The last time I was up the fell, here in Cowley Brook Plantation, I noticed litter starting to appear. Time for a clean up to hopefully stop it becoming a recurring problem.
Hailstones kept me awake all night and this morning there were some hefty showers. So I was in no rush to get out, par for the course at this time of year for me I’m afraid. Living in Longridge, which is elevated from the Preston plain, allows one to look out to the west and see what weather is coming our way for the next hour or so; the best way of weather forecasting. At two o’clock it was all blue sky.
Armed with my plastic bag and ‘litter picker’ I wandered into the trees and up to the highest point. On these remoter paths, all is relative from the road, I found only the odd can and a sweet paper or two. Working my way back down to the popular dog walking circuits, guess what I picked up the most? No prizes for the correct answer – poo bags. Some hidden in the undergrowth, others hanging from a convenient branch.
Coming back up through the woods by the lively stream there was a rash of orange peel scattered about.
And then near the gate from the road a disgusting pile of nappies and tissues.
I seem to remember changing my children in the boot of the car, but that was before ‘disposable’ nappies became the norm. The throwaway society has led to ever more landfills, water pollution, ocean degradation and now a worrying apathy to the problem. Recycling will never keep up with the world’s waste. Coming up at the beginning of March is ‘The Big Plastic Count’ which helps you to focus on your own use and points the way to a more sustainable future. It all starts at home so why not sign up at Home | The Big Plastic Count Shame they couldn’t have produced a more polished video.
The nappies safely into the bag, along with a few polystyrene coffee cups from the roadside, I was ready to leave but then spotted…
…laid out near the path. Strange litter, why and by whom?
On the map this looks like a nice gentle rural walk, perfect for Mike’s training schedule before flying off to Madeira’s sunny adventures. I agreed to join him, secretly knowing the true facts from a relatively recent visit.
Another route he had chosen from Clitheroe Ramblers’ Walks in the Ribble and Hodder valleys. Today it was the Hodder.
The cloud was down on the Bowland Fells which is a shame as there is a fell race up there today. Even Longridge Fell stayed under mist as we drove alongside to park in Bashall Eaves. We had a window of dry weather until about three this afternoon. Better get a move on.
All started well along a farm track, the guide’s instructions just said follow a waymarked route through the farm and cross five fields. Of course there were no waymarks and we had to ask the farmer the way out of his yard. He looked us up and down and delivered the fateful “there is a lot of water in the fields” before sending us into those fields. The first was the worst, a glutinous shaking morass. It was best to keep sidestepping the worst and not linger as your boots were being sucked down. To make things worse the stiles, if you could find them, were rotting and held together with string. Not a good start to the day and I knew things were to become far worse. Not many people come this way.
If we are going to have to become accustomed to water logged ground in the future I think I need to invest in some good walking Wellingtons.
Agden Farm was a Land Rover graveyard, at least the cows are kept inside,. The path, as it was, disappeared into undergrowth before tackling a steep ravine on muddy steps. This was the first of several cloughs we encountered today, steep and slippery down and steep and slippery back up.
Guesswork and some dodgy stiles delivered us to the next roller coaster, Paper Mill Wood, where at the bottom a fast flowing stream had to be forded. There was a brief respite alongside the River Hodder, the scenery idyllic. This is fishermen’s territory and there isn’t a lot of public access.
Open fields above the Hodder, with the instruction to head uphill to the three oaks. That was easy enough, they were unmistakable. Now head for a lone ash. This brought on a discussion on identifying trees in Winter mode, a skill neither of us had, I may go on a course I see they are running at Brockholes Nature Reserve. Drop down to a stile wasn’t very helpful as we couldn’t see one. But there was the faintest evidence of a path, the first today. Not many come this way.
I was telling Mike about the next bridge, at one time erroneously marked as ‘Roman Bridge’ but more likely a mill packhorse bridge, we were heading for. How maybe 35 years ago my eldest son and I arrived at it on a walk to find it taped off and in a dangerous state. We recklessly crawled across the crumbling stonework with a large drop below us. I had returned a few times after it was rebuilt as a wooden structure in 1997. But the bridge we came to today didn’t look very impressive, perhaps my memory is playing tricks.
No we weren’t there yet. Dropping farther into the woods we eventually arrived at the deep ravine of Mill Brook and the dramatic ‘new’ bridge. It was an impressive, as I had remembered it, and no doubt expensive, piece of engineering. The brook is 40 feet below. Having not met a single person since the first farm, a spaniel trotted across the bridge in front of us, soon to be followed by his master. The conversation that ensued turned out to be between two architects, one practising and the other retired. I listened in. He, the practising one, had just come from Lees House where he had been responsible for recent renovations. He warned us of more slippery paths to come and then posed on the bridge for his photo.
The way onwards and upwards was indeed awkward through a series of fallen trees. Not many people come this way, get the idea.
The guide book has you continuing across fields to pick up the road for a while before doubling back to Lees House. A rather pointless exercise as there is on the map a lane direct to the house from the edge of the woods. All right, it may not be a public right of way but we were happy to risk it and we were soon through the buildings without encroaching on their privacy and back on track.
On track meant a narrow hemmed in path past Lees House and a slithering descent through the woods to yet another footbridge over Mill Brook. (I wonder if a direct way could be found alongside the brook from the near the ‘Roman’ bridge). I have never found an easy way up from this latest footbridge, often ending up in impenetrable Elephant grass. Today we staggered steeply upwards through the mud and low tree branches. Not many people come this way. The grass has not started its growing season yet, but was lurking in the background. Eventually we were in the open fields heading to salvation. In hindsight, a wonderful thing, I think I might know a better way next time.
Salvation was reaching the farm track at Micklehurst Farm in the middle of nowhere. It was great to hear and see Lapwings flying over these fields. Some of the caged working dogs were noisy but probably harmless, but the brown one on a short chain looked particularly menacing. How strong are those chains?
We didn’t quite make the entrance to Browsholme Hall. The seldom travelled side road took us through felled plantations, now being resurrected as nature reserves. That often in these parts is an equivalent for pheasant breeding and shooting grounds.
I diverted from the direct way back to Bashalls to show Mike the Saddle Bridge below Rugglesmire Hall. Probably from the C17th but restored, by public conscription in 1954. It is known locally as Fairy Bridge, said to have been built one night by fairies to help an old woodcutter who was being pursued by witches. A delightful spot.
In the hamlet of Bashall Eaves, maybe a dozen cottages, is a preserved Lancashire Cheese press worth a picture.
A delightful walk, all great fun. Those six miles took us over four hours. Come prepared for a testing time, but enjoy the unspoilt environment and wildlife of Bowland.
I have just created a file in my computer photos for a recurring picture which I hope to take every month or more often if I get the chance to see how the scenery changes through the year. I have chosen a spot in United Utility’s Cowley Brook Plantation on the edge of Longridge Fell for this project. This little area has become a favourite of mine for a quick blast of fresh air, some bird song, the delightful babbling brook and a variety of tree plantings since it was semi-cleared a few years ago. A little sanctuary, who’s development I’m keen to follow. I’m sorry I didn’t catch the snow a couple of weeks ago.
Ignore the dog walkers, the majority take away their mess, I clean up the rest. Go in the early morning or at dusk to have the place to yourself. Get off the beaten track. You may catch sight of a shy Roe Deer or a quartering Barn Owl. There is nearly always a Warbler to be heard. Last year we were visited by Crossbills.
Today I didn’t even set foot in the woods. The mist was down and there was steady rain. I was surprised to see cars parked up at the popular Jeffrey Hill spot. The fell would be squelchy to say the least and there were certainly no views. This was the forecast for the day. I only drove up to give my little car a run out after its battery had failed.
And this is what it looked like today.
Jeffrey Hill car park.
Cowley Brook plantation.
