Monthly Archives: August 2025

TRY AND TRY AGAIN.

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I thought the noise from the A59 was increasing; we had not heard it all morning. And there it was, suddenly in front of us, with cars rushing past. This was not part of the plan; we should have been in quiet fields heading back to Worston. Halted in our tracks, out comes the map, and I realise my mistake. While chatting away on the easy lane, we had walked right past our footpath junction. Backtracking, we added half a mile to our walk. To make matters worse, that was the second time I had made a similar mistake this morning. I will annotate the map with a couple of red blobs, and I must try harder with my navigation.

After our unsuccessful walk a couple of weeks ago when non-existent stiles and cows defeated us, I come up with another idea for Mike’s exploration for his group’s walk. Starting from and finishing at a pub, no awkward stiles, no steep inclines or boggy hollows. I base my walk on one advertised in the Ribble Valley Walks with Taste leaflets. https://www.visitribblevalley.co.uk/things-to-do/walking/walks-with-taste/ 

With a few tweaks, I have a walk of the preferred 3.5 miles. Now, let’s try it out on the ground. I have walked most of these paths before, but that doesn’t always make them suitable for an elderly walking group. 

The quiet village of Worston is just off the busy A59, but it seems in a different world away from the hustle and bustle. It does not attract the tourists like nearby Downham, even on a bank holiday weekend. There is ample parking at the pub, The Calf’s Head.

I know my way through the squeeze stile onto the path alongside Worston Brook.  We are in limestone country at the foot of Pendle, and I search the walls unsuccessfully for crinoid fossils.

There is work afoot in the brook as though they are trying to alter the flow of the water, which sometimes floods the village.

Above us on Crow Hill, horses stand out in silhouette.

Ahead of us are Warren Hill and Worsaw Hill. These are all the remains of reef mounds, where calcium deposits built up on the Carboniferous sea bed. (not quite the same as Coral reefs, but that’s where the geology becomes too complicated for me) The last Ribble Valley ice sheet passed over and around these mounds and eroded weaker rocks, giving the rounded hills we see today. I’ve been up Worsaw Hill once, great views and a Bronze Age burial mound at its southern end. But today we are just concentrating on the path ahead.

We reach Worsaw End Farm without having to climb a stile, bonus points for me. This farm at the very base of Worsaw Hill and its barn are famous for being used as a location in the old black-and-white film Whistle Down the Wind, starring Hayley Mills. I have just spent an hour and a half watching the film on YouTube. I will link it in at the end of this post. Worth an atmospheric watch.  Jesus Christ, he’s only a fella. 

We walk on without any religious encounters. The lanes around here are virtually traffic-free. So quiet that I make my first mistake and wander on further than necessary, involving a retrace up the hill to try again at the field gate we missed. 

Back on track, we are walking on the bridleway connecting the farms below Pendle Hill on this western flank. Easy going past the historic Little Mearley Hall.


This oak could go onto my list of favourite trees. From up here, we have hazy, distant views of our familiar Kemple End and the BowlandFells.

But Pendle always takes prominence.

At Lane Side, we follow a track down the hillside. It has been recently stoned over and is not the most pleasant of surfaces for walking. But we manage to walk all the way down to the A59 without realising. 

Backtracking again.

After our second backtrack, the fields are followed easily back to Worston with only one stile to negotiate.

In my recent posts, I have been highlighting the proliferation of fruit and berries in our hedgerows this season. How’s this for a hawthorn bush?  

A pleasant green way leads to the village green, where there is a curiosity, a ‘bullring’ embedded in a stone. Was it used for bullbaiting? 

‘Bull Baiting’, by Henry Thomas Alken. 1820

We end up sitting in the beer garden of the Calf’s Head, enjoying a pint with Pendle ever present. Our walk has been a success. About 3.5 miles, only one stile, gentle gradients, points of interest and that stunning Ribble Valley scenery. We were not over enthusiastic about the artificial stony track down from Lane Side, and it might be worth exploring the bridleway coming down from Little Mearley Hall alongside Mearley Brook as an alternative. That gives us an excuse to come back to this quiet corner of Lancashire and another visit to the Calf’s Head beer garden. 

