Day 8.   Levenshulme to Marple.

I awake at 5.30 am to the sound of heavy rain.

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Last night, I made the decision to continue my ‘pilgrimage’ out of Manchester towards Lichfield, which will take a couple of weeks or more in stages. Feeling stronger, I don’t want to let the grass grow under my feet. That idiom likely originated from our agricultural ancestors. In reality, it means no more procrastinating.

On the strength of a reasonable forecast, a room was booked in Marple for the night. The dice was cast.

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The more I listened to the rain, the more anxious I became. I would get drenched just walking to the bus; I would stay cold and wet throughout the day. Had I been too ambitious with a reasonably long day, having only been taking strolls recently. Is this the man of Himalayan glory?

There was no chance of getting back to sleep; the forecast now indicated that rain would last through the morning. The first thing was to fish out and pack a heavier waterproof jacket. Rather than all the usual faff getting to Preston station, especially in the rain with a long day ahead of me, why not book a taxi? So whilst having a coffee, I phone the local firm, not knowing what time they start. But they answer, and yes, they will have someone round just after seven.

It turns out to be the best decision, but in the rush, I forget one or two things, which will impact me later in the day.

I’m at the station in no time, compared to the bus and walking. A train to Manchester leaves in five minutes, and all of a sudden, I’m joining the early morning commuters, except I probably stand out like the proverbial sore thumb with my boots and ski poles.

It’s a strange world, everyone in their own space, tapping away at their phones.

I try to save the battery on mine as I realise that in the rush, I’ve forgotten my charger. I alight at Picadilly and find the stop for the 192 Stockport bus, which will take me back to Levenshulme to rejoin the Fallowfield Loop.

I’m hoping to grab a coffee at the bike hub, but I’m too early. However, this road is full of Asian cafes and ethnic grocers, and barely 20 metres from where I leave the bus is the quirky Bia cafe/bar. I take coffee with two young mothers, meeting up with their babies.

Now I’m on that green corridor, leaving behind all the urban buzz. It is surprising how quickly the scene changes. Only a few early morning joggers and cyclists are out and about. I now realise I have also forgotten my camera, putting more pressure on the phone’s battery.

Within a short while, I turn onto a public footpath that goes through the heart of Houldsworth Golf Course. Usually, I feel uneasy crossing golf courses, even on a public right-of-way, but today I hug the banks of Fallowfield Brook on a strip of land left wild, in my own little tree-lined world.

All good things come to an end, and soon I’m navigating my way through the streets of Reddish. The clouds darken, and I think I’m in for a soaking. Looking skywards, I see several swifts swooping around the rooftops. Nature comes to town, but too fast to photograph.

With a bit of luck, I emerge from the streets straight onto the Trans Pennine Trail as it enters Reddish Vale Country Park.

My ‘pilgrim’ route to Lichfield is only loosely based on what may have been a medieval way trodden by monks between Christian sites. The little booklet I have only provides a brief outline; the section from Levenshulme to Marple takes three lines. So I am free to wander at will, choosing the most attractive route linking those venerated historic locations. I do, however, make use of the marked long-distance routes and cycleways found on the map. I’m hoping today to join up with The Midshires Way, which links the Trans Pennine Trail up here with the Ridgeway across the Shires of Middle England. 

The River Tame flows down Reddish Vale.  I have been here before, without realising it, on the Tame Valley Way. That was in January 2017 when the ducks were walking on ice, not today as the sun comes out.

I cross the Tame on a metal bridge, which celebrates in verse the ancient boundary between the Palatine Counties of Cheshire and Lancashire before Greater Manchester came into existence.

A cast-iron cycle path marker sits alongside the TPT with this poem inscribed at its base. I rather liked it. 

“Tracks”

Down a wandering path
I have travelled,
Where the setting sun
Lies upon the ground.
The tracks are hard and dry
Smothered with
The weather’s wear,
My mind did move
With those who had
Before me seen,
Trodding down the ground
A track for me to follow,
Leaving marks for others
A sign for them to follow.

