Within the Forest of Galtres a motte-and-bailey castle was built at the site of Sheriff Hutton by Ansketil de Bulmer on land given to him by William the Conqueror; it was rebuilt in 1140 by Bertram de Bulmer, Sheriff of York, during the reign of King Stephen[10] The extant remains of the stone-built Sheriff Hutton Castle were built at the western end of the village by John, Lord Neville in 1382–98.[11]
The poet John Skelton set his musing dream in “The Garlande of Laurell” (1523), “studyously dyuysed at Sheryfhotton Castell, in the Forest of Galtres”, where
That me to reste, I lent me to a stump
Of an oke, that sometyme grew full streyghte….
Whylis I stode musynge in this medytatyon
In slumbringe I fell and halfe in a slepe…
From the poem the reader learns that Elizabeth, Countess of Surrey, with the ladies of her household, was living at Sheriff Hutton. At the time it was a seat of her father-in-law the Duke of Norfolk, who was occupied as general-in-chief of an army raised for the invasion of Scotland.
The wood is eleven acres of what remains of the Forest of Galtres also known as Turkers wood The royal Forest of Galtres was established by the Norman kings of England in North Yorkshire, to the north of the Ancient City of York, extending right to its very walls.
The main settlement within the royal forest was the market village of Easingwold you will be able to guide google earth into that area there are still the remnants of Victorian dump pits within . It is very isolated at this location and one or two fields are ideal for an unseen landing of an outer craft . There are still living trees from seven hundred years ago within more recent plantings, a fourteenth century posey ring was found there as recently as last year 2016
Tell Me
Tell me I’m dreaming for I live in another world, one I can’t explain. Into the night I go, dark and unknown.
beating to a distant drum one that leads to the door of the forever world.
Once opened the view becomes forever, til I rest up on the whitest purest cloud I know that would be heaven.
Pampering to our own demons that is all we do, courting fear for another day. Doesn’t anyone realize it’s hard to carry
on in days that seem too long, in a world where tomorrow always dawns.
Tell Me In Shakespeare
Bid me I’m dreaming f’r I liveth in anoth’r w’rld, one I can’t explain. Into the night I wend, dark and unknown.
besting to a distant drumeth one yond leads to the doth’r of the f’rev’r w’rld.
Once opened the view becomes f’rev’r, til I rest up on the whitest purest vapor I knoweth yond wouldst beest heaven.
Pampering to our owneth demons yond is all we doth, courting feareth f’r anoth’r day. Doesn’t anyone realizeth it’s hard to carryeth
on in days yond seemeth too longeth, in a w’rld wh’re tom’rrow at each moment dawns