Category Archives: Lancashire Witches Walk.

CICERONE’S LANCASHIRE – Gentle Pendleside.

It’s been a while since I walked alongside Mark Sutcliffe, he of Cicerone’s Walking in Lancashire guide. Apart from a short road walk around Longridge Fell with JD the other day I’ve languished in the house. Time to get going again and test my knee out. I scan the chapters looking for something undemanding. I toss up between Blacko hills, (Chapter 27) and the Clarion House walk on Pendle. The former looks the easiest, even if the latter looks the more interesting. The fact that it was Halloween Eve never crossed my mind as I delved into Pendleside. On reflection the immediate Pendle area would have been chock-a-block. (I like that word) Lucky choice.

My mood in the morning was as gloomy as the weather, but I had enjoyed that extra hour in bed. The weather improved alongside my mood, I was just glad I was in the car post walk when the afternoon deluge hit the area. The M65 virtually came to a halt as the skies blackened and gallons of water came down from somewhere. I’m now safely home.

Let’s park up at Higherford, there is a bridge here now over Pendle Water. I struggle with the car park machine, ‘it’ knows I’m here and will charge me later on my return – that preys on my mind for much of the walk.

Across the way is Pendle Heritage Centre. I think I was too early for its attractions – tearoom. gardens and museum. Maybe later but then it is too late. Park Hill House below has associations with the Bannister family later to run the sub 4 minute mile. I do spot the first Tercet on The Lancashire Witches Walk .

Alongside the water I get into my stride. Autumn is everywhere. There are reminders of previous mill operations, but I am soon out into the countryside.

I’m heading towards Blacko Tower.

A plaque reads Built by J Stansfield1890 Restored 1950. Approximately 30ft high. Built as a folly. Circular. Coursed rubble. Widely spaced battlements. Two steps up to a plain doorway. Spiral stone staircase inside leading to observation platform. Prominent hilltop landmark.

Such a shame there is no public access, it must be a fine viewpoint. Time for the citizens of Blacko to stage a protest march. I make a mental note to return mid-week and make a clandestine ascent.

Today I’m content to follow vague contouring paths on the rough hillside past farms to Malkin Tower Farm. Maybe the site of a ‘witches coven’ in 1612 from where the women were marched off to Lancaster to be tried and executed. There is lots of speculation as to the true version of events. All is quiet today with the farmer’s wife subtly showing me the diverted way. A few arrows would have helped, but all is mysterious around here. At the next farm I weave through a complicated series of gates in their garden. Enquiring of a lady, to confirm my way, that few people walk through here – she says “most get lost”. I doubt the irony strikes her. Again a few yellow arrows wouldn’t go amiss. At last, I’m free and walk down a lane to another farm, Whitemoor Bottom. The guide says take the footpath on the right, but there is no obvious way – I strike boldly through the farmyard and onwards down the fields. This is horsey country and barriers keep appearing, is it this side of the wires or the other? Determination sees me through, and I drop into a wooded gully with little sign of others coming this way. But I’m on course and eventually come out onto a lane at Holly Bush Farm. Sand Hall, which looks as though it should be listed, is passed, and the lane takes me to Foulridge Reservoir.

Time for lunch, so I climb up to the dam for a bird’s eye view of the reservoir. It’s depleted of water and the only action from the sailing club is a model yacht race.

A bridle way takes me to join the canal as it emerges from the mile long Foulridge Tunnel, completed in 1796! A way mark confirms it is the Leeds – Liverpool Canal. Maybe I should walk its historic length one day.

Halfway down the locks a path takes me through a pasture and into an upmarket estate. As I progress down the main road the older stone houses typical of these mill villages appear, Weavers cottages now desirable properties. On the corner by the packhorse bridge is the old toll-house (early C19th) with a board listing prices – almost as complicated as the pay machine in the car park.

A good start to my winter walking, shorter than the guide book suggests, and not a ghost or witch in sight.

*****

A WHALLEY WALKABOUT.

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Saturday, 26th June. 6 miles. Whalley.

