Time to listen to the news on TV. And the news is not good at the moment, despite the fragile ceasefire between the USA and Iran. Israel goes its own way, invading Lebanon, whilst under that smokescreen, at home, Israeli settlers are taking more and more Palestinian land. Didn’t the UK government recently acknowledge the State of Palestine alongside Israel?
Now the Pope has weighed in, criticising those pursuing war rather than diplomacy. It’s not often I agree with the Pope. I noted that he, somewhat provocatively, used the term ‘Masters of War’ which immediately took me back to 1963 when I bought an album by a young folk singer/songwriter, ‘The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan’. Of course, the album’s big hit was “Blowin’ in the Wind,” but amongst the tracks was “Masters of War.” A universal anti-war song written at the height of the Cold War and the escalation of the Vietnam War, and just as relevant today. I wonder if the Pope is a Dylan fan?
‘The mental riches you may here acquire abide with you always’
A suitable Victorian inscription from the building.
In 1877, wealthy local lawyer Edmund Robert Harris left £300,000 to Preston Corporation to fund a library, museum, and art gallery. To start with, the library and collections of the Literary and Philosophical Institution (established in 1810 in the town) were purchased and displayed in the basement of the town hall. Land was obtained on the Market Square, and local architect James Hibbert was contracted to carry out the work; the building opened in 1893.
Hibbert chose a neoclassical design. The Victorians believed that classical art and architecture had an uplifting effect on the public. This resulted in the imposing building we see today with its stately columns and classical sculptured pediment depicting famous Greek figures.
The Harris has been closed since 2021 for a major £19 million restoration project known as “Harris – Your Place“. The Grade I-listed building has had repairs, including asbestos removal, structural improvements, and upgrades to heating and accessibility, reopening in September last year. The reopening was fanfared with the Wallace and Gromit exhibition, which I visited after Christmas, vowing to return to see where all those millions have been spent.
I’m back today. The bus from Longridge lands me at the brutalistic bus station, from where a short walk takes me to the Harris. I hope I can manage my phone camera with my one good hand. After passing through the dated shopping arcade, I can walk past the new cinema complex next to the underused open market; somewhere around here is the much-photographed Wallace and Gromit seat.
Narrow alleyways once surrounded the market square, but over the years, development has cleared them away, including Sir Gilbert Scott’s 1867 ‘gothic’ town hall, built from Longridge stone. It burnt down in 1947 and was demolished in the 60s to make way for modern developments that now look rather shabby. A small 16th-century shop is the only remnant of those early days.
I’ve mentioned the site of the old bull ring before, found in a corner of the flag market.
The Harris dominates the east side of the square.
Despite that formidable collonaded facade, the entrance is achieved up some hidden side steps. The front elevated steps are reserved for more formal gatherings.
There are automated doors into the foyer, with its stairs on either side, leading to the roll of honour of Prestonians killed in the First World War.
The central circular atrium is the hub of the building, with three stories leading to side galleries and an upper Egyptian gallery (only open to guided tours), all lit by the tower and the glass dome 120 feet above. The neo-classical theme continues throughout the interior. The centrepiece here is the famous Foucault pendulum, the longest in the UK, hanging the full height of the atrium. As the pendulum swings in a fixed plane, the Earth rotates beneath it, causing the pendulum’s path to appear to rotate over time. The earth moves for me.
Previously known as the Museum, Library and Art Gallery, the refurbished Harris aims to act as a Community, Cultural and Learning hub for the city and its surroundings. It succeeds on all three levels, so much so that in this post today, I am basically concentrating on the library side of things. There is so much to see, one visit is not enough.
Forget about the hushed, somewhat dingy library I used regularly when I first moved to Preston in the 70s; all is now open, bright, and friendly. The lending library is still operational on the ground floor, although I imagine it is far less used than it was of old. I’m heartened that people want to read a physical book, of course, all for free. Do you still get fined for overdue books?
It’s good to see young children being encouraged to start exploring books.
Right next to the lending library, through the small shop, is the cafe, a busy spot with good coffee and cakes, which I can vouch for. Even here, there are several informal displays of the museum’s collections, mainly ceramics. I am heartened to see a bookcase full of the entire OS 1:50,000 map series, plus many of the recreational 1:25,000 sheets—what more does one need – coffee and maps.
Coffee break over, I explore the library further on the first floor and find a room set aside with computers that is very busy, all surrounded by soothing artworks.
The reference part of the library is full of books and magazines just waiting to be browsed. There is an extensive selection of local interest editions. One could spend a happy day here.
Another space has rarer books in locked cabinets – for serious research. Other rooms are for quiet study.
That’s all for the library, but as you have noticed throughout, other exhibits are intermingled. I will post further on the Museum and the Art Gallery exhibits.
