In search of cricket: Third time lucky at Glasshouses

It’s a strange state of affairs when you’re in the cricket season and it’s devilishly difficult to find any cricket.

Having pored over weather apps, listened to forecasts and looked at who was playing where, the prospect of week two of league cricket looked a little brighter.

After 20 April fixtures had been postponed by leagues across Yorkshire due to grounds still being unfit, I opted to head to Blubberhouses.

The village club plays in the Nidderdale & District Amateur Cricket League and their firsts were at home to Helperby. A few folk I know rate Blubberhouses as their favourite ground and this Division One fixture offered rural cricket, with the prospect of a farm shop nearby for lunch.

Blubberhouses lies in the Washburn Valley in North Yorkshire; a swathe of leafiness with Skipton to the West and Harrogate to the East.

According to English heritage, the curious name, Blubberhouses, is said to derive from the Middle English ‘bluber’ or bubbling spring, joined with ‘husum’ or houses.

While there might be houses next to a bubbling spring in Blubberhouses, it’s probably better known as being on the route of the 2014 Tour de France. Côte de Blubberhouses was a few kilometres of gentle climb (compared to others in Yorkshire like Rosedale Chimney and Glaisdale Horror.)

To get to Blubberhouses from where I live, I would ordinarily take the A59 from Skipton but that has been closed by North Yorkshire Council since February due to a crack appearing in the verge.

Signs of a landslip at Kex Gill has made getting to Blubberhouses trickier, but certainly not impossible. We headed North from Otley over farmland with the 300-metre Askwith Moor summit off to our left.

Just off the bit of the A59 you can reach is the start of Hardisty Hill. It’s a meandering left turn through a gate to head down to the cricket ground near the River Washburn.

📸 The Blubberhouses photos shown here are from a travel feature by Mark Doherty for this website.

As Robert Burns put it, the best-laid plans sometimes go awry. Having decided on the day where to head and not called to check if the fixture was on, we were greeted by a padlocked gate.

Fortunately, Mackenzies Farm Shop & Cafe, a bit further up the hill, offered a pre-planned pitstop to graze and regroup.

We sat in the conservatory and had one of the finest pies I have ever eaten. (I’ve had many for a bit of context).

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My wife and I chomped in contented silence, interrupted only by my occasional vigorous nodding; a thing I do to reinforce the magnificence of a particular meal.

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The guy serving us was a noticeable blend of friendliness and gentle upselling. It was an artform we could all learn from. His genuine warmth and way of talking about food on the menu was magnetic.

Staff there told us that the road closure had crippled the business and forced redundancies, with far fewer visitors willing to make an extra effort to head to Blubberhouses for a bite to eat.

Well, they’re missing out and the delayed roadworks should be back open in the coming months. Hopefully it’s not too late for Mackenzies who also have a terrific farm shop.

Heading back to watch cricket at Blubberhouses and stopping off again for lunch at Mackenzies at some point in the future will be no hardship whatsoever.

We opted to visit The Coldstones Cut. Having missed the car park (my fault), we bobbed down into Pateley Bridge to turn round and went back up that very steep hill and turned into a stony enclave that wreaked havoc on the suspension.

The walk up Greenhow Hill to The Coldstones Cut was deceptively steep but worth being buffeted by strong winds as my hamstrings begged for mercy.

The views up here, at 1375 feet above sea level, are a glorious advert for the marvels of Nidderdale; an AONB (Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty).

At this free public sculpture by Andrew Sabin, walkers are rewarded with a striking vista of a working quarry after a tall stone entrance reminiscent of Game of Thrones.

It evokes arrival at an ancient, craggy citadel, albeit one with a nod to modern street architecture (stone bollards and yellow parking lines). The Coldstones Cut is unlike anything I’ve seen before and is slightly mad in its conception but I was very impressed.

The central passage leads to unfettered views of the quarry; previous excavations give the impression of the land as an opera cake with its many layers exposed.

You can then head left or right up disorientating circular stone passageways before coming out at the top to be greeted by Nidderdale gusts and 360-degree scenery.

There are compass points on a curving metal display so that place names from Yorkshire blend with others from around the world are listed at various degrees.

At 185 degrees, Bingley was 25.1km away and Magnetic South Pole some 16051.1km. Inevitably, visitors (including us) walked slowly round the semi-circle ticking off places been but also pausing to get a sense of Yorkshire villages out towns out there somewhere too.

Geographically enhanced, it was time for warmer ears and pancakes so we hopped back in the car to head back to Pateley Bridge.

The plan had been to catch a few overs but the 1st XI Division One game against Masham was called off, presumably because the pitch wasn’t ready as it had been dry all day.

Pancakes were a pleasing substitute; made in minutes and delivered swimming in lemon juice and generously buried in cinnamon powder. The Pancake House on the High Street is well-reviewed online and with good reason.

Sated and determined to see some club cricket at last, we had a final roll of the dice and went to Glasshouses; a favourite of mine and its own chapter from my last book, Dales, Bails and Cricket Club Tales.

They were at home to Ripon 2nd XI, according to the ECB’s Play-Cricket Match Centre, so we took ourselves off to Harewells Close and parked up in the corner, as far away from a booming straight drive as it is possible to be on the ground with small straight boundaries.

Tea was being served. Glasshouses doubtless pleased with 276-3 off 40 overs, courtesy of a stand of 192 between Tom Sanderson (118, below) and Amy Burton (50).

The palpable relief at first seeing cricketers in white is something that I get every year. It washes over me as if the world has righted itself in some profound way.

Maybe I’m overthinking things and just really like cricket.

True, it might be so cold today that the umpires resemble arctic penguins huddled round the tea urn in the clubhouse – but club cricket is officially here again in the form of Division Five of the Theakston Nidderdale League.

There is a half-hearted attempt at a fielding drill by Glasshouses who are using one of those cricket balls I recall from my childhood; half red, half white, negligible seam and harder on the palms than their leather counterparts.

There were also a few spares behind the metal grille shielding the clubhouse windows.

Some things pleasingly don’t change much.

Like then, the fielding involved whacking a ball into the air where someone would snaffle it or shell it, to a collective groan and laughter.

Glasshouses tell me that they’d be struggling for players during the week, as many sides do, but had rustled up a couple of father-and-son combos to bolster numbers. We also had the prospect of a new opening bowler for the home side from Afghanistan.

Foyaaz was a stocky lad with a slingy action (above) whose pace immediately troubled Ripon’s second team. He would finish the day with 5-27, ably assisted by Amy Burton (2-30); a Glasshouses stalwart who also plays for Sessay Emeralds.

With Ripon perched at a precarious 51-4, I had a chat to Glasshouses’ resident celebrity Ken, who lives by the ground and has worked on it for many decades.

We discuss life, the cursed weather and the best pizza (Pateley Pizza apparently). While pleased to have got back to this idyllic part of North Yorkshire, the cold has leeched into my marrow while I’ve been photographing the game so it’s time for off.

There will be warmer days and we may well return to Glasshouses for another dose of calm, foliage-filled contentment.

For me, this is village cricket at its most unspoilt, chiming with my childhood and in a beautiful part of the world.