David Dudgeon (Belfast artist and poet), 1999.

“Artworks such as the Millennium Mileposts are important to encourage people to enjoy the journey and not just aim for the destination. The ultimate aim of the National Cycle Network is to help more people to get active by making everyday journeys on foot and by bike“.  Sustrans. 

I have seen these Sustrans posts before, but never realised that four have been designed by separate artists and scattered throughout the lands. I will take more notice in future. There are four distinctive designs. Tracks, The Cockerel, The Fossil Tree, and the Rowe design

For the most part, the river is deep in the valley, and my way is along the abandoned railway on the east side. The composite surface is a delight to walk on.

I leave the TPT and, after passing through a tunnel, I delve into a post-industrial landscape, becoming lost while trying to find a way under the motorway.

I emerge into Bredury to a familiar sight – Pear Mill—the clues on the roof. I have spent many hours at the climbing wall inside part of the mill, Awesome Walls. The attraction was the 30-metre-high walls for free climbing in the winter months. I thought I might take a coffee here for old times’ sake, but the path I took circumvented their site behind a metal fence.

A bridge appears spanning the River Goyt into Woodbank Park. Here I would link up with the Goyt Way to Marple. But first, I have a wander up the hill to a bench where I eat my lunch, as planes fly directly overhead into Manchester Airport.

Refreshed, I drop down to the Goyt at a weir, the river is full from this morning’s rain.

The path, such as it is, climbs high above the river and is steep and awkward in places. After my recent fall, I am a little wary of the scrambly bits. But it is glorious green woodland full of bird song. Blackbirds, Thrushes, Chaffinches, Chiffchaffs and Robins are competing with each other.

I drop down to the river where a gent was tackling the Japanese Knotweed, not a good idea to let it drop in the river though.

There is no way along there, so I climb back up. There are no waymarks, and I almost walk past the bridge I need to cross the Goyt. Another scramble down. I’m always pleased to come across one of these signs, especially when it shows me the route, good to know I’m on the Midshires Way.

There is the Pear in the distance and bits of Manchester.

At least I get a stretch along the river for a while.

I’m flagging, so I’m pleased to see a garden centre across the road – that means a cafe, tea and cake.

Onwards, I come to today’s historical site: Chadkirk, the church of Chad. The rebuilt chapel dates back to the 14th century, but the site is much older, possibly to the 7th century, when it is thought that St Chad visited to bless the nearby well. St. Chad is buried in Lichfield Cathedral, where he served as bishop, and I have visited his shrine on a previous walk, but I’m getting ahead of myself. The chapel is down a little lane and surrounded by beautiful gardens. Unfortunately, it only opens on select Sundays. All those flattened gravestones are from the 18th century.Up the hill past the farm is St. Chad’s Well, set in a wall, where a trickle of water flows.

This little chap was happy to be photographed. By now, my phone’s battery is running low.

I reach the Peak Forest Canal for some level walking. I recognise parts from my canal walk with Sir Hugh on the Cheshire Ring. I can’t believe that was ten years ago. 

The Hyde Bank Tunnel is bypassed overhead; this is the way the horses would be brought, and there is a wayside stone trough.

One of the highlights of this section is the aqueduct high above the Goyt Valley. They have erected a safety rail on the far side since I was last here. The railway viaduct towers above.

And if that is not enough, here comes the Marple Locks – all 16 of them.

Two lads are canoeing the canals from Tewitfields to Oxford, and they have just carried the canoes up the flight of locks!

I pop out into town and go looking for a phone charger before going in search of my B&B for the night. 

An old-fashioned guest house. Perfectly adequate, but I didn’t dare use the tardis-like ensuite shower after my recent episodes.  

All in a day’s walk. A long one full of interest and in perfect weather. That taxi ride was the catalyst.  

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