It is difficult to plot a flat five-mile walk in this part of the Ribble Valley. At least if you want to make it interesting. Sir Hugh is a connoisseur of trails, so I have to make this one at least appear interesting and at the same time without too much uphill.
He has kindly offered to come down from Cumbria in order to drive me to a walk I can’t easily reach otherwise. He left the choice to me.
The morning is misty, so we linger and catch up over coffee before leaving. A low-level walk is probably best in these conditions. Half a Tolkien is what I’ve named it. I could probably just about walk it blindfolded.
The Tolkien Trail is a walk around the area inspired by J R R Tolkien’s writings during his stay at the college in the late 1940s. A number of names which occur in ‘The Hobbit’ and ‘The Lord of the Rings’ are similar to those found locally. The tourism people have made as much cudos from it as possible.
Leaving Hurst Green, the much-improved footpath drops steeply down to the Ribble. As we happily descend, I have nagging doubts at the back of my mind that we will have to climb back up at some stage. I need not have worried; Sir Hugh is a true soldier.
Peace is all around. There is no wind, and the Ribble flows sedately by, one of the great rivers of the North. The still, misty conditions add atmosphere to the banks. The stately aqueduct, 1880 era, carries a water pipe to Blackburn, but I can’t remember where it originated. ? Langden Intake at Dunsop Bridge.
We are now on an ‘astro turf’ path. At some stage, a plastic sports pitch has been taken up and relaid as a strip along the river bank, creating the perfect walking surface which blends in with the surroundings. It could be used to advantage on other popular/eroded paths. I think Sir Hugh has stepped offside at this point.
The trail further on has been surfaced with slate chippings, equally resistent but not as visually pleaasing. I wonder which will survive the longest?
Jumbles, where the river has a little dance, comes and goes.
Upstream, fishermen are trying their luck.
I point out Hacking Hall across the way, just visible in my header photo (garderobe was the word I was trying to bring to mind). The Calder joins in here at the site of the old Hacking Ferry, which would have been in operation in Tolkien’s time.
I have a secret up my sleeve. We are always looking for a comfortable seat to have lunch, but there is never one when needed. Today, I hone in on a fisherman’s bench just above where the Hodder, itself a sizeable river, joins the Ribble. Perfect, with extra brownie points.
Close by is the Winkley Oak, that magnificent ancient tree. I am always reassured to see it still standing after the winter storms.
The diverted path is no problem. However, I’m still not sure whether it is official.
As we slowly climb the lane, I mention that the tall trees nearby are a heronry at this time of year. They have nested here for generations. Peering up into the roof canopy, we fail to spot any nests. But then a couple of herons on the ground take to flight and land in the highest branches. They tend to lay early, so they are probably building nests at the moment. Their rasping cries break the general silence.
I find a group of Oyster fungi on a fallen tree, enough for a snack on toast later. (I’m still alive)
The path across the fields has been improved, and we are soon at that bus stop on the road junction. It is too misty for the classic view of Pendle Hill or Cromwell’s Bridge down below. More of him later.
I try to ignore the steep bit of road climbing up to Stonyhurst College grounds. Sir Hugh hardly stops for breath.
We take a back route through the college grounds, past all those terrets and observatories, until there in front of us is the magnificent St. Peter’s Church.
The front of the college is inspiring. The road leading to it is dramatic. The public right of way now goes elsewhere, but I remember walking straight up to the college years before security stepped in. In ignorance and encouraged by Sir Hugh, we walk out on that entrance drive between the ornamental ponds. I wonder whether the security cameras picked us up.
Once safely out of the gates, we have time to turn around and admire the college’s frontage.
The long road leads to the tacky, all-seeing Column of the Immaculate Conception on a mound. More interesting is a large wayside stone. After staying the night in Stonyhurst, Cromwell allegedly stood on this stone and described the mansion ahead of him as “the finest half-house in England”; the symmetry of the building was, at that time, incomplete. He fought the Preston battle the following day, 17th August 1648, against the Royalist army.
From here, it is a simple stroll back into Hurst Green just as the sun is breaking through.
An excellent five-mile walk full of interest and, as usual, with Sir Hugh full of bonhomie. His version will be available soon at https://conradwalks.blogspot.com/
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.
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 have enjoyed the year reading all of your adventures. The Lakes, Silverdale, Rivington, Ribble Valley, the Thames Valley, Cheshire, even Manchester, the US of A, Coastal ways, Northumberland. I hold them all dear.
Castles, boutique hotels, camping pods and caravans, village inns, tents in remote places, wild water swimming. You have planned your explorations carefully.
Books to read, towns to visit, art to find, food to relish, music for my ears.
Nature in abundance, history documented, environmental comments and political asides.
I’ve enjoyed them all. Thank you. Sorry mine have been limited in response.
