Category Archives: Art and architecture.

FUERTEVENTURIA – Puerto del Rosario.

How to pass a day away.

I had a day to spare but was unable easily to get back up into the mountains so I decided on a leisurely day in town. Puerto del Rosario is the working capital of the Island and is based on its busy port. First impressions are of a self contained town with the locals going about there business away from the general tourist traffic. My hotel http://www.hoteltamasite.com/ was a typical Spanish town centre option – basic and practical. Centrally situated, Spanish speaking staff, small room, noisy evenings, as a plus this hotel had a sun roof with views over the harbour. There are always bars around for breakfast and supper.

Hotel Tamasite – the blue one!

From my window I looked down onto a courtyard that had been blocked off – including an old ‘dormobile’ left in situ.

Spot the wreck.

After a wander down to the small TI office on the harbour in the morning I was armed with a street map of a sculpture trail. There are more than 50 installations created in the last decade or so as part of an International Sculpture Symposium held every year. So off I went, on the sea front the sculptures had a marine theme – shells and fishermen, in the streets above local characters, abstract objects and goats. The number of goat statues was puzzling until I read that the town was formally called Puerto de Cabras [goats] until it was thought in 1957 the new name [rosary] was more attractive. Several of the installations were on roundabouts making photography dangerous. I called in at the museum based on the house where philosopher Miguel de Unamuno lived while in exile in 1924, I’d seen his statue in the hills yesterday. Next door was the simple Señora del Rosario church and that was it for tourism here. I regret not seeing the massive barracks of the Foreign Legion which was moved here in 1975 and apparently are still used on a smaller scale.

I only had my phone for the poor quality pictures.

Unamuno outside his house.

Senora del Rosario Church.

According to a well known review site two of the better restaurants on the Island are within a short distance of my hotel so I chose one for lunch. La Jaira de Demain lies up a side street above the harbour and is simply decorated with an outside terrace. I went for the menu – octopus and squid vinaigrette starter and than hake with mojo sauce for the main. Plus a sweet and wine 12euros. Beautifully presented and delicious.

Needed a lie down on Playa Chico, the town’s beach, before my afternoon swim.

Later in the evening popped round the corner to El Bounty del Muella another small restaurant. Run by Italians the menu is Mediterranean/Canarian and is a little bit over the top presentation wise, I don’t like slate slabs to dine off. I chose ‘catch of the day’ grilled vieja [parrot fish] which was exceptionally tasty, an expensive end to my short stay on Fuerteventura.

LONGRIDGE FELL – UP AND DOWN DUDDEL BROOK FROM RIBCHESTER.

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Oh, The grand old Duke of York,
He had ten thousand men;
He marched them up to the top of the hill,
And he marched them down again.

And when they were up, they were up,
And when they were down, they were down,
And when they were only half-way up,
They were neither up nor down.

Today’s walk followed that futile theme and the rhyme filled my head.

Duddel Brook rises quite high on the southern slopes of Longridge Fell and reaches the Ribble in Ribchester. This Brook has carved its way down the hill and created a wooded valley [seen on the OS map as a green caterpillar] for the most part secretive. The other obvious stream is Dean Brook passing through Hurst Green. Their importance in the past was related to the many small mills powered by the rushing waters and hence they are worthy of exploration today.

From near the Roman Museum in Ribchester, I set off along the Ribble to where the Duddel Brook issues close to a Roman bathhouse whose outline has been excavated. Normally field paths from Stone Bridge would lead across to Gallows Lane but at the moment they are virtually flooded so I followed the main road before turning up the Lane. A mullioned cottage at Lower Dutton is outstanding. I gained access to the brook a little higher and wandered through the beech woods alongside the water. An old mill appeared with signs of a mill race, lodge and ruined wheel installations. I believe that bobbin making was the main industry here but I may be wrong. Above the deep valley there was a brief view of Dutton Hall a prominent C17 house with a commanding aspect over the Ribble Valley. I crossed the brook on bridges and eventually deep in the valley recrossed by a shallow ford.

Start and finish – Duddel Brook entering the Ribble.

Roman Bath House.

Dutton Hall.
Wikipedia.