We hadn’t intended to explore Whalley, as the walk that Mike had found written up in a booklet only skirted the village, but on a whim, we parked near the Abbey. I have visited Whalley many times, most recently on my Lancashire Monastic Walk The C13th Parish Church has always been closed when I’ve passed by but this morning we were in luck, and I was able to view the elaborately carved stalls in the chancel. They date from about 1430, and came out of Whalley Abbey after the dissolution. The misericord carvings under the seats represented all manner of everyday subjects. There were several cage pews usually belonging to one family for prayer but also near the door a churchwarden’s pew seating eight. The stained-glass windows were resplendent in the bright sunshine.

Back outside we couldn’t resist the jam and chutney sale for church funds, I came away with some lovely marmalade which we took back to the car. An hour had passed and we hadn’t even reached the start of the walk. We decided against visiting the Abbey.

Cutting down the side of the abbey brought us into a mews development based on an old corn mill, we were to pass the weir and mill race on the River Calder shortly. This whole area was inundated in the Boxing Day floods of 2015…

Down a pleasant street of cottages, all with immaculate gardens, and we were en route. There was very little water in the river today, it’s hard to believe its destructive power. Crossing a road, we entered a field which has been taken over by mountain bike tracks and jumps, they look great fun for the youngsters.

It took patience to cross the busy A671 road to reach a path up the golf course. Above the course, steep fields continued with good views back to Whalley Nab and Kemple End. No sooner were we up than the guide had us perversely coming back down again. We were not very impressed with the guide’s vague instructions. Young bullocks blocked our way, hens free ranged and horses followed us. More fields (“aim for a bush”) and then we were in the manicured grounds of Read Hall. Mike recollected a bumpy landing in a hot air balloon here, but he obviously survived.

Puzzled by the guide.

Whalley and its Nab.

Kemple End and distant Bowland.

Still puzzled.

Read Hall Gatehouse.

An old lane took us down to pass a busy little garden centre, we smelt coffee and were drawn in but queues and Covid regulations suggested a long wait, so we escaped without spending any money.

The path onwards followed the banks of the Calder until we climbed out of the valley to pick up an ancient packhorse track heading towards the Abbey.

This went around rather than over Whalley Nab and to be honest we didn’t get the best of views down to Whalley. A lovely day for a walk through beautiful English countryside, but as I said the guide was poor, we could have and should have devised a far better round ourselves.

*****

COVID FREE CROASDALE – PURE NOSTALGIA.

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“I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I’ve ended up where I needed to be” Douglas Adams.

After a late breakfast Sunday, I set off to Slaidburn for a gentle walk around Stocks Reservoir. I was enjoying the drive over with the roof down listening to the West Indians scoring too freely in the Test match. As I came over the rise on the road up from Cow Ark there in front of me were the Three Peaks of Yorkshire, a view I always thrill to. Out of the corner of my eye were the Bowland Fells, vying for attention. I was aware of the half-hidden valley of Croasdale and realised I hadn’t visited it for a year or so. A quick change of objective and I found myself parked up in that little pull off at the very top of Woodhouse Lane. I pondered on how many times I’ve parked there over the years especially in the early years of this century when we were developing the bouldering potential of the Bull Stones higher up the valley. We would race up the track to climb all-day and then most nights come down in the dark, we knew every twist of the route.

Of course, we were not the first to come this way. The Romans forged a road over the fells, probably adopting ancient ways, linking Ribchester with Carlisle. Some of the culverts on this The Hornby Road date back to the Romans. Later there was trade between the Monasteries of Yorkshire and the coast, wool one way and salt the other, hence the other name for this route, Salter Fell Track. A metal marker on the track commemorates the 400th year anniversary of the Lancashire Witches being dragged this way to their trial and execution in Lancaster.

It was a Lancashire Witches Walk waymark on the fell gate that reminded me of probably my last visit here whilst undertaking that excellent way. At the time a group of workmen were repairing a section of road just past the bridge. A gully was undermining the road and an expensive shoring up exercise was underway. That has been completed and the repairs extended up what was a very rough section of road by resurfacing with limestone chippings which look out of place in this gritstone environment. No doubt this has all been done using taxpayers funds and yet the only people to benefit from it are the shooting fraternity who have a lodge further up the track.