What’s next on the horizon? I look forward to your posts appearing in my inbox. Ignore the endless boring and predictable YouTube contents, the obvious uncomfortable selfies and forgettable Facebook pages. No I rely on your intellectual input to keep me sane, grounded and stimulated. ‘Anonymous’ yet a real group of people sharing their thoughts, interests, desires and images. WordPress or Blogger are your platform. You know who you are. Thank you.
Twelve short poems, interpreting the hill farmer’s life throughout the year, written by Meg Peacocke, have been carved by lettering artist Pip Hall (0f Stanza Poems fame) on blocks of stone on a circular walk either side of the river Eden just outside Kirkby Stephen. Each stone also has an engraving depicting the month’s theme. There was a handy car park at Stenkrith Bridge as this is also the start of another walk on the old rail track over three viaducts. I was amazed at the flow of water through the little gorge below the bridge, a hidden thundering cataract. A little metal bridge took me over the water into the park.
Alongside the path in the trees the first of the poems, well actually it was the ninth, October (Sheep Sales) as I had come into the trail half way round. Two stones, one of sandstone and the other Limestone. It was just possible to make out the poem.
Sandstone. A desert wind, grain by grain, laid down these rocks. How did we trace a path through ancient dunes?
Limestone. A million blanched and compacted shells. How did we swim through the drift and not perish?
The next poem, November (Tupping Time) was on a pair of upright stone slabs, again at the edge of the woods next to some spectacular rapids in the Eden.
Through hazels and alders, softly or in spate, Eden moves in the valley it has hallowed from Mallerstang to the shifting Solway sands.
I diverted from the poetry Path to try and find my first Eden Benchmark which was described after two of the poems. I could find no sign of it alongside the river and wondered whether it could have been washed away in the frequent floods. I was not entirely sure what I was looking for so I gave up and headed across the fields to the next poem, a Haiku. December (Tree Planting) I found them lying flat in the field.
There sails the heron drawing behind him a long wake of solitude.
Next to Swingy Bridge was an upright stone commencing the year in January (Hedge Laying)
The sky’s harsh crystal, wind a blade, trees stripped, grass dull with cold. Life is a kernel hidden in the stone of winter.
A close up of the hedge laying motif showing how difficult they were to pick out.
Having crossed the Eden I now followed an old sunken path through the woods on the other bank.
February’s (Cattle brought in for winter) poem was a stark tower of four blocks.
Snowlight peers at the byre door. Neither day nor night, Four months ago we fetched the cattle in, safe from reiving wind and rain, months of standing shifting, burdened with patience. When will winter end?
Thin strakes of run on the byre door. Fork a load of silage out, straighten your back to watch them shove their muzzles in, and wonder if they crave the hazy nights when they can roam among tall summer grasses, sleek and sound and warm.
The path crossed a small but lively stream and the March (Walling) poem’s block was in the water itself. Apparently when they were deciding where to place this stone it slipped from its cradle but landed perfectly in the water.
From field and fell run cols run small. I am the rain tear in the eye blood in the vein I am the sea.
April (Lambing) was built into the stone wall on the right. If the stone was already in the wall, which I assume it was, it is a sign of the walls antiquity.
Coltsfoot, celandine, earliest daisies. Twin lambs race to the mother, baby cries, Mam! Mam! Jolt out of them and now they jostle the ragged ewe, boosting each split hoof high off the bitten turf. Pinching jaws and hard curled coats are braced against these April suns and sleets.
Farther on just before a bridge over the old railway line and again built into a wall was the larger May (Paling) poem. Another piece of ancient wall. Look at those lovely lichens growing on the rock.
Penned in a huddle, the great tups are clints of panting stone. The shepherd lifts a sideways glance from the labour of dagging tails. His hands are seamed with muck and sweat runs into his eyes. Above us, a plane has needled the clear blue.
After the bridge June (Gathering and marking sheep) was found in the undergrowth on the right. The two blocks look as though they have come out of a mill floor.
Light drops like honey from branch to branch. Elders balance their dishes of cream, while fledglings try small quivery leaps, testing buoyancy of the air.
I followed the path down to join the track of the old railway, part of the longer viaducts walk. July (Haymaking and silage) was soon encountered, a large rough block of limestone there on the left.
Silage. Tractor incises the first green furrow. Skilful geometrician, the driver judges an arc of weather.
Farther along August’s (Showing sheep at shows) poem is semi hidden in the trees to the right. A large weathering sandstone block with a white patina of lichens encroaching on the lettering.
Crabapples tart on the tongue, Hazelnuts milky, Rosehips cool in the hand, Thistledown silky. Squirrel is speaking his mind. Knapweed purples the banks. For touch, taste, smell, sight, hearing I give thanks.”
