Sowerby (from the Old Norse saurr, or muddy ground plus farmstead) is a gentle walk from Thirsk, through the park, passing Mrs Pomfrey’s house (if you follow James Herriot) on the right with the York moors in the distance to the left, beyond Cod Beck. The beck runs the other side of the meadows. Cows frequently graze in these meadows. Keep going as you toddle from Thirsk (or you could drive) and you will find St. Oswald’s Church on your left.
It was originially a Norman Church, but all that remains of that era is in the tower. Of course the Church has been added to steadily since then – always in the style of the old. By the way, there are studs in the old door dated approximately 1680 but perhaps the ironwork, it is suggested, is old enough to be Norman. There is a tiny peephole in the corner between the tower and aisle, through which the alter is visible. But who would look? The mind boggles. Were they keeping an eye on the choristers, perhaps?
St Oswald’s also plays host to Sowerby Music which has been organising monthly professional concerts there for about 30 years and, goodness, there have been many memorable evenings to soothe and inspire.
Moving along Front Street you will see the lime avenue, which was planted by the village to commemorate Queen Victoria’s jubilee. In July/August a sublime scent drifts from the blossom while a multitude of tiny insects high above you, make hay while the sun shines. Let me show you the scented blossom.
There are houses of all sorts, grand and not, lining Front Street, but all set back from the road and somehow timeless. There is a pub, the Crown and Anchor, a war memorial with two wrought iron beautifully worked benches to sit and ponder, and the Methodist Church. If you move along the length of Front Street you will see the 17th century Pack Horse Bridge over which horses, or men, would carry loads and no doubt check the height of the water of Cod Beck below, which I do every single time.
Dick and I take our two dogs to Sowerby most days. Rosie is in her chariot, which is allowed for one of her advanced years, with Polly bouncing along beside, or hitching a lift. Into the grounds of St. Oswald’s we go, with its very old trees. The dogs are on the lookout for squirrels, while we just enjoy the calm, and walk through the cemetary, meeting others doing just the same, until we reach the wall, and look towards the beck, and wonder if there is any other region which so delights its residents?
