Day 7. Radcliffe to Manchester Cathedral.
An easy 10-mile walk along cycle paths.
The good weather is lasting, so it’s time for another section of my ‘pilgrimage’ from home to Manchester. A walk, a bus, another walk, a train and a final bus deliver me to Radcliffe bus station by 10 am. Strangely, there was an Emu puppet on that crowded bus from Bolton. 
I’m surrounded by busy roads and feel a little disorientated. Across the way is Asda, which I recall being mentioned in my guide: “go down alongside their petrol station to pick up the Cycle Route 6.” 
It is signed up a ramp onto the bed of the old Manchester to Bury and East Lancs line. I used it before coming out of Accrington. 
Like magic, within seconds of stepping onto it, all is peace and quiet. Only bird song is audible – and quite a collection of species, all no doubt mating and preparing nests. 
I cross the Irwell Viaduct (Built in 1846 from timber, but replaced with cast iron in 1881 and reopened as a cycle way in 1999) and plunge into the woods. This is Outwood Country Park, where coal mines once existed. Little, inviting paths go off in all directions.
The cycle route joins the Irwell Sculpture Trail from time to time; signposting is excellent. I was along here before https://bowlandclimber.com/2014/08/06/irwell-valley-trail-2-into-manchester/
The remains of an old platform for Ringley Road station are passed.
A667 brick bridge.
The rail line traverses beautiful, remarkedly undulating, wooded land.
I can hear the motorway long before I reach it.
I catch a glimpse of part of the Clifton Viaducet carrying the old railway across the Irwell once again; It has thirteen arches, a remarkable construction from 1846.
The day warms, and I end up stripping off layers for a change. I’m glad I brought plenty of water as I sit for an early sandwich. Dog walkers appear from everywhere. Notice boards tell me I am in Phillip’s Park, land previously an estate for a wealthy Manchester industrialist, but before that a medieval deer park. 
More parkland, Drinkwater, nothing spectacular, but with all the greens of Spring coming to the fore. Primroses, Blackthorn, Cherries and Willow catkins adding colour. 
In a clearing, there is a totem ploe. 
I just keep following the cycle path 6. 
My route keeps me away from the River Irwell until I arrive at the first road, Agecroft, of the day and a car park. 
I cross the bridge over the river adjacent to the Thirlmere pipeline. ‘Manchester Corporation Water Works – 1892’. 
Continuing between the river and a massive cemetery. I’m impressed by the many graves that are brightly bedecked with flowers – of course, it is Mothering Sunday this weekend.
The Irwell creeps into town. The Manchester skyline is ahead. The inevitable urban litter starts to appear where I reach housing; we are a messy and wasteful society..
When I last visited the Kersal wetlands, it was all wild; now there are houses. And this was/is a flood plain.
Murals on a pumping building reflect local history.
I cut across the fields to Cromwell’s Bridge, an impressive Victorian structure. In fact, as I wander by the Irwell, I cross several bridges with their foundation plaques.
I had noticed several large black canisters strewn by the path earlier, but now I come across a nest of them. On closer inspection, they are industrial-grade laughing gas, an illegal Class C drug. These are full and no doubt hidden for use at a later time. Welcome to the city.
I’m now surrounded by skyscrapers.
The River Irwell creeps off through them to join the Ship Canal in Salford. 
Would it be worth using a scooter or bike for the last section?
I find my way through the maze of streets to the Cathedral forecourt. 
I’m unlucky; the Cathedral, dating from Saxon times, is closed for a charity dinner this evening.
I will have to make time to explore when I return for onward travel to Lichfield. Yes, what started as a ‘pilgrimage’ from my house to Manchester Cathedral is leading to bigger things. I need to get the maps out and start planning.
*
With time to spare, I spot a statue of Mahatma Gandhi.
“Be the change that you wish to see in the world”
Our present world leaders are intent on war, land-grabbing and financial deals. A far cry from Gandhi’s vision. Let’s have a look at some of his other famous quotes.
“Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.”
“The greatness of humanity is not in being human, but in being humane.”
“In a gentle way, you can shake the world.”
“Change yourself – you are in control.”
“I will not let anyone walk through my mind with their dirty feet.”
“The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.”
“Freedom is not worth having if it does not include the freedom to make mistakes.”
“We need not wait to see what others do.”
“A ‘No’ uttered from the deepest conviction is better than a ‘Yes’ merely uttered to please, or worse, to avoid trouble.”
“The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others.”
“To call woman the weaker sex is a libel; it is man’s injustice to woman.”
“Earth provides enough to satisfy every man’s needs, but not every man’s greed.”
“Love is the strongest force the world possesses.”
“Nonviolence is a weapon of the strong.”
“A man is but the product of his thoughts. What he thinks, he becomes.”
*
On a lighter note, the Manchester bee is all over the place.
The facade of Victoria station advertises the places it serves. Inside, everything is new and confusing. Northern trains have a bad reputation, but I am soon back at Preston.
And on a hoarding, there is this line from Erin Hanson. 
.
There is freedom waiting for you,
On the breezes of the sky,
And you ask, “What if I fall?”
Oh, but my darling,
What if you fly?
A good enough take on life as I enter another decade, I have flown most of the time.
***
The farmer sees fit to dump his waste in the field.
The village is still asleep as I find Two Brooks Lane heading south. I pass some surprisingly well-kept tennis courts for a place this size. The lane descends into a valley of rough mixed woodland; here and there are remains of buildings and watercourses. At one time, there was a bleech works here employing 200 people. Bleaching was an important part of the cotton industry. The chimney from the works still exists on the hillside, but I couldn’t spot it.
Above them are the lodges that provided water for the mill. It is a steep climb up to them but rewarded by excellent views back to the moors above Holcombe, which I passed over last time when visiting the ‘Pilgrim Cross’.
Onward and upward past Tom Nook Farm, the ancient cobbled track, Black Lane, runs straight to the ridge of Affetside. The medieval mule track from Manchester to Whalley? I notice I’m following part of the Greater Manchester Ringway LDW. 
The Pack Horse was a flourishing inn over 600 years ago, when it was on the main pack horse road to the north, the Roman road Watling Street, where Black Lane crossed. Affetside was a market village and later developed as a mining community – the row of cottages next to the inn was built for miners working narrow drift mines nearby. At the back of my mind as I leave was some story of an old skull kept behind the bar. It is too late when I do recall that it was possibly that of a local man from the 17th century.
Leaving Affetside on the straight Roman road, the high moors are behind me, and I’m walking through enclosed farmland. As a part of Greater Manchester, or though the locals still call themselves Lancastrians, as they should, many properties have been or are being renovated in not neccessarily the Pennine vernacular style. Equine stabling and enclosures have become a common site. There is more exotic wildlife at one farm. 
No long-distance route is complete without at least one golf course; I only briefly flirt with the manicured Harwood one. 
How is this for a perfect winter oak?
But what is happening here? 
I have a long chat with Dave, whose wife says he bores people, about the history of the area where he has lived for nigh on 80 years. Canals, pits, mills and railways all play a part. Cromwell and the Royalists come into play when I mention skirmishes around Preston. The fields around here, previously mined, have been allocated for housing. He hopes subsidence may destroy the sheme, a sentiment I share considering the houses built near me on shifting sands. There is so much urban waste ground for building affordable housing, but nobody seems interested in that. Meanwhile, a buzzard soars overhead.
It is World Book Day, and children leaving the nearby school are dressed in all manner of costumes. I keep my phone camera tightly in my pocket. Following signs to the church, I find myself distracted by a stunning sculpture in the park.
Somebody has in the past tried to salvage some of the roof stones. but hasn’t succeeded.
Scaitcliffe Mill was built
There is Holland’s Pies in the valley. 
I come across The Griffin Inn, the headquarters for Rossendale Brewery; I can’t go past without sampling their pale ale, appropriately named Halo. 
That’s Haslingden Moor across the way. 
St Bartholomew’s Church has a funeral in progress, so I don’t intrude. The tower of the present building probably dates from the 15th century. Most of the rest of the church is from the 16th century. In 1880, the Lancaster architects Paley and Austin renovated the church with more additions.
When we came this way on the Canal Trod in January, the bridge cafe was closed – or was it? Today, I could see from the towpath that there was no sign of life in the cafe at street level above. I am not fussed about going up into Rishton to the friendly cafe we visited last time. I carry on, but once under the bridge, I think that the cafe may be open canalside. 
I push at an unmarked door and enter a den of iniquity. All heads are turned to the stranger. This is darkest Lancashire. Locals huddled over mugs of tea and scones in front of a roaring wood burner. I just about decipher the owner’s welcome and rather hurriedly order an instant coffee. During the time I spend in this hidden cavern, I glean a fair amount of local gossip from the ladies, possibly some of which would be helpful to the local police. The blokes are of the silent type. I take a furtive photo. 