The last poem on my circuit was September (Farmer’s markets) a block of shaped red sandstone maybe reflecting the railway’s past. The bold lettering adding to the effect.
Revetted banks, a concrete post. Rabbits tunnel the cinder waste. Angle iron, link of broken chain. Listen, and catch the hiss of steam again.
I have transcribed the poems above as photographs don’t show them clear enough. As well as the poems, motifs reflecting the subjects were inscribed on the stones, I found it virtually impossible to make these out which is a shame but sculptures on natural rock exposed to the elements will suffer from corrosion. I really enjoyed this little walk, a great idea to highlight the area. The stones were well chosen and positioned. Meg’s poetic lines are to the point and very evocative – make sure you read them.
I was back where I started, but smarting from not finding that benchmark, I rechecked on my phone, ‘pocket computer’, It seemed to suggest it was after the first two poetry stones and gave a grid reference. But people often quote misread grid refences. Lets look again. I delved deeper into the undergrowth by the river after the second poetry stone and found nothing, the grid refence I was getting was different from the publicised one. I then followed my phone to the given grid reference and there stumbled upon the installation It was close to the river hidden by undergrowth, nearby the first poem which being composed of two stones could have caused the confusion.
This, the second Benchmark down stream on the Eden was called ‘Passage’ by Laura White.
“Evocative of the river’s passage through the gorge under Stenkrith Bridge, this sculpture is subtle and unobtrusive but exudes an inner strength that somehow gathers the special ambience of its location. The shapes carved into the stone are clearly derived from the shapes in the river bed rocks but have been refined to activate and compliment the space and provide a focal point for contemplation”
Laura White’s early work with stone explored organic themes but more recently she has used mixed media and video images. She lives in London and teaches at Goldsmiths College in London and Manchester Metropolitan University.
Ah well, at least I found it. The stones were rather lost in the vegetation and are slowly naturally mossing over, not many people visit them or perhaps can’t find them. Whatever, it was a good excuse to spend some more time alongside the lively Eden and on the breccia bedrock.
Tomorrow I will head to the hills for the first of the Eden Benchmarks.
“People also leave presence in a place even when they are no longer there”
Andy Goldsworthy.
I had two objectives today – The Poetry Path in Kirkby Stephen and Andy Goldsworthy’s six Pinfold Cones, from early this century, scattered around the area. As the day progresses an Eden Benchmark crept into my itinerary. It became a bit of a whirlwind day. Just warning you, in fact I have just decided to remove the poetry to another post.
It is difficult to write a post when virtually all of your six subjects, in this case the Pinfold Cones. are almost identical.
A fairly early start and I found myself driving narrow lanes in the mist. This is limestone country. Through the village of Orton and onwards to Crosby Ravensworth to try and find my first pinfold. This was easy as it was next to the main street at the south end of the scattered village. A small square pinfold with one of Andy Goldsworthy’s stone cones in the centre. The cone shape is said to have been influenced by the Nine Standards Rigg above Kirkby Stephen. He has used it in installations in many places. He talks of the cone shape being warm and enveloping, a source of hope and also protection. They focus our attention on the environment and the history of man’s influences upon it.
This cone is made from local limestone, looking quite black in this damp morning. The Pinfolds will have been around for a long time, a pen used for stray animals before they could be reunited with their owners. We have a good example on the outskirts of Longridge. I have found some reference for Goldsworthy’s pinfolds being rebuilt on the original sites, there doesn’t seem to be any documentation for each one. I must assume at least that it will now guarantee their survival.
Back in Orton I stopped for a coffee in Kennedy’s Fine Chocolate shop. Maybe I should have stocked up on luxury Christmas presents, but I didn’t. Across the street is The George Hotel, we ended up there one afternoon after climbing at nearby Jackdaw Scar, Kings Meaburn, a crag where you start on a sandstone lower wall which morphs into limestone as you progress. The geology of this whole area is fascinating and one learns a lot from climbing on its cliffs. The bar staff had had a busy Sunday lunchtime and were wanting to rest before the evening’s trade. Being officially open, they happily accommodated us though, by locking us into one of the bars at the back with orders not to let anybody else in. We sipped our supplies of beer and played pool for an hour or so.
I drove through the village of Raisbeck without realising and ended up on a single track road going nowhere. I had to backtrack and found the next Pinfold, a larger square with a gated entrance hidden away in the trees, the clue being Pinfold Bridge shown on the map. Another limestone construction. Judging by the vegetation few people bother to search it out.
Not wanting to face that narrow lane again I retraced my way back through the few houses that make up Raisbeck. Something caught my eye as I passed a small building. Stopping for a closer look it turned out to be an old school house. The Dame School was built in 1780 by farmers of Raisbeck and repaired in 1857, probably closed by 1900. Dame schools were for young children of poor families providing only a basic education. By the 1970s the old school building was in a bad condition. A poet named Michael Ffinch and local supporters fought to have it designated and restored.