These were my first photos taken in January, nothing dramatic. I’ll revisit on a better day for the February view. The view to the west I thought was too enclosed, but I may change my mind on that for the sake of completeness.
To the east.
To the north.
To the south.
On the map below the green marker is approximately where I have decided to record the changing year. By pure chance it is on the line of an ancient Roman Road coming up from Ribchester, serendipity.
In view of the lack of any decent photos today I’m sharing this one, give me Longridge Fell any day.
On the evening of 5 February 2004 twenty one Chinese illegal immigrants were drowned by the tide in Morecambe Bay while harvesting cockles, They were earning a reputed £1 per hour. Their call for help, they didn’t even speak English, was “sinking water” but it was too late to save them. The slave gang master was jailed for his involvement. There is a poignant statue, Praying Shell, located near Red Bank Farm farther north on Morecambe Bay.
You probably remember this tragedy, twenty years ago. I was reminded of it by a radio programme whilst driving up to the area today. As I look out across Morecambe Bay, with the tide well in, I feel shivers down my spine. This is the famous view with the Lakeland hills in the background but today is all cold water and mist, not a place to take lightly. There have been other deaths out there.
I wonder how many more immigrants, trafficked and enslaved here by criminal gangs, are earning £1 an hour in some illegal trades. There is talk on the street of carwashes and nail parlours.
I remember being in a dingy Indian Restaurant in Preston when Immigration Officials raided it. They were looking for a ‘Mr. Patel’ (one of thousands no doubt). “He doesn’t work here anymore” was the blank answer they received. Another time, in an even dingier café in Bradford, I attempted to find the toilets only to walk into a room with maybe a dozen ‘Mr Patels’ sleeping on the floor. It must still be happening, but now probably Afghanistanis, Serbians or Albanians,
The world is a cruel place at the moment. We may have to make room for disposed Ukrainians and Palestinians. The former were welcomed with open arms in a gesture of good will, but I can’t see that happening with the latter. Our, or more correctly our ‘make it up as you go along’ government’s, only answer to the oncoming floodgates of persecuted immigrants, once known as refugees, is to send them to Ruanda denying their human rights. Not only is the world cruel but the so called rich countries are in for an onslaught of deprived humanity. We regrettably have not got to grips with the problem or any idea of the solution.
All this was going through my mind whilst gazing across the bay from a seat not far from the Sunday diners in the Midland Hotel, a world away from the cockle pickers.
I had just pedalled in from Lancaster on my usual route on the cycleways. The promenade was busier than usual, I realised it was the start of half term. I had to be very wary of loose children and dogs and was glad to escape into the peace of the canal towpath. It was a grey day all round.
On a lighter note as I was cycling up a suburban side street in Hest Bank a passing motorist stopped to ask me “which house is Tyson Fury’s?” Of course I had no idea. Fury. the heavyweight boxing champion, lives with his wife and seven children in Morecambe and is apparently regularly seen around town. It must be annoying to have fans turning up outside your house for a selfie and an autograph. And who would want to annoy Tyson?
After all that arty stuff over in Yorkshire last week it is time to get back to some proper Lancashire walking.
This walk is described as a classic in the booklet published by Clitheroe Ramblers – 25 Walks in the Ribble and Hodder Valleys. An excellent little production from 2004 with several authors describing their favourite local walks. I can vouch for most of them.
Wednesday is the only decent day of the week before a yellow warning for snow and ice. I thought of going for my usual cycle ride around Morecambe Bay and visiting Sir Hugh, but he turns out to be occupied, it can wait till another time when he is free. All this thinking and procrastinating and it is nearly lunchtime. Who else would be free for a quick short walk – I phone JD and he says he will be ready in 15 minutes, that’s what friend are for. Somehow I feel I need company today.
An easy drive and we are parked up by the little stream in Downham, one of the prettiest villages in Lancashire. The estate does not allow overhead electricity lines, aerials or satellite dishes etc , making it a popular location for period films. The classic 1961 film Whistle Down the Wind was based on the area and more recently the BBC 1 series Born and Bred. Many of the buildings in the village and surroundings are listed, including the stone bridge we are parked by.
But we haven’t come to look at the houses, no we have a brisk 5 miles to walk in the limestone country below towering Pendle. The guide book is very functional and basically just gives you directions without any historic or geological embellishments.
Chapter 14. A Downham Classic. Gill Morpeth.
We are soon unto fields heading towards Worsaw End Farm and there below us is the barn where Alan Bates (AKA Jesus or ‘the man’) sought refuge from the law and entranced the children from the village in that famous 1961 film, Whistle Down the Wind. Hayley Mills is the girl feeding and protecting him. I have just found out that the original novel was written in ’59 by Mary Hayley Bell, wife of John Mills and mother of the star Hayley Mills. If you get a chance to watch this black and white movie you will recognise a lot of the scenery but it is deeper than you think with strong allegorical passages as well as Lancashire humour. “he’s not Jesus, he’s just a fella”
The phrase ‘Whistle down the wind’ comes from Falconry. When falcons are released to hunt they are sent upwind and when turned loose for recreation they are sent downwind. So down the wind is to be cast off to find ones own path. There is no wind today and we have a map so perhaps there are no similarities to be drawn. We just get on with walk.
Above us is the rounded Worsaw Hill, a grassed over limestone reef knoll which today is popular with the local sheep. I went up it once for a spectacular view down the Ribble Valley, well Clitheroe Cement works at least. We pass briefly into the yard of the farm featured in the film and than are back into fields alongside the meandering Worston Brook. We spot an almost hidden ‘packhorse bridge’. The water looks so clear, having come down from Pendle. I remember fishing as a child for Crayfish in these Pennine becks. I met a woman recently who was doing some research for DEFRA on crayfish in certain locations, they are apparently a very good indication of water pollution.
We approach Worston but don’t visit it, half a dozen houses and a good rural inn, The Calf’s Head. Instead we take a direct route up the fields towards Pendle. I don’t recognise this way, but when I look at my map from the last time I have, So much for my memory. I do know I have been past Little Mearley Hall many times and point out the windows supposedly taken from Sawley Abbey after the dissolution. I warn JD about the tied up dog that will surprise us round the side of the barn, yes he is still there today but seems to have lost his bark. The farmer is busy planting new mixed hedging along the way, they have grubbed up so much in the past..
The walk now follows for a mile or so a line of farms scattered at the foot of Pendle, Angram Green, Moorside, Barkerfield and Hookcliffe, all looking ancient and steeped in Lancashire’s countryside. As always with JD the conversation is stimulating and far reaching. We are making good time without stopping as I want to delver him home to help his wife with the grandchildren after school.
Cutting across fields towards another reef knoll the guide mentions a barn at Gerna a strange name for these parts, ?Nordic. The farm itself has been gentrified.
Soon we are following the lively beck back into Downham, the cottages here having the water run under there front entrances.
That’s been a quick walk for me, just two hours for the five miles which bodes well for my rehabilitation into longer trips, of which I have a few in mind.
Here’s a few snaps to give you a flavour of the area and maybe entice you to Downham for this enjoyable walk.
Pretty Downham cottage.
Worsaw Hill.
The ‘Jesus’ barn.
Disappearing bridge over Worston Beck.
Hazy view down the Ribble Valley. Kemple End, Beacon Fell and Parlick.
JD hoping we don’t have to go all the way up Pendle.
Little Mearley Hall with the Sawley windows to the left.
A little disinterested today.
Good to see hundreds of mixed hedging plants going in.
Don’t follow your satnav, they were soon coming back.
Diversifying into paper cups.
More limestone knolls below Pendle, and Rad Brook.