Few people walk up this valley and today the only people I see are motorcyclists who are able to travel right through from Slaidburn to Hornby a classic moorland journey. The man himself, A Wainwright described it as the best moorland walk in England although I’m not sure what he would have had to say regarding the motorcycles.

My more modest aim today is just to reach the gate near the summit and then traverse back along the hillside visiting the Bull Stones. I’ve brought my binoculars along as this area used to be a good place to see Hen Harriers, but alas no more due to persecution from ‘hands unknown’. Many of you will know the story of Bowland Beth. So I don’t see harriers but I do spot a pair of kestrels, some stonechats and more excitedly two ring ouzels.

I sit under a favourite boulder and eat some lunch whilst gazing down the valley with Pendle in the far distance, there is not a soul in sight. The only sounds are the occasional bleating of sheep and the cries of seagulls which come inland here.

I continue along the edge of the rocks, past the spring of sparkling water where I know I can refresh myself even in the middle of summer. Around the corner, the continuation of the rocks is at a higher level and I make my way slowly up to them. I’m aiming for one particular group where there is a 50-degree slabby rock which we called ‘super slab’ on our first visit, I’m inclined to overdramatize but it is super. Perfect clean steep rock, rippled slightly with the odd pebble for a finger hold.

Somebody produced a video featuring this slab so you can see what I’m going on about –

After lovingly fingering the start of the climb, I don’t have my rock shoes with me, I make my way to the end of the rocks, the Calf Stones.

Down below is that massive stone trough carved from an in-situ boulder. Time for another sit and contemplative look down the valley towards Pendle. I have time to examine the minutiae of the lichen growing into the gritstone. I then head down to pick up a hidden sheep trod in the bracken that I know will take me across the rough hillside to join an estate track down to the ford. It had been at the back of my mind all afternoon as to whether I would be able to safely cross the stream here. One winter it was impossible and we had to make quite a detour to find a way across. Today, despite the recent rainfall and the stream flowing quickly, I seemed to just hop across.

Just follow the path.

Back on the main track, I had time to reminisce on times staying in the barn visible down below. It has been overhauled by United Utilities partly to preserve the unique sheepfolds that surround it. Once with my eldest grandson, we had two nights there and were treated to hen harrier flypasts both evenings as we sat by a campfire eating baked beans and sausages, magic.

From up here, I could see in the distance a small section of Stocks reservoir where I could well have been. Another time.

*****

WAINWRIGHT’S WAY. 4. DUNSOP BRIDGE TO HORNBY.

The heart of Bowland.

I knew this would be a long arduous day so I did it out of sequence in the good weather mid-September. I used devious tactics to complete the walk but I’m happy to write it up as it should be.

Head of Whitendale. A Wainwright. 1981.

Following a coffee at Puddleducks Cafe, I set off along the lane out of Dunsop Bridge heading into the fells. A gentle stroll, alongside the Dunsop River, leads to the prominent Middle Knoll where the water board roads divide, one going left into the Brennand Valley the other going right into Whitendale. Wainwright’s Way follows the latter but I know a better way. Cross the river and follow a path up the right bank before climbing into Costy Cough and picking up a level path all the way to Whitendale Farm.

Middle Knoll.

Costy Clough.

Whitendale Farm.

There is lots of interest along this path but today the highlight was seeing a Hen Harrier rising from the valley and fluttering up the fell. This is a rare sight these days as their population over grouse moors has been drastically reduced by foul means. Bowland should have a decent population of Hen Harriers, a book well worth seeking out is Bowland Beth by David Cobham which highlights major issues in UK conservation.

At Whitendale Farm, part of the Duchy of Lancaster, paths go in several directions. WW goes up the valley following the Whitendale River. The dogs in the kennels give you a good send-off. This is shooting country and bred pheasants are everywhere. The grouse shooting this year has been restricted due to the Heather Beetle devastating large areas. It is usually a squelchy route up the valley and today is no different. A few random boardwalks don’t really help but the waymark posts keep one in the right direction. I plod upwards in the heat with the occasional submerged leg.