The path climbed away from the stream into fields. A lone oak tree, perhaps 300yrs old, was a waymarker across the field. On the road a small wholesale unit purveyed vitamins as well as ‘sweets’, I didn’t

only half-way up – neither up nor down

Again I took the easy drier tarmac option, walking up Huntington Hall Lane past several expensively converted houses and barns. After a steep section, Huntington Hall itself appeared on the right, a 17century house which has had a lot of money spent on it in recent years. At the road corner I was back into the fields with views back to the Ribble Valley, I meant to say this was a rare, sunny, dry day. Cresting a hill Intack Farm came into view, again a place spending lots of money with a horse arena right across the footpath but the diversion was no problem and well signed – but is it legal? A quick peep into Crowshaw Quarry showed it to be remarkably dry, could be bouldering here later this week. Crossing the road the main forest track was taken eventually leading up to the trig point on Longridge Fell. Chipping Vale and the Bowland Hills were fairly clear but that was not really today’s objective.

Huntingdon Hall.

Longridge Fell Trig Point.

when they were up, they were up

I came down by the track to Lennox Farm near where the Duddel Brook probably starts life. A lane took me past Goodshaw Farm where the new lambs were being tended, the farmer told me he had 600 sheep to lamb this year and was concerned about the wet fields he was placing them into. Below the farm was an old barn, Smith Bottom, which on close inspection revealed two perfectly shaped cruck frames thus giving a clue to its medieval age. Down steeply through beech woods overgrown with rhododendrons to a bridge over our brook. This lane leads up to the highly secretive Dutton Manor in its cloak of trees.

A young Duddel Brook.

Smith Bottom cruck barn.

Trees hiding Dutton Manor.

Across the next road was Duddel Farm on its exposed hill. The farmer was feeding cattle in the barns and bemoaning the wet conditions, but despite that remained cheerful and chatty – we had many mutual friends and interests. He was right about the conditions as the next few fields leading back to Ribchester were almost afloat and the mud slowly crept above my knees.

I don’t normally take selfies.

I was keen to reach the last two listed buildings at Stydd. First was St. Saviours a simple C12 chapel. Its plane interior has a flagged floor with ancient gravestones, a stone coffin and wooden pulpit and rails. Very evocative. Further down the lane is Stydd Almshouse built in 1728 to house the poorest parishioners. It is an architectural gem with its central staircase and diminutive size.

St. Saviours.

So back to where I started.

when they were down, they were down

I would like the challenge of an entire ascent of Duddel Brook – obviously in dry summer conditions and with a good degree of so called trespassing. Watch this space.

BROCKHALL – OLD AND NEW.

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Last week I attended the annual Chris Mayo Memorial Lecture hosted by our Bowland Pennine MRT, for whom Chris had been a doctor; always a sad occasion for me. I worked with Chris and he was a good friend. At the end of January 1993 I did a long walk in the Bowland Hills with Chris as part of my preparation for climbing Mount Kenya and Mount Kilimanjaro in the next month. Whilst I was abroad, and totally unknown to me, 45year old Chris, his 15yr old son Matthew, both from Longridge, and his 40 yr old brother from Edinburgh were killed in a tragic accident in Coire an Lochan in the Cairngorms. Long shall we remember them.
I am worn out from lots of tree felling and pruning in the garden and too many sessions at the climbing walls, its too wet and wild for anything else. So I needed a short relaxing walk at the weekend. Deciding to stay low and sheltered Mike and I headed for Old Langho in the Ribble Valley to explore the area around Brockhall Village. We parked next to the 16th century St. Leonard’s Church.This little sandstone chapel built c1557 with stones coming from the recently dissolved Whalley Abbey, on the outside are several carved features from the abbey. We were lucky that the church was open, it no longer hosts services but is maintained by the charitable Churches Conservation Trust, so were able to investigate the inside features. Walking past the entrance to Brockhall Village, more of this later, we crossed fields outside Hacking Wood to reach the lane leading to Hacking Hall a grade1 listed early 17th century property. We had distant views of the massive hall with its mullioned windows and prominent garderobe. Closer at hand was Hacking Barn an interesting early Cruck structure. The exterior has been much modified but the interior cruck trusses are impressive, the agricultural surrounds are a mess.