For my last day in Yorkshire I had a choice of venues. I wondered about the National Coal Mining Museum nearby, but due to ‘staff training’ there were no underground tours that day and I did wonder whether the place would be overrun with school children. A lady at the Hepworth had recommended a NT property, Nostell Priory, but the house is closed in winter and the gardens were restricted. So there are two to come back to. Other considerations are Bradford’s Cartwright Hall Gallery, where one can see Lowry, Warhol, Lichtenstein and Anish Kapoor, or the ever popular Salts Mill in Saltaire. But there is one other possibility – I check its opening times and am decided.
When my children were small I used to take them on occasions to the Bradford Industrial Museum, for reasons which will become clear. I’ve not been back for getting on for forty years, time for a reappraisal and it is on my way home if I avoid the M62. I let the satnav take me there from the Campanile in Wakefield. I still am unsure of its precise location in sprawling Bradford, look it up, but I am delivered to the entrance in less than an hour.
I first took my boys there for them to see the inside of a mill with working machinery. But there was also a room dedicated to transport vehicles manufactured in Bradford. Jowett cars and motor cycles mainly but tagged on the end were a couple of cycles hand built in the city. (Between the wars and ever since there has always been a tradition of quality hand built lightweight steel racing cycles from our northern towns. You may well of heard of Ellis Brigham, Bob Jackson, Jack Taylor, Dave Yates – all sort after frames) As I will tell below I had owned a Baines bike and ridden it regularly whilst the boys were young. Imagine their surprise when there was the identical cycle in the museum. “ your bike’s in a museum Dad!” I’m not sure whether that was said with pride or shame, but they never forgot.
Here is a photo I took in the museum back in the early 80s.
Going back farther in time, as a teenager, maybe 15, I was into racing cycles and time trials. There was a cycle shop in Northgate, ??Cunningham’s, and in the window was a second hand bike I coveted. A Baines ‘flying gate’ racing machine built in Bradford. For an article and photos of the Baines cycle have a read here. and here.
Priced at £20 it was out of my reach but I would still go in and look at it. Eventually I came to an understanding with the owner, a racing cyclist in the past, that he wouldn’t sell it until I had saved up the money. I don’t know how I saved out of my meagre pocket money but perhaps I was helped by my various aunts and uncles. So the day came when I marched into the shop with £20 and marched out with the precious Baines cycle.
Dragging out another old photo, sometime in the early 60s. Can’t see much of the Baines in detail, although the chromed front forks show up. Note the ‘musette’ bag strap (‘bonk’ bag) over the shoulder and the bottle with straw. That is my longtime mate Mel behind, he of the long distance walks who sadly passed away in 2020.
Here we are at the start of Hadrian’s Wall Path in 2012.
That bike was my pride throughout my teenage years, I used it to cycle to school, tour the youth hostels in the holidays and to compete, poorly, in 10 and 25 mile time trials. Most of that time it was in classic fixed wheel mode. After University and when I had settled down in Longridge in the 70s I resurrected the bike, added some Campagnola gears and started using it for cycling locally and through the Trough. At some stage I took it into Sam William’s, another ex-racer, cycle shop in Preston and arranged to have it resprayed. It came back looking brand new with chromed forks and original name transfers. The only problem was that I was informed that there was some rust in the tubing which could weaken it. That put me off using it often and I built another bike for regular use. The poor old Baines was left hung up in the garage.
That’s how it could have ended but a few years ago I had a minor declutter and advertised it on one of those well known sites. There was a lot of interest and eventually the auction ended with a substantial financial gain for me. The chap who bought it was from Bradford and a collector of Baines Cycles. He was thrilled with his purchase and intended bringing it back to life with original fittings, though not necessarily to ride. I was pleased it had gone to a good home. My youngest son, who now has more bikes than I can count, however was very disappointed I had sold it. When I send him a photo of the same bike in the museum today his immediate reply was – “I still haven’t forgiven you”
***
So back to the museum.
The museum is in the former Moorside Mill, built around 1875 as a small worsted spinning mill. Bradford Industrial Museum has permanent displays of textile machinery, steam power, engineering, printing machinery and motor vehicles etc etc. You can also visit Moorside House where the mill manager lived, and in contrast the mill-workers’ back to back terraced housing.
It is crawling with enthusiastic and noisy, young school trippers.
The whole of the first floor is taken up with machinery from the worsted manufacturing era. Worsted was from sheep’s wool as opposed to cotton fabrics from, well, cotton. Many of the processes are similar. Blending, scouring, carding, combing, twisting, spinning, winding and finally weaving are all explained. There is machinery from the water mill era through to the steam era. Now all can be seen working by the flick of an electric switch. There are set times for switching the demonstrations on, I just follow the school groups.
When the machinery is working, particularly the looms, the sound is deafening, imagine working in this environment. Hope the videos play.
There is quite a lot of educational material on the social environment in the weaving towns in the late C19th and early C20th. I am not sure how much the junior school children took in.
The development of steam engines since over 200 years ago is highlighted. They were important to the weaving industries as well as the growing industrial world. The information too complicated to take in casually, but there are many working models to admire. And down in the basement an actual steam engine, recovered from Linton cotton mill when it was demolished in 1983. Victor, as it is named, is steamed up at certain times of the year and must be a spectacular show of power.
The transport section is just the same as I remember it and there at the end of the line past all the Jowetts is that classic cycle.
The iconic Jowett Jupiter.
A black Jowett Javelin behind the Jupiter.
After a coffee in the basic café I wander outside to look at the mill owners stone house. It is furnished in the period style, early twentieth century. There is so much detail to take in, literally a view into the past.
The much humbler back to back cottages across the way, saved from demolition and again furnished in the era of the mill’s working. Some of them also show life in the 60s and 70s – lots of nostalgia there for the older visitor and amusement for the school children.
There is so much of interest in this museum, far more than I have highlighted, particularly to industrial or social historians and those of an engineering background. We of a certain age will find abundant memories for a lost but recent part of our lives.
I am pleased I stopped off for a visit, especially for that bike. We all love nostalgia.
Looking through my photographs of all the sculptures I took in the Yorkshire Sculpture Park I see some interesting shapes in nature. I’ve put a few together for my amusement.
Another time I visit maybe I should just ignore the sculptures and look at the trees.
Crossing the bridge at the end of the lower lake one couldn’t but notice the large lady strutting across the field. I have never been a fan of Damien Hirst ever since I came across his open womb pregnant Verity in Ilfracombe, whilst walking the South West Coastal Way, and this figure before me is unmistakably his. The Virgin Mother. 2005. Damien Hirst. ”We are here for a fun time, not a long time”
And there are more in the distance but I was content with long zoom images.
Charity. 2002. Damien Hirst.
The hat makes the man. 2004. Damien Hirst.
I could have walked down the valley to the Weston Gallery but time was getting on. There is always another day and I wanted to see some sculptures this side of the lake. By now the wind was getting up and it was difficult to hold either myself or the camera steady.
Black Mound. 2013. David Nash. Oak charred in situ. Another of his that will age with time naturally.
49 Square. 2013. David Nash. Silver birch which will grow into a white square by the lake.
Oeuvre (Verdigris) 2018. Gavin Turk. A large bronze duck egg.. “I made an egg that will last forever – but now we no longer no what forever means – it depends which report you read”
Hazmat Love. 2017. Tom Friedman. Embracing, wrestling or dancing?
Mind Walk. 2022. Peter Randall-Page. A continuous line carved into Bavarian granite.
Gazing Ball. 2018. Lucy + Jorge Orta.
Notice the small heart, their reference to a close friend who died waiting for a transplant.
Diario. 2016. Mikayel Ohanjanyan. Where the steel wire cuts into the marble the names of all his friends are written.
“during our lifetime, these acquaintances shape our identity, values, and human dignity”
And now for something completely different. This is based on an Invacar, the basic three wheeler, all pale blue, issued to disabled people by the NHS for thirty years from 1948. I just about remember them. They were eventually deemed unsafe. Heaton was issued with one in 1971, he says he felt like a solitary cripple in it. Now painted gold – “from lame to Lamé”
Gold Lamé 2014. Tony Heaton.
