I hadn’t dreamed there was a place like the Dales. I hadn’t thought it possible that I could spend all my days in a high, clean-blown land where the scent of grass or trees was never far away; and where even in the driving rain of winter I could snuff the air and find the freshness of growing things hidden somewhere in the cold clasp of the wind. Anyway,
I read Herriot’s book during a week of walking in the Dales while staying at the Wheat Sheaf, the hotel where Herriot honeymooned in 1941. His descriptions of the Dales is spot on.