St.Leonard’s.

Hacking Hall.

Cruck barn.

We next went down to the River Ribble just where the Calder joins from the south. The path downstream was washed away in parts and even today a large volume of water was charging down to Preston. A couple of canoeists were thoroughly enjoying their rapid transit. It was near here that there was a historic 17thcentury ferry and I believe an old wooden boat was in Clitheroe Museum. The house across the river was apparently occupied by the ferryman up to the 1950s.

Ribble/Calder confluence.

Hacking Boat House, Kemple End behind.

At the end of Brockhall Wood, above the turbulent water of Jumbles Rocks, we turned ‘inland’ towards the farm and former site of Brockhall Hospital. From 1904 to 1992 this functioned as one of Europe’s largest mental institutions. On its closure [care in the community!] a property developer Gerald Hitman bought the lease and developed a gated village of 400 properties. Blackburn Rovers have their extensive training grounds here, Mr Hitman also built his own contemporary home in extensive gardens, The Old Zoo. We skirted around the youth football fields and at the first road walked up into the village. On our left was the well secured Old Zoo but we spotted a lake, a few sculptures and a beech hedge maze, it would be fascinating to look around the grounds but I don’t know who now owns the property. The streets wandered through a variety of properties, a few adapted from the hospital buildings, many newish apartments and a scattering of architect designed detached mansions. There didn’t seem to be much soul to the village, no obvious shop or pub, commuting hell or heaven? On the way out through the permanently manned barriers, to keep out the riff raff, we passed an upmarket restaurant next to the modern Rover’s training facilities.

How times have changed here.

Hospital conversion.

Hospital cottage.

More upmarket.

Oh! for a peek.

Rusty Rover.

A weekend walking by water.

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One can’t always be in exotic areas, Lancashire is enough. Mel was up for a few days, my planning had been delayed by other arrangements, so on the hoof we enjoyed the following days.

Thursday. 11.30 Pick up at Preston station . 12.00 lunch at the five star RK Sweet Centre – masala dhosa £2.50.

14.00 a walk around the reservoirs in Longridge visiting the shops to purchase delicacies and drink for tonight’s home cooked Italian meal.

A Longridge reservoir.

Friday. A late start saw us in a compulsory Chinese buffet in Southport.

After the Egyptian Room in the Atkinson Gallery we spent time looking at the eclectic historical exhibits relating to the Sefton coast – lifeboats, Bootle Docks, shrimping, Dan Dare, Meccano.

On the spur of the moment we drove down the coast to Crosby to view Antony Gormley’s ‘Time and Space’. It was mid tide so the figures ranged from full bodies to heads barely visible in the sea.

Crosby beach.

Saturday. Another late start, shan’t tell you why, and we were following the Ribble Link canal towards the Ribble. We didn’t go all the way but cut across a golf course to the Lancaster Canal which we followed back towards Preston, stopping off at a cafe in the UCLAN sports ground. We skirted Haslam Park and continued along the surprisingly green route into the centre of Preston where goods from the canal were transferred to trams to cross the river and join up with the Leeds/Liverpool canal. The modern Ribble Link strives to do the same but I wonder how many boats use this facility. A glorious sunny day.

Lancaster Canal in Preston.

End of the canal in Preston.

The excellent Egyptian cafe in Preston provided food as good as Cairo in the evening.

Sunday. The weather remained good. Another ‘watery’ walk, taking in Cockersand Abbey, coastal walking, Glasson Dock, another canal and Thurnham Hall, was enjoyed in the sunshine.

Cockersand Abbey.

Glasson estuary with the damaged Plover Scar light.

Glasson Dock.

Link canal with Bowland Fells in the distance.

Back home it was time for an ‘Indian’.

Monday. Take Mel back to the station until we meet again next Spring on the Thames Way for some more ‘watery’ walking.

http://www.rksweets.com/

http://www.gourmethouserestaurant.co.uk/

http://www.theatkinson.co.uk/

http://www.lolaegyptiancuisine.co.uk/

http://www.hamadanrestaurantlongridge.co.uk/

NORTH WALES PATH – Day 4.