The notice on the door said “COME IN”. There was a room downstairs with a fireplace and wooden floored room upstairs. There wouldn’t have been space for many children. How good that it has free access without any obvious funding. Ffinch wrote a poem about it and I wished I had photographed it in the room because I can’t find it now.
Outside was an unusual stone picnic table and 2 stone ‘flower beds’ one celebrating Queen Elizabeth’s reign, the other Charles coronation. They are quick off the mark up here.
There was still mist about on the hills as I drove down to Kirkby Stephen.
*
My next stop just outside Kirkby Stephen – The Poetry Path. But I am leaving that for a separate post.
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The day was still young or so I thought and therefore I decided to drive to find more Goldsworthy Pinfolds which were easily accessible by road in the area north of Kirkby Stephen.
I drove the short distance to Church Brough and parked under the shadow of the castle at the primary school. There was the circular Pinfold with its Cone – but slap bang in the middle of the school’s play field. I hesitated taking any photo of this one due to its proximity to the school.
Up the fast and furious A66 to Warcop. All around are military training grounds with lots of warning signs. In fact as I got out of the car distant artillery bursts were audible. The little square pinfold was a haven of peace. We are now in sandstone country.
Farther up the A66 past Appleby I took to those narrow country lanes again to the small village of Bolton. The pinfold was easy to find right next to the road. New housing is going up all around and it is good that the Pinfold survived even though it is somewhat hemmed in. Not as sympathetic to the environment as Goldsworthy would have liked..
Driving back to Kirkby Stephen there is still light enough to carry on to Outhgill, higher up the Eden at the start of Mallerstang, where the last of my pinfolds was situated. I have driven through this hamlet many times but never stopped to explore. At one time Outhgill had an inn, a post office, a smithy, parish church and a Methodist chapel. Of these, only the church still functions. In the churchyard are the unmarked graves of 25 of the builders of the Mallerstang section of the Settle-Carlisle Railway who died or were killed during the construction. At the time the line was constructed (1869 to 1875) between Dent and Kirkby Stephen, six thousand navvies and there families were employed and housed in shanty towns in the valley. Can you imagine the squalor?
I noticed one property named Faraday Cottage, where the father of the scientist Michael Faraday was the blacksmith in the late 18th century. He in fact moved to London before Michael was born so the link is tenuous.
Faraday Cottage.
The Outhgill pinfold was up a little lane and was the smallest I had come across.
Quite a busy day. The Black Bull in Nateby proved a very friendly place with good food and beer. I slept much better than I do at home.
It must be 40 years since I walked ‘The Eden Way’, which as the name suggests follows the River Eden from its source in the fells above Mallerstang, through Kirkby Stephen and Appleby, past Carlisle to the Solway Firth. I remember I only took a bivy bag for lightness and ended up quite damp several mornings.
It’s an area a little out of comfortable reach from Lancashire and I have neglected it over the years. Some recent climbing nearby has brought it back to my attention and it so happens that one of the many books I have read in this month or so of poor weather was ‘The Stream Invites Us To Follow’ by Dick Capel. ( I seem to recollect John Bainbridge recommending it, that is one of the joys of Blogging, your readers, few though they may be, often come up with suggestions which you have overlooked. Thanks John )
Dick Capel came to Cumbria in 1982 working as a warden in the National Park as it was then. He changed areas in 1991 starting work for the East Cumbria Countryside Project, ECCP. This aimed to promote the conservation and enhancement of the natural environment of East Cumbria. During this time he became heavily involved with the Eden Valley and particularly in developing a series of sculpture trails reflecting the area. He writes evocatively of the area and his own trials and tribulations. In particular he highlights The Eden Benchmarks, The Poetry Path and a series of Goldsworthy Pinfolds that appeared under his watch.
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The Eden Benchmarks.
The Benchmarks are a series of ten contemporary stone sculptures located at intervals along the length of the river Eden between its source above the Mallerstang valley and to the Solway Firth.
“Ten sculptor’s were chosen as part of the East Cumbrian Countryside Project, ECCP. The artists’ brief allowed creative freedom to produce site-specific sculpture, which harmonises with the landscape and captures the essence of each unique locality. The sculptors worked in residence for six weeks and this enabled them to formulate their ideas by familiarising themselves with the locations and talking with local people, including schools, who were encouraged to visit their workshops to see the sculptures taking shape”
“Collectively the sculptures give visual expression to our awareness of the river’s ecology and the need to look after it; individually they foster a profound sense of place, their capacity as seats accommodating an interactive focus for quiet reflection”.
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The Poetry Path.