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And as promised – 

THE CHANGING FACE OF THE COUNTRYSIDE.

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My morning stroll takes me into Chipping Vale. On a four-mile walk deep in the Lancashire countryside, I don’t see a single cow in the fields.

Down the lane to Longridge House, their new sign is up. There is a touch of Autumn to the isle of chestnut trees. The renovations to the hotel are coming to a close. 

And then I’m in the fields. Mainly newly cut, looking very green against the backdrop of the Bowland Fells.

But look closely, and there is an Industrial landscape developing on the farms. Large sheds are being built everywhere, presumably, but I may be wrong, for housing cattle.

These industrial-scale sheds are transforming black Moss Farm.

Come back in six months and see the finished product. I walk on, rather mystified by the whole process and let my eyes take in the larger scene, first the Bowland Fells and then Longridge Fell. Nothing changes up there.

I’m heading for Knott Farm, which I have not visited since the farmer, whom I knew,  died a few years ago. There are some of those new gates, but not many people come this way.

The farmhouse has had some work done to it, but overall, the property looks abandoned and unloved. This was a living farm at one time in the same family for generations. The date stone says 1888.

I come out by the hard-working egg farm and cross straight over the main Chipping road and take fields and farm tracks to climb the lower slopes of Longridge Fell.

The Sloes and Rose Hips are ripening fast, a bumper crop this year.

I have time for some blackberry picking.

There is a footpath linking the farms lying halfway up the hill. It will have been used for many decades. The little clapper bridge is worn by the passage of countless feet and hooves.

And what a view from up at this modest elevation. But not an animal insight. I link the footpaths and little lanes past the farms.

I’ve never discovered what this is.

An English country garden.

Just for the record, in case AR is reading this, some farmers hang onto their vintage tractors.

As  I approach Little Town Farm, I realise all the cattle are under cover, hence my header photo. A huge square footage of sheds. The cows must be put out to graze from time to time, but the majority of the fields are cut for silage for winter, if not all year round, feeding. Four robotic machines do the milking of the 190 cows on this dairy farm.This is a progressive farm agriculturally and has also diversified into a farm shop, a cafe, and a garden centre. The needs of modern farming. And they are busy today, so it must be successful.

Things are changing, but I’m still privileged to live on the edge of this glorious countryside and glad to have you along. 

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TO CATCH A MOTH.

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When I mentioned to my son I was setting up a moth trap, he thought I meant in my clothes wardrobe upstairs. I did once have my best suit nibbled into holes by moth larvae. No, I’ve borrowed a light trap to use in the garden for a few days. I remember back in lockdown trying to attract moths onto a syrup trap on a tree in the garden – it was a complete failure. Let’s hope for better success this time.

I’m a complete amateur when it comes to Lepidoptera – butterflies and moths. We are used to seeing butterflies in the daytime, and even I am able to identify numerous common species. But moths are more mysterious, being mainly nocturnal and thus going unnoticed by most of us.

The trap is a basic box with two perspex sheets forming a V with a slot at the bottom for the moths to fall through. At the top is a powerful fluorescent tube to attract the moths in the first place. The egg boxes give the moths nooks and crannies to hide in.

The first night, I place the box in my garden at the edge of my uncut lawn.

The big switch on.

Quite a few moths escape when I open the box at 5 am (I’m a poor sleeper) to release the bat that got in there. The bat is not identified. Somewhat later, after coffee, I come out to examine the night’s trappings.  The majority of the twenty or so moths hiding in there are Underwings, drab-looking specimens. The flash of the underwing is only visible as they fly off.

I think this is a Large Yellow Underwing.

I may identify another five species, but I realise how difficult it is going to be. Here is a Garden Carpet.

And I think this is a Dusky Thorn.

The identification book I’m using is the Bloomsbury Wildlife  – Concise Guide to Moths of Great Britain and Ireland. Very clear pictures, but so many to trawl through when one is not used to the subdivisions.