I wander up the park through the highly polished granite shapes by Japanese sculptor Masayuki Koorida.
Over the bridge up to the iconic Love statue.
Ha-Ha Bridge. Brian Fell.
Love. (Red Blue Green) Robert Indiana.
I was running out of time although the park closes at 5pm the galleries close at 4. Going the long way round and exploring I had misjudged it. I missed out on the Chapel’s Light Organ show and much more but I wanted to complete my Erwin Wurm tour from this morning. There were a few more in the garden but the light had gone for photography. Fortunately the majority were in the Underground Gallery where I had 20 minutes to spare – too short a time really for all his curiosities. Thankfully there was no one about to take a picture of any of my appendages poking through his caravan. All bendy vehicles, gherkins and sausages.
The YSP is on a grand scale and the large open spaces suit a lot of the larger statues. As I intimated there is lots more to discover. Next time I may park at the Weston Entrance and walk around from there. I did think about returning tomorrow but perhaps a change of scenery is needed and I have a couple of other options. Certainly spending the two nights in Wakefield has been a winner although I think I will give the Campanile’s pizza a miss tonight.
***
This a rough map of my anticlockwise ramblings. 5 miles measured but more like 6 or 7 actually walked.
Looking through my photos of all things non-sculptural I have some interesting natural images which I may post as an alternative view.
Continuing my perambulation in the park I wander down towards the lake, the lower one. Here are two large ‘architectural’ installations from Anthony Caro.
Dream City 1996 and Promenade 1996. Sir Anthony Caro.
Promenading in front of the hall.
A strange but captivating ring of twelve animal heads from the Chinese Zodiac. The artist Ai Weiwei, a Chinese dissident, wanted them to be fun “everybody has a Zodiac connection”
Circle of heads. Ai Weiwei 2010.
Looking at my map I see there is a footpath around the upper lake which looks interesting. The two lakes were originally hand dug for Bretton Hall in the C18th and are at the centre of the park, they are connected to the River Deame which flows through the park. In amongst the trees I come across scattered artworks.
123454321 Sol LeWitt 1993. Mathematical progressions present in nature.
Idit Nathan and Helen Stratford’s Further Afield. 2021. are several railway sleepers inviting you to play.
Idee de pietra – Olmo. 2008. Giuseppe Penone. The tree is bronze, the stone real.
No sculpture park is complete without Antony Gormley. One and Other. 2000.
I particularly like this use of the old boat house. JocJonJosch. Eddy.2014. in which the three artists each have an oar, going nowhere.
Flagstone, 2016. Willem Boshoff. Belfast granite polished back to the molten state. The lettering translates – ‘a drop of water hollows a stone, not by force, but by continuously dripping’ Ovid.
At the end pf the lake by the bridge this young man is on his phone. But what is he thinking about? Network 2013. Thomas J Price.
I’ve never been up to the Longside Gallery on this side of the park, and despite it being closed I fancy the walk. A steep field leads me upwards with good views back over the lakes and park. Hereabouts are lots of lovely trees which has given me an idea for a separate post on nature in the park.
There is nobody about as I continue along the ridge to the Round Wood and unexpectedly come across a circular stone wall, it must be one of Andy Goldsworthy’s.
Longside Gallery. Closed.
Outclosure. Andy Goldsworthy. 2007.
Oh, there is somebody up here, a solitary figure sat looking at the view. But as I get closer he becomes much larger. Sean Henry’s Seated Figure. 2016 plays with scale. The last photo in the series fortunately has a passing lady stood next to him for perspective.
As I walk down the hill the boundary wall in the sunken Ha Ha suddenly develops small deep rectangular enclosures, could this be Goldsworthy again? In one a suspended tree has been captured, perhaps there were in the other two but decay may have moved in.
Hanging Trees. 2007. Andy Goldsworthy. (YSP photo)
I can’t get to grips with the last ‘installation’ on the hill. Seventy One Steps. David Nash. 2010. And that’s just what they are, though I didn’t count them. Charred Oak sleepers embedded in coal and slowly merging into the hillside, probably just as he imagined similar to his Barnsley lump of coal on the other side of the park.
At the bottom are the remains of the ornate C17th Lady Eglinton’s well.
The Campanile was cheap and cheerful, and was only 20 minutes away from the Yorkshire Sculpture Park in the grounds of Bretton Hall, outside Wakefield. I was parking there just after they had opened at 10am, hoping to get a full day exploring some parts of the park I had previously missed and there is always something new.
I decided to to walk the park first and go into the galleries later in the day when the weather was deteriorating. My plan didn’t quite work out.
My must see today is Trap of the Truth – over a hundred works from the quirky Austrian Erwin Wurm. I’ve tried to share a video of Wurm talking to Clare Lilley, Director of the park, but technology has defeated me. However if you click on the link below and go well down the page to their 15 minute interview you will be impressed.
What a nice bloke and how innovative. Here are some of his outside sculptures. Make of them what you want, there are a lot of hidden meanings relating to fashion and consumerism.
Leaving Wurm for now I wander off into the park where round every corner one comes across some new curiosity and probably miss just as many, That is why repeated trips here always pays dividends.
Family of Man. Barbara Hepworth. 1970,
Hydra vs Bear. A fantasy, Jordy Kerwick. 2023.
Protomartyr. Elizabeth Frink. 1984. A bonze St. Stephen.
Barnsley Lump. David Nash.1981. A lump of coal slowly disintegrating.
Whilst walking through the wheelchair accessible garden I meet one of the staff, Mick, a retired miner/mental health nurse/ Yorkshireman/grandfather and more. He was passionate about the sculpture park and works a few days a week as a general helper. Time well spent chatting to him.
Mick.
Buddha. Niki de Saint Phalle. 2000. Glistening mosaics.
Octopus. Marialuisa Tadei. 2011. More mosaics.
Sitting. Sophie Rider. 2007. The Mother hare.
Bag of Aspirations. Kalliopi Lemos. 2013. Outside the Camelia House. “human lives are valued less than their possessions”
Usagi Kannon II. Leiko Ikemura. 2013. Fukushima nuclear disaster,
A Needle Woman. Kimsooja. 2014. A needle weaving our lives.
Most obtuse quotation/interpretation so far –
“Overall my work can be summarised as an attempt to translate the longstanding historical and political ambitions of traditional figurative sculpture into a revised sculptural language appropriate to the current cultural situation. The aim of my work is to question certainties and stereotypes, introducing a variety of fact and fiction into sculpture that is descriptive but not representative of the ‘real’ world.” Kenny Hunter. Bonfire 2009.
And the most apt –
“it would be very nice to put sculpture on hillsides or in small valleys, or place them where you think it would be nice for them to be and for everybody to enjoy” Barbara Hepworth.
My passport is stamped and I’m heading over the Pennines into deepest Yorkshire. To be honest I hate the journey on the M62, particularly the ‘safe motorway’ sections. Getting around Manchester I witness some crazy driving, weaving between lanes at high speed and undertaking even using the hard shoulder. And that is after I had delayed my departure to avoid the rush hour. Around Leeds more chaos ensued. I was heading to Wakefield, home of the Hepworth Gallery.
Since 1923 the Municipal Art Gallery in Wakefield has had a high reputation for their collections and support for local artists. But it was time to expand and modernise and in 2011 the new gallery, in Brutalist style. was opened on the banks of The Calder in the city centre. Its aim was to continue to be a leading gallery with contemporary additions and also to house a large permanent collection of Barbara Hepworth’s work, helped by a family donation of her historical output.
Barbara Hepworth was born in Wakefield and went onto become one of our most famous and respected modernistic sculptors. Coincidentally Henry Moore came from nearby Castleford and they were both helped in their early careers by the Wakefield gallery.