Encouraged by the success of Eden Benchmarks Capel’s next arts project was the Poetry Path by the Eden on the edge of Kirkby Stephen interpreting the hill farmer’s life and love for the Eden Valley.
“Twelve short poems, written by Meg Peacocke, have been carved by lettering artist Pip Hall on blocks of stone installed at intervals along a circuital route either side of the river Eden. Decorative motifs with each poem depict some of the activities associated with every month of the hill farmer’s year”
“The aim of the Poetry Path is to introduce a permanent and integrated interpretative experience into the landscape, which is assimilated as part of the heritage it promotes and conveys a powerful message about the farmer’s potential role in maintaining a sensitive but viable hill-farming regime in relation to the natural environment as a resource both for nature conservation as well as food production”.
I could not have written that.
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Andy Goldsworthy’s Pinfold Cairns.
In the area there are six of these stone cones built into village pinfolds, which used to hold stray animals, Created by the sculptor Andy Goldsworthy (1996 – 2002) supposedly based on the prominent piles of stones called the Nine Standards above Kirkby Stephen. At one time Goldsworthy lived in the area.
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The funding ran out in 2008 for the ECCP. But the art remains. Sculptures and poems reflecting the area’s heritage and beauty, and hopefully enhancing peoples enjoyment and understanding of the countryside and environment.
Dick’s book has acted as a catalyst for some exploration on my part. I find myself visiting friends up here so I have decided to stay on, I’ve booked into the Black Bull in Nateby for a few days.
A related website provides all the information you need on all the installations. I have quoted above from that site.
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“The stream invites us to follow…and certainly, there is no more fascinating pastime than to keep company with a river from its source to sea” W H Hudson, Afoot in England.
We, Clare, JD and I, are well on schedule for our quest to visit the final Stanza Stone for today. After the Snow and Rain along comes the Mist.
The scenery changes on our onward Northern drive, deep wooded valleys crowded with solid stone terraced mill houses. Cragg Vale, Mytholmroyd (birthplace of Ted Hughes, Poet Laureate 1983 – 2008) Hebden Bridge, Pecket Well. We start dropping off the moor into Oxenhope when a steep narrow lane brings us back into the hills looking for somewhere to park under Nab Hill.
A muddy track leaves the lane, we check GPS that it is the correct one, a Stanza Stone waymark is soon noticed. Passing small quarries, no soaring climbing faces here, the rock is softer and splits into thin slabs possibly to be used as stone roof tiles common in Yorkshire at the time. We are on the lookout for a larger quarry on the right and then a stone cairn. Wind turbines look down on our wanderings. The problem is that there are several piles of stones on the edge of the moor, when is a pile of stones or a stone shelter a cairn? I dismiss the first stones and head farther towards an obvious larger cairn, ignoring smaller ones on the way. There is doubt in the team. The clue we have is to drop below the cairn to find slabs of rock. Nothing obvious here, how far down the slope should we go? We repeat the process under the other ‘cairns’. JD wanders off to pinpoint the OS map’s indication of the stone with his GPS, that doesn’t help. Clare scouts the lower ground, there are lots of slabby rocks about. I ponder that not being able to find the Mist Stone in the mist would be ironic, we are having difficulty on a perfect day. At last back at the first pile of stones we discover the correct slabs.
The story goes that one slab was lifted in situ for Pip Hall to carve, it had a hairline crack down the centre and as the stone was moved it split, much to the consternation of the workmen. Undaunted Pip carved each one independently to later place them together, so that the lines hopefully read as one. (The picture of the split comes from their book) One has to give some thought to this lady out on the moor in all weathers carving away. These slabs are of a softer grit than the ones previously visited, Snow and Rain, and the lettering paler. Simon’s poem is equally evocative though, looking out over the valleys and moors where the Bronte Sisters once roamed for inspiration. Lichens are spreading out over the letterings giving them a more ancient look than their mere 12 years – come back in another 12 years. Someone’s ashes are scattered around and will slowly be blown across the moor or crushed underfoot.
The split slab back in 2011 before repositioning.
Mist.
Who does it mourn? What does it mean, such nearness, gathering here on high ground while your back was turned, drawing its net curtains around?
Featureless silver screen, mist is water in its ghost state, all inwardness, holding its milky breath, veiling the pulsing machines of great cities under your feet, walling you into these moments, into this anti-garden of gritstone and peat.
Given time the edge of your being will seep into its fibreless fur; You are lost, adrift in hung water and blurred air, but you are here.
The three Stanza Stones we have visited so far have exceeded my expectations and I can’t wait to return with our team to the Ilkley Area, home of the Literature Festival where the idea was born, to discover the remaining three, Dew, Puddle and Beck. Wouldn’t it be great to find the fabled seventh, but I suspect that will only appear to an alert walker somewhere on the Stanza Stone Trail.
