hurtled back down the lane to Langthwaite past the Red Lion, and joined the main road to head for Reeth, where the annual Show was about to start.
Why the name? Apparently it’s derived from ‘bow house’, and is nothing to do with alcoholic liquor.
To recap: Yorkshire’s odd named village is at the end of a cul-de-sac. So the road to Booze leads nowhere. A lesson there, I think. Cheers!