I watch the queue of elderly all trying to fathom the complicated instructions of the carpark ticked machine. I am content to sit in the car and enjoy a leisurely flask of coffee after my hectic journey here. Time to slow down before trying my own elderly luck with the machine. The last time I was here was two years ago. A lot of water has flown under the bridge since then, quite literally judging from the volume cascading down the flooded Calder dramatically surrounding the gallery. I’m pleased it is a bright sunny day as much of the light in the galleries comes from the largo windows, and as a bonus they are being cleaned.
I am a little disappointed to see this sign on the entrance…
…needless to say I didn’t.
What’s on? Well apart from all the Barbara Hepworth collection there is a major exhibition of Kim Lim’s work, a collection of new acquisitions, the first solo exhibition of Andrew Cranston, a sound installation by Shenece Oretha and much more. Here is a sample pf the best.
On the stairs to the first floor galleries are four panels relating to the repression of women the world over but particularly in Iran. Women, Life, Freedom. In Sept2022 a young lady in Iran was detained for the incorrect wearing of the Hijab, her death in captivity sparked massed protests in Iran. The posters have been designed by four Iranian women , tellingly living outside their country. A good start to the day, art is never far from politics.
The galleries are in a circular arrangement from your arrival on the first floor. Its up to you which way round to go. Today I chose anti-clockwise, I think I always do.
The first room housed the newly acquired – A Living Collection. varied styles and mediums. The gallery is trying to give a better representation of female artists and those of a diverse ethnic backgrounds. A party of secondary school children up from Chesterfield were busy at work creating their own interpretations. Some were very good. The master in charge was effortlessly sketching his pupils scattered around the rooms. All very jolly and making the gallery come to life. In amongst them were a Hepworth and a Moore to remind one of the true history of the place.
My own favourites were a bright energetic painting by a young Jade Fadojutimi, Ob-Sess-Ion, and a thoughtful print from Jimmy Robert, Frammenti VII, not many Greek Statue subjects were coloured.
Mother and Child. Barbara Hepworth, 1934
The adjoining rooms shows a diverse selection of works from Scotsman Andrew Cranston, What made you stop here? From large scale paintings to small intimate oil and varnish on hardback book covers. The large Echoes, bleach and dye on canvas, had me entranced as did a few of the smaller ones, Granny and the more challenging The Sweet and the Weird, he has a fascination with fish. That is reflected in his larger fish picture which has a humorous tale behind it, which I will leave for you to discover..
This video tells you more about him and is worth watching.
I then suddenly find myself in the Kim Lim’s Space, Rhythm and Light.
Her career is covered from when she arrived in England in 1954. Prints and sculptures from that time until her death in 1997. Innovative from the start she was prepared to experiment with different materials and travelled widely for inspiration. For the last 20 years of her life she carved solely in stone.
Time for a coffee in the excellent restaurant.
A room full of Hepworth, Moore and ethnic statues is given over to Shenece Oretha’s experiments with sound. In her residency here she spent time tapping and touching the different sculptures and recording with high sensitivity microphones. The results are hypnotic and enhance ones experience of the exhibits. I am entranced and try to guess which sound matches which statue. Have a listen.
The next gallery highlights Barbara Hepworths works, many of them prototypes for larger projects. The surealism was added to by the window cleaner.
There is a reconstruction of her studio and more examples of her plaster carving and bronze casting techniques. A room given over to The Art of the Potter highlights ceramics from the Wakefield’s collections over the years.
The last room is given over to all things Yorkshire with more Hepworth and Moore sculptures and including a painting by a Philip Reinagle, 1793, of the old Wakefield Bridge and Chantry Chapel. The chapel was built in the C14th and is one of only four surving in the England.Looking across from the gallery window that bridge, now closed to traffic, is visible with the chapel prominent. Time for a walk out in the sunsgine to take a closer look and bring the picture to life.
Now to head to my cheap hotel, the Campanile on a nearby industrial estate, for a good night’s rest before the YSP tomorrow. I can’t face the M62 twice in one day.
It never used to be so busy at the Cow and Calf Rocks’ carpark A bright Saturday has brought crowds up here above an equally busy Ilkley. We are here to find the last of Simon Armitage and Pipa Hall’s Stanza Stone Poems, Beck, hidden in Backstone Beck where the latter comes down at speed towards the town. I have downloaded some ‘simple’ directions but am afraid I may get distracted by the nearby climbing crags.
Ilkley Quarry, the Cow and Calf and the Rocky Valley were favourite haunts of my early climbing days. There was plenty of traditional excitement to be had on the rounded gritstone. But no let’s find the poetry stone first.
‘Take the path out of the car park’ was an obvious start, we could manage that. The paths are more well used than I remember them, were they even here back then? But there are lots of them going off in all directions. And there are people in all directions too. Some coming up from Ilkley by way of the tarn, most like us wandering from the Cow and Calf and others from over the moor. Dogs, in all shapes and sizes, are everywhere, which gives Zola plenty of canine interactions, Clare is on hand to call her in when things are starting to get out of hand. I am amazed that she can bound off into the distance (Zola, not Clare), in a place she has never set foot in, and keep reappearing at our heels. The bracken is dead which helps us find the narrower paths. All the time we have a panoramic view of Ilkley down below in the Aire valley.
‘Head towards a plantation’ was the next instruction, yes, but which one? A solitary Stanza Poem fingerpost then takes some of the adventure away. The sound of the beck meant we were close. ‘Scramble up alongside the beck’ was our instruction – but steps have been provided recently. ‘Squeeze through between a gorse bush and a boulder’ the guide says. But someone has cut the gorse bush back. Is this all down to the YouTube/Instagram/what three words phenomena creating honey pots in our wild countryside? I’m beginning to feel a little cheated, this was to be the climax of our poetry trail with the most difficult stone to find. Zola obviously finds it for us, but then in the end we have it completely to ourselves.
False trail
Is this what you are looking for?
What a spot, a wild tumbling beck with the brown bracken clinging to the hillside. Water is splashing around the rocks and there in the centre of it all is the Stanza Stone. A proud boulder sitting in the flow as was Pipa Hall when she carved out the letters. We ask ourselves how did they find this elysian place?
A bit of precarious scrambling had us up close to the poem which is slowly taking on the patina of all the other water splashed rocks. What will it be like in another ten, twenty or fifty years? all a very short period of time for the stones up here on the moor. The references to the curlew and the dipper are perfect for the situation. If you have read any of Simon Armitage’s poems you will recognise his acute observation, engagement and ability to weave his words. If you haven’t, a good start would be an anthology of his writings – Paper Aeroplane, 1989 – 2014. The title poem at the very end is one of my favourites, a self-effacing offering worlds apart from Tennyson, Simon is no stuffy Poet Laureate.
Where next? Well I had suggested we explore the wild moor looking for those thousand years old markings in the rocks up here. Cup and ring marks and geometric carvings. I won’t bore you with our subsequent wanderings. Zola probably derived the most benefit from the open moorland obstacle course. Did we find any? I can’t say for certain, lets just leave it there. I don’t know who C Clark and Crackety Jack are.
Our only trophy was stumbling across a ‘poetry seat’ constructed in line with the poems. The sign said Marsden 451/4 miles, where we had started with Snow up in the quarries at Pule Hill in October. We have not walked the whole trail but picked off the stones on the way – Rain, Mist, Dew, Puddle and now Beck. Whichever way you approach it this gives a wonderful feeling for the Pennine scenery, the vagrancies of its weather and the talent and inspiration of the poetry team.
Going with the flow Clare posts a poem into the letter box. I wonder when it will next emerge.
On our way back to the car I indulge in some reminiscing of those carefree climbing days long ago.
There was no congratulatory drink in the nearby Cow and Calf Inn, a quick toilet stop and I was happy to be on my way home before all those high intensity car headlights had chance to confuse me. How the mighty have fallen.