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Rhos to Kinmel Bay. Highs and lows.

That should really be ‘lows and highs’ as I started the day on the front at Colwyn Bay, all a bit drab with its disused pier, overwhelming concrete and lack of facilities. Very few people ventured onto the sands. A poster probably reflecting the fading past. There was however a stunning art work of metal figures.I must have switched off walking along the bay as I went past the inland diversion and had to retrace to find paths up ‘Fairy Glen’, a green corridor following a stream up through Old Colwyn. This gave a chance for a break as I passed the high street. Old style, no frills, Gillian’s Kitchen – coffee and toasted teacake for £1.70, long may these places survive. Back into the glen to climb higher. The next couple of hours passed in a different world in the hills around Llysfaen. I wandered through golf courses, untracked woodlands, village lanes with tiny cottages, open meadows and limestone escarpment. To be honest I felt lost most of the time, could have done with a 1:25,000 map, but I somehow stayed on the NWP as I kept coming across the infrequent waymarks. All the while there were views across the rolling countryside. Don’t think many people venture up here. I eventually returned to the coast through an arch of a public house, The Valentine, in Llanddulas. The inn sign gives the wrong impression as the pub is really named after Lewis Valentine [born in Llanddulas] one of the founding members of Plaid Cymru. Then it was back on the coastal walkway/cycleway for 5 miles. The start wasn’t so bad at Abergele, I even found a fairly civilised cafe for beans on toast and a pot of tea. But from then on it was a continuous line of drab caravan parks separated from the beach by the railway. The wind farms out at sea didn’t seem over-intrusive in these surroundings. The few people braving the beach were huddled out of the wind, an epitome of English seaside holiday. As were the passing families with beefburgers, candy floss and cans of beer. The obese amongst these seem to have devised a certain ‘waddle’ to progress, much in evidence. I’m sure I looked just as strange to them with my boots and walking poles. Nobody stopped to chat. From time to time screaming above the sound of pop music announced a mini fun fair. Having said all that there were always extensive views; back to the Ormes and forward to the hills dropping to Prestatyn, the end of the NWP.There were a few passing aspects to improve my mood… I’d had enough at Kinmel Bay and found my way through a new marina to the River Clwyd where I’ll start tomorrow. Reflecting now this was a quite a varied days walking.

THE LANCASHIRE WITCHES WALK – Caton Moor to Lancaster Castle.

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Our final stage of this fascinating walk began high on the Caton Moors. The well known, when viewed from the motorway, wind turbines were rotating rapidly in the strong wind as we passed. Up here today we had extensive views of the Bowland Fells, Ingleborough and Pennine fells north, the Lune Valley and Morecambe Bay, an exhilarating start to the day. In a picnic area we found our first tercet of the day, No 6. A lane coming from nowhere brought us down into Brookhouse and we explored the back lanes and pretty houses of the village, roses seem to be a specialty of the gardens here.

Across the main road we joined the Lune Valley Ramble into Lancaster along an old railway. All of a sudden humanity appeared – dog walkers, joggers and cyclists supporting the idea of good exercise and being able to participate in a safe and beautiful environment. Well done Lancaster with the help of European money! Two men were setting off cycling coast to coast to Bridlington, a route my son speaks highly of. They were an odd couple one young and fit on a classy bike, the other hoping to rely on his electric motor to get across the Pennines. I hope their enthusiasm saw them through although I suspect they will have been very wet at the weekend. We crossed the famous Crook Of Lune [painted by Turner] on an impressive bridge. More cyclists were passing the next tercet. For a break we sat on the banks of the river below a weir near Halton old station. A fisherman engaged us in conversation about all things Lancashire, No fish were caught. it was about at this time that the zip on Sir Hugh’s shorts malfunctioned causing great hilarity to the fisherman and great embarrassment to the wearer. Apologies to anyone in Lancaster whom we shocked or offended.