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My navigation skills have improved for the drive home, – these are roads I know well up above Wycoller. We even have time to stop off to look at one of East Lancashire’s Panopticons, The Atom. Both a shelter and a viewing point over the valley and to Pendle Hill. I am sure from memory that when it was first installed there was a stainless steel atom in the centre of the ‘Molecule’ – no sign of it now.
(The other three are Colourfields in Blackburn, The Singing Ringing Tree above Burnley and The Halo above Rossendale.)
The day couldn’t have gone better. Sunshine, excellent company and three poems found and enjoyed.
15 miles of scenic driving on open moorland roads and then through densely knit and gritty Pennine communities brought us to the White House Inn on the road out of Rochdale. We have just come from Marsden where up in Pule Hill quarry we found and admired our first Stanza Stone, Snow, a water themed poem by Simon Armitage skilfully inscribed by Pip Hall. This is one of six, or maybe even seven, scattered on the rugged Pennine Watershed between Marsden and Ilkley. There is a 45-mile walking trail between them all, but we have chosen to use the car and visit them individually. We have resisted the idea of visiting each stone according to the weather depicted. Let’s enjoy today’s sunshine.
The White House is an iconic moorland inn situated where the Pennine Way crosses from the peaty horrors of the Peak District peat to the pleasanter Yorkshire Dales. Many long distance walkers have been known to give in here. Most people today are either enjoying lunch in the pub or doing short walks from the road, as are we.
The Pennine Way is followed alongside an aqueduct connecting several reservoirs. All level walking. I camped along here once with my young son on a Lancashire Borders Walk. Sensibly we had eaten well in the pub beforehand and only needed water for a brew. The brown peaty solution didn’t need a tea bag, today my tea was already brewed safely in my flask along with a picnic lunch.
A miniature arch took us over the water and into Cow’s Mouth Quarry. This is where I become boring once more as I try and trace routes climbed way in the past. They are mainly slabs, with often little protection available, needing a steady head. Nowadays with bouldering mats the picture has become blurred between a roped route and a high ball boulder problem.
But I’m not here to climb today, I’m with Clare and JD looking for the second of Simon Armitage’s Stanza Poems – Rain. This one is easy to spot being at the base of a rock face right by the path. Pip had a lovely canvas to write on, but advice was first taken from climbers so that no footholds were destroyed, or new ones created. Pip’s carving seems more pronounced than on Snow back at Pule Hill, this rock, being more compact, maybe helping. The letters are imbued with gold. We read aloud the poem marvelling at Simon’s turn of phrase.
Again here is the poem in case you can’t make it out in the pictures.
Rain.
Be glad of these freshwater tears, Each pearled droplet some salty old sea-bullet Air-lifted out of the waves, then laundered and sieved, recast as a soft bead and returned. And no matter how much it strafes or sheets, it is no mean feat to catch one raindrop clean in the mouth, To take one drop on the tongue, tasting cloud pollen, grain of the heavens, raw sky. Let it teem, up here where the front of the mind distils the brunt of the world.
We find a sheltered spot for lunch. I forget to take a picture of the extensive views across the moors with distant reservoirs, wind farms and mill chimneys. I am on too much on a high from the poetry – tasting cloud pollen. We wander back with shared tales of moorland adventures.
Simon Armitage is steeped in Pennine Grit. Brought up in West Yorkshire and living in Marsden in particular, his works have been influenced by the rich heritage of the area. I have been reading a few of his books and poems recently and feel an affinity to his working class background. When you delve deeper you realise the profound and original intellect of the man and his ever widening focus. That’s why he is Poet Laureate.
My friend JD, who has featured many times in these posts, told me about some of Simon’s readings on the radio, such as his journey as a modern day troubadour down the Pennine Way, and more interestingly his series of poems carved and brought to life in the rocks of the high Pennines. The Stanza Poems, six poems on the theme of water in various forms: Snow, Rain, Dew, Puddle,Mist and Beck, a collaboration between himself, Pip Hall the stone carver, and local expert Tom Lonsdale, a landscape architect. Those looking hard enough might stumble across a seventh Stanza Stone, a secret stone left in an unnamed location within the Watershed area, waiting to be discovered and read. As far as I know nobody has.
What they have produced is truly magical and the insights of the protagonists brought to life in the book. I take my hat off to the literacy skill of Simon but equally so to the dedication and art of Pip the sculptress which will be borne out in our efforts to locate the stones.
A fairly tough trail, considering the moorland terrain, of 50 miles or so has been worked out between the carved stones from Marsden in the south to Ilkley farther north. Suffice to say JD and I never got around to walking it, mainly because I thought some of the 20-mile days across rough moorland with no bed at the end was too much for me to contemplate. I happily compromise and suggest a motorised raid to the individual stones. The idea catches fire and in a conversation with the ‘Slate Poem Lady of Longridge Fell’ (another story enacted in my lockdown posts) we have a willing and knowledgable accomplice. Welcome aboard Clare, one of her slate poems in her garden says it all.