It is unwise to use the trap on consecutive nights in small gardens as it could interfere with the moths’ feeding habits. They are not getting much nectar or sap at the bottom of one of these traps. A couple of nights later, I reset the trap in a different part of the garden, away from the house, hopefully to avoid catching a bat, which encircle at dusk.  The next morning I have a bumper batch of moths, about thirty. I can’t stop some of the larger and possibly more interesting ones from flying off. Again, there are dozens of Underwings.

A Copper Underwing.

I definitely identify a few other species this time. My phone photographs are mostly too blurry as I struggle one-handed, whilst the other hand upturns and inspects the egg boxes.

Canary Shouldered Thorn.  

 

Puss Moth.

This is a steep learning curve. There are over 1600 British micro-moth species, compared to around 800 species of macro-moth and 60 species of butterfly, so species identification is particularly challenging. 

I try one more night, again in a different area. The last two nights were warm and calm, whilst this night is cooler with a breeze. I wonder if that will deter the moths. No, this morning, when I examine the trap, there are forty-plus moths inside.

The ubiquitous Underwings and lots of smaller moths, which I try my best to identify. There is a tatty-looking Poplar Hawk Moth, which I hope hasn’t come to grief in the trap.

Hebrew Character. 

 

Flame Shoulder.

 

Gold Spot. 

 

Rosy Rustic.

So I have probably only identified less than half of the moths that have been attracted into the trap, but it has been great fun. I need to hand it back before I become addicted.

THE WORLD LOOKS ON.

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As we wait with very little bated breath for the outcome of talks on the Russian/Ukraine war, I think we all know that Trump, duped by Putin, can’t solve this problem; atrocities continue in Gaza, without Netanyahu being held to account, it may well be the Israeli people that eventually get rid of him; and in the West bank Israeli settlers keep up there agression on the Palestinian villages, goaded on by their right wing extremists intent on genicide.

I had the unfortunate, yet enlightening, experience of watching and reading this BBC Verify account today.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/cewy88jle0eo

What has happened to international law? Both Putin and Netanyahu are war criminals, and yet get all the plaudits and headlines from some quarters. Are we still selling arms to Israel or buying gas from Russia? I will not sleep easy tonight. 

I should have gone for a walk instead of watching the news. 

THE WEATHER FOR HEATHER.

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It’s August and the heather is in full bloom. I’m not tramping across some remote Bowland Fell as I’ve been relatively indolent in the high temperatures we have been experiencing. I don’t seem to cope with the heat as I used to. Often, just for a little exercise, I have been coming up to Cowley Brook Plantation to enjoy the shade and any breeze.

And that is where I am today, and the heather is suddenly magnificent. It hits me in the eye as I set off on one of my little paths.

As I brush through it, the aroma is earthy and yet sweetly floral.  It is not at the stage when the heather releases clouds of pollen. Bees and butterflies are skimming around. I suddenly feel released into another world. All of this 200 metres from the road. 

A family are picnicking with their baby and toddler. The youngster has discovered the joys of blackberry picking and is running around excitedly. That’s how to bring up your children. I steal a few juicy ones.

In the news today were warnings that hedgerow fruit this year was ripening too soon, and there may be a shortage in Autumn when the birds need it. The Rowan trees up here were certainly full of fruit; let’s hope the birds know how to ration it.

Catch it while you can. 

FRUSTRATIONS.

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Another walk that didn’t go to plan.

It’s my fault for not reading the map correctly. We are up against barbed wire, no sign of a stile, and unable to progress. What’s worse is that we have a herd of cows pressing their noses at close quarters. Fortunately, they are not as skittish as some. It takes me some time to untwine the fastening of our escape gate back onto the public right-of-way path on the other side, where we should have been in the first place. By then, another herd of inquisitive cows had gathered to welcome us into their field—betwixt and between.

It all started with a phone call from Mike wanting to do a walk. He belongs to an elderly walking group and soon it will be his turn to lead the monthly walk, the parameters of which are becoming even tighter regarding distance, pub, terrain, stiles and mud. My walks don’t often fit their category, but I come up with a few suggestions. We plump for a Grimsargh itinerary, at least it starts and hopefully finishes at a pub, The Plough.

Straight out of the pub car park, we take a ginnel which is on the line of the Longridge to Preston Railway,  until it closed in 1967. Within 50yards we are striding out into the countryside.  

