Tall tales and true: of Yorkshire moors and the byways of Surrey: Then came Saxons, Vikings and Normans

There are ponds everywhere in this wolds country so we were tempted to stop to find out why. And it so happens that these wold villagers can give grateful thanks for these ponds to Saxon settlers who moved in on these lands as the Romans moved out.

The Saxons determined that to settle here they needed water. But they soon learned that these chalky wolds are porous and don't absorb or hold water well. There are too few streams and those few can ofttimes simply disappear underground, so are not reliable. As well, the land is high, so any rainwater runs down and away. So, to trap the water, the Saxons dug holes and lined them with an impermeable clay, to hold rainwater, runoff, and even the morning dew, in safe keeping for their use.

In places, though, they didn't build some ponds deep enough and villages would still run out of water. One long hot summer, in 1826, the pond in Fridaysthorpe dried up. Given that the situation was critical Fridaysthorpe folk decided to steal water from the pond in Fimber, the next village just a little over a mile away. This act almost caused a war between these two villages. Luckily, the very next night it started to rain, so the Fridaysthorpe pond was replenished without lives being lost.

Unless there is a farm shop close by most of these villages have no shop or cafe within cooee. We had long since given up the hunt for coffee on this stretch today, but were soon desperate to eat. We headed to what sounded like a farm shop on our Sat Nav points of interest, but it turned out to be a bikie pit-and-picnic stop, which, by then, was our only real option for lunch, so we stayed. It ended up being awesome. Our lunch, served from a hole in the wall outlet onto our wooden picnic table set under tall green shade trees, was soft fat floury baps, freshly laden with smoked ham, grated cheese and tomato. They were simple, but melt-in-the-mouth tasty, followed by great slabs of home-made curd and coconut cake, equally toothsome, all washed down with giant builders' mugs of boiling hot tea. The bikers were of the grey-haired variety with creaking bones and cracked leather jackets, but friendly, funny and informative. They ride these roads frequently, it turns out, and this pit stop is one of their regular hangouts. The picnic stop was actually once the Fimber railway stop for a line now dismantled. Queen Victoria stepped out here in the 1880s, as did the Princess Elizabeth in the 1950s, just before the line was discontinued. If they came back now they could have tea with the bikies and look out along a pretty grassy stretch lined with trees where once the rail line they travelled was laid.

We took a little walk after lunch, enjoying the surrounding woodland, only to come across a stand of trees that looked for all the world as if they come directly out of a David Hockey tree painting. So many spots around here remind me of his work. It is just magic. Our next stop was Sledmere, one of those dedicated red brick estate villages that has been entirely owned (bar two houses) by the Sykes family since the mid 1700s, when Richard Sykes, a merchant, fortuitously married Mary Kirby, who happened to inherit the house and lands bringing them with her into her marriage. Richard soon tore down Mary's house, and built a mansion surrounding it with 20,000 newly planted trees. Another descendent extended the mansion, planted 2,500 acres of trees, and moved the village and the villagers further along, to give the mansion a better outlook. Which is similar to the tale of Milton Abbas in Dorset. Capability Brown was even commissioned to design the grounds. Another descendent built a castle in the grounds as a folly. A further descendent, Sir Tatton Sykes, the 5th Baronet, happened to be eating his favourite milk pudding when the mansion roof caught fire in 1911. He was loathe to be disturbed at the time. Luckily the villagers were on hand to rescue the valuable collection of paintings and furniture before the roof caved in. The mansion was rebuilt and enhanced and today sits surrounded by hundreds of acres of extensive grounds, gardens and monuments. It is unbelievable.

We took a side route up to Weaverthorpe because we liked the sound of its name, and here found a fading mix of Saxon and Norman features in a simple blocky decaying church high on a hill, beyond an old lych gate. The church had once been funded for repairs by one of the Sykes family members, Sir Tatton Sykes of Sledmere, who, in Victorian times, very generously funded repairs to some 18 crumbling churches throughout the Wolds. The name 'Weaverthorpe' comes with Scandinavian roots, from the era when Vikings settled these parts. It roughly means 'a farm or a settlement belonging to a man named Wivar'. This ancient church sits in a village that may have seen Saxon, Viking and Norman parishioners attend evening prayer. And it still survives. The tower is part Saxon, the beautiful font is Norman, and the stone effigy at the entrance to the church was moved there quickly from a nearby priory just as it was about to be decimated under Henry V111's orders to dissolve the priories and monasteries.

Our last stop for the day was a set of tiny villages around Langtoft and Thwing with white wooden directional signs placed near their village ponds. Their unusual place names point out their Scandinavian heritage. One tale told in these parts is that during WW1 when Danish soldiers passed through they found the local Yorkshire dialect so close to its original Viking source that the Danish soldiers and the Yorkshire residents found they could actually converse with one other. So, it's a little like Parisians meeting folk from Montreal, I guess. Where there are sufficient similarities to survive the aeons. As well as being a tiny lesson in how language actually evolves. These Yorkshire folk may be a little set in their ways. The authorities attempted to change the East Riding of Yorkshire name to 'Humberside'. Signs were put up around the ridges but Yorkshire folk continued to correct them, so the solution was to simply take them down again.

We headed home to to enjoy our view, which, historically, is probably part of the East Riding, too. And so it may stay.