***
There is however a post script. Our journey is not yet done.
The final Stanza? Armitage and Hall spoke about a seventh, hidden Stanza Stone. Although they disputed its size, both agreed it was fairly small and had been placed within either a “wooden casket” or “hollowed-out log”. Armitage added: “We took it to a place above Hebden Bridge, where the Ted Hughes poem ‘Six Young Men’ is set, and placed it under the riverbank there.” Shortly afterwards the valley was flooded, “so we’ve no idea where it is now. It’s either in the Atlantic, or in the North Sea – or lying in someone’s cellar in Todmorden”.
I was up here a few days ago in the frosty weather when I talked about the Leagram Deer Park. Today was all blue sky and not an icy patch to tread warily on. I’d already walked the pleasant mile along the quiet road from the site of Leagram Mill, passing some of those iconic railings sited to give visibility on the bends. Are they just a Lancashire thing?
Now I was entering the ancient laund of Leagram. There was once an extensive deer park here in the 15 -16th centuries, l’ll come to Stanley shortly. The pale was a ditch sometimes ‘fortified’ with hawthorn hedging demarcating and protecting the deer hunting area. Parts of it can be seen on the present day estate where I am walking. From this we acquired the phrase “beyond the pale” – outside the bounds of acceptable behaviour. This how you find it with todays technology video.
Lovely parkland with Longridge Fell ‘beyond the pale’
I walk on past the blue faced sheep and decide not to take the way to Park Gate as a tractor is muck spreading across the field. I walk on with Parlick up ahead. But I’m not heading for the high Bowland Fells, I’m going to skirt around under them on the track to Lickhurst.
First I stop to buy half a dozen free range eggs from the lane that leads to Saddle End Farm.
The Public Road ends short of the lane to the isolated Burnslack and the byway heading east is open to traffic but there are warnings to potential 4X4 users. Soon I’m at the ford over Leagram Brook, now provided with large stepping stones. Onwards becomes open moor named on the map as Stanley.
Edward Stanley, it turns out was keeper of Leagram deer park in the Royal Forest of Bowland between 1487 and 1523, and a soldier for both Henry VII and Henry VIII. The deer park died out in the C17th and the land passed into the Townley family. That’s how you inherited or were bestowed land in those days. It remained under the Townley family until 1938 when The Duchy Of Lancaster purchased much of the land.
Tipping my hat to to the duke or whoever I cross over Stanley and drop into Lickhurst. Remote farms, when I was working in the area, but now gentrified country properties made more accessible by bridges where there were previously fords. Having said that I got talking to a tradesman working on one of the properties who said they got caught out with the sudden snow and freezing conditions last week and spent two hours trying to get back up the hill to civilisation.
We are in Limestone country now, lots of coral reefs and more than one lime kiln along the way. I’m always impressed by the length of the single span stone across the brook here, now balustraded for health and safety.
Then there is that isolated red phone box, worth a post of its own. It is still functional but I wonder how many times it has been used in the last year.
One of the reasons I’m here is to visit friends at Greystonely. They are in so I enjoy an excellent coffee and them we join forces for the ongoing walk.
The bridleway down to another ford is looking worse from wear and tear, sat navs have led the unwary down this way, or rather ‘no way’. The bridleway improves past houses and eventually bring me back to my car on the road where I part company with my friends as they find another way back home.
I can repeat this walk as many times as I like – there is something special about it and the old Royal Deer Park. Here’s to Stanley.
***
Sadly a mere three weeks after my visit the lady pictured above had died of cancer of the pancreas. I still can’t believe it.
This may take some time to write up and to read. I completed the short cycle ride on a frosty January 18th. 2024.
How many times have I cycled down the seafront from Fleetwood to Blackpool? How many times have I later flown past, with the wind behind me, the several pieces of artwork without realising their significance? The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind. A song still appropriate to the present troubles of our world and my wanderings.
Grab a coffee, relax, listen and read on.
I aim to put that right today. I have done a little research on the Cleveleys website. Over recent years the sea defence improvements at Rossall and Cleveleys have provided a wonderful promenade, a leisure amenity alongside the coast popular with walkers and cyclists. At the same time funding was secured by Wyre Council through Sea Change, a national fund designed to regenerate the coast through the Arts.
This gave rise to Cleveleys Mythic Coastline art work following the story of The Sea Swallow A children’s fairytale, written by Gareth Thompson and illustrated by Hannah McGee, it blends legends with local features. Each primary school child in Wyre was given a copy of the book in 2011. (I need to find out if any copies are still available – just this minute ordered ordered one from ABE Books.) The book tells of the epic story of land versus sea and uses old fables from this stretch of the Fylde coast with the sea swallows protecting it. A tale of an Ogre stirring up the sea with his giant paddle, threatening the waterfront community, only to be thwarted by the story’s heroine, Mary and her golden shell. Mary is granted the ability to journey to the seabed for an encounter with the sea-ogre, who covets the shell and threatens her village with inundation. I need to read the book to find out the hopefully favourable outcome. The story and pictures from the book have been the basis for the public artwork subsequently installed along the seafront.
***
To set the scene: I unload my bike as usual near the delightful ‘Welcome Home’ statue on the front at Fleetwood and pedal off in the freezing temperatures, my hands rapidly becoming numb. There are patches of ice along the promenade and the beach is frozen solid. The tide is farther out than I’ve seen it before and one can imagine the difficulties of navigating into the mouth of the Wyre and Fleetwood’s docks. Out to sea the Isle of Man ferry is heading to Heysham whilst a couple of freighters are leaving, with the back drop of Barrow, Black Coombe and the snowy Lakeland hills.
Once past the toppling coast watchers and round Rossall Point I’m onto the new tiered promenades of Rossall’s sea defences with concrete walls showing wavy themes in relief.
Along here are three art installations I’ve not bothered to examine before. Each one consists of three slender arching columns, grass-like, decorated with a floral theme. Ragwort, Sea Holly and Sea Spurrey and their animal dependents, Cinnabar Moth, Red Tailed Buff Bee and Common Toad respectively. I can find little information on them, but obviously, they reflect coastal species. They are sited at access points to the beach for maximum impact; perhaps they are marker posts between here and Cleveleys.
It was along here that Sea Swallows started appearing in the back wall and, at the end an impressive larger relief featuring Mary. I now realise there was another Mary ‘panel’ at the start of the wall farther back – it gives me an excuse to have another leisurely exploration.
The main installations of the Mythic Coast are from the storybook – The Shell, The Ogre, The Ogre’s Paddle and The Sea Swallow, and the nearby Shipwreck Memorial. They have all been put together by artists and designers from Broadbent Studio.
First up was Mary’s Shell, a large piece of spiralling metal in a shell shape on the Cleveley beach below the café. Looking through it at low tide is the sea; at high tide, it becomes completely submerged. The complex Conch shell was made from stainless steel in Ulverston, with a blast finish and weighs in at 17 tons. Today, the tide was out, and I could have, should have, gone down the steps to come up close, but with the bike in tow, I was content to view from the promenade.
The Ogre is easily missed alongside the boulder groyne just south of the Shell. It is in fact a boulder carved to represent the crouching giant. He was hand carved from a single fifteen ton block of limestone by the stonemason Adrian Wright and fittingly submerged for a lot of the time. Today, I was lucky, and he was plain for all to see. Again, I should have gone down onto the beach for a closer look, but as I said a good excuse to return.
Can you spot him?
The Ogre’s Paddle is on the higher promenade, unceremoniously in front of the cinemas and gym. The paddle was constructed in purple heart wood from South America, carved with decorations and text from the story by the woodcarver John Merrill.