The embankment stretches ahead, but we take a footpath to skirt around Grimsargh Reservoirs.

The first of several expensive properties we passed today.

These three redundant reservoirs have found new life as a wetland nature reserve maintained by volunteers. One is a reed bed, the next one is low-lying land and water, and the third is deep water—three habitats in one.

We cross the causeway between the first two, stopping at a hide to peer at the shallow lake. Geese, ducks, and a few waders are all we can make out. We see nothing in the reed beds.

We come out onto the main road….

…and straight across into a new housing estate on land adjacent to what was once the Hermitage Restaurant, now a private house hiding in the woods.

The line of the previous footpath is easy to follow, and we are soon out the other side, where a footpath track bypasses Woodfold Farm and heads towards the church. Another good track has us onto Alston Lane. Everything is going well, all perfect for Mike’s group.

But once we hit the fields, my concentration goes, and we end up in the wrong place. The map with its red dot may explain it.

By the time we extricate ourselves out of the fields and away from the cows, some dodgy stiles weaken our resolve, and we walk into Grimsargh on Elston Lane, with tails, well and truly, between our legs.

There are more new developments to view. My final highlight, showing Mike the deep lake of Grimsargh Wetlands with not a bird in sight, probably came too late.

A suggestion that we could tweak the route a little for his group didn’t go down well. 

A BOWLAND STROLL.

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A lot of Bowland Fells involve some serious tramping, remote and rough; tough paths, if you can find them. Today, I will show you a gentle* walk into the Bowland heartlands.

JD is always a willing companion for my fantasies. This morning he creates mayhem trying to park outside my house, whilst the lane is being used as a diversion for road works elsewhere. I have been up since 6 am with the noise of the traffic, only another week to bear.

We are on our way to Dunsop Bridge, the gateway to the High Bowland Fells.

You can park for free on the little lane by Puddle Ducks Cafe. We are there before the cafe opens, and already parking spaces are at a premium. Should I take a waterproof or fleece? The forecast is for a dry and sunny day. But this is Bowland, so I pack both.

And then we are on our way into the Dunsop Valley.

It is a long valley, at first open meadows, but then becoming clasped by the fells. A cold wind is blowing up the valley, and we are tempted to don windproofs. When it turns to August drizzle and then rain, we succumb to the inevitable and feel much better for it.

After passing the confluence of the Brennand and the Whitendale, we take the left fork towards the Brennand Valley. But first, there is a seat at the junction for elevenses, with a view.  I have water, but JD has coffee, which he is willing to share.

We contemplate the harsh life that farmers have in these upland valleys as their tractors pass by. The bench we are sitting on, as well as an adjacent flowerbed, is a memorial to Jack and Sylvia Walker, recent tenants of Brennand Farm. I always marvel at the view up Brennand Valley from here, with its green meadows, lonely farms and fells disappearing into the background. Timeless. But all a bit murky today.

A zoom to Brennand Farm in the murk.

Leaving the road we take to an old byway high above the river, traversing below the fell, Middle Knoll. The last time we came this way, we climbed to its unfrequented summit, just for the sake of it. Today, we just follow the waterlogged path. At some point we meet up wth the track coming up from Brennand.


By now, the skies are clearing and we can make out the upper reaches of the seldom explored Brennad Water. The purple blush of the heather on the fell tops shows up in some of the photos. Looking at the map, it’s time I had another trip up there.

I think we chose the wrong side of the wall for the continuation up boggy ground. There is a plentiful supply of Spagnum Moss and reeds up here. Oh, and the mist has come down again.

But eventually, all vague paths meet near the watershed. It is then downhill, gently at first and then steep and more awkward than I remember. There has been a lot of tree planting on this slope, and it all feels different from the last time I was here. But the Whitendale farmstead is there below. A bumper crop of berries this year on the Rowan.

A footbridge crosses the river, and there ahead of us is a bench for lunch by the Shepherds Cottage. The properties are empty, the farm tenanted from United Utilities, is run by Brennand Farm. The Crown owns Dunsop village, and the tenants pay their rent to the King.

