Dalesfolk: David Aynesworth

He might be working on his vintage Bentley or building a working water wheel. He could be looking for film locations in the Dales or helping at Burnsall sports.

On the other hand, he might be restoring a steam engine or preparing his Punch and Judy puppets for another charity show. Or a dozen other pursuits for that matter.

Oh, and I should point out that these are spare time activities: he has a day job, too, in which he is helping to push through a minor revolution in the way that long-suffering country folk live and work.

To use the clich, David Aynesworth is a man of many parts, one of those old-style countrymen who, although he makes his living as a professional man in one of the most exciting projects launched in Craven for years, is also a gifted amateur who can, quite literally, turn his hands to almost anything.

And he seems to enjoy every minute of his jam-packed days.

His favourite saying is "It's grand when you're daft" but do not mistake this with a lack of serious intent. He means business and that business is of critical importance to the future of largely rural areas like Craven.

David, a 57-year-old doctor's son from Addingham, is the estate manager at Broughton Hall, that exquisite 18th century confection of honey-coloured stone known now for its annual game show and outdoor music and laser concerts.

Broughton has been the home of the Tempest family since the 12th century, a record which few of the great titled families of this realm can match. What few people realise is that, some 18 years ago, the family were facing up to the awful reality that they might have to sell the house: they could no longer afford the crippling bills for its upkeep.

That was when I first met Roger Tempest, a dynamic go-getting person. He worked for Eddie Shah who began the end of Fleet Street by founding the (now gone) Today newspaper.

Roger was determined to keep Broughton in the family. But how? Much greater estates had gone the cream-tea and day-tripper route and had failed.

The future, he decided, was in business: small, hi-tech business where bright businessmen making use of all the modern communications devices could base themselves in the countryside and escape the high rents and other hassle associated with big city offices.

It was a dream and some people scoffed but Roger is not a man to be easily deflected. One of his first moves was to appoint David Aynesworth, one-time partner in the Skipton Hepper, Watson estate agency, as his new estate manager.

The rest is now the stuff of rural legend, an experiment that is being copied by stately home owners throughout the land.

By converting dozens of long disused estate buildings like stables, the smithy, even the old Retort House - once the estate's private gas works - into up-market offices, Broughton began to attract its much needed business tenants. There are now 38 companies working at Broughton, employing some 450 people, the vast majority on them in highly paid professional jobs.

The estate has won four major national awards for restoration work and bringing jobs to the countryside and has just finished a similar project for Lord Ronaldshay at Aske Hall in Wensleydale. Broughton is also acting as a consultant to six other similar projects in other parts of the country.

"I have to make it very clear that all this was due to the inspiration and drive of Roger Tempest," says David. "I just try to keep up with him and to do so I have to run very fast. But we are all very proud of what we have achieved.

"One of the saddest things in Craven a few years ago was that our young people left excellent local schools to go to university and, when they graduated, had few jobs to come back to. The sort of jobs that we are creating here and in other places might help stop that drift of talented young people from the countryside to the cities."

It is difficult to think of a more valuable contribution to country life. But for David Aynesworth, professional work is just part of the scheme of things.

A man incredibly skilled with his hands, he bought a house that had not been occupied for 100 years near Burnsall.

He has built a water wheel at Broughton and restored his 1930 Bentley Special from half a chassis and a bit of bonnet he found in a barn in the Lake District. He plays the fiddle for the Burnsall Morris and became a Punch and Judy man by accident: early for an appointment in Retford, Notts, he popped into a local auction to while away an hour - and couldn't resist when a set of puppets came up for sale.

He built his Welsh coracles for a film company, which had asked him to scout out locations in the Dales. There is more but I don't have the space to tell it all.

I cannot resist, however, a story from David's days as a student at Leeds Grammar School and the Royal Agricultural College where, he says, he "learned to drink ale in copious quantities."

The school headmaster wrote in one of young Aynesworth's dreadful reports: "David has to understand that he cannot just smile his way through life."

Well, he's proved you can. And he's still smiling.