“the Sea Ogre’s paddle drifted up to lie on the muddy sand like some strange offering”
The Sea Swallow monument is right in the middle of the promenade. A 10m tall sculpture, its shape inspired by the feel of a book coming to life and the swallows flying out of it.. The swallows are the town’s protectors, and I now realise are representative of Sea Terns. Just look at that blue sky.
“This feature acts as a visual beacon to draw people from the town centre to the seafront” . The granite was supplied by Hardscape, and the aluminium structure fabricated and installed by Chris Brammall Ltd. of Cumbria.
‘For at night they stand together on the sea wall, as if protecting the town with their great white wings.’
Illustrations from the book have been carved and blasted into the granite base of the sculpture. “maybe somewhere along the coast, the shell waits for someone to find it again”
You may have noticed everything is curvy (wavy) on Cleveleys promenade, often practically to soften the force of the waves but more of an ongoing architectural statement. I think it works quite well.
The last piece, the Shipwreck Memorial, stands proudly on the Cleveleys Promenade. A huge piece of iron, 15mm thick, laser cut with the names of lost vessels. It stands 4.5m tall against the sky, supported by two huge solid pieces of timber. The metalwork is slowly rusting, as would have the sunken ships.
It acts as a memorial to all known ships lost along the Fylde since 1643. It is positioned on the promenade at Cleveleys, adjacent to the site of the most recently lost ship – The Riverdance, which ran aground in 2008 and became a tourist attraction as it slowly lost its cargo and was subsequently dismantled. In the same area the wooden ribs of The Abana, sunk in 1894, still show up at low tide. Apparently, they can be seen through the disc in the memorial, I should have looked more carefully.
On the wooden supports are a couple of panels listing all the ships with more information about their wrecking. A sobering list, a huge graveyard of over 200, The first listed as Unidentified, wrecked near Fleetwood in 1643 having run aground after being set on fire by Loyalists in the Civil War. In more modern times, the Trawler industry suffered disproportionately. A full list of wrecks has been transcribed onto a page on the Cleveleys website.
A final installation – Coloured Sea Swallows, cast in resin, was planned to sit along the seawall on the Cleveleys promenade. They have been temporarily removed following the unfortunate theft of several of them, and are awaiting re-siting.
Historical picture.
The Shipwreck Memorial stands on the border between Wyre (Cleveleys) and Blackpool. I’ve gone as far as I want today; it’s time to head back.
But first I stop to watch some activity on the beach. They are building more stone groynes to prevent potentially dangerous deep-side channels from developing across the beach. Blocks of stone, Granite from Shap and Limestone from Carnforth, have been ‘dumped’ on the beach. Concrete ramps to allow access along the beach have been built, and they are now starting to carefully place the boulders at right angles to the prom, forming the groynes. Each block weighs between 3 and 8 tons; anything lighter would get washed away in storms.
Needless to say, I haven’t seen any Sea Swallows but a cheeky Starling joined me for some lunch.
Thanks for sticking with me. Maybe listen to Bob again.
The Tolkien Trail website has – “Tolkien Trail famous ‘Middle Earth’ walk: People come from all over the world to walk the famous Tolkien Trail. To follow in the footsteps of J.R.R. Tolkien himself, for seven and a half miles, and see how he was inspired by the beautiful landscape of Lancashire. Immerse yourself in this wonderful part of the countryside.”That may be so but we didn’t meet another soul today from any part of the world.
I was never into fantasy fiction but I love the scenic Ribble Valley for its own sake. That is why I keep coming back to walks around Hurst Green and the Rivers Hodder and Ribble. So here we are again, in Hurst Green on a quiet Friday morning, with the temperature hovering around zero. Mike is always on the lookout for easy walks of about 4 miles suitable for his walking group, preferably starting at and finishing at a pub. This is my latest suggestion. We are parked outside the Bailey Arms, presently unoccupied, but the thriving Shireburn Arms is only a stone’s throw away. We follow lanes out of the village towards Stonyhurst College, through its grounds down to the River Ribble where we pick up the Tolkien Trail back to Hurst Green. A pleasant varied 4 miles.
Here are a few pictures…
Will they ever reopen?
Alms Houses, worth a picture every time.
The spooky cemetery.
The Statue of Our Lady, Mary, also known as ‘Our Lady of the Avenue’ was installed in 1882.
The iconic college view.
A winter’s scene.
What is this tree with all the low untidy growth?
Imposing! How much per term these days?
St. Peter’s.
Exploring off-piste. The former Fives Courts. There are not many left in the country, due for renovation.
And a house for bats next door.
Down past Cross Gill Farm towards the river.
A snowy Pendle dominates the Ribble Valley.
The elusive historic cross.
Hobbit Hill, a ‘bespoke wedding venue’ cashing in on the Tolkien theme.
On the Trail.
Reused Astro turf – lovely to walk on, every trail should be carpeted with it.
The Victorian aqueduct bridge.
The deep ravine below Hurst Green.
A lot of work has gone into the trail recently, this was an eroded mess before.
As I walked gingerly along the icy lane the gentleman coming the other way greeted me with “gan canny“, not an expression often heard in Lancashire. He was just as surprised when I responded automatically with “wye aye man“. Two northeasterners meeting on a frosty day, both walking like penguins on the ice.
I was out for a walk from home, not wanting to drive unnecessarily on the frozen roads even though some of the snow has melted. I chose to do another circuit of my ‘Around Longridge Walk’. Friends have asked for a detailed description so I was tying up loose ends for the definitive. Let me know if you want a copy. As I’ve mentioned before, the walk has metamorphized into a longer circuit to keep it as rural rural as possible whilst avoiding the new housing developments. This worked well today as the fields were safer to walk on than the icy pavements and lanes. An added bonus at this time of year is that the cattle are safely tucked up in their barns and that the boggy sections are frozen over, well almost.
I didn’t get going till lunchtime and by the time I was finishing the seven and a half mile (12k) circuit the sun was setting. Home to a hot bath and a mince pie with a glass of Laphroaig, left over from Christmas. Hopefully that is the end of the seasonal excesses.
Whilst on the subject of icy roads, two conversations this week with lady workers in one of our local supermarkets had me thinking. They both were worrying about their evening journey home by car. The roads had been like ice rinks in the early morning and they had seen several minor bumps whilst driving in. Yet they both lived within a mile of work and had probably not even thought of walking there instead of using the car. How many others are doing the same, all those children driven a short distance to school every day. Never mind the dicey roads at this time of year what about a change of thought on car usage for short distances for the rest of the year. Our roads are clogged and our children are becoming obese. Or am I too late to the party to even suggest this? The environment and healthy living seem to bypass most of the population.
There were several examples on the dangers of winter driving along my way.
A notorious local bend.
Oh! and just to lighten the mood a distant photo of an icy Pendle, one of the many sights to be seen around Longridge.
I nearly didn’t make it. But here I am with my cheese and onion slice and a hot coffee watching the world go by.
Glasson Dock is quiet today, very few people about which is unusual. The lady in the shop/café says things have been ‘dead’ since the New Year. A few workmen from the docks, people visiting the Smokehouse, the occasional dog walker. But as I say it is virtually a ghost town, not even the motorcyclists have braved the cold dull day.
The harbour basin is still empty though cranes have arrived to repair the outer sea gates. I wonder how this has affected the ports diminishing trade. No sign of the The Victoria Inn reopening. I’ve just learnt there used to be another pub on the harbour front – The Caribou, possibly the oldest property in Glasson. One day I should give the Dalton Arms pub round the corner another chance, it seems to have improved with better reviews. But today I’m content with my coffee.
One good piece of news is that the Port of Lancaster Smokehouse have managed to open their modern shop on the quayside right next to the café. I wander in to have a look around – they have a wide selection of their own wood smoked products and lots of deli type delights from mainly local suppliers. I come away with some smoked mackerel as a present for friends I hope to visit later in the day.