Side valleys often have Ring Ousels and Dippers but none today. A post on the Hornby Road beckons and I’m soon sat on a convenient rock for a snack, I could probably sit here for hours before another person appeared. This old road over Salter Fell has been described as one of the best moorland walks in England. The Romans came this way en route from Manchester to Carlisle and then the packhorses, bringing salt to Lancashire and wool to the coast. The Lancashire Witches were dragged across to Lancaster Court for sentencing and hanging. I’m surprised that WW comes up Whitendale, a difficult route rather than the easier way from Slaidburn, AW was familiar with both. His Bowland Sketchbook from 1981 illustrates the area well and he had a certain respect for relatively unknown Bowland, not much has changed from his time.

I set off along the good track, below on the left is the head of Whitendale and way above the rocks of Wolfhole Crag. All is wild and remote. the track follows the slopes of Salter Fell for a good way before views open up to the west. The infant Roeburn River gradually gains volume running west, To the north Ingleborough and its neighbours stand out, a little hazily in the afternoon sun. The silence is only disturbed by a couple of motorcyclists making the through trip.

Upper Roeburndale.

A lone cyclist comes the other way. The track goes on and on and slowly loses height towards Higher Salter Farm. There are hazy views of the Lakes, Howgills and the Barbon Fells. The last time I was up here was on The Lancashire Witches Walk which at Higher Salter veers off to Littledale and Caton Moor.

Higher Salter Farm.

Higher Salter Farm. A Wainwright. 1981.

Today I carry on past Middle Salter to Lower Salter where there is a small Methodist chapel. Built in 1901 it will have been a meeting place for the far-flung farms in Roeburndale. It was open so I rested a while in its plain interior. Looking back up the Salter Fell Road Mallowdale Pike is prominent, described by AW as “one of the few fells in Bowland with a graceful outline” It is an outlier of the Clougha Pike/ Ward’s Stone range. The road drops further to cross the Roeburn, a river of hidden delights. WW follows the road for almost a mile with the bonus of good views to the Northeast but I notice concessionary paths possibly by the river, I haven’t time to explore today but make a mental note to return.

Reaching Back Farm the way goes steeply down into the heavily wooded valley on a path that gets little use. There are signs of occupation: yurts, sheds, coppicing, vegetable plots, orchards between the trees. Looks like an organic environmental settlement but there is nobody about. http://www.middlewoodtrust.co.uk/

A narrow wooden bridge crosses the river into more orchards. There is still no sign of anybody about. I suspect that one of those concessionary paths would bring you here without the road walking. Anyhow, I gain a cart track leading up through the woods and fields to arrive at a small road heading back down to a converted mill. Wray Mill started as a woolen mill but adapted to produce silk, cotton a nd bobbins, it closed in the 1930’s. Kitten Bridge, nice name, crosses the Roeburn and a little track leads straight into Wray.

This bridge was washed away in the August 1967 floods along with cottages at the lower part of Wray. I’m not sure that I’ve ever been in Wray before, it’s off the beaten track. Anyway, the Main Street off the main road is a pleasant collection of cottages with a homely feel to it. There aren’t many buses so I have to continue a further mile through fields to Hornby. Ingleborough is over my right shoulder all the way and ahead is Hornby Castle, its C13 base obliterated by a C19 Gothic building. I join the River Wenning for the last stretch into the village.

A Wainwright 1980.

*****

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CROASDALE/BULLSTONES WALK.

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Looking down a murky Croasdale.

