I CONCUR with Cllr Andrew Waller that Dick (Richard) Turpin was notorious and only brought to notoriety as a highwayman through a Victorian centrefold of pantomime productions, along with a mixture of fact and fiction.

His exploits, alongside many of his ilk, encompasses murder and cattle rustling, having been an apprentice butcher from London’s Whitechapel district.

His reputation for gallantry or the horse he rode, Black Bess, has no basis in fact and, having eventually evaded the Bow Street Runners on his journey north, met his fate, being hanged on Knavesmire on the gallows, named “the three-legged mare”.

The reported horse ride from London to York was orchestrated by another highwayman, a Yorkshireman, Nevison.

As for historical interest, where lies Nevison’s remains, if one wishes to immortalise brutality in all its forms.

Kenneth Bowker, Huntington, York

 

LIKE many fans of rugby union, Allan Charlesworth cannot sing the praises of his own minority sport without throwing in plenty of snide comments about football – the national sport of association football, the most popular game in Britain and across the world, that is (Letters, September 23).

As usual it was the familiar propaganda that rugby is still infused with the Corinthian spirit, where, in contrast to the “prima donnas” in football, men are men and simply get on with the game even though one leg is hanging off, and where respect for the opposition and fair play remain at the heart of the game.

Perhaps Mr Charlesworth has forgotten Bloodgate.

In a 2009 Heineken Cup match against Leinster, Harlequins player Tom Williams came off the pitch having used fake blood capsules to indicate a blood injury so a team-mate who had earlier been substituted could re-enter the field of play.

The team doctor then cut the player’s lip to try to hide the use of the blood capsules.

So let us have no more of this moral superiority nonsense from the rugby fraternity.

Stephen Dalby, Mill Farm, Yapham

 

UNDER a blue sky infused with September sunshine, I stared up at the east face of York Minster and was struck dumb by the awesome sight in front of me.

For years now the great beauty has been lost to us because of scaffolding and protective covering, but now the layers are being revealed, layer by tantalising layer, like an exotic gothic architectural strip tease.

Presently the ivory white shoulders are bared and they are truly wondrous, having been restored to their full awe inspiring magnificence by the master masons.

York residents are now in the enviable position of being able to rejoice in the gradual unveiling of one of the world’s greatest treasures. Eventually it will stand and shine in full naked jaw-dropping glory.

Brian McCusker, Hartoft Street, York