Tag Archives: Canals

THE OLD PRESTON TRAM ROAD.

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First, a bit of history.

In 1792, a canal was proposed to link the towns of Kendal, Lancaster and Preston with the Leeds to Liverpool Canal. The main traffic was to be coal, from the Wigan coalfields going north to Preston. Additionally, limestone was to be moved south. Hence the local nickname for the canal – the black and white.

The spur from the Leeds Liverpool canal reached what is now Walton Summit. Originally, an aqueduct to cross the Ribble was planned, along with many locks; this would have been overly expensive, so a ‘temporary’ tramway was constructed from the Walton wharf, with a bridge over the Ribble, in the early years of the C19th. So the canal effectively was in two halves. (The Lancaster Canal was finally connected to the rest of the national network with the recent opening of the Millennium Link; that’s another story).

Horses pulled the wagons along the Tram Road, and then there was a steam-driven chain to haul the wagons up an incline to the canal wharf in Preston. Eventually, the railways superseded the canal for commercial use, and the tramway closed in 1864.

 An old map shows the original wharfs in Preston, circled top left, and the route of the tramway down through Avenham to the Bridge over the Ribble.  The route of the tram road is highlighted on this next old map, connecting with the canal at Walton Summit.       

Since then, the canal basin in Preston has been filled in, the canal link from Walton to the Leeds Liverpool has largely disappeared, and much of the tramway line from Bamber Bridge to Walton Summit has been lost to development—the dotted sections on the map below.

Pic: Wikimedia, OS Street Map.

                                              

The original wooden tram bridge over the Ribble was completed in 1802; it needed repairs in 1890 and was severely damaged by floods in 1936. During the Second World War, the timber decking was removed to prevent any potential German tank invasion. In 1964, concrete replaced much of the wood to maintain a valuable walking and cycling route. The bridge deteriorated again, was closed to the public in 2019, and was demolished in 2024.

The Old Tram Bridge.                                                                                                                 Blog Preston.

Its future was in doubt until a government grant from the Levelling Up Fund secured the millions needed for a replacement. The new bridge was opened to much acclaim in May of this year, thus restoring the pedestrian and cycle connection to what remains of the old tram road on the south side of the river.

I’ve drawn on several websites for archived historical information.

https://www.leylandhistoricalsociety.co.uk/bb-02.html

The Old Tramway

Clicking on the photo below links to many superb period photos of the canal and old tram road.

Lancaster Canal at Cottam c1920

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Today’s exploration on foot – I walk the lines. 

When I walked the whole of the Lancaster Canal from Preston to Kendal in 2018, I started from the remaining basin north of the city centre. There is not much evidence of the original course of the canal to the wharfs in the centre of town: the odd wall here, the odd bridge there, but nothing continuous. The University, shops, and roads have done it for it. And the start of the tram road from the wharf heading into Avenham Park has suffered the same fate.

Today’s walk nearly ended after ten minutes outside the Harris Museum; I tripped over an elevated tree root in the pavement and flew headfirst  –  grazed hands and a tear in my trousers, but luckily no more. A gentle lady came to my aid, but I reassured her I was fine – even if the pride is dented somewhat. I took a picture later in the day on my return.

I next find myself in the Georgian Winkley Square, a green oasis off Fishergate.

I had read about the state of no 28, the past home of Edith Rigby, a famous suffragette, but am surprised to see it in such a sorry state for one of Preston’s notables.

On the top edge of Avenham Park, I pick up the line of the tramway as it went down towards the steep incline above the new tram bridge. Passing the Belvedere building, approximately on the site of the engine-house that wound the tramway trucks up and down.

The bridge looks impressive from up here, with plenty of pedestrians and cyclists crossing it both ways. I drop down and use the Guild Wheel paths to try to get photographs of the bridge from either side.  It is indeed a graceful bridge serving the area well, and Preston can be proud to see it reinstated. 

From the centre I can look downstream to the old East Lancs Railway bridge I hope to cross later in the day. Beyond it and out of sight is the main line rail bridge into Preston.

Once over, I am now in Lower Penwortham, and the tree-lined old tram road stretches out in front of me. A steady stream of walkers and cyclists passes by. Fields line both sides, so you feel out of the city within minutes—the green lungs of Preston. The resurfaced track goes straight for nearly a mile, rising to Carr Wood, where paths meet. The tram road heads left, but I will be back at this spot later. The lane now goes through housing estates but still feels rural, and there are plenty of pedestrian links for the locals. Occasionally, a quiet road crosses.

Then all of a sudden it comes to an end at Todd Lane, and the tram road disappears into fields and Bamber Bridge. Thankfully, I find paths down a green corridor through the Walton Park Woods. The day has warmed up, and I find a seat near the lake for a drink and snack. I’m surrounded by nature; raised beds have been planted for butterflies and bees, herons rise from the waters, and I add to my bounty of haws. A few dog walkers pass through, but one feels in a world of your own in here.

Here is a little map highlighting the position of Walton Park woods.

I climb up onto the track of an old railway heading back to Preston.   Preston and Blackburn Railway, which opened on 1 June 1846, became part of the East Lancashire Railway two years later, which built its own bridge across the Ribble to Butler Street station and goods yard by 1850. This stretch closed to passengers in 1968 and goