Category Archives: Walking.

PILGRIMS PROGRESS. YOULGREAVE CHURCH.

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Day 13 postscipt.   A brief look around All Saints Parish Church in Youlgreave, with its Saxon connections.

Usually, when visiting churches, I pick up or purchase an information leaflet, and most churches have an electronic payment machine.  I have mislaid my excellent guide to here, as well as Wirksworth Church, so I’m relying mainly on memory and Simon Jenkins’ comprehensive book – England’s Thousand Best Churches.

I arrived here from Bakewell, with the church tower dominating the village.

There was probably a wooden Saxon church on this site, but the present building dates back to the 1150 period and has been much modified since.

The oldest surviving parts are in the nave, featuring typical thick Norman pillars and arches. Since then, many different styles have been incorporated – a large Gothic chancel, Tudor windows, and a 15th-century perpendicular-style bell tower.

Blocked Norman door.

Perpendicular style tower door.

The Norman font originally belonged  to the church at nearby Elton and is a simple sandstone affair, but with an added stoup with a salamander (a symbol of baptism) carved into its support. 

Above the altar is the great east window, featuring stained glass by the William Morris Company, designed by the Pre-Raphaelite master Edward Burne-Jones.

I’m not sure about these windows. A Victorian and a C20 memorial to incumbent vicars.

Another stained window in the north aisle is a poignant memorial window to Rennie Crompton Waterhouse of Lomberdale Hall, Middleton-by-Youlgreave, killed at Gallipoli in 1915.The window glass was gathered from the ruined cathedral at Ypres and other destroyed churches in Flanders, and brought back to Youlgreave by his brother.

I have two photos of tombs within the chancel.

The first one I’ve identified as a fine marble tomb to a Thomas Cockayne, who died in a fight in 1488. The effigy is smaller than life size, indicating that he died before his father.

The other chancel tomb is a worn effigy of a knight with his feet on a lion, dated to the 13th century and thought to represent Sir John Rossington. Notice the tiled floor.   

In the north aisle, there is a wall memorial dedicated to Roger Rooe of Alport, who died in 1613, and his wife, depicted wearing a top hat, and their eight children.  The memorial is an ornate Jacobean-style piece, featuring the couple facing each other with their children standing below.

Another memorial is an alabaster plaque from 1492 commemorating Robert and Julia Gilbert, featuring a central figure of the Virgin, and kneeling figures of Julia and numerous daughters on one side, and Robert with numerous sons on the other. The inscription says that Gilbert “caused this chapel to be made”. They certainly had large families back then.

The choir stalls, likely Victorian, feature some interestingly carved heads.

If I had looked up I would have seen wooden carved roof bosses.
I was most interested in the small figure in a semicircular niche, probably a C12th carving of a pilgrim, with his bag and staff. I felt a close infinity. Another probably AngloSaxon stone carving depicts a man, could he be peeing in the bushes?
Elsewhere a piscina is held up by a ?Norman head.

That was an hour well spent. My present mileage of 8 to 10 miles per day gives me ample time to explore and interact with people along the way.

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. A TASTE OF DERBY.

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Day 15 addendum.

I’ve never visited Derby before, and I’m pleasantly surprised by the mix of old and new. I want to visit the Cathedral and the Museum before catching my train home. I stop at a seat in an open square to rehydrate and pack my sticks away. This just so happens to be alongside The Museum of Making, which I had not intended to visit. Chatting to a couple on the n̈ext seat who happen to work there, I’m encouraged to have a look inside.  I’m glad I did. 

The Museum of Making. 

The Derby Silk Mill here is widely regarded as the site of the world’s first modern factory, built in the valley that helped to change the world. It has recently had a major facelift. Here is its raison d’être.

“Celebrating the area’s rich history of innovation, the Museum of Making in the Derwent Valley Mills UNESCO World Heritage Site is a contemporary space telling Derby’s 300-year history of making to inspire new creativity. Designed and made by the people and industries of Derby, with exhibits, workshops, activities and events, there’s something here for everyone” 

I am immediately enthralled as I walk in and am greeted by one of their volunteers. I explain that I’m just having a quick look around, as I’m really in Derby for its Anglo-Saxon associations. I come out two hours later and thank her. 

The Rolls-Royce engine dominates the entrance hall, a thing of beauty as well as engineering magic.

The subsequent floors feature the most amazing collections of memorabilia, all on display, more like a junk shop to browse through than a traditional museum of glass cases.  But it is not all random; the exhibits are organised by technology and materials. ‘Things’ made in or associated with Derby from the start of the Industrial Revolution. Far too many objects and information to share with you in this post.  Visit Derby, bring the children, and immerse yourself in the experience.

As a bonus, there is an art exhibition on the top floor, EarthBound.  Exploring the hidden layers of the  Earth, examining how we are connected to this surface through the eyes of a diverse group of artists.

“EarthBound aims to make us pause for breath and think that our future survival may well depend on our having a deeper understanding and respect for the incredible micro-organisms and fungal networks that hold our planet in balance. The smallest things can have the biggest impact on our survival as a species”.

I stop by the ‘making and repair’ room, where the couple who recommended I visit are busy working. I’ve been invited back for an extended visit. 

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Churches dedicated to Saint Alkmund, the Saxon patron saint of Derby, who died in 800AD, have been constructed on a site in Derby since the 9th century. The most recent Saint Alkmund’s Church was a Victorian church, which stood in a Georgian square between Bridgegate and Queen Street. The church and its yard were demolished in 1968 to make way for the construction of a road to improve traffic flow.  A stone coffin and the remains of a 4-metre (13 ft) tall stone cross were recovered from the site and transferred to Derby Museum and Art Gallery. (I have also read about St. Alkmund’s Well, which is nearby)

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So I’m off to the Museum and Art Gallery to see the Saxon stones, except most people I ask for directions don’t know of it. Typical of many of us, neglecting what’s on our doorstep for treasures further afield. I grab a ground plan and head to the Archaeology room.  The central space is occupied by a Bronze Age wooden boat, crafted from a single 10-meter-long oak log. 

St. Alkmund’s Sarcophagus, c. AD 800  is the stone coffin removed from St. Alkmund’s Church during its demolition. Initially placed in the 9th century church on the same site, it is remarkably well-preserved and features the intricate interlacing carvings with which I’m becoming increasingly familiar on this trip. It is carved from a single block of sandstone and weighs nearly a ton. Its lid has gone missing.

Alongside is St. Alkmund’s Cross, c.AD 850, an Anglo-Saxon stone cross found in the churchyard when it was being rebuilt in 1840. It is only part of the upper shaft and has intricate carvings on each face, mainly of animals.  These don’t show up well in my photographs, but I have one for completeness. 

Also found at St. Alkmund’s Church in 1840 is a fragment of a 10th-century Viking Hogback tombstone..

The Repton Stone was found in 1979 outside of  Repton Church. It is thought to be an upper section of a standing cross, c 700 – 873. One face shows a mounted figure, wearing mail armour and brandishing a sword and shield. This has been identified as King Æthelbald of Mercia. In 757, Æthelbald was killed and buried at Repton. If this is Æthelbald, it would make it the earliest large-scale pictorial representation of an English monarch.

I only glance at some of the other rooms, nature and history, etc, but I spend some time in the Joseph Wright gallery.

Joseph Wright, 1734-1797, was born in Derby and became a renowned portrait and landscape painter at the beginning of the Industrial Revolution and the Age of Enlightenment. He was particularly noted for his use of light on his subject matter. I have previously seen one or two of his paintings in other galleries; they are very distinctive, but to view so many in one room was a treat. Here are four well-known ones to sample.

In complete contrast, in another room, was some work by Marion Adams,1898 – 1995, a Derby-born teacher who found some fame as a surrealist.

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I make my way back to the cathedral. The Cathedral Church of All Saints was founded in 943 by King Edmund of Wessex and is at the heart of the city. That church disappeared, and there were rebuilds in the intervening centuries. The present church is a Georgian rebuilding by James Gibbs, completed in 1725. The tower, however, dates from the 16th century.  To offset the rather austere interior, Gibbs introduced a wrought-iron chancel screen, extending across the entire width of the church, manufactured by the local iron-smith and gate-maker Robert Bakewell.

The first impression upon entering is one of space and light. There is no heavily stained glass.

An organist is playing, or rather practising, which adds to the atmosphere.

The two modern stained glass windows, by Ceri Giraldus Richards, at the east end of both aisles represent the light and dark forces.

I come across the artist Joseph Wright’s gravestone, saved from the ill-fated St. Alkmunds Church. The tomb of Bess of Hardwick is a prominent feature,  “one of the richest and most powerful women in the kingdom”  This Elizabethan lady was responsible for Hardwick Hall and Chatsworth House.

I missed the memorial to Florence Nightingale and probably much more. 

*

In the distance, I can see a beautiful church. I walk towards it, and there is a connecting bridge across the freeway, St. Alkmunds Way. This is St. Mary’s RC church. Designed by Augustus Welby Northmore Pugin (1812-1852), an inspirational figure whose dedication and spiritual attachment to the Gothic medium was to transform English church architecture. 

*

I will be returning to Derby to start the last few days of my pilgrimage to Lichfield, and I have a few other sights to see in the city. 

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. THE DERWENT VALLEY.

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Day 15. Duffield to Derby.

The last day of my present intermittent progress.

I start the morning in Duffield with a coffee and a delicious custard. The cafe fills up quickly after ten, their coffee is very good and hence popular with the locals. I’m not in a great rush as I only have about five miles to walk to Derby.

The main street features some large Georgian properties, alongside little independent shops. All very pleasant.

I find the footpath leading to the church, which is a quarter of a mile south. Its position, so far from the village, is thought to have served travellers crossing the river on their way from Ashbourne to Nottingham in Anglo-Saxon times.

St. Alkmund’s Church is on the same site as an Anglo-Saxon timber church. The original part of the present building, however, is Norman, although it has undergone many modifications over the years.

 I reach the River Derwent from the rear of the churchyard and walk upstream a short distance to the fine stone bridge, where it is thought that pilgrims crossed to reach the church.  Duffield Bridge was built across the river, next to the Inn, in the thirteenth century. We sometimes take for granted these structures, but that’s 700 years ago!

A pleasant footpath, the Derwent Valley Heritage Walk, runs through woods and then open fields. 

Past old mills.

Soon, I leave the road up a cobbled track taking me to Little Eaton.

C18th St. Paul’s.

Turning a corner into the village, I am surprised by the variety of shops on offer. I try the butcher’s to purchase a proper pie for lunch later. Along the road is a reminder of the canal that once brought goods from Derby to be offloaded at a wharf, and connected by a tramway to bring coal from Denby. Peering through the trees, one can make out a short stretch of water, all that remains.

A cycle route follows the line of the infilled canal, but I choose a path nearer the river. It appears that there was industry on site at one time. Now, a maze of paths traverses the area. The vegetation is high in its summer growth;  poppies, foxglove, teasel, cow parsley and lots of nettles and brambles.

 Halfway along, I am diverted around an active demolition site; the dust and noise are unpleasant. It will be interesting to examine the old maps later to discover what was going on here.

The only way out is onto a busy main road, but fortunately, there is an underpass. I’m not enjoying this.

Things don’t improve as I lose the path in fields used for growing turf. Several fenced-off air vents border the track. What was their purpose?

I only have an occasional glimpse of the River Derwent.

Needless to say, I haven’t found anywhere suitable to eat that pie.

When at last I emerge from the fields, I’m on the edge of Darley Abbey village and mills.  I find a way through the mill complex, now offices, cafes, and an extensive wedding venue. The oldest parts date from 1789-92, built by the Evans family, some of the earliest cotton mills. The buildings have been carefully restored. There is a Toll house, no longer charging for crossing the Derwent above the mill’s slipway.

On the far side, I find a seat overlooking the waters and the mill buildings. After my brush with industrial wasteland, this is a perfect spot to eat that pie.

Abbey village is a haven of peace and tranquillity. It is a village of delightfully restored cottages, built in rows or around squares for the workers in Evans mills. It was originally an Augustinian priory, founded by Robert Ferrers, second Earl of Derby, around 1146. The Abbey was almost totally destroyed during the Dissolution. The Abbey Pub is the only remaining building, thought to have been used as the Abbey’s guest house for travellers and pilgrims during the 13th century. The pub has been tastefully and carefully restored. I have to stop for a small beer just to see the timbered interior.

There is a wealth of background history available about Darley Abbey

By staying close to the river, I miss the church and most of the village. But it is delightful to stroll through the park, which was given to the people of Derby by the Evans family.

Coming into the city alongside a fine bridge over the Derwent, C18th St.Mary’s Bridge. I must be tiring because I don’t notice the adjacent Bridge Chapel. Built in the early 14th century over the first arch of the then-existing bridge, it offered spiritual reassurance to travellers in dangerous times as they left the city. I may have to return.

The Cathedral towers above the rooftops.  I flop down on a riverside seat to get my bearings before exploring the city. I happen to be next to a very modern-looking gallery, whose purpose I have no idea – I’m about to find out.

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PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. MORE HEIGHTS.

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Day 14. Wirksworth to Duffield. 

It’s Market Day in Wirksworth and very busy, so I just set off without my usual morning coffee. I have to climb up to Alport Height somehow. There are numerous small lanes and field paths to choose from. The scattered houses of Gorsey Bank are my first objective.

I pass a small Catholic church on the way, and then Providence Mill. Wirksworth mills were renowned in the 19th and early 20th century for specialised tape manufacture. John Bowmer began tape making in 1883 at Providence Mill, later known as Gorsey Bank Mill. They produced narrow red tape to bind legal documents. (That’s where the term ‘red tape’ comes from.) The firm was later to take pride in the fact that it had manufactured the fuse-binding tape for every Mills Bomb used in the First World War. The mill is now an exclusive-looking private residence.

At the end of the metalled road, a wide byway, Prathall Lane, continues to climb. There is a wayside water trough, so this must have been a route regularly used by horses.

There are views back to the limestone quarry overshadowing Wirksworth and more rural scenes to the west. The summit of Alport Height with its antennae appears, so I just follow the little lanes in the right direction.

A path leads to the parking area next to the antennae. There is a toposcope, but to be honest, although the views are far-reaching, they lack interest, and the masts obscure half of it. The trig point is at 314 m (1,030 ft).

If this ‘port’ was on a long-lost trackway, could this be a marker stone? How do you date stones anyhow?

I don’t hang around on what is a bleak spot in the wind. My attempt at a shortcut back to the road is thwarted by a motocross track with noisy bikes churning up the sand. But what is this? Not noticed on the way up, but a rocky pinnacle in a small abandoned quarry. The Alport Stone. Chipped holds on one side tempt you onwards, but how do you get back down?

I have found some old photos of early ascents.

I make good progress by sticking to the quiet lanes, the type with grass down the middle.

The Midshires Way is encountered again, where it climbs onto a small ridge. Longwalls Lane must be an ancient track with signs of cobbles and worn down to the bedrock in places.

At its end, as I drop down to Blackbrook  (who, according to all the signs, doesn’t want any more houses, like similar villages being swamped with developments), there ahead of me is The Chevin, a gritstone ridge above Belper leading me straight to Duffield. How much more appealing than Alport Height? In Blackbrook, I cross a ford and climb through trees to a cluster of houses at Farnah Green, where by the roadside is a 19th-century milestone. Derby 7  Wirksworth 6. And then I’m onto the ancient track across the Chevin, possibly the Portway, and maybe used by the Romans to reach their Lutadarum, a grand way to finish my walk today. Cobbled most of the way with views down into the Derwent Valley and Belper. I walk along with a local couple, and he explains the history of the area to me. I would have been puzzled by this isolated wall structure, seen by the wayside without his knowledge.

From the listed buildings site – Former firing range. Circa 1800. The range is comprised of a tall, tapering target wall, aligned north-east to south-west, approximately 25 metres long and 5 metres high. The wall is built of coursed squared gritstone, with a heavy flat gritstone coping. To the southeast of the wall are a group of five regularly- spaced rectangular coursed stone firing butts or platforms, the first being approx 150 metres from the wall, and spaced every 25 metres thereafter.

The firing range was built for the local militia, the Belper Volunteer Battalion, raised by the Strutt family who established the textile factory communities at Belper and Milford. Lt. Cl. Joseph Strutt was the battalion commander. The range was used during the Napoleonic Wars, and again in 1860, during the Boer War and the First World War. The firing range is important evidence of the part played by local militias in the national defence strategy of the early C19, and is a rare survival of the period. 

Quite unique.

I left the couple and made my way down through the extensive and hilly golf course past the clubhouse onto the main road in Duffield.

I had not gone far when I noticed this sign by some steps.

Duffield Castle is a remnant of the estate of the de Ferrers family, who originally owned the village; however, they lost their local possessions to the king in 1266, and their castle, if it ever was finished, was demolished. All that is visible is the mound with traces of foundations and a well. As the sign says, use your imagination.

The train takes me back to Matlock.


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PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. LEAD AND LIME.

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Day 13.  Winster to Wirksworth.

Winster and Wirksworth were both known for lead mining, a very valuable commodity in the medieval period, and both are mentioned in the Domesday Book. They prospered in the 18th and 19th centuries. On the map the deep Griffe Grange Valley,  with its busy Via Gellia road, forms a barrier between the two villages. I need to find a way around this without incurring much height loss. The Limestone Way takes a far too circuitous route. 

Winster is bedecked for the culmination of its festive Wakes week. I get a coffee from the village shop and sit outside watching the locals come and go to what is now the centre of village life.

Across the way is the Market House, dating back to the 17th century, when it would have been the centre for village life. At one time, the ground floor was an open, arched space for the market while the first floor was for village assemblies. The National Trust now owns it, and some limited local information is available upstairs.

Time to make a start up that steep lane going south, the residents must be a fit lot. Pretty cottages and gardens are a pride to their owners. Although holiday lets are becoming more prominent. A lady is out checking on the hundred or so ducks hidden for the festive ‘duck hunt’.

At the top lane, the pinfold has become an attractive wild garden. I am impressed with Winster. 

Soon, I’m above the houses, a footpath heads across meadows, forever upwards. There is surface evidence of lead mining everywhere you look.

A stiff wind gives the weather a fresher feel as I climb higher. I could continue through a network of fields for another mile or so, but there are an awful lot of cattle about. Why have the hassle when there is a gated road with no traffic running parallel? As I’ve written, I’ve no definite route, just places to visit along the way. I’m my own master.

I get to see the views just the same, and I have time for some wayside flower spotting. 

In the distance is a working quarry, not realising I will end up beside it.

Down to Grangemill, a cluster of houses and a pub, the Hollybush Inn, at a busy crossroads. Here I found a bench for some lunch, watching the lorries come out of the working quarry opposite every minute or so onto the busy road down to Cromford, Via Gellia. There is a lot of lime dust in the air. 

The Via Gellia is named after the Gell family who lived at Hopton Hall for generations, having profitable quarries and lead mines. The building of the Via Gellia is dated to 1791 and was designed to allow carts of lead ore or stone to travel down from the Hopton area to the canal and lead smelters at Cromford. One of the Gell family may have named it in the Roman style. Todays traffic disappears down the road into the deep wooded Griffe Grange Valley.

Back into the fields bordering the old quarry, I pick up The Limestone Way again. It’s not entirely clear on the ground. A runner coming towards me is lost, trying to navigate using his watch. I point out the way, and off he rushes to complete about twenty miles, in this heat!

 

Now, on higher ground away from the quarry nose and dust, I can see the hilltop of Harborough Rocks, which I wanted to include in today’s route.

 A lady runner is also confused by the field systems, but she is only doing six miles and is much more relaxed, enjoying the scenery.

On to the High Peak Trail, the former line for the Cromford and High Peak railway, which I last met back in Whaley Bridge. It was built in the early 19th century to transport minerals and goods across the high ground between the two canal towns. I’m also back on the Midshires Way.

Up ahead are Harborough rocks—a popular low-grade climbing area of Dolomitic Limestone, full of pockets and jugs. Once again, I start reminiscing on sunny days spent here, but I don’t recall the noisy factory adjacent. A couple are climbing above the path; it turns out they are from Burnley, not far from me, and visit Craig Y Longridge from time to time—a small world.

Apart from the climbing, the other reason I wanted to visit here is to seek out the ‘Hermit’s Cave’. The cave has been excavated several times. Finds included human burials, dated to the Neolithic. Iron Age pottery and arrowheads, Daniel Defoe visited the rocks in the 18th Century and found the cave was inhabited by a lead miner and his family. If the Portway had come this way, could it have been used as an overnight shelter?

The High Peak Trail goes on and on. 

One forgets that these railways were originally horse-drawn and used Fishbelly rail laid on stone blocks, a common form of early track construction. This had the advantage of providing a continuous soft path between the rails that was suitable for horses.

Eventually, field paths drop away from the line, no sign of Wirksworth yet, but the hill in the distance must be Alport Height, tomorrow’s objective.

I find myself walking through the remains of a massive quarry.

At last an ally takes me to the high street of Wirksworth.

A busy market town with an impressive High Street of independent shops.

In Roman Britain, this limestone area yielded lead, and they named a place Lutudarum, which is likely the present-day Wirksworth. Roman roads from Wirksworth lead to Buxton (The Street) and to Castleton (The Portway). It was in the 17th century that Wirksworth further developed from its lead mines and limestone quarries. Richard Arkwright owned a cotton spinning mill here, marking the beginning of the industrial age. When the lead ran out in the 19th century, large-scale limestone quarrying took its place.  

I head to the parish church, St Mary the Virgin. The existing building dates mostly from the 13th century, but a church has stood on this site since at least the 8th century AD. One of its restorations was by Sir Gilbert Scott in 1870. 

The church is notable for its Anglo-Saxon carvings, a large Anglo-Saxon coffin lid, and beautiful stained glass. Again, like Youlgreave’s church, I may do a separate post on St. Mary’s. However, in the meantime, here is the carving of the medieval or possibly even Saxon lead miner.

After a bit of shopping, it is time to catch the bus back to Matlock. You may recall a car fire halting my bus in Buxton; well, this time, a fire broke out in an abandoned building on the outskirts of Matlock. When we arrived, the police were in attendance and let us through. Five minutes later, as the black smoke enveloped the valley and fire engines were rushing to the scene, the roads were closed. By then, I was safely in my B&B.

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PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. PART OF THE PORTWAY?

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Day 12. Bakewell to Winster.

For the next stretch of my ‘pilgrimage’, I’m booked into a B&B in Matlock. I won’t bore you with my travel logistics. These days, it is becoming more difficult to find accommodation in the smaller towns and villages. 

Where did merchants, drovers, and pilgrims, making lengthy journeys, stay overnight before the arrival of inns?  Before starting this walk, I had never heard of The Portway.

“There are several ‘portways’ in England, such as the route over the Long Mynd in Shropshire, but the Derbyshire Portway seems to be the longest and the best-researched. The route in Derbyshire was first suggested by Cockerton, a historian from Bakewell, in the 1930s, who based his idea of a long-distance route on a string of ‘port’ place names such as Alport and Alport Height, which can be linked together by existing tracks and paths. These place names are reinforced by references to a ‘Portwaye’ in some medieval documents and two Portway lead mines.  It seems clear that the word is Anglo-Saxon, and was applied by them to pre-existing, non-Roman routes.. A ‘port’ suggests a place of safety and shelter, so I think a portway was a long-distance route which had ‘ports’ for travellers at intervals of roughly ten miles. Sites where wayfarers could sleep, cook and graze their animals overnight. In Derbyshire, these are likely to have been on high ground for defence”

Stephen Bailey.  Old Roads of Derbyshire. 2019. 

An introduction from the book I’ve just been reading. Well, that adds another dimension to my walk. Again, like pilgrim routes, the portway is not defined precisely on any map, so my wanderings between significant Saxon religious sites can be combined with linking possible ‘ports’ together. They are likely to have had very similar routes.

I’m back in Bakewell for another four days ‘pilgrimaging’. As usual, I start the day with a coffee,  this time in the Graze café.

The church clock is striking 10 as I leave the hustle and bustle and start to climb steeply up Butts Road. They provide a handrail for the elderly,  and I make good use of it. At the top, there is a fresh breeze, so I’m hoping for cooler temperatures than of late. Alongside the cemetery, a gent is walking his dog. We stop to discuss the weather, and the conversation drifts to long-distance walking and eventually to climbing. He, in fact, moved here originally to be near the rocks. A pleasant interlude after the steep climb.

Suddenly, I’m out into rolling limestone country on a walled lane, and I feel I’m on an ancient route. A portway? Losing and gaining height as I go.

A short stretch on a road, and I spot the stile I’m looking out for. Pleased to be off the road, I enter a swaying sea of oats and, hopefully, by my passing, help to define the right of way. Skylarks are everywhere; it’s a glorious morning.

I reach the lane at Conksbury Bridge in Lathkill Dale. Across the way is the site of an abandoned Medieval village, but from here I can’t make out any features.

 Going down Lathkill Dale for a distance, I’m unable to access the stream. A man is picking raspberries from a particularly fertile patch, and I join him for a while. Last year, there was hardly any, but this summer is giving a bumper crop. Ice cream and fruit for him this evening.

Continuing downstream to Alport is an option, but I want to visit Youlgreave, it must be nearly 40 years since my two sons and I did a Limestone Loop around the Peak District, staying in YHAs. I remember the one in Youlgreave being at the top of a steep hill away from a river. My sons were convinced every youth hostel was at the top of a hill at the end of each day.

Youlgreave was mentioned in the Domesday Book. It increased in size in the late 18th century when lead mining prospered. It is now a magnet for visitors, thanks to narrow streets, interesting limestone properties, and charming cottages. The village street is hectic, far too narrow for the number of cars using it. 

All Saints Church dates back to the late 12th century, and I feel it would be best to dedicate a separate entry to my in-depth look around; otherwise, this post would become overly long. All I’ll mention here is a carving of a Norman traveller carrying his bag and shaft. Just like me.

The YHA is still here, looking as I remember it, but I don’t recall the cafe on the ground floor. Anyhow, I go in hoping for a pot of tea, but nobody is in a rush to serve me.

Wandering on, I reach the village fountain, which has an interesting history. A farmer’s daughter, a local spinster in her 70s. Hannah Bowman formed the Women’s Friendly Society of Youlgrave and had plans to bring water to the village. Previously, the villagers had to walk down to the valley for water. A 1,500-gallon capacity conduit was built in Youlgrave’s marketplace on the site of its ancient Saxon cross. At its opening in July 1829, the Derbyshire Courier voiced its approval: ‘The inhabitants of Youlgrave are rejoicing from at last having their anxious wishes realised by a salubrious spring of soft water being conducted to the village cross, where it now forms a beautiful radiated fountain discharging upwards of 10,000 gallons in 24 hours. The spring is as pellucid as crystal, almost equal in purity to distilled water. The cistern fills up overnight, and residents pay an annual charge of sixpence to use the splendid new facility”

It is still functional, owned and run by the villagers.

From the fountain, I take the lane down to the valley, where a clapper bridge spans the River Bradford. Lower down the river is proving popular with locals who, in this heatwave,  are enjoying paddling and swimming in the deeper pools created by the weirs.

By the lower clapper bridge I sit on a bench for a spot of early lunch before the climb out of the dale.

I’m not sure which way to navigate around Castle Ring at Harthill, marked by a red arrow above. The Bronze Age hill fort is on private land. This entire area, including nearby Stanton Moor, is characterised by numerous prehistoric circles and standing stones.

My choice is influenced by the fact that I’m now on the waymarked Limestone Way, last crossed in Miller’s Dale. So to the left we go, proving very pleasant in the shade provided by the stately beech trees.

I recognise the parking place on the road, which I’ve used many times for climbing at Cratcliffe. Despite being on the ‘Limestone Way’, this is gritstone country. Britain’s geology frequently baffles me. One of those stone circles can be seen by a tree in the fields below. Ahead are the twin rock pinnacles of Robin Hood’s Stride; the trees have grown since I was last here.

Let the Limestone Way wander on; I’m off to take a look at those climbs of old, and there is a Hermit’s cave to be found somewhere. There are voices in the trees. I’m hoping for some climbing action.  I get to enjoy some high-standard bouldering with friendly youngsters.

Everywhere seems overgrown as I try to find my way to the Hermit’s cave, but eventually, there it is. You can just make out the figure of Christ on the cross. 

https://derbyshireheritage.co.uk/curiosities/cratcliffe-hermitage/ gives a link to the Portway.

I peek around the corner at the imposing main crag. Did we really climb up there?

Below the rocks – everybody had a Hilary in their lives.

I find my way back to the Limestone Trail and begin the slow, now weary climb up Dudwood Lane, which is initially metalled, but soon becomes rough. 

Portaway Mine, presumably a lead mine, is marked on the map. 

One of those lovely stone squeeze stiles lead me into Winster through parkland..

There is a meeting of villagers in the church, St John the Baptist’s, so I won’t disturb them. The tower dates from 1721, and restorations to the body of the church were completed in 1885.

Today, the village is bedecked with bunting for its Wakes Week celebrations. I only have five minutes to spare before my bus.

“Lead mining, for which Winster was renowned, may have originated here in Roman times. The boom in mining from the late 17th century turned the village into a prosperous town, one of the largest in Derbyshire.

Historically, Winster was also a main crossing point for many roads and trackways, one of the most important being The Portway, an ancient trading route that passes close to the village. Salt routes from Cheshire came through the village, as did the main turnpike from Nottingham to Newhaven in later years.

With more than 70 listed buildings, Winster has one of the most impressive street scenes in Derbyshire, and the main street is an array of impressive buildings which merge with a jumble of cottages up the bank on the southern side. The Old Market Hall, which dates from the 17th century and is now owned by the National Trust, together with The Old Hall and Dower House, are particular highlights”

 I’m lucky to catch that bus as the roads have been closed for resurfacing until today.

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. THE SHORT, HOT DAY.

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Day 11.   Monsal Head to Bakewell.

The day is forecast to be the hottest of the year, and I’m trying to avoid any references to baking hot in Bakewell. I skip breakfast at the hotel to get an early start and make the most of the cooler part of the day. As it is, I only have a short walk ahead of me.

That view accompanies my wake-up coffee in the room—a good start.

I walk along to Little Longstone, at one stage, a pavement cleaner prepares the way. There is a pub, a Congregational Church, a pinfold and a pump. 

Field paths head off down the hill.

I arrive in Ashford-in-the-Water. The information board tells me ‘Ford by the ash tree’. It was known in the Doomsday Book for lead mining.  This was where the ancient route of the Derbyshire Portway (from Nottingham to Castleton) crossed the River Wye,  a route that had existed since the Bronze Age before falling out of regular use in the Middle Ages. That reference directs me to the LDWA website, and I end up ordering a book on Abe titled The Old Roads of Derbyshire: Walking into History: The Portway and Beyond.  I wonder where that will take me. 

Ashford is a touristy village, but at this time of day, it is pleasantly quiet and quaint—lots of little limestone cottages.

I search for the church, dating back to the 12th-century, but with extensive modifications. It is currently hosting a flower festival, but I arrive too early for it to open. I content myself with the 15th-century cross base in the grounds.

Well dressing is a significant and unique historical tradition in the Peak District, possibly a Pagan ritual giving thanks for water, important in limestone areas. I come across several collages created on clay-covered boards at the village wells.

I leave the village by the timeless bridge next to the mill. The busy A6 bypasses the village.

The path follows the river, then passes by weirs and lakes, all of which were constructed for the watermills.

I try to follow paths closer to the river at Lumford Mill, but have to retreat. I then avoid the main road and climb through the woods next to an exclusive-looking private school. 

I head straight to the parish church, All Saints, in the higher part of town. The church was founded in 920, during the Anglo-Saxon period, and the churchyard features two 9th-century crosses that I would like to see. First, I come across the medieval stone coffins of various sizes leaning against one of the walls.

The two Anglo-Saxon crosses are in the churchyard. The one surrounded by railings was found at Hassop, about a mile away, where it may have been a marker or prayer cross on an ancient pathway.. My phone camera is refusing to take pictures due to overheating, so I only have a front view. Before it lost its head, it was thought to be 10ft tall. The other cross, dug up in nearby Beeley, has also lost its head, but the carvings are better preserved. Apparently, both crosses are covered in the winter months to lessen erosion.

I mostly put my phone away to cool down whilst looking around the church, but this site has a detailed history and lots of photos. 

There is a large collection of carved Saxon and Norman stones in the church’s porch. These have intricate patterns and detailed insignia. It is thought that Bakewell was a centre for stone carving, supplying the northern Mercian area.

Inside the church, the choir stalls feature some fine misericords, and a side chapel is designated as the mortuary chapel for the Vernon and Manners families. There are yet more carved stones in an alcove.   

It’s a short walk down the hill to the centre of town. Bakewell is another busy touristy market town full of nooks and crooks, mellow stone buildings, quaint courtyards, and enough shops and pubs to satisfy the crowds. Next time, I will have more time to look around, and hopefully it will be cooler. 

***

***

I catch my bus with seconds to spare, but not all goes to plan. As we are passing through Buxton on the way to the railway station, a car at the lights suddenly bursts into flames and explodes shortly after the driver escapes. All very dramatic. The fire brigade arrive quickly to quench the flames.

The road is closed, and by the time I walk to the station, I’ve missed the Manchester train. There is one every hour, but unfortunately Northern Rail decide to cancel the next one. So, a two-hour wait, and by the time I’m in Manchester, the rush hour is in full swing. Everyone is hot and bothered. 

The only good outcome is that as I’m walking home through Longridge, a long time later, two friends spot me from the wine bar and I’m dragged in for a welcome pint.

.

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. MAINLY MONSAL.

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Day 10.  Buxton to Monsal Head.

I say ‘mainly Monsal’,  as it takes me, with all my exploring, almost half a day to reach the Monsal Trail.. Slow progress, and be warned, a long post, but hopefully an interesting one.

In Buxton, I had spotted this café the night before and earmarked it for breakfast—a great choice, with perfect scrambled eggs on sourdough.

The walk out of Buxton along the main road is not good, I’m more than pleased to see a footpath into the fields. The viaduct is on the defunct Cromford to Whaley Bridge railway line, mentioned yesterday. On past Staden Farm to the rim of the massive Staden Quarry, where I was hoping to see some climbing action. We used to come here when the sun was hot, as the main wall faces north. Yes, there was a rope at the top, but no sign of the climbers. Barbed wire prevented me from looking down the face. I chat to the farmer and his wife, mainly about cows and calves in the fields. The threat of prosecution from the public weighs heavily on them.

Onwards through Cowdale and across newly mown fields, a walker is ahead of me, but he goes off in a different direction.

There is a small church, Christ Church, King Sterndale, by the road. There is a medieval cross in the nearby village, which I regret not visiting.

Back into the fields, the Midshires Way starts to drop steeply into Deep Dale. It arrives at the base right below  Thirst House Cave, and I scramble up to have a look.

I don’t venture too far into its depths. Roman artefacts have been found here, but it dates far further back, with a bear’s skull.

Deep Dale is a delight, a sunken gorge full of bird song, mainly Jackdaws from the higher crags, and carpeted with flowers. Nobody else about.

The limestone path is uneven in parts, and the summer foliage is encroaching, so slow progress is required.

The end of the valley has been despoiled by an overflow of waste material from the adjacent Topley Pike Quarry. How do they get away with it in a national park?


Escaping the modern industrial devastation, across the A6 at Wyedale, I am on the road leading to the former Midland Railway Line, Manchester to London—the Buxton to Bakewell section, which closed in 1968.  As well as passenger transport, this line served the limestone quarries hereabouts. Thirty to forty years ago, we would use stretches of it to reach crags in the valleys. The tunnels were closed at that time; since then, they have been opened and illuminated, and the route has been surfaced, making it suitable for cyclists and mobility vehicles – The Monsal Trail. So I expect it to be busy.

All routes lead to the Blackwell Mill cycle hire depot at the beginning of Cheedale. One is not actually on the railway until then, the bridges you pass under carry the Great Rocks Dale branch of the railway, which still operates to several quarries. This is as far as many people reach, all very pretty, but on a dusty road. This map may clarify the complexities of the initial trail, but there again…

I meet a man checking, just visually, the bridges. Every few years, they have to do a more detailed rope assessment. A pleasant job on a sunny day like today, we stroll along together.

Anyhow, I’m now on the trail for the next 5 miles, cyclists come whizzing past in both directions. The rest of us just saunter along.

To start with, the railway cuts through the limestone.

And then along the gorge of Cheedale.

The river is down below the towering crags. Plum Butress is one of the first climbing areas I recognise through the trees. A route called Sirplum goes through the overhangs and ascends the nose.  Happy memories of climbing in the sun with my mates, I’ve become distracted in no time. The first bridge I cross gives views down to Chee Tor. The bridge man is down there somewhere.

The first tunnel, Rusher Cutting, is only a short one, 111m.

The next one, Chee Tor No.2, is also short, 83m and unlit, but the next Chee Tor is much longer, 367m, and has roof lighting.

Back in the open, there is some excitement at the next bridge. A group of children are being introduced to the delights of abseiling. 40ft to the floor.

A more serene pastime is old-fashioned photography, which involves using a coated glass plate and developing the image on-site with all the necessary chemicals. A lot of equipment to carry about. I wish I had taken note of his details to view his work.The object he is going to focus on is this limekiln, a 20th-Century concrete structure hiding Victorian kilns. During the C19th the demand for quicklime, used in steelmaking, chemical industries and agriculture, increased. Quarries and lime kilns were developed alongside the railway, coal for burning was transported in and quicklime out.

It’s time for lunch. The cafe at Millers Dale is on the line. I sit inside, out of the sun, surrounded by railway memorabilia and enjoy a quiche and a Bakewell slice.

The additional viaduct, they built two, is being renovated.  The river is a long way down here.

More tall lime kilns appear close by the right-hand side of the trail.

The crowds have thinned out after the cafe at Millers Dale. Cyclists keep appearing on their return trip.

Down there is Raven Tor,  the jewel in the crown of Peak District sport climbing, ie using bolts for protection.  In 1982, Ron Fawcett initiated the action with Indecent Exposure, 7c,  a multi-pitch route that reached the top of the crag. 1984 Moffatt’s Revelations 8b became the hardest route in the country. 1988 was Martin Atkinson’s Mecca, which at 8b+ was one of the hardest routes in the world. Ben Moon beat Moffatt to Hubble  8c+,  the hardest route in the world at the time.  In 1998, Steve McClure climbed Mecca Extension, 9a, and quickly followed it with Mutation 9a+,  putting the Tor on the world map again. Fancy your chances, it’s even steeper than it looks?

I have time to dally and look at some of the flora lining the trail.

The chimney of Litton Mill can be seen down in the trees. Built in 1787 as a cotton spinning mill, it gained notoriety for exploiting its pauper apprentices. Later, it produced yarn for hosiery and was eventually converted into apartments.

Litton Tunnel, 471m goes through a spur in the hills and emerges overlooking Cressbrook Hall before diving into my last tunnel, Cressbrook 431m. (I will not reach the longest Headstone at 487m).

On emerging from Cressbrook Tunnel I can see up on the hill my hotel for the night, but first I have to leave the trail and drop into the Wye valley for the footbridge at Upperdale.  An angler is fly fishing for brown trout in this idyllic spot.

A bit of a slog up paths brings me to the popular tourist viewpoint at Monsal Head. It is some viewpoint. The Wye Valley is laid out below with the Headstone viaduct prominent in the foreground.

Monsal Head Hotel lords over the scene. Faded glory on the outside, but luxury in my room, where I was keen to have a shower and freshen up before a meal and a few drinks in the stable bar.

I can watch the sun go down from my boudoir.

It’s been a long ten miles, but every mile was full of interest. A classic walk.

This is what Ruskin had to say about the valley in 1871.

There was a rocky valley between Buxton and Bakewell, once upon a time, divine as the Vale of Tempe. You enterprised a Railroad through the valley – you blasted its rocks away, heaped thousands of tons of shale into its lovely stream. The valley is gone, and the Gods with it; and now, every fool in Buxton can be in Bakewell in half an hour, and every fool in Bakewell at Buxton; which you think a lucrative process of exchange – you Fools everywhere.

I think we have mellowed since then and have learnt to live with and interpret our industrial heritage.

***

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. THE HIGH PEAK.

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Day 9.    Whaley Bridge to Buxton.

I have my pilgrim shoes on once again, actually, they are my new boots. I bought a pair of HH lightweight boots about three years ago, and they have served me well. Last time out, I noticed a slit in the uppers, and the soles are wearing out. No problem, because I was so pleased with the original pair that last year, I purchased the same to be kept ‘under the bed’ until needed. They should fit straight from the box, I hope.

I’m continuing my ‘pilgrimage’ from home, Longridge, to Lichfield, following in the footsteps of Saxon monks through Mercia.  I’ve crossed Greater Manchester and I’m heading into the Peak District proper. 

My train from Manchester covers ground I recognise from my last trip. New Mills., Peak Forest Canal, arriving back in bustling Whaley Bridge. There is not a lot of ancient history in Whaley, although the name is of Anglo-Saxon origin. The Romans chose here for the crossing of the river Goyt on their road from Buxton to Manchester. Coal mines and mills were the biggest employers until the early 20th Century, and the canal and railway improved prosperity. 

The only cafe open is the Bridge Bakery, which proves very popular.

I sit outside with my drink, indulging myself with a Pain au Chocolat for my second breakfast.

Getting into conversation with a charming lady with a tale to tell. Both her husband and son-in-law suffered a stroke within 24 hours of each other. I end up staying much longer than planned. The morning is disappearing by the time I leave. 

It starts off well alongside the Goyt.

It was back in 2019 when the Todbrook Dam, directly above the town, leaked, causing a hurried evacuation. I had not expected the repairs to be continuing, so my planned paths were initially closed and diverted away from the dam. (The repair is running over budget and behind schedule).  A bit of improvising was needed. In hindsight, it would have been easier just to follow the road, which I end up on in any case.

The ongoing path, when I find it, skirts that all-too-familiar developer’s metal fencing before flower-filled meadows. 

I reach the few houses and the church at Taxal. Last night, I drew a red line on the map with my possible route, mainly based on the Midshires Way in the forest on the west side of the Goyt Valley. I meet a gentleman preparing to go metal detecting somewhere hereabouts. He suggests a better way on the east side, closer to the River Goyt.

I have time to explore the small 12th-century church. It is dedicated to St. James, associated with the Pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela. It is only later that I read there are examples of his symbol, the scallop shell, around the church. The bell tower is the oldest structure within the church. I admire the stained glass of the East window.

While sitting outside, another man appears through the graveyard, walking his dog.  He also recommends the lower route, especially if you have a dog, which I obviously don’t. 

So the decision is made, dog or no dog, let’s go with their recommendations. I drop down to a ford over the shallow Goyt but resist the temptation to get my new boots wet.

I’m soon on lovely paths, often in trees and then in open meadows, with the River never far away. I think I have made the right choice as the Midshires Way seems to involve a lot more steep climbing. My path just gradually ascends over the next couple of miles.

At one point, men from the Environmental Agency are ‘electric fishing’, monitoring the fish population., 

A road comes in from somewhere, and the car park is busy with people walking babies and dogs.

I don’t need to cross the dam; an unexpected lane goes alongside the east side of Fernilee Reservoir, following the line of the old Crompton to Whaley Bridge railway. Completed in 1831 to carry minerals, coal and goods through the hilly rural terrain, the highest and steepest in the country at the time. It closed in 1967. I enjoy my easy stroll along here. 

The interpretation boards recount the valley’s history before the construction of the two reservoirs. Stockport Corporation built Fernilee Reservoir in 1933 for drinking water, covering the old gunpowder mill, paint mill and several farms. 

When the last member of the Grimshaw family of Errwood Hall died in 1930, Stockport Corporation acquired their estate as well. In 1968, it completed the Goyt Reservoir, now known as the Errwood Reservoir. The  dam of Errwood Reservoir requires a bit more effort to reach, and once there, I see that the water is very low, the ugly side of reservoirs.  

Lunch is taken sitting on some rocks. It would be interesting to follow the course of the old railway over to Buxton or the Goyt to its source. But having rejoined the Midshires Way, I’ll be content with that. I almost miss the path, leaving the road and dropping down to a stream.

It is now continuous climbing for 600ft or more, I wonder if this has been a packhorse route.

Good to be up on the open moor on a day like this.

There are improving views northwards over Chapel-le-Frith to distant Kinder, and is that Castle Naze above Combs? 

I know I must be getting near White Hall outdoor centre when I spot apparatus in the woods and hear screaming children enjoying themselves. A boy comes hurtling past on a zip wire.

This P&NF sign dates back to 1938, number 95. I wonder where number one is?

The skylarks are in full force, but I fail to get a decent audio of them. 

The straight road was Roman, up from Buxton heading to Whaley Bridge. It has been resurfaced lately, allowing for carefree walking to my highest point of the day, which is about 1,500 ft. My attention is drawn to a line of gritstone crags to the left. I start imagining climbing routes up them. I expect they have already been documented. (Later at home, I track them down – https://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/crags/buxton_boss-17725/#overview) I’m starting to tire, so stop for frequent drinks of water. I’m glad I brought plenty, as the temperatures are in the mid-twenties. The traffic-free lane meets up with the main road, which I am worried about walking down. But after a short stretch, a footway appears all the way into Buxton.

The houses are on the grand scale, most now split into appartments.

In the centre are the Dome, the Opera House, the Baths and the Crescent, to name a few.  Regency architecture is everywhere.

As I sit in the shade by the church, its bells ring out, 4pm.  St. John’s, the parish church from 1811, doesn’t look particularly inviting.

Time to fill my water bottles up at the well. St. Anne’s Well is built on the site of former wells, and pilgrims of old would have stopped here for the pure warm water. They also visited the mineral spars.   Buxton Mineral Water is bottled from pipes at this site. A couple have travelled from Leicester to fill up many gallon containers.

After the disappointment of St. John’s church, I seek out the oldest building in Buxton, St. Anne’s Church. Unsigned, it is tucked away down an alley. A single-storey building from the C17th.  It was the parish church until St. John’s was built. Unfortunately it is locked at this time of day.

There are some interesting old pubs in this part of town.

My room for the night is in the market square, located above The Vault, a former bank that has been converted into a pub.

I received emails from them. “Rooms@theVault is a Self-Service concept that requires very little interaction between yourself and the staff” – scary.

On the day I received instructions on gaining entry to the property. 

  “ACCESS –Your accommodation is located above The Vault pub, which is situated on the corner of Buxton’s Marketplace, opposite the Town Hall. Facing the pub, turn right for 20 yards down Chapel Street. Turn left along Torr Street (by the balloon shop) and you will see a wooden gate clearly marked. Walk down the passage to another clearly marked wooden gate. Take the wrought iron staircase to the black door and entry keypad.
REAR DOOR ACCESS CODE – 1303

ROOM ACCESS – Once in the building, you have been allocated Room 3, and your key safe code is 0033.

KEYS – On your keyring is a metal door key, a key card for the electric slot in your room and a plastic fob (when held to the entry keypad, this automatically opens the rear door).

EXIT – When leaving the building, you need to press the door release switch, which is located to the right of the exit door. The staff in the pub have no responsibility for the guests staying in the accommodation and will not be able to assist with check-in“.

What could go wrong? Well, I can’t find the first wooden door to start with, as I walk up and down Torr Street, nobody can help. I realise the wooden door is open, so I can go straight down the passageway. The outer door opens with the magic code, but I don’t initially see an obvious way to get the room keys out of the coded box. I eventually sit on the bed in my room. I need a coffee, it’s been a long day.  Modern technology sometimes confuses me; dare I go out again? 

The room was perfect, clean, spacious and well-appointed.

View of the marketplace.

The TV is in another world to me. I am unable to get a news channel to appear among all the other suggestions on Netflix and Disney. And no, I don’t want to watch a five-year-old episode of Love Island.

I venture out with care, clutching my key and remembering the codes. Fish and chips £12. Just to retain my sanity, here is a blast from the past, some of you may recognise. Established in 1972, I would often call in to buy equipment if climbing in the area. Nothing to do with Joe Royal, the footballer.***

CONRAD COUNTRY.

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Limestone wanderings. 

This is Conrad Country.  That sounds like the title of a cowboy film. Do they still make them? I have the temerity to suggest taking Conrad, alias Sir Hugh, on a walk in his own backyard. I do have the backup of Walk 7 from Cicerone’s Short Walks in Arnside and Silverdale in my pocket. I never know whether we are in Lancashire or Cumbria.

We both have busy schedules, mostly consisting of hospital appointments and garage visits, but today we are able to meet up and enjoy the good weather.  I give him the option of a short or a longer walk, and unsurprisingly, he opts for the latter, provided I am happy with his slow pace on any hill. I’m more than happy, the slower the better.

Walk 7.  Leighton Moss and Cringlebarrow Wood is the title, but that only scratches the surface – we experience much more.

From the outset, at a lay-by in Yealand Storrs, as we enter the woods of Yealand Hall Allotment…… a couple walking a dog, the first of several encounters along the way. When they overtake us, the dog is nowhere to be seen; it is, in fact, taking a lift. I often come across people carrying little dogs or pushing them in a pram. In the high Pyrenees, we were overtaken by a couple of female fellrunners, each with a pooch in a pouch.

We stroll through the woodland, whose floor is a limestone pavement.  Rocks are everywhere around here. There are distant views down to Hawes Water, which we bypass by going down Moss Lane to the road at Red Bridge.

We enter Trowbarrow Quarry by a track I have never used before.

This limestone quarry operated for a hundred years, closing in 1959. In addition to lime for building and agriculture, James Ward developed new techniques for producing Tarmacadam, which combines crushed limestone with bitumen. It is now a nature reserve and climbing arena. We observe both today.  Look here for an excellent overview of the reserve.

I had forgotten how extensive the quarry is; coming here for climbing, one tends to focus only on the highest walls. On the quarry floor today, a group of naturalists from Liverpool is combing the area with insect nets. The chap we talk to is enthused about a male horse fly, Sir Hugh tries to look interested.

A brief visit to the fierce Red Wall.

But more interesting are two climbers just starting up Assagai Wall, we find some boulders to sit on and follow their progress while eating our lunch.

Finishing Assagai on those magnificent flutings.

We wander into a ‘walled-off area’ with signs asking you to watch your step – the Bee Orchid grows here, but I think we are a little early for it. Above rises the slab of Coral Sea, and that’s exactly how it originated before being tilted at right angles by the Earth’s movements.

Nobody is climbing on the cracked main wall, so I try to find the coal seam that crosses the limestone floor, to no avail.  The time I was here with the Rockman, we had no success either. Meanwhile, the insect nets are sweeping all around us. One enthusiast even has a ‘vaccum cleaner’ to suck them up! We, both au fait with the quarry, can not find our way out as described in the guide. Eventually, we discover the ‘carabiner gate’ and the ongoing mini gorge.

The gate is dedicated to John Mabson, of whom I can find nothing. Except for copies of the poem, an Irish funeral song.

May the roads rise up to meet you,

May the wind be always at your back,

May the sun shine warm upon your face,

May the rains fall soft upon fields

And until we meet again

May God hold you in the palm of his hand.

Very appropriate for a mountaineer.

The track has had trees cut down to encourage a more diverse flora.

Crossing the road, we enter RSPB Leighton Moss Nature Reserve and come across another type of nature enthusiast – the ‘twitcher’. Recognised by their camouflage and their loooong lenses.  There is a hushed silence in the hide. Again, we feel inadequate, not able to tell a comorant from a crow.

Now for the steep bit, in the grounds of Leighton Hall, Sir Hugh cruises it.

Our next objective is Cringlebarrow Wood. The public footpath passes through it, but ‘Private’ notices abound. There are tracks everywhere, legal or otherwise.

If you look closely at the map, you will see Deepdale Pond clearly marked. It’s in a ‘doline’ (a natural amphitheatre created by the collapse of a cave) and is yet another truly extraordinary place. It’s more of a swamp than a pond now. We follow animal tracks to find it.  So far, I’ve been unable to convey this through a photograph and doubt I ever will. A deer makes a rapid getaway.

More woodland tracks bring us back to the car.

A lovely wander through this limestone wonderland. ‘Conrad’s country’ has a wealth of things to explore. I’ll be back.

***

A TRIP TO CHORLEY.

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The Yarrow Valley. 

Whilst the Speaker of the House is trying to control today’s PM question time, I pay a visit to his home town of Chorley. Sir Linsay Hoyle has been its popular no-nonsense MP since 1997. He has been the Speaker since 2019 and has not been without controversy during that time. He comes across as passionately proud of his Lancastrian heritage and promotes Chorley and its vicinity at every opportunity. Time to have a look around.

First, an outpatient appointment at Chorley Hospital.  I have received excellent health care here over the past few years. Today is no exception. The appointment is handled promptly and professionally.   I find myself back at the car before lunch. The day is perfect for a walk, and I weigh up my options. I should have done some advance planning. First that comes to mind is a revisit to Rivington and an ascent through the gardens, but continuing to Rivington Pike, which I’ve not climbed for years. No, I will leave that until I have a meet-up with the Bolton Rockman. 

Astley Hall is just around the corner, but I’m not in the mood for indoor galleries today. I need a walk. I have heard about Yarrow Valley but never visited it, so this could be the ideal opportunity to explore.

I drive across town and soon find the car park for the country park.

“Yarrow Valley Country Park covers over 300 hectares and is located between Chorley and Coppull. Created on land previously used for bleaching, dyeing, calico printing and mining, Yarrow Valley Country Park is of local historical importance.
With restored mill lodges and water courses, footpaths, picnic areas and a purpose-built visitor centre, the park provides an ideal setting for a host of recreational activities.”

For a detailed history of the industries previously occupying the valley, look no further than the excellent blog of https://lancashirepast.com/2020/10/17/birkacre-mill-yarrow-valley-country-park-near-coppull-and-chorley/

Of course, I know nothing of this when I arrive today. I don’t really have a plan except to walk as much of the attractive areas of the valley as feasible. Guides are available online for several walks, but being unprepared, I follow my nose most of the time. My phone map will have to do.

I start by climbing up to one of the settlement lodges, and immediately, I’m in a different world of water and ducks. The walk alongside the Big Lodge brings more of the same.

The swan’s cygnets are having a treat.

Then I’m on paths through the woods adjacent to the River Yarrow. The mill race is a popular photographic spot, but from then on, I hardly meet a soul.

The path is quite uneven and awkward in parts. I notice the remnants of a mine shaft, a reminder of the industrial past.

Drybones is a strange name hereabouts; the track bypasses an unseen house of the same name. I’m keeping to the right bank of the Yarrow, but at a bridge, take the right bank of the wrong stream and walk on for perhaps a half mile before realising my mistake, it is easy to rectify. All is green and verdant.

Back at the bridge, I take the more obvious track up the true valley.

Open fields lead me to the next footbridge over the Yarrow, and this is where I hope to follow the water upstream on its right side, even though no path is marked on the map.

A ‘twitcher’ says I can get through, but it is muddy and awkward in places. It turns out to be a delight in the woods with dappled shade alongside the lively stream. There is bird song everywhere.

The footbridge not taken.

I’m aware I’m walking further and further away from my starting point, and I’m pleased to see the footbridge taking me to the other bank for my return journey. This path is much wider and well trodden through the stately beech trees. 

There are regular seats overlooking the water, ideal spots to stop and enjoy a snack and a drink – except I didn’t bring any.

Rather than just retrace my steps further alongside the river, I take to the open fields and climb away from the river, only to find myself in a new housing estate and even more ongoing development. I suspect there would have been many objections, patently ignored, to building in this beautiful environment. More fields are earmarked for the bulldozer.

I escape down a little track and then through fields displaying Early Purple Orchids.

I am soon back at the hustle and bustle of the Big Lodge. Baby ducklings were everywhere.

In the car, my bottle of water is too hot to drink, and my chocolate has melted, so I go across to the Treeface cafe for sustenance.

A perfect little walk around this beautiful area. I’m not sure why I’ve never visited before, but I will certainly return. Oh, but there’s also Astley Hall and its gardens, and I notice a round Chorley walk sign…

***

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. THE GOYT WAY.

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Day 8.   Marple to Whaley Bridge.

An excellent breakfast, and I am away early (for me). I pick up the locks again and walk to the top. I love all the paraphernalia and ingenuity associated with these canal locks.

Near the top is a basin and a short side branch, along with a sign which explains some of the cargo when the canal was thriving. (Samuel Oldknow had a significant influence on the development of industry in the area, as you will find out later.)   Notice we are still on the Greater Manchester Ringway, which Martin is doing in stages, using transport in and out of town. I will follow this splendid project with interest.


I have been as far as this point before on the Peak Forest Canal, until branching off onto the Macclesfield Canal to follow the Cheshire Ring.  

Today, I follow the Peak Forest for a short distance past the marina. A boat owner enthuses about this stretch of canal to Whaley Bridge. I could follow it all the way for a quick six miles, but I’m keen to see more of the Goyt, so next to a crossover bridge, I take an alley down over the railway to a bridge over the Goyt 200 ft below.

 Another of those Peak and Northern signs down here. No mention of the Goyt Way, which I thought I was on. Over the bridge, I notice unexpected excavated remains in a field.

All is revealed once I start reading the interpretation boards.  This was the site of Samuel Oldknow’s Mellor Lodge, which he built near his Mellor Mill, the largest cotton mill in the world at the time, in 1790. 

I meet some of the volunteers who are excavating and preserving the vast industrial area by the Goyt. The mill burnt down in 1892. All is accessible with excellent information. Have a read here and here.

I did not expect to find all this industrial archaeology down here and spend a lot of time wandering through the remains and chatting to the volunteers. A hidden gem. I walk on past the lakes built by Samuel Oldknow to supply his mill. These are private but open occasionally. They are signposted Roman Lakes, but this is a Victorian affectation derived from a nearby ‘Roman Bridge’.It was good to see some Early Purple Orchids.

And I’m not sure what this shrub is; it looks tropical.I wander along the valley where the Goyt is livelier, passing under the towering railway viaduct. All very pleasant.

At a junction, there is one of those signs. I should have gone to Mellor, perhaps, as there is a Saxon cross in the graveyard there. However, the morning is dwindling, and it is a couple of miles off route.

I do have a look at the ‘Roman’ bridge over the Goyt. Obviously not Roman, more likely a rebuilt C18th packhorse bridge with added railings – but quite picturesque in its setting.

I see my first Goyt Way sign just as I’m leaving the river,it coincides with the Midshires Way.

Some lane walking through horsey country, and I’m puffing up the hill past the isolated Strine station.  A lady is leading a pony with her daughters up the hill; I catch up with them at the top, where an inn suddenly appears, The Fox. We exchange pleasantries; they are on a fairly long hack, mother leading one daughter on the Welsh Pony, while the other daughter walks – it was her turn to ride yesterday. They are a friendly family and are waiting for the inn to open in ten minutes. I’ve been out for three hours and barely covered four miles this morning, so I have no intention of stopping. But it is sunny and warm, I’m enjoying the conversation, and the mother does offer to buy me a drink, so here I am, almost an hour later. I’ve learnt a lot about ponies and the area; it’s a pleasure to meet children who don’t have their faces in their phones all the time. They seem inspired by my simple adventure and wish me well. 

From this height, I have an easy walk down a lane back to the Goyt.

Construction works almost block the way, but I like their signage. 

I am looking forward to following the Goyt through the gorge at New Mills, which is signed as the Torrs Trail. It doesn’t go to plan. Pleasant walking alongside the Goyt brings one into the gorge opposite Torr Vale Mill, where my map suggests you have to cross the bridge to escape.

But what is that metal structure across the wall below the railway? I kick myself for not investigating. It turns out to be the Millennium Walkway.    *I’ve linked to a YouTube video at the end to show what I missed*

But now I’m over the little bridge and climbing out the other side through the mill to a pub, the Rock Tavern.

I make another mistake and follow the signs to the Torr along a terrace of houses. That only brings me to the top of the road bridge in town with no obvious way down. I retrace my steps and take a slanting track down. The signs aren’t aligned correctly, I tell myself. Anyway, I’m now down at the river next to the ruins of Torr Mill.

I can remember climbing on the quarried walls down here in the past, long before they built the Millennium Walkway. I stroll down the gorge to take a look, and there are two climbers just starting up one of the steep routes. I hang around and get a series of photos of the leader progressing steadily on the wall, Electric Circus E2 5C. Thanks Simon.

I move on upstream under more arches until I’m in open countryside.  

A couple of fields and across the Goyt on a small bridge…

 …and I find myself on the Peak Forest Canal once again for the last few miles. The River Goyt is not far away in the valley, and I will pick it up again after Whaley Bridge. Easy strolling through Furness Vale, and I’m at the terminus basin of the canal. A busy little spot in the middle of Whaley Bridge. The goods shed, which provided direct access from the canal, has been converted into a café and a miscellania store. I resist the temptation to visit their book section.

There are cafes and pubs on the main street, but I have a long journey home, so I head to the station in time to operate the ticket machine for a train to Manchester and onwards.  

Another long, short day with plenty of unexpected interest and a free pint as a bonus. I’m looking forward to continuing on to the next stages once I’ve plotted a route. At least I have made it out of Greater Manchester.

Don’t forget to watch the start of the video for that section I missed. Grrr.

***

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. OUT OF MANCHESTER.

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Day 8.   Levenshulme to Marple.

I awake at 5.30 am to the sound of heavy rain.

*

Last night, I made the decision to continue my ‘pilgrimage’ out of Manchester towards Lichfield, which will take a couple of weeks or more in stages. Feeling stronger, I don’t want to let the grass grow under my feet. That idiom likely originated from our agricultural ancestors. In reality, it means no more procrastinating.

On the strength of a reasonable forecast, a room was booked in Marple for the night. The dice was cast.

*

The more I listened to the rain, the more anxious I became. I would get drenched just walking to the bus; I would stay cold and wet throughout the day. Had I been too ambitious with a reasonably long day, having only been taking strolls recently. Is this the man of Himalayan glory?

There was no chance of getting back to sleep; the forecast now indicated that rain would last through the morning. The first thing was to fish out and pack a heavier waterproof jacket. Rather than all the usual faff getting to Preston station, especially in the rain with a long day ahead of me, why not book a taxi? So whilst having a coffee, I phone the local firm, not knowing what time they start. But they answer, and yes, they will have someone round just after seven.

It turns out to be the best decision, but in the rush, I forget one or two things, which will impact me later in the day.

I’m at the station in no time, compared to the bus and walking. A train to Manchester leaves in five minutes, and all of a sudden, I’m joining the early morning commuters, except I probably stand out like the proverbial sore thumb with my boots and ski poles.

It’s a strange world, everyone in their own space, tapping away at their phones.

I try to save the battery on mine as I realise that in the rush, I’ve forgotten my charger. I alight at Picadilly and find the stop for the 192 Stockport bus, which will take me back to Levenshulme to rejoin the Fallowfield Loop.

I’m hoping to grab a coffee at the bike hub, but I’m too early. However, this road is full of Asian cafes and ethnic grocers, and barely 20 metres from where I leave the bus is the quirky Bia cafe/bar. I take coffee with two young mothers, meeting up with their babies.

Now I’m on that green corridor, leaving behind all the urban buzz. It is surprising how quickly the scene changes. Only a few early morning joggers and cyclists are out and about. I now realise I have also forgotten my camera, putting more pressure on the phone’s battery.

Within a short while, I turn onto a public footpath that goes through the heart of Houldsworth Golf Course. Usually, I feel uneasy crossing golf courses, even on a public right-of-way, but today I hug the banks of Fallowfield Brook on a strip of land left wild, in my own little tree-lined world.

All good things come to an end, and soon I’m navigating my way through the streets of Reddish. The clouds darken, and I think I’m in for a soaking. Looking skywards, I see several swifts swooping around the rooftops. Nature comes to town, but too fast to photograph.

With a bit of luck, I emerge from the streets straight onto the Trans Pennine Trail as it enters Reddish Vale Country Park.

My ‘pilgrim’ route to Lichfield is only loosely based on what may have been a medieval way trodden by monks between Christian sites. The little booklet I have only provides a brief outline; the section from Levenshulme to Marple takes three lines. So I am free to wander at will, choosing the most attractive route linking those venerated historic locations. I do, however, make use of the marked long-distance routes and cycleways found on the map. I’m hoping today to join up with The Midshires Way, which links the Trans Pennine Trail up here with the Ridgeway across the Shires of Middle England. 

The River Tame flows down Reddish Vale.  I have been here before, without realising it, on the Tame Valley Way. That was in January 2017 when the ducks were walking on ice, not today as the sun comes out.

I cross the Tame on a metal bridge, which celebrates in verse the ancient boundary between the Palatine Counties of Cheshire and Lancashire before Greater Manchester came into existence.

A cast-iron cycle path marker sits alongside the TPT with this poem inscribed at its base. I rather liked it. 

“Tracks”

Down a wandering path
I have travelled,
Where the setting sun
Lies upon the ground.
The tracks are hard and dry
Smothered with
The weather’s wear,
My mind did move
With those who had
Before me seen,
Trodding down the ground
A track for me to follow,
Leaving marks for others
A sign for them to follow.

David Dudgeon (Belfast artist and poet), 1999.

“Artworks such as the Millennium Mileposts are important to encourage people to enjoy the journey and not just aim for the destination. The ultimate aim of the National Cycle Network is to help more people to get active by making everyday journeys on foot and by bike“.  Sustrans. 

I have seen these Sustrans posts before, but never realised that four have been designed by separate artists and scattered throughout the lands. I will take more notice in future. There are four distinctive designs. Tracks, The Cockerel, The Fossil Tree, and the Rowe design

For the most part, the river is deep in the valley, and my way is along the abandoned railway on the east side. The composite surface is a delight to walk on.

I leave the TPT and, after passing through a tunnel, I delve into a post-industrial landscape, becoming lost while trying to find a way under the motorway.

I emerge into Bredury to a familiar sight – Pear Mill—the clues on the roof. I have spent many hours at the climbing wall inside part of the mill, Awesome Walls. The attraction was the 30-metre-high walls for free climbing in the winter months. I thought I might take a coffee here for old times’ sake, but the path I took circumvented their site behind a metal fence.

A bridge appears spanning the River Goyt into Woodbank Park. Here I would link up with the Goyt Way to Marple. But first, I have a wander up the hill to a bench where I eat my lunch, as planes fly directly overhead into Manchester Airport.

Refreshed, I drop down to the Goyt at a weir, the river is full from this morning’s rain.

The path, such as it is, climbs high above the river and is steep and awkward in places. After my recent fall, I am a little wary of the scrambly bits. But it is glorious green woodland full of bird song. Blackbirds, Thrushes, Chaffinches, Chiffchaffs and Robins are competing with each other.

I drop down to the river where a gent was tackling the Japanese Knotweed, not a good idea to let it drop in the river though.

There is no way along there, so I climb back up. There are no waymarks, and I almost walk past the bridge I need to cross the Goyt. Another scramble down. I’m always pleased to come across one of these signs, especially when it shows me the route, good to know I’m on the Midshires Way.

There is the Pear in the distance and bits of Manchester.

At least I get a stretch along the river for a while.

I’m flagging, so I’m pleased to see a garden centre across the road – that means a cafe, tea and cake.

Onwards, I come to today’s historical site: Chadkirk, the church of Chad. The rebuilt chapel dates back to the 14th century, but the site is much older, possibly to the 7th century, when it is thought that St Chad visited to bless the nearby well. St. Chad is buried in Lichfield Cathedral, where he served as bishop, and I have visited his shrine on a previous walk, but I’m getting ahead of myself. The chapel is down a little lane and surrounded by beautiful gardens. Unfortunately, it only opens on select Sundays. All those flattened gravestones are from the 18th century.Up the hill past the farm is St. Chad’s Well, set in a wall, where a trickle of water flows.

This little chap was happy to be photographed. By now, my phone’s battery is running low.

I reach the Peak Forest Canal for some level walking. I recognise parts from my canal walk with Sir Hugh on the Cheshire Ring. I can’t believe that was ten years ago. 

The Hyde Bank Tunnel is bypassed overhead; this is the way the horses would be brought, and there is a wayside stone trough.


One of the highlights of this section is the aqueduct high above the Goyt Valley. They have erected a safety rail on the far side since I was last here. The railway viaduct towers above.

And if that is not enough, here comes the Marple Locks – all 16 of them.

Two lads are canoeing the canals from Tewitfields to Oxford, and they have just carried the canoes up the flight of locks!

I pop out into town and go looking for a phone charger before going in search of my B&B for the night. 

An old-fashioned guest house. Perfectly adequate, but I didn’t dare use the tardis-like ensuite shower after my recent episodes.  

All in a day’s walk. A long one full of interest and in perfect weather. That taxi ride was the catalyst.  

***

WAYSIDE FLOWERS.

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I wasn’t sure how to title this post; it’s a simple circular road walk out of Longridge onto the lower slopes of the fell. I’ve done it many times and probably written about it here more than once. I need to build up my strength again, and five miles or so is just what I need. I’m sure I will find something of mild interest to enhance the exercise. 

It’s the first of June, I was hoping to link in ‘Bustin’ out all over’ but the weather has taken a turn, and it’s cool and windy. I missed much of the good weather back in April and May. Let’s imagine. 

Back to the day, I park up at the edge of the village and immediately spot some white valerian growing by the roadside.

Let’s make it a wayside flower walk. In no particular order, I come across lots of species. You will recognise most of them.

Must make some cordial.

I have probably missed many more. 

I pass the golf club…

 wind up and down the lane…

to enter the plantation through the rapidly growing bracken…

where there has been diverse replanting, all is green and lush…a robin rejoices…

the old trees are rather gloomy…

but somewhere up above there’s a hidden male cuckoo…

 

“when the cuckoo first cuckoos in the leaves of the oak

and brings joy to mortals on the boundless earth”        Hesiod, seventh century BC.

I come out onto the higher fell road with distant views to Pandle…

and even a zoom to Pen-Y-Ghent…I head up to the seat on Jeffrey Hill for a drink and that view over to the Bowland Fells.

But what a mess somebody has left, not to mention the fire risk. What are they thinking? I will try to drive up later to clear the rubbish.

It’s all downhill on the road back to the village. I have time to catch the Great Crested Grebes on and off their nest doing a spot of housekeeping. I can clearly see four eggs this time. Fingers crossed.

It is raining when I reach my car – so much for June. 

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS.  URBAN FOR A DAY.

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Day 7.   Across Manchester.

Perhaps it is time for a recap. I started this ‘Pilgrimage’ from home at the end of January; my plan was to follow a possible medieval route from Whalley Abbey to Manchester Cathedral. By then, I had discovered a publication which extended the way to Lichfield.

And so it was that I reached Manchester Cathedral at the end of March. Circumstances prevented me from making further progress. At that time, the Cathedral was closed for an event and I didn’t have a chance to look around.

*

Today I’m back.  Bus and train from home, find me outside the Cathedral as it opens. I especially want to see the Saxon ‘Angel Stone’ inside. I’ve been linking Saxon finds along the way, which may have been on a Medieval route. Whalley and Manchester came under the realm of the Lichfield diocese way back then.

There is a long history, from 700 AD, of a church on this site, and https://manchestercathedral.org/timeline gives an ample summary.

One enters the long aisle of the nave with the new Stoller Organ pipes taking prominence above the Medieval carved wooden screen.

The choir stalls are fine examples of intricate wooden carving, along with the C16th ‘misericords’.

I go in search of the Saxon Angel Stone. It is attached to a column at the front of the nave and protected by reflective glass, which makes viewing it difficult. Found in the south porch during restoration work in 1871, it is thought to date from the 11th century or before, perhaps from an early wooden church. An angel is depicted holding a scroll with some lettering, but I find it hard to interpret. The Old English inscription reads “into thy hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit”

This is a better image from the British Pilgrimage Trust.

There is so much to see within the Cathedral that I am not even going to attempt to depict it all; a separate post would be needed.  But I do want to highlight the stained glass West Windows.  These are modern replacements for those damaged in the Second World War.

The cathedral was affected by the 1996 IRA bombing and the more recent Arena shootings of 2017. Visit yourself to find all the fascinating history.

I always admire the statue of Gandhi standing outside the cathedral, his ‘preachings’ a contrast to the high church.  

What I don’t know is that nearby is a section of ‘The Hanging Bridge’, a medieval arched bridge spanning Hanging Ditch, a watercourse which connected the rivers Irk and Irwell. The ditch formed part of the city’s defences in medieval times. (See below in Platt Fields later in the day). The only clue to this was a sign I spotted on leaving the precinct. Apparently, parts may be seen in the Cathedral Visitor Centre. (next time)

The next point of interest is the Nico ditch in Platt Fields, Fallowfield, three miles away, and the guide suggests catching a bus. Heresy. I will walk.

I stride out onto Exchange Street, avoiding the Arndale Centre, giving the appearance that I know my way. It has been years since I’ve been in this shopping area of Manchester, and I’m confused. People are setting up displays for the Flower Festival over the Bank Holiday weekend.

I recognise St. Anne’s Square and the busy King Street. Albert Square is under wraps and home to a tent city. Across the way is the upmarket Rajdoot restaurant, let’s hope they dish out some food for the homeless.

Trams and cycle tracks are everywhere, and a country boy like me must be careful at the crossings.

At last, I’m on Oxford Road and heading south through the university areas. A visit to Manchester wouldn’t be complete without a street mural.

I resist visiting the Manchester Museum, that’s a day in itself, but instead head to The Whitworth Art Gallery just down the road.    If you’re only interested in the walk, skip this section, another potential day in itself.

Their website states – “The Whitworth is proudly part of The University of Manchester, operating as a convening space between the University and the people of the city. It was founded in 1889 as The Whitworth Institute and Park in memory of the industrialist Sir Joseph Whitworth for ‘the perpetual gratification of the people of Manchester’ and continues this mission today in new contexts” 

There are several exhibitions I am keen to view. But first, I head to their airy restaurant for morning coffee.

There are four major exhibitions spread through the gallery; every space is light and airy, with the works displayed and interpreted to their best advantage.  I spend over two hours in here, leisurely looking around – it could easily have been more. I have no intention of trying to give a comprehensive view, only an outline of what’s on offer, but I do highly recommend a visit at the moment.    I should come to Manchester more often.

First on my list is ‘Turner in Light and Shade’. This marks the 250th anniversary of his birth and pairs all seventy-one of his Liber prints, 1807 to 1819, with a series of his watercolours. “These demonstrate how his use of light and shade atmospheric effects in his paintings were laboriously transferred to prints using lines, dots and spaces”. 

Storm in the Pass of St. Gothard. Switzerland. 1845. Watercolour.

 

Peat Bog, Scotland. 1812.          J M W Turner. Artist and etcher.        G Clint. Engraver.

One needs to be there to see the subtleties of Turner’s works. They even provide magnifying glasses to examine the engravings in detail.

In bold lettering, more rooms host WOMEN IN REVOLT!  Organised by Tate Britain, 90 women artists whose ideas have highlighted the women’s liberation movement.  “Exploring six key themes, spanning two decades of art and activism. Maternal and domestic experiences, anti-racist and LGBTQ activism, Greenham Common and the peace movement, and independent punk music”. That’s a lot to take in. Perhaps spend an afternoon in this space alone.

Mirror wall, Greenham Common.

Małgorzata Mirga-Tas is an acclaimed Roma-Polish artist. There are 20 textile-based works by her, alongside pieces from the Whitworth’s textile collection.  “The exhibition challenges stereotypical representations of Roma people throughout history. Elaborate, colourful, textile-based compositions featuring striking portraits of Roma people”. Enjoy the colourful portraits and learn something about the Roma history.

Exchanges. Whitworth holds an outstanding collection dating back to the 15th century. Paintings, prints, drawings, photographs, stitched, printed and woven textiles. The items on view reflect that diversity. 

All this gallery tramping is more tiring than walking through Manchester, and I still have far to go.

Wilmslow Road runs through Rusholme and is known as The Curry Mile, due to the concentration of Asian cafes. I used to visit here from the 70s to the 90s for basic Chappati and Dhal. One of my sons was attending university here, which meant frequent visits. On occasions, after climbing in the Peak District, we would often end up here for a cheap meal on the way home. That was until the time our car was broken into and all our gear was stolen. Looking around today, there are far fewer restaurants and more vape sellers, cheap jewellers and hairdressers, the way of many urban streets. 

An Asian supermarket’s fruit and vegetable display attracts me. Four delicious large satsumas are a refreshing treat as I walk down the road on a hot afternoon. It’s not far to Platt Fields, a large open space with a large pleasure lake and numerous recreational features. Tenting is going up on one of the fields for a national BMX meet at the weekend.

 My reason for visiting Platt Fields is the ‘Nico Ditch’ hidden away in one corner of the park. This was a ditch 5 miles long and up to 5ft deep across the previously boggy southern side of Manchester. Dating from the sixth or seventh centuries. Built by Anglo-Saxons as a defensive barrier. In most places, it has been filled in and built upon as part of the city’s urban sprawl. A stretch remains here. There isn’t much to see. South of the Girls’ school and behind iron railings is the sunken track of the ditch. The least vegetated section is on the edge of the park in the grounds of the chapel.