Messenger. Mary Oliver.
Cometh the day cometh the hour. We are off to Marsden with a fair forecast. I’m afraid to say my navigational skills fell short of the sat nav lady whom I chose to ignore. We came at the first site in a round about way, but the moorland scenery and deserted roads were worth it. Mutterings from the driver and the other passenger who kept well clear of any navigational mistakes.
An unpretentious lay-by below Pule Hill, west of Marsden, is our starting point. The steaming brick ventilation shafts of the Manchester to Huddersfield railway are obvious above us on the hillside. As well as the railway down there somewhere the narrow Huddersfield Canal goes through the Standedge Tunnel, the longest, highest and deepest canal tunnel in Great Britain. Their combined history is worth a read, it’s a lot more complicated than you think. Above all that are the ramparts of Pule Hill quarry and rocky edge on the skyline. Fortunately for us the original quarry incline is still intact giving an easy climb up into the workings. Memories of plodding up here with ropes and gear for a day’s climbing come flooding back, and I feel a quickening in my step. We are impressed with the amount of quality stone work just giving access to the quarries. What a substantial industry of men must have worked away on these slopes.
I’m distracted by the quarry rock faces I have ascended in the past whilst the other two go off in search of the poems engraved in stone.
Nature’s art.
At the far end of the quarry are two large blocks built into the wall and there is our first poem laid out in front of us, letters carved into the two stones bringing out the colours of the rock from those past quarrying days. We trace with our fingers across the rock surface. Already after 13 years the patina is changing, and green lichens are crossing the letters, what will another decade bring. There is already some slight damage caused by man.
Here is the poem transcribed as it is difficult, but not impossible if enlarged, to read in the photos. The stanzas cross between the two stones.
Snow.
The sky has delivered its blank missive. The moor in coma.
Snow, like water asleep, a coded muteness to baffle all noise, to stall movement, still time.
What can it mean that colourless water can dream such depth of white?
We should make the most of the light.
Stars snag on its crystal points. The odd, unnatural pheasant struts and slides.
Snow, snow, snow is how the snow speaks, is how its clean page reads.
Then it wakes, and thaws, and weeps. S A.
Before we leave, we discover a beautifully constructed curving wall seat inscribed with ‘Ilkley 45 1/4 miles’ which is the distance to the last stone via the trail, thankfully we have the car to take us onwards.
We skip happily down that incline, pleased to find the first stone and captivated by the scenery and the poem it now holds. Let it snow.
The walking and even the gardening has been put aside, and I’m spending a lot of time reading whilst it rains outside. My cousin has just published a comprehensive history of the parish of Bolton by Bowland. (Spot the B connection). He has lived there for many years and has spent much of his time researching the history, geology, genealogy, ecology and everything else interesting relating to the village and surrounding area. I’m already well through my complimentary copy and have learnt so much more of our nearby neighbourhood and English history in general.
(Our Craven Parish. Bolton by Bowland. John Pallister. ISBN 978-1-911138-39-6. Amazon doesn’t stock it. When I see John next week I’ll find out where it is available.)
That brings me to that other subject – my aversion to Amazon. I don’t like to be controlled by some giant all invading corporation. I have no wish to subscribe to Amazon Prime when I try to order a paperback. Can one control the internet? I suspect not. Unfortunately all of us are hooked, even by innocently reading this post you are being tracked. I use the independent Blackwell’s or Abe books wherever possible. I now find out that Abe, even though they support smaller suppliers, is connected to Amazon! What is the future for independent bookshops? They need the internet to sell their hidden volumes and yet Amazon must be contributing to the physical bookshops closing every week. “both the water of life and the river of death” is a quote from Simon Armitage, our current Poet Laureate
I’m presently into Simon Armitage, with an ongoing project to visit the Stanza Stones, his poems carved into Pennine rocks by Pip Hall. http://www.stanzastones.co.uk/
Walking Home by Simon, his journey on the Pennine Way back to his home in Marsden. is a book I have just finished. A modern troubadour paying his way by poetry recitals in a variety of venues along the way. I found his writing engaging and romped through the volume. So it was back to Abe for the follow-up Walking Away. a similar trip bringing to life the SW Coastal Path. All Points North is a gritty and amusing predecessor. He certainly does have a passion for observation and words.
It’s still raining, so I will start on something different, the next book. A Celebration of Lakeland in Winter by a John Pepper. A recommendation from George at Lakeland Walking Tales ‹ Reader — WordPress.com That’s the value of blogging and linking into far more professional sites than mine.
My simple reading list is endless, and maybe I have added to yours.
