MY frequent excursions to the North York Moors often take me through Rosedale, and in recent weeks those journeys have been affected by damage to the carriageway of the famous Chimney Bank.

This steep, winding hill, which carries a spectacular moorland route into the village from Hutton le Hole, has been badly affected by flood water and, at the time of writing these notes, it is open only to one-way light traffic.

It seems odd that a remote and lofty hill in the centre of the moors could be affected by flood water, but this was due to a deluge somewhere on the heights, following which powerful masses of fast-flowing water raced down this hill and scooped away earth and rocks along the edges of the road.

As a consequence, deep ditches were formed at both sides of the road, which in turn have rendered the carriageway unstable in places.

Added to this is the risk to motor vehicles and people if they inadvertently leave the metalled surface on Chimney Bank.

The current restrictions on this road have highlighted this route's importance to Rosedale's small community of residents, and indeed those who visit the village on a regular basis, whether in the course of business or on holiday.

At the height of the tourist season, detours were necessary and I am sure some would-be visitors were deterred.

It was this interruption to normality which frustrated Rosedale's attempt to recover from the devastation caused by foot-and-mouth disease. Due to the disease, visitors did not visit the locality and the local economy suffered.

The suffering from these two natural events, however, was tiny compared with one of Rosedale's earlier experiences.

I was reminded of this when someone asked me why Chimney Bank is so named. The answer is that a massive 100ft-high brick-built chimney stood near the summit. It was a relic of the Klondike-style iron ore boom of the nineteenth century, but was demolished in 1972 because it was considered dangerous.

This action removed one of the most famous landmarks of the North York Moors, but its name lives on in this equally famous hill.

Rosedale's iron ore industry may have begun as early as the Iron Age, and later the monks of Byland Abbey came to mine ore. Rosedale had forges in 1209, then in 1328 Edward II granted some nuns an area of land for iron ore working.

But these early efforts were nothing compared with the nineteenth century boom.

At first, iron ore mined in Rosedale was rejected because of its inferior quality, but later discoveries revealed excellent deposits, along with the good news that a massive amount awaited anyone who could extract it.

The first mine was opened in 1851 by George Leeman of York, the MP and railway magnate, and this yielded more than three million tons between 1856 and 1885.

Its success led to other mines being opened and soon Rosedale's beautiful and tranquil moorland landscape was transformed into a noisy, dirty and very busy industrial area.

Miners' cottages, chapels, a hospital, engine sheds, warehouses, coal depots and shops all followed.

There were workshops too, and an amazing railway line which ran around the rim of the dale, and whose route can still be seen. Although this was essentially a mining line, it crossed some stunning countryside with wonderful views and carried passengers on occasions. It was one of the first railways to cater for sightseers.

At the beginning of this era, Rosedale's population was about 550. By 1874, 500 additional people were living and working in the village and, at its peak, Rosedale was home to some 5,000 workers.

It had to cope with problems caused by a lack of entertainment and too much alcohol - there were fights over women, problems with drunkenness and instances of damage.

In fact, some of the workers raided the ruins of Rosedale Abbey and used the stones to build a lecture hall and schoolroom.

This amazing boom lasted for 70 years, but by the 1920s it was in decline and the end came with the General Strike of 1926. The last train ran along Rosedale railway in 1928 and so Rosedale found itself having to cope without its main source of business and income.

A visit to the dale will reveal relics of that astonishing period, some of which are eminently visible at the top of Chimney Bank.

The former railtrack is now a convenient footpath across the moors where it passes close to the Lion Inn at Blakey before heading across the heights to Ingleby Greenhow.

One final note: the name of Rosedale is not associated with a flower, but comes from the old Norse personal name of Russi. It means Russi's valley and today it is so peaceful and beautiful that it is difficult to believe it was, until very recently, a heavily industrialised area.

My daily morning walk revealed yet another casualty of passing traffic, this time a very small bird.

Close inspection showed its neat black cap, its greyish-brown wings and tail and lighter underparts. From a distance I thought it must be a willow tit or marsh tit, but its lack of a black chin convinced me it was a male blackcap.

This is one of the warbler family, a visitor to our shores for the summer months. Usually arriving in April, blackcaps will remain until the onset of autumn, probably leaving our shores by the end of September or early October, although some may remain in this country to spend their winter near the south coast.

They are birds of the woodlands, favouring sheltered places with lots of cover in the form of hedges, orchards, gardens and copses, or even briars and thick undergrowth.

The female does not have that distinctive black cap, however. Hers is a soft brown colour and so are those of the chicks, both male and female.

One odd characteristic is that the male will build several very frail nests, known as cocks' nests, and these are usually hidden among dense vegetation.

The main nest, however - the one which will be used to rear the youngsters - will be jointly built by the male and female. In some cases, the female alone will construct it, probably not being fully convinced of the DIY skills of her partner.

The nests are always very well hidden among layers of foliage to make them as secure as possible from predators and the main one will become home to four or five chicks which hatch during the summer.

It was a shame that this blackcap finished his life in such a violent way, but I am sure he will have given pleasure to many with his beautiful songs.

Among my correspondence this week is an e-mail from the RSPCA, which was responding to my comments about a stockman being prosecuted for alleged cruelty.

A reader's letter said that one of the beasts in his care had cut its foot on some barbed wire, adding that a passing rambler had reported the incident to the RSPCA.

As a result, according to my correspondent, the stockman - an experienced man who had in fact treated the animal - found himself under suspicion of cruelty because he could not prove he had done all in his power to treat the beast.

The RSPCA tells me that they prosecute only as a last resort. If there is a minor problem, it is their practice to provide advice where possible and to check later that their advice had been heeded.

Clearly, I cannot provide details of individual cases, particularly if they are currently under investigation, but the RSPCA assures me that the mere fact of one beast's cut foot would not result in a prosecution if the rest of the herd was obviously fit and healthy, nor, of course, would they prosecute without sufficient evidence.

I have come across a curious dialect word - gad. One interpretation can refer to a restless person, i.e. one who "gads about", but another definition means a type of long rod, particularly one with a pointed end or which tapers towards the tip.

It might even mean a fishing rod, e.g. a fishing gad, but it seems the word was more generally used for a long, slender rod which had a leather thong at the tip.

Sometimes called an owse-gad, this was used by the driver of a team of oxen and enabled him to reach the leading animals so that he could exercise control over them.