Soon, after crossing the motorway on the Dunkenhalgh Aqueduct, I am approaching Church, a satellite of Accy. See how I have slipped into the local dialect there. 
I see my first lambs of the year, always a joyous occasion…
… and then I am immersed in industrial squalor along the canal.
The fields around Blackmoss are studded with molehills; some look ginormous.
We part company at Sainsbury’s, and I return home after a decent and interesting ramble. It’s not been easy taking pictures on my phone one-handed.
I pass both the pubs in the centre. 
I even have time for a quick look at the Roman Baths. 
It’s time to get moving. I follow the road eastwards out of the village, as taken by the Ribble Way. The pavement is narrow, and the road is busy, which is unpleasant. A true Pilgrim would follow the lane to visit the Norman church at Stydd with its medieval cross base. 
A Gerald Hitman bought the Brockholes site after the hospital closed and developed it as a gated housing estate. He and his son are buried there. For a more detailed reading on the hospital and its cemetery 
Whalley comes into view with the railway viaduct centrefold.
I certainly picked a good day for this walk, with blue skies throughout and excellent views showing the Ribble Valley at its best.
I take a shortcut up one of our stone terraces. There was a farm here before. I usually manage to get lost in the modern housing estate that follows. 
The climbing for the day is done by the time I reach the old Quarryman’s Inn, which is blue plaqued, but now an infant nursery. 
Down Tan Yard, through more quarries, houses new and old with views over our reservoirs and on to Lower Lane. Quitisential Longridge.
The road is getting more hazardous to cross at the gated entrance to Higher College Farm. Now, a small industrialised site, but with hopes to develop an entire retail park, which is totally out of character for this rural setting. Their plans have been turned down for now. It would help if they would upgrade the stile for a start. 
Lower College Farm is, thankfully, bypassed. They have some antique farming or milking implement on display. Any guesses as to what it is? 
I’m heading to St. Wilfrid’s Church, Grade I listed with abundant historical interest. 
We use the canal towpath for about three miles; there are no locks on this stretch, but there is plenty of other interest. The M65 motorway runs parallel to us, so there is always some traffic noise. Leaving Clayton, we edge past Huncoat, where coal was mined, and bricks were fired; the canal would have been busy with traffic – as is the motorway now.
We wonder how the chap we met yesterday is progressing on his trek to Leeds. Our canal stretch is over by bridge 119; we take easily missed steps onto a lane leading to Shuttleworth Hall—another world after the gentle canal towpath.
It is now a farmhouse, and we go around the back to follow the footpath. Dogs are tied up and barking, straining at the leash. It is worrying that the farmhands go to them and hold them down – “they like to bite.” We make a hasty retreat.
He hasn’t, and we flounder through the reeds before coming out onto a lane by an old cotton mill. Initially, it was water-powered, but at some stage, a boiler and chimney were built to provide steam power.
Crossing the busy road at Altham Bridge, we join the River Calder on its way from Cliviger through Burnley and onto Whalley before joining the Ribble. What an environmental disaster the next mile is. First, an evil little brook comes through the field from an industrial site. We can smell the hydrogen sulphide from some distance away. And then, the water looks like sulphuric acid bleaching the vegetation before discharging into the Calder. (back home, I may well try and report this pollution incident to the Rivers Authority, something I’ve not done before)
I’m on familiar ground now and make a beeline to the cafe at the Garden Centre alongside The Calder. After a welcome coffee, we meet up with the river over Cock Bridge, thankfully, for a litter-free walk. 
A final climb up to Whalley Banks, an isolated hamlet of stone houses. 
Once we leave the lane into rough fields, the walking becomes taxing for a mile or so. Waterlogged ground with the odd icy patch, undulating in and out of small valleys, awkward stiles, low blinding sunlight, navigational errors, and some thick gorse bushes to negotiate. I’m not complaining; just look at that blue sky.
When we reach the chain of reservoirs, things improve, and we meet other walkers. Some share our joy of the day, and others unhappy about the pending encroachment of urban areas into the scenery. 
Emerging onto the busy A678 Burnley Road, we have half a mile to walk before turning into the tree-lined avenue leading to the Mercure Dunkenhalgh Hotel. A C19th Tudor-style house built on the site of a C13th hall. Despite our appearance, we are upgraded to an executive double room unfortunately about half a mile away from reception and bar.
Even at the pond, nothing much is stirring. 
Then I’m in amongst the crowds with excited children running along the back of the stone snake, all great fun. 