A pleasant stretch on a lane parallel to the motorway followed, large puddles where evidence of recent rainfall. We were heading for the castle but first we visited the prominent hill forming part of Williamson Park thought to be the site of the witches’ gallows, and now the site of the 9th tercet. We wandered through attractive parkland and climbed up the baroque Ashton Memorial for views over Lancaster and the surrounding areas. Then it was down busy streets across town passing the Golden Lion pub where the witches were supposed to have been offered a final drink on the way to be hung – an unlikely tale. Incongruously two walkers in shorts, with walking poles, marched through the shopping area and eventually climbed up to the impressive castle gates and the last tercet. A lot of restoration work is going on so we didn’t linger.

Thus we had completed a trail full of interest which deserves to be better known.

The complete poem

‘The Lancashire Witches’ by Carol Ann Duffy

One voice for ten dragged this way once
by superstition, ignorance.
Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.

Witch: female, cunning, manless, old,
daughter of such, of evil faith;
in the murk of Pendle Hill, a crone.

Here, heavy storm-clouds, ill-will brewed,
over fields, fells, farms, blighted woods.
On the wind’s breath, curse of crow and rook.

From poverty, no poetry
but weird spells, half-prayer, half-threat;
sharp pins in the little dolls of death.

At daylight’s gate, the things we fear darken and form. That tree, that rock,
a slattern’s shape with the devil’s dog.

Something upholds us in its palm-
landscape, history, place and time-
and, above, the same old witness moon

below which Demdike, Chattox, shrieked,
like hags, unloved, an underclass,
badly fed, unwell. Their eyes were red.

But that was then- when difference
made ghouls of neighbours; child beggars feral, filthy, threatened in their cowls.

Grim skies, the grey remorse of rain;
sunset’s crimson shame; four seasons,
centuries, turning, in Lancashire,

away from Castle, Jury, Judge,
huge crowd, rough rope, short drop, no grave
only future tourists who might grieve.

Sir Hugh’s own blog tells a similar tale of our progress – http://conradwalks.blogspot.co.uk/

THE LANCASHIRE WITCHES WALK – Clitheroe to Slaidburn.

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The scenery changes today as we leave the Ribble Valley and climb into the Bowland Hills. Rain is forecast and its rather dull in Clitheroe. Canoeists float downstream as we cross the river at Brungerley Bridge and a group of youngsters are on the field path learning navigation. We soon leave them behind and cross fields around Waddington, most of the farms/barns look hundreds of years old but many have had expensive makeovers. Looking back Pendle Hill is in cloud. The hay meadows we pass through are full of flowers and brighten up a dull day. I have a painting at home representing the same scene. As we climb onto the moor on a drove road we realise we have been here together before whilst exploring Easington Fell last winter.There are no views today in the low cloud which is a shame as this is a wild and desolate moor. On the map are marked The Wife and Old Ned but they turn out to be disappointing piles of stones. A good track, presumably shooting, takes us down the fell to a shooting lodge marked as Fell Side. Dogs are caged up and greet us excitedly. At the moment we arrive the rain starts so we are lucky to find shelter and tables outside the lodge, lunch is taken. On the approach I had stuck my walking pole under a stone and a metal trap snapped shut almost breaking it, I couldn’t imagine what it could do to fingers. What are they trying to catch? Our lunchtime was enlivened by a ‘turkey’ parading about in front of the windows. The rain stopped and we continued on our way over a hill and down into Slaidburn, usually seen with a backdrop of Bowland Fells, but not today. Our tercet was in the carpark. The village was busy hosting a small steam fair which kept us entertained for awhile though the crowds and vehicles detractied from the normal tranquility of this lovely village. Familiar paths through woods and then open fields gained height, Curlews and Lapwings became a constant sight and sound. On past a graveyard for farming implements which looked like a ‘herd’ of dinosaurs across the land. We finished the day under the Bowland Fells just before the start of Roman Road over Salter Fell. We will want better visibility for that next section.

THE LANCASHIRE WITCHES WALK – Higham to Clitheroe.

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An interesting day’s walk.

Delightful walking through farmland started the day from Higham. We passed several old farmhouses with mullioned windows and in the distance saw an unusual Gothic feeding shed [on the Huntroyde estate]

The next estate we entered was Read Hall, the walk goes through converted stables and into the parkland next to the rebuilt hall. Its owner in 1612 was Roger Nowell the magistrate who sent the witches to trial at Lancaster. Under Pendle Hill we followed bridleways which may well have been the actual route taken by the carts used to transport the captured witches. We diverted to Spring Wood to view our third tercet.