I become distracted by house martins flying in and out of their mud nests under the eaves.

Time to get going, rather than follow the road back down the valley, we know of the rough path on the east side of the river. At times difficult to follow, boggy in parts, it improves as it follows a pipeline now high above the river.


The track crosses Costy Clough, which looks like a wild place, before we reach the water board road for the stroll back to the village.

We stop only to identify a probable clump of Larch Boletus underneath a larch tree with which it is ectomycorrhizal. Look that one up and read if you can, Entangled Life by Merlin Sheldrake, for a whole new perspective on the fungal world.

We fail to identify this pink flower growing in the bog, mainly due to the fear of falling in.  So, a good introduction to the delights of Bowland in all its guises. Don’t forget your waterproof. 

* Let’s rephrase that as ‘relatively gentle’.

 

SHOWERS WITH SUNNY SPELLS.

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A favourite phrase for the TV weather forecaster.

At the tail end of Storm Floris, I didn’t know what to expect for Tuesday’s weather. 

It was raining first thing, but it brightened sufficiently for me to venture out locally, hoping the strong wind would blow the showers away. I needed some exercise after a few days of lethargy and inactivity, and I wanted to check on how the building work was progressing at a local country inn. A few miles were soon planned to include the latter.

Walking out of the village past the cricket ground, the skies darkened, and the mist came down on the hills. There was still rain about. I stayed on the country lanes until I could cut back on the track leading to the hotel. The hills stayed hidden, the wind blew, and it continued to rain, though only lightly. A typical day in the north west, though more like April than August.

Hidden Bowland fells.

Hidden Longridge Fell.

As I approached the hotel, it still looked like a building site. Ferrari’s, as it was known, has been bought by a Manchester events group who are hoping to upgrade the place for upmarket weddings and functions. The ‘functions’ area of the hotel looks good, and I believe they have already hosted pre-booked weddings. The guests would have had to look away from the mess in the car park.

The building was originally built as a hunting lodge for Lord Derby on his Black Moss estate. The Ferrari family had been running it as a hotel for thirty years. A name change was needed, and as the nearby pub, marked on the map, is called The Derby Arms, the name Derby couldn’t have been used. What about reverting to the original Black Moss House? But no, they have chosen the rather boring and inaccurate Longridge House. This is Thornley, not Longridge. These things matter; it’s a shame they didn’t consult locals about the name change.

At the road entrance, they were erecting new signage.

Meanwhile, down the road, the Derby Arms continues as a fine country inn. My sunny spell briefly occurred with views to Longridge Fell from the cricket pitch on the way back.

And then it rained, I was like the proverbial drowned rat by the time I reached home. Not all walks are honey and roses. Compare with the last time I  walked this way in May.

PILGRIMS PROGRESS. FINISHING IN LICHFIELD.

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Day 19.   Fradley to Lichfield.

I’ve been here before at the end of my Two Saints Way from Chester.

The bus stops right outside St Stephen’s Church in Fradley. I notice the writing on the porch above the door, a biblical quote. Presumably, that is where the phrase ‘watch your step’ originated, a fitting warning to us pilgrims.  It is open and the heritage group are setting up an exhibition. They are all very friendly and pleased to narrate the church’s history and show me around. We even find a chocolate egg hidden behind the piano, missing from the children’s Easter hunt. The interior is bright and airy.

One of the group was involved in the planning of the Pilgrim Way Church Trail, which I’m following. By the time I leave, the morning’s drizzle has abated, meaning I have walked the whole route without the need of waterproofs, if only I had known at the start.

They warn me of the HS2 workings closing several footpaths into Lichfield. I plot a way using minor roads further north. Even so much of the area seems to have been grabbed by the HS2 fiasco. I thought it was stopping at Birmingham.

I cross the Coventry Canal and, with hindsight, could possibly have used it for some distance up to Fradley Junction, then connecting to footpaths into Lichfield. I had to look up the Coventry Canal on the map, as I was previously unaware of it.

As it is, I’m committed to a narrow lane used as a cycleway. I think I’m walking through the site of the wartime RAF site, judging from the occasional hangars still visible.

