Advertisements and appeals: persuasion in words and images

[Photograph, left half of the page: a motorway at dusk, seen from a bridge. Six lanes of red brake lights run to the horizon. Everything is grey and orange, slightly blurred.]

[Photograph, right half of the page: a teenage girl with headphones round her neck leans against a train window, chin on her hand. Beyond the glass, a green valley, a lake and a line of hills in early sunlight. Her reflection faintly overlaps the view.]

Same journey. Different view.

Saltmoor to Kettlehead: three hours by car, three hours by train. Only one of them is yours.

In the car, the three hours belong to the road. You watch the bumper in front. You listen to the satnav tell you, again, to keep left. You arrive tired, a little cross and late for nothing in particular.

On the Saltmoor Line, the three hours belong to you. Read the book you keep meaning to finish. Sleep. Talk. Or do what Ellie did on the 7.40 and simply look: the Brennan Viaduct, the slate villages, the moment Tarrow Water appears and the whole carriage goes quiet.

I forgot to look at my phone. I didn't even notice until Kettlehead.

4 times less carbon per passenger than the same trip by car*

Vellanby Rail. Give the journey back.

Book a Valley Saver: under 26s travel from £12

*Vellanby Rail estimate, 2026, against an average car carrying one person. Valley Saver fares on selected off-peak trains only. Views not guaranteed in fog.

It's 2 a.m. Her phone has 4% battery.

She is somewhere on Carrow Fell. So are we.

[Photograph: a beam of torchlight cuts through heavy rain on a dark hillside. At the edge of the beam, a figure in a red jacket raises one arm. The rest of the picture is black.]

Mira Holt set out at noon for a walk she had done a dozen times. Then the cloud came down, the path vanished and the cold started to make her slow and stupid. At 1.52 a.m. she made one call. At 2.40 a.m. she saw our torches.

We are the High Caddon Mountain Rescue Team: 38 volunteers, among them a plumber, two nurses, a sheep farmer and a maths teacher. Nobody pays us. When the pager goes, we leave our dinners, our beds and our birthday parties. We have never asked anyone how they came to be lost.

More people are walking the fells than ever, and more of them are calling us. Every call-out costs us money we have to find ourselves.

• £10 keeps a rescuer's head torch charged and working for a year
• £45 buys a survival bag that holds the heat of a body through a night on the hill
• £120 trains one new volunteer in casualty care

I didn't know their names. They knew mine before they reached me.

Give tonight: highcaddonrescue.org

The High Caddon Mountain Rescue Team is a registered charity run entirely by volunteers. In an emergency, call the emergency services and ask for the police, then mountain rescue.

[Illustration, centre of a bright yellow page: a crowd of vegetables in a school photograph. A forked carrot stands in the back row with its "legs" crossed. A potato shaped like a heart sits in the front, beside a cucumber curled into a question mark. One tomato has a second, smaller tomato growing out of its side, like a friend clinging on.]

The Lumpy Lot

Class of 2026. Not one of them would pass a beauty contest. Every one of them would pass a taste test.

Meet Colin. Colin is a carrot with two legs. For years, carrots like Colin never made it to the shop. They were too knobbly, too twisty, too much. They went to the compost heap, and nobody asked how they tasted.

We asked. They taste exactly like carrots.

So now the Lumpy Lot has its own crate in every Brannock's, at a price that is a little lumpy too: around a third less than our straight and narrow vegetables. Same farms. Same soil. Just more personality.

Ugly on the outside. Gorgeous in a stew.

• Grown by the same 140 farms as the rest of our veg
• Around a third cheaper, kilo for kilo
• One less reason to throw good food away

Brannock's Lumpy Lot crates are available while supplies last. Shapes vary. Colin is not available to purchase.