Read Hall parkland.

On arriving at Wiswell we found a hidden pub, Freemasons Arms, and enjoyed a relaxing drink in its cosy bar. The village was a delight to explore with its alleys, stone cottages and neat gardens.

As we wandered through fields towards Clitheroe the sky was blackening over Pendle Hill and before long we were in a brief thunder storm.

Darkening skies.

Clitheroe is dominated by its castle and we spent time exploring. In the castle grounds was an ornamental turret, 1850, removed from the parapet of The Houses of Parliament and presented to the Borough of Clitheroe in 1937. Strange. We collected our 4th tercet and finished the day in sunshine at the parish church.

THE LANCASHIRE WITCHES WALK – Barrowford to Higham.

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It was a hot morning when Sir Hugh and I parked up next to the Heritage Centre in Barrowford, the start of The Lancashire Witches Walk. Having found the first tercet installment with its verse and witches’ name we set off through the alleys and cobbled back streets and were pleasantly surprised by the hidden beauty of the town. There were many reminders of its industrial past and we contemplated the human movement to and from the mills on the footpaths we were following today. Soon we were out into rural Lancashire at its best, undulating tracks between small stone built hamlets, over fields and alongside sparkling streams. On arriving in Barley we suddenly collided with mass tourism alongside Pendle Water – more Blackpool than countryside. Somehow we missed the cafe. Then we were climbing away and passing the presumed site of Malkin Tower, home of the Demdike family, a ruined hillside farm. The next hour passed pleasantly but aimlessly circling round Lower Ogden Reservoir passing another tercet. We ate lunch in the shade high above Newchurch in Pendle. Once in the village the Witches Galore gift shop had to be visited stocking everything from tacky witches to learned books, The lady owner had been there for 30 years and was a wealth of knowledge. Sir Hugh emerged with a witch to scare his granddaughter and I another black cat, Impulsive shoppers. On a more cultural note we visited the church with its ‘eye of God’ to ward off evil spirits. I was keen to visit the nearby Faughs Quarry where I’d climbed in the past and where there is a carved face in the rock, ?created by one of the quarry-men. Up to the ridge, Rigg of England, with good views, and then down to the village of Fence where the pub is closed and new housing is taking over.

Old house in Fence.

Along the main road Ashlar House was passed, here some of the witches were questioned by local magistrates in 1612. The route onwards through Lower White Lee farm was not helpfully waymarked and we had the impression they didn’t want walkers on their land. We finished in Higham with its prominent pub, Four Alls Inn, where one of the witches, “Chattox” was accused of turning the beer sour and bewitching the landlord’s son!

A good start to our walk with varied scenery and interesting history.

THE LANCASHIRE WITCHES WALK – pre ramble.

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The Pendle district of Lancashire is infamous for its history of witches. Back in the 15-16th centuries witches made a living from herbal remedies, bone-setting and midwifery [humans and animals] and dabbled in curses and spells. Usually single women they lived on the edges of society. Things came to a head in April 1612 when Alizon Device, a Demdike, had an argument with a pedlar and he suffered what was probably a stoke. The landed gentry, who were also the magistrates, were keen to support the monarchy, James 1st who was opposed to ‘witchcraft’ and hoping to put themselves in a good light saw an opportunity to prosecute Alizon. Things then became complicated as other families, such as Chattox, were embroiled in the plots. Eventually twenty local ‘witches’ were arrested and brought before the magistrates and taken to Lancaster Castle for trial. Ten were hung in August of that year. Over the years a great deal of folklore has developed from this story. The walk, to coincide with the 400th anniversary of the events, was designed to follow roughly the route from Pendle to Lancaster and include some notable locations. Alongside this again to celebrate the 400 years the poet laureate, Carol Ann Duffy, has written a poem in ten tercets to comment on the proceedings. To reflect the poem 10 cast iron installations have been placed along the route each with a tercet from the poem and the name of a witch.