One seldom meets another person in upper Croasdale but today the Salter Fell track was busy with contractors making repairs to a steep section of the road above New Bridge. The road, also known as Hornby Road, dates from Roman times – Watling Street that ran from Manchester to Carlisle. It was along this road that the Lancashire Witches were taken from Clitheroe to Lancaster and in fact the last time I walked it was following a long distance walk called the Lancashire Witches Walk from Barrowford to Lancaster. Back to today I was with JD, both of us needing some exercise. A lorry was taking stone up to the repairs and the driver told us of the cost to Lancs. County Council who apparently are obliged to maintain the highway, for whose benefit I’m not sure. An awful lot of potholes around Longridge could have been repaired for less. The repairs were extensive and thorough but not lot of work seemed to getting done today. More stone was being extracted from the higher quarry which in the past had been used for the construction of Stocks Reservoir dam in the thirties.

Track repairs with one of the Lancashire Witches Walk tercet waymarkers.

It took longer than usual to reach the top gate where we left the track and headed uphill through the heather. Looking westwards are views of upper Whitendale and remote Wolfhole Crag, this is wild Bowland country. I found the tiny sheep trod that traversed to the first group of Bull Stone boulders where we had our refreshments. The day was rather dull but there was no wind and silence prevails up here. Looking down the wide valley of Croasdale a misty Pendle rose in the distance. I had resisted bringing up my rock shoes but now regretted it as the conditions were perfect. Big boots would not have stuck to the friction slabs.

Sketch of the same scene from the Bowland Beth book mentioned below.

For a taste of the bouldering up here have a look at https://vimeo.com/183222521

We wandered on below more rocks, all bringing back memories to me, though JD had never been here. So it was a great pleasure to show him the massive stone trough carved on the hillside.

We found the little trod heading down valley and at the ford we decided to continue down rough marshland to look at the bothy and surrounding sheep-pens. About ten years ago I spent a couple of nights here with my teenage grandson whilst we explored the surrounding fells. In those days Hen Harriers were a common sight on these Bowland fells which were an important breeding ground for these beautiful birds. Things have gone downhill since then with more and more persecution of raptors on grouse moors where the shooting lobbies run roughshod. I have just been reading a little book about the short life of Bowland Beth, born near this spot. A thoughtful analysis of the plight of wild life on shooting estates.

Bowland Beth. The life of an English Hen Harrier. David Cobham. William Collins.

The bothy was unlocked but the flagged floor had been soiled by animals. It did not look an attractive proposition for an overnight stay now, but would soon clean up.

Onwards down the valley with a few stream crossings and then we climbed back up the road passing on the way the remains of the House of Croasdale, a 17th century farmhouse built on the site of an ancient hunting lodge. It would have witnessed the witches being taken across the fells.

Remains of House of Croasdale.

An interesting circuit as usual, although a little sunshine would have helped with the photos.

*****

THE WAY OF THE CROW. Fifth day, Postern Gate to The Lune.

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The classic English countryside of Qurnmore Hall Park.

Quernmore Park estate forms the most formidable obstacle to our straight line route and over the last week in anticipation Sir Hugh and I have been plotting a military style assault. Using aerial photos and maps we have tried to find a way through, unobserved, without too many unclimbable fences, we have more plan A, B, C and D’s than the present Brexit debacle. There’s not a public footpath in sight. However our chief negotiator is highly skilled and has behind the scenes obtained permission from the owners to walk through on the forbidden lane. Here we are at the Postern Gate on a bright afternoon ready to stride past all the private signs to join the privileged classes.

The hall itself was well hidden behind walls and security gates.

To be honest we enjoyed our passage through the grounds even being greeted by the owner half way through.

At the end we emerged at the North Lodge onto a busy road, which would not have been pleasant or safe to walk along, a quick climb over a gate had us into a steep field leading down towards the River Lune. Fortunately another fence assault brought us onto the Lune Valley Ramble route and a clear walk along the old Lancaster to Wennington railway, closed under the Beeching axe in the 1960s and now a landscaped cycle path as far as Bull Beck, Caton. A complete contrast to the previous parkland.

On the opposite bank were new houses built since my last visit. They looked like affordable housing and were impressively roofed in solar panels.

The old station at Halton was busy, not with passengers but with students gathering for an afternoon’s rowing on the river. They have use of the listed building as a boat house which according to their coach costs a fortune.

A satisfying short walk through forbidden ground, all should be easy from now on.

*****

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.