***
But first I have to cycle back to Halton by the Lune where my day had started.
Last time I headed for Glasson from here on my bike in December I was thwarted by a puncture. That other episode when I demolished my car’s tailgate occurred after a Glasson Cycle ride. Last winter I couldn’t get through floods and ended up with very wet lower limbs when I dismounted and retreated for safety. The story and pictures are here.
Was Glasson becoming my ‘bête noire’?
I almost didn’t make it today.
The old railway out of Lancaster makes a perfect cycle way alongside the Lune all the way to Glasson. I rarely cycle on roads now so I treasure the safer off road experience. All is going well through the city. my replacement inner tube holding up well. Once out of the industrial area one is suddenly in open countryside. Bird watchers are focused on hundreds of geese in a nearby field, all is drained land either side of the way. I pass a couple of walkers with a brief chat and head straight on. But is that another flood ahead? It stopped raining a few days ago so I wasn’t expecting any problems. Exactly the same spot where I came to grief last winter. But surely it can’t be very deep. I ride into it, crushing the ice as I go. Things then become a little scary, the water deepens and the ice has my wheels slipping sideways. De-ja-vue. I gingerly dismount and turn around after maybe 20 yards. My way to Glasson is blocked, but wet feet are luckily my only problem.
Calling it a day I cycle back along the lane to meet up with the two walkers once again. They had been closely following my progress into the water before proceeding farther themselves. We agree it is impossible to get through. But what is this right by them? A small track goes into the undergrowth and continues along slightly above the flooded lane. I had not noticed this last time. In fact the narrow path is probably on the actual line of the railway embankment, the lower flooded lane a more recent addition.
We walk along together, they are wanting to get to the Canal and go back to Lancaster. The water down to the right is now a lake of considerable size and depth, turning round was a wise decision. This way has been used before for exactly the same purpose as ours today. We are rewarded after 500m, rejoining the lane where it goes up to Aldcliffe. They to the canal and I thankfully onwards for that coffee in Glasson.
A very popular climb from Scorton on the edge of the Bowland Fells. I never get bored of this little fell. How many times have I been up it? See here, there and everywhere.
But where has the name come from? Who was Nicky? No amount of internet searching gives any clue, locals don’t seem to have any idea either. Any suggestions?
A nook is “a small quiet place or corner that is sheltered or hidden from other people” That’s not the case up here any more, there is nearly always a steady stream of people walking up the steep steps from Wyresdale. They don’t know any better as there are far pleasanter ways to reach the modest summit from more roundabout ways. JD and I followed one of these to the top today.
The side road I normally park on was closed due to works, but there was plenty of space on the main road into Scorton. The ‘works’ didn’t progress much whilst we were out for the day. How much local authority funds are wasted for the lack of adequate overseeing? Too many questions today.
We left the lane at the inviting Wyre Way signs. I blamed the low winter sun for our almost blind wanderings over only just frozen fields. There was certainly one point where a new fence across the line of the right of way was lacking a stile, (GPS defines these spots accurately, note to Lancs Highways Authority sent) The onward haphazard wanderings however were all my fault. We found ourselves, don’t ask me how, in a bare harvested maize field which had the appearance of a pheasant shoot. I was concerned it could become a peasant shoot if we didn’t find a way out. The road was just across the other side of the hedge but we couldn’t find a gate. I suggested we swallowed our pride and retreat back to the right of way. But no, JD is sometimes more persistent, obstinate and intrepid than even I. He is to be seen escaping from Colditz.
Regrouped we soon left the lane onto the bridleway up into the woods of Grize Dale. We were not the only ones, a large shooting party were just setting off into undergrowth to kill a few pheasants. (Is this activity exclusively male I wonder?) Fortunately we were well on our way before the shots ran out, would have been a shame to spoil the day. The rhododendrons are taking over on this side of the fell.
The reservoir seemed fuller than usual, but that was no surprise after all the rain in December. Today was all blue sky, the feel like temperature in the brisk easterly was well below zero. More to come this next week, no more rain in the foreseeable future. But as we live in the northwest we will wait and see.
I took JD on the long way round to find the easier graded ascent of Nicky, as you can see from my map. That surveying pillar guided us upwards but it was a false siren, the true summit was still some way up the hill. The shining white trig point was soon reached along with many others coming the other way, all well wrapped up against the wind, and their dogs. Only 215m but a view all around. The outlying Bowland Fells behind us, the Fylde below us and the motorway heading up to Lancaster and the more distant Lakes. It is said you can see from the Great Orme to The Isle of Man.
The onward path, previously eroded and muddy, has been upgraded with chippings and soon we are back in the valley. Is Applestore café closed on Tuesdays? Maybe we missed a chance there. I was pleased to find the public footpath around Snow Hill barn is still passable and possibly improved. It took us into woods above a very steep drop into the brook. Escape was possible over a wooden footbridge. JD noticed the original stone slab bridge below, it was still intact, if a little narrow. Obviously Health and Safety have been in play.
The parking was busier now in early afternoon opposite that iconic, seen from the M6, church steeple. What a lovely little round and we were back for tea.
This is not the day I had intended. The weather, is it really only the English who are obsessed about the weather? has at last changed from that dreadful rain to frost and sun for the next few days. I was ready for it. Spent time yesterday replacing a punctured inner tube with a brand new one. Cycling gear donned this morning – Glasson here I come. Not so fast laddie, the tyre has deflated overnight. I hadn’t the will to start again with the wheel, it is always the awkward back one. The bike is unceremoniously dumped back in to the garage for another time and I head in for an extra coffee.
Surely I can’t waste another day, I have missed too many this holiday season either from the persistent gloom affecting the weather and my mood.
My usual short winter walk from Chipping is on the lanes circling Leagram Hall. I love the approach up the drive with the prominent oaks, alas some have gone missing in the last few years’ storms. The snowdrops will soon be making an appearance in that copse over the wall. This land was once a Royal deer park in Medieval times. Names on the map, Laund Farm, Park Gate and Pale Farm, bear reference to its origins and there is an interpretation board telling me all. The background is Longridge Fell and Pendle. Now sheep are the main source of meat.
The lane is quite slippy in parts where the overnight frost persists, the air temperature is just above zero but as there is no wind feels pleasant enough. More than pleasant really with the sun shining, a perfect Winter’s afternoon for walking. And the good citizens of Chipping are making the most of it – a steady stream of friendly walkers encountered all the way around.
I’m heading towards the hills, Parlick, Fairsnape and Wolf Fell, but then skirt round the base of them before dropping down to the site of Wolfen Mill. This was a water powered mill built in the 16th Century. Historically the mill made spindles and bobbins for the local spinning mills, closing production in the 1920’s. All changed now with luxury holiday accommodation.
I walk down the lane above the tumbling Chipping Brook, which powered Wolfen Mill and several more down its course through the village. Kirk Mill, originally cotton spinning, being the largest My very last picture shows a waterwheel which was restored several years ago at a property in the centre of the village.
I take a signed but rather enclosed footpath on the outskirts of the village which brings me down a lane of houses, Broad Meadow. Friends lived here in the late C20th years, both deceased now, a trip down memory lane. A lot of the old properties from the C17th in Chipping are listed and the quaint streets and pubs are popular with visitors. I’ve written about them many times before. Slowly newer housing is encircling the village but the heart remains the same.
A simple stroll on good surfaces with plenty of interest which I highly recommend to local readers. Ideal for families.
This video tells you more about him and is worth watching. 
A room given over to The Art of the Potter highlights ceramics from the Wakefield’s collections over the years.
Looking across from the gallery window that bridge, now closed to traffic, is visible with the chapel prominent. 
Time for a walk out in the sunsgine to take a closer look and bring the picture to life.
I now realise there was another Mary ‘panel’ at the start of the wall farther back – it gives me an excuse to have another leisurely exploration. 
