The Hart and the Pool

The name Hartlepool gives me a sort of double vision: on the one hand, there are all the Arthurian associations of the white hart which leads the knights to a pool in the forest, beside which a damsel sits in a tent... And one suggested derivation of the name does indeed involve harts and pools; on the other hand, there is British West Hartlepool, a comedy prefix which plays up the expectation that the words "British West" must prefix some remote and exotic location ("Indies", say) by following it with the drabbest of domestic towns - Hartlepool, small, northern, industrial (or now, post-industrial)*. Hartlepool has a reputation throughout the north east as the place where they hanged a monkey as a spy, and Hartlepool takes a perverse pride in its reputation. The claim made by one of the noticeboards dotted about the old town, indicating points of interest, that "Hartlepudlians are known throughout the world as 'monkey-hangers'" (my italics) is probably an exaggeration, but it is consistent with my "on the one hand, on the other hand" feeling about the place.

A day out in Hartlepool - you can laugh, but we had our reasons: the plan was, a walk by the sea, tick a few squares off the Use Your Paths challenge, explore the Headland - did nothing to dispel this feeling.

( A morning at Teesmouth, nature reserve and industrial site )

( A afternoon on the Headland )

durham_rambler has just pointed out the moon and Venus, deep in conversation outside my window. Time for bed.

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*In fact, Hartlepool itself ("Old Hartlepool") and West Hartlepool are, strictly speaking, two separate towns, but that only strengthens my case...