I have an option of catching a bus from here, which seem to run every minute or even borrow a bike.

But I decide to continue another mile or so towards the countryside. I do this on a pleasant old rail track which brings me out to the main A6 road in Levenshulme.

A bus soon has me in Piccadilly Gardens, from where I struggle to orient myself to find the station from which I can make my way back to Longridge.

*

*

I am satisfied with the day – I manage to almost cross out of Manchester into more rural landscapes, and on the way, take in some historic and cultural sites. I’ve started looking at the ongoing route to Lichfield, which I am now encouraged to follow. The guidebook is vague, giving only a brief outline and suggested paths. All the better, as I can now pore over maps, creating my own route and searching for accommodation in the towns and villages I pass through.

SIMPLE PLEASURES.

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I have taken people’s advice and I’m slowly recovering. Muscles ache in the most unusual places. Taking advantage of the remarkable spell of weather, most days I go for a short wander up on the fell or call in at Craigy for a chat with the climbers there. My garden is getting a good weeding, in short bursts.

This is a good opportunity to highlight the trees in the garden, as most mornings, they greet me when I draw the curtains. It’s not quite dawn, but this is an attempt to capture the bird song in the trees. Using ‘Merlin’, I counted 15 species in 10 minutes. I do have fields behind the garden. I only wish I could see most of them! Turn the volume up. 

House Sparrow, Robin, Wood Pigeon, Wren, Song Thrush, Mallard, Blue Tit, Blackbird, Greenfinch, Jay, Goldfinch, Dunnock, Pheasant, Jackdaw, Great Tit.

Whilst out and about, I am pleased to see the return of the Great Crested Grebes, a little late this year. They have built a floating nest, and every time I pass by, the male is out fishing or collecting more nest material whilst she sits tight. One day, I had a glimpse of the empty nest, and there was certainly one egg there, perhaps two; time will tell.

Catching a picture of my two lively kittens is becoming much harder.

Simple pleasures.

ON MY DOORSTEP.

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I am fortunate that I can walk on paths and quiet lanes, in pleasant countryside, directly from my house, well, only just as the urban development creeps outwards. I’m frustrated at missing all this good weather, so let’s go a little further today and try a four-mile circuit.

The Chipping Road past the cricket ground leads to the Bowland Hills, but I won’t go that far today.

On past the Derby Arms, looking every bit an English country pub.

I turn off down the chestnut-lined drive to the ‘Ferraris Hotel’, which is being transformed into a more upmarket wedding and events venue. The conversions are taking longer than anticipated, don’t they always? They have named the new venue ‘Longridge House’, which it certainly isn’t.  They could have used the original name ‘Black Moss House’, which is still referenced on the OS map. There is much building activity as I walk past on a right-of-way through the grounds.

The woods close to the hotel still have a decent flush of bluebell blue. The garlic is flowering and past its best for picking, not that I am tempted after my recent near-fatal accident involving the humble plant.

Something feels a little different as I reach the fields, where have all these trees been cut down from?

It is a hot day, and I am glad to make use of the memorial bench for a rest and a drink. The bench is in memory of a farmer who once cared for these fields, which I am looking out over. That is Longridge Fell in the background.

The lanes leading back to Gill Bridge are full of white blossoms. The Hawthorn hedges are resplendent with their white flowers, ‘May Blossom’. Their fragrance is not appreciated by all.

Along the verges are more patches of white – Stitchwort, Cow Parsley, and Garlic Mustard.

I take to the open pastures to head cross-country back to the village. The lambs are looking robust and have grown well in the last few weeks of perfect spring weather. These fields are the hares’ habitat, and I see four charging off into the distance, far too quickly for a photograph. Buzzards soar above, and there is a far-off cuckoo.

I march on through the normally boggy bullrush area. When did it last rain? 

This shady track brings me onto Inglewhite Road, where a decent footway takes me home. 

Another short, simple walk, but with all the ingredients of a nature ramble on my doorstep.

*

I have a list of modest projects I hoped to complete this year, including the Pilgrimage to Lichfield from Whalley, the Fife Coastal and Pilgrim trails, filling gaps of the Great Chalk Way, and the Trans Pennine cycle trail. My muscles are currently struggling, and I can’t even shoulder a rucksack, so I hope you will bear with me as I try to find enough interest in staying local.

A GENTLE RETURN.

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Out with, but not gone to, the dogs.

My son and partner visit from Manchester with their two dogs.

I keep the kittens locked in their large cage, but the dogs only sniff them in passing. I think it would be different if they were running loose. Anyhow, we are not in for long as we take the dogs for some exercise in the plantation up the fell.

The good weather continues, but I haven’t ventured much further than the garden. An hour’s weeding tires me out. My back is still very sore, so I’m unable to wear a rucksack — a reminder to take it easy. However, the chance to have a walk, no matter how short, is too good to miss.

The dogs know their way around the plantation and once in the open run themselves silly before cooling off in the stream.

We enjoy the dry paths, all the new greenery and the abundant bird song. There is always time for some tree hugging.

Hardly more than a mile, but invigorating for me to be out and about again. It’s good to be alive, a hackneyed phrase, but simple pleasures with the family are precious.

A sociable lunch and the family head home.

I head to bed almost straight away and sleep for 12 hours.

OUR HOME FELL.

11 Replies

After my glorious day in Bowland yesterday, I was content to potter around the house today. After breakfast, I lost myself in an hour-long video depicting the climbing scene in Llanberis over the last 50 years or so. And what an anarchic scene it was, with lots of interesting characters involved, but that won’t necessarily interest you. If, however, you are curious – https://www.ukclimbing.com/videos/categories/trad_climbing/adra-6479

Another cup of coffee is being enjoyed when the phone rings. It is JD suggesting a walk up to Spire Hill (Longridge Fell to you). “It is less than 10 miles, and we will be back before it rains at 4 o’clock”. I rarely turn down an offer of a walk with good company; I’m just grateful that friends still include me. “I’ll be round to your house in 20 minutes“

My day sack is ever ready, packed with the necessaries. All I need to add is some water and snacks.

JD lives towards the top of Longridge, and it is only a short drive to the edge of the village to start the walk. It is breezy but not as cold as yesterday, so I don’t need any extra layers this time. The lane is familiar territory, and we chat the time away. Before long, we reach the  Newdrop Inn crossroads, the inn is now closed and converted into residential units, but it will always be the Newdrop to us.

A little further, we leave the road to walk past a small reservoir and through rough moorland. Our attention is taken by a Roe Deer buck bounding across the land. I doubt whether my phone camera will catch it. And there is another. Their white posteriors are so prominent—magic moments.

Joining the lane, we climb higher onto the fell, now on rough ground. The land owner up here is courting controversy with drainage ditches, tree felling and worst of all, a six-foot boundary fence topped off with two unnecessary barbed wires—just the height for that lovely deer to rip open its belly.

Passing on, we weave through all the fallen trees. There is devastation on this part of the forest caused by recent storms. 

Our goal is not far away now. We have a break at the trig point and watch a Peregrine fly past.

More walkers arrive, several with dogs off the lead. Not good news for ground-nesting birds, notices clearly advise the correct etiquette. But I find some dog owners self-endowed.

It’s downhill all the way on the lane past the golf club, and we reach the car as the first drops of rain appear.

A simple walk over familiar territory to that good viewpoint, Spire Hill, 350m. When walking with someone and chatting away, I don’t take many photographs, which may be a good thing. Here are a few.

 

The lane leading to the fell, seen high above.

 

There is a sheep in there somewhere.

The Newdrop.

 

A blurry buck, well camouflaged, except for his white rump.

This stately pine could become one of my favourite trees, I have several.

The new lord of the manor’s gates…

…and his welcoming signs.

That lethal barbed wire fence.

Picking a way through storm damage.

Spire Hill trig,350m, with the Bowland Fells in view.

Identifying Wood Sorrel.

***

Our route from the village.

CAST NOT A CLOUT.

21 Replies

I’m sitting at the true summit of Fairsnape Fell, 522m. While I eat my sandwich lunch, I enjoy clear views of the three peaks of Yorkshire.  I had prepared that sandwich last night, thinking I might head to Manchester to continue my pilgrimage. I awoke this morning at 6 am, came down to make coffee and feed the kittens. Retiring back to bed and crosswords, I dozed off. The sun was streaming through my window a couple of hours later. It is too late to go to Manchester with all the faffing of buses and trains. But not too late to make the best of the day with a climb up into the Bowland Hills. A sunny forecast tempts me out.

This sign will give a clue to some as to where I’m setting off from. I buy a dozen and pop them in the car before I leave.

A climb up to Saddle End Farm and on to the fell above. Another walker catches me and steams ahead. I plod on. The cold east wind of the last few days has been replaced by an equally cold wind from the west. My hands feel cold, but my steady progress keeps me warm. Although the Gorse and Blackthorn are in bloom below, the May has not flowered yet – hence the rural adage.

It’s wilderness up here. I pass the site of a tragedy long forgotten. The other walker in front of me probably doesn’t know the history.

On the 26th March 1962, three siblings left home and travelled by bus to Chipping and
walked over the fells, maybe to Langden Castle, on their return over Saddle Fell, they were caught in a blizzard, which resulted in the two brothers losing their lives due to hypothermia. Their sister survived to raise the alarm at Saddle End Farm. There was no Mountain Rescue Team in the area at that time, so police and locals searched with BAC loaning a helicopter to help. Shortly after this tragedy, two Mountain Rescue teams were formed in the area, the forerunners of Bowland Pennine MRT.

I mention the above because it is thought that the boys may have sheltered in a small stone hut. I remember early walks on Saddle Fell in the 70s, the hut being by the track I’m on today, its roof was almost intact.

Don’t forget I am the tortoise nowadays. And what worries me more is the story of the lost fellrunner in 2011.
https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-lancashire-15191235

The fast walker in front of me bypasses the true summit, probably because he doesn’t know of its existence.

I take that slight diversion to the top. An extra windproof layer is added while I gaze over to Yorkshire.. 

Our weather is fickle. not often that one can walk in a straight line between the two Fairsnape summits, the peat would swallow you up. But after three weeks of dry weather, the going is ‘good to firm’ and I make progress towards the western summit, with its cairn, shelter, trig point and people. It is a popular destination, and today I meet people from further afield,  Easter holidaying.  They are all in praise of our Lancashire hills. And all is good with clear views across Morecambe Bay and beyond. 

Gliders swoosh past, making the most of the uplift from Bleasdale.

It’s a grand romp along the skyline to outwit Parlick by that rake traversing right.

More and more people are coming up, but I’m soon down out of the wind at Fell Foot. There is a bit of a rough stretch before open fields past secretive Wolfen Hall, with Pendle and Longridge Fell across the way. 

I always enjoy the little valley of the infant Chipping Brook. Today in the plantation, Bird Cherries stand out.

I cut across fields with gambling lambs to reach my car – a walk far greater than its parts. Uplifting, wilderness, skylarks and sunshine. I’m ready for the rest of the year now, and I have the eggs for my supper.

***