Link to the Show's FaceBook page.
Click here for the
​2018 Langcliffe Show Schedule


Pictures from Last Year's Show.

  1. Managing Director
  2. Managing Director
  3. Managing Director
  4. Managing Director
  5. Managing Director
  6. Managing Director
  7. Managing Director
  8. Managing Director
  1. Managing Director
  2. Managing Director
  3. Managing Director
  4. Managing Director
  5. Managing Director
  6. Managing Director
  7. Managing Director
  1. Managing Director
  2. Managing Director
  3. Managing Director
  4. Managing Director
  5. Managing Director
  6. Managing Director
  7. Managing Director
  8. Managing Director
  9. Managing Director
​​



  1. Managing Director
  2. Managing Director
  3. Managing Director
  4. Managing Director
  5. Managing Director
  6. Managing Director
  1. Managing Director
  2. Managing Director
  3. Managing Director
  4. Managing Director
  5. Managing Director
  6. Managing Director
  7. Managing Director
  8. Managing Director
  9. Managing Director
  1. Managing Director
  2. Managing Director
  3. Managing Director
  4. Managing Director
  5. Managing Director
  6. Managing Director
  7. Managing Director
  8. Managing Director
  9. Managing Director
  1. Managing Director
  2. Managing Director
  3. Managing Director
  4. Managing Director
  5. Managing Director
  6. Managing Director
  7. Managing Director
  8. Managing Director
  9. Managing Director
  1. Managing Director
  2. Managing Director
  3. Managing Director
  4. Managing Director
  5. Managing Director
  6. Managing Director
  7. Managing Director
  8. Managing Director
The 2016 Poetry Winner
Generations
My grandson’s hair’s a stubbled patch of corn.
His sturdy limbs betoken farming stock.
His seriousness, a trait since he was born.
Is lightened by self-deprecating mock.
His sister, by a different father bred,
Is merry, dark and scatter-brainly mad.
Yet her shy smile’s at times the silken thread
That tugs my heart for then I see my dad.
My daughter looks Italian like her Mum.
Our get-together days are fierce and loud.
The Irish gift of gab finds no-one dumb:
Our DNA makes us a motley crowd.
Viking, Italian, Celtic strut their part,
Blood in the melting-pot of my proud heart.
                                                               T. Cobbleigh