One Has Arrived

Fitting into life in a small picturesque North Yorkshire village, imagined as something of a Royal Undertaking.

Great Ayton, England

One now finds oneself in a small corner of Great Britain, endeavoring to blend in with the local people of the picturesque but economically-sized village of Great Ayton, in the district of Hambleton, on the edge of the North Yorkshire Moors, in North Yorkshire, England.

The addition to this population (4346 people resident in Great Ayton at the 2021 census) of one small female (#4347) demonstrating a degree of seniority in age and a head of silvered hair, has apparently raised no suspicions here regarding one’s identity.

One had surmised, you see, that a spell of time spent in such quiet picturesque village surroundings would afford one time to get one’s thoughts onto paper.

Walking in the peaceful meadows, seeing the colorful show of flowering gardens, and observing the farm animals grazing calmly in the nearby fields — it’s a far cry from regular responsibilities and stifling duties.

Sometimes one can escape from all that to-do via a handy sabbatical. One secures said sabbatical, and then one just takes off! Pip pip! Off one goes!

Other times the obtaining of a hard-earned cessation from one’s official obligations apparently requires much more complicated measures, such as the tedious faking of one’s own funeral.

One has now unpacked all of one’s things in one’s charming, petite cottage — a significant achievement considering one’s current lack of staff — and one has begun to undertake regular forays by foot to explore this charming village.

Scenes observed on one’s local perambulations.

At first it was a worry that one’s rather unusual-for-these-parts accent might attract undue attention.

One definitely does not sound like a local personage at all.

One is not sure what the locals here do sound like. Their speech is a phenomenon one struggles at times to describe.

“Ayup cock, nar then!” is apparently some sort of local greeting.

The statement only seems to require one to nod one’s head in return, and perhaps then to state with conviction, “Ayup.”

“Eee, tha’s a reet gradly brew tha’” translates, one has discovered, as “Oh my heavens, what a wonderful cup of tea this is.”

In this case, the correct response is also a nod of the head, with the option of accompanying it with a slightly more forceful, “Ayup!” (One has indicated the difference by employing the mark of exclamation here.)

His name is Django. Django is not a Corgi.

Thus one has managed to conquer the local dialect. Unless what they speak here slightly north of the North Yorkshire moors is actually a totally separate language from The Queen’s, or one’s, English.

One shall be sure to let all of you know, at one’s earliest possible convenience.

One is off now, as one hears it is Quiz Night this very evening at the Royal Oak Pub and Hotel of Great Ayton, with the topic being British Royal History.

One knows a thing or two about that. And one can already feel one’s imminent winnings securely in one’s handbag.