My first view of the famous triple Lichfield steeples, Ladies of the Vale, is ironically through HS2 security fencing.

Little ginnels wind through housing estates and straight to St Chad’s church.

St Chad’s Well was looking attractive, with a covering of Russian Vine. That was until I was closer and could see a body slumped inside it, down and out. Inside the church, a wedding ceremony is being rehearsed, so I don’t linger.

 A word or two about St. Chad while we are here.
“St Chad was born to a noble family around 634. He was educated on Lindisfarne and spent time as Bishop of York and Abbot of Lastingham. In 669, he was appointed Bishop of Mercia, one of the most powerful Anglo-Saxon kingdoms. Chad chose to centre his administration in Lichfield, not Repton, where he founded a church near the holy well and a community which became the religious heart of the kingdom.
  On his death in 672, his remains quickly became venerated and a place of pilgrimage. Bishop Hedda, his successor, consecrated the first Cathedral in Lichfield. St Chad’s remains were transferred from his church to there, and the shrine grew quickly in importance and became one of the most important centres of medieval pilgrimage in the country. At the reformation, his remains were removed for safety into private hands, eventually resting in Birmingham Cathedral”
Since my last visit to Lichfield in 2021, a new shrine has been established in the Cathedral in 2023. Relics from Birmingham have been incorporated into its cross. See below.
The cathedral is across the park and Stowe Pool.

I pause on the way to admire the bronze statue of St. Chad by Peter Walker, 2021,  and some of the ornate stonework.

The usual crowds throng the magnificent western front with all 19th-century replacements of medieval figures, showing apostles, kings, and saints.

I’m greeted at the Cathedral door by one of their volunteers; they must have known I was coming. It turns out he is a historian of all things related to Chad. He tells me of many sites throughout the north; some close to home, which I will have to look into.

There is a service in progress in the chancel, so I sit and listen to it being broadcast throughout the Cathedral—a moving sermon reflecting sensibly on some of the world’s present problems, if only our politicians could listen.

Lichfield Cathedral is the only medieval three-spired Cathedral in the UK, and is a treasured landmark in the heart of England. (Lincoln only has towers) It is one of the oldest places of Christian worship, and the burial place of the  Anglo-Saxon missionary  St Chad. There is so much to see in its interior. George Gilbert Scott was heavily involved in its restorations. As noted above, a new shrine has been placed in the cathedral. It is a simple shrine with a cross incorporating a ‘relic’ of St. Chad from Birmingham, above a circular illuminated halo.

Among the cathedral’s many other treasures, in the Chapter House is the fine 8th-century sculpture of the ‘Lichfield Angel’, thought to be from St Chad’s tomb, as well as the 8th-century Lichfield Gospels.

Last time St. Chad’s Head Chapel was closed, so I am pleased today to be allowed up the steps to this peaceful space. This is where his skull was initially kept as a focus for pilgrims. After his remains were removed, people still came up here to pray. I suppose now his new shrine below will take preference. I’ve already been in the Cathedral for more than an hour and a half and have only cherry-picked my points of interest. One could easily spend half a day in here exploring. But before I leave, some mention should be made of the story behind the stained glass in the Lady Chapel. Originally commissioned for the nuns at Herkenrode Abbey (about 50 miles south-east of Antwerp) in 1532. Fortunately, the glass had been removed and taken to safekeeping before Napoleon’s troops arrived. It was bought by Brooke Boothby, who sold it to the Dean and Chapter for the price he had paid. It was installed here between 1803 and 1806. The abbey itself may be no more, but its images remain for us all to enjoy.

Lichfield’s streets are busy, it looks like an interesting city, but I have trains to catch.


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Another walk completed, even if in stages from January, due to circumstances.  From an initial idea of connecting Whalley Abbey to Manchester Cathedral, it evolved into a more extended pilgrimage from my home to Lichfield. Maybe about 160 miles in all. Following ancient ways, passing Saxon crosses, absorbing Ecclesiastic history, meeting wonderful people, and experiencing our diverse environment in all its guises.

How you approach a route is in your own hands; it may be a spiritual journey, a chance to experience the rural beauty or simply hearty exercise. Let’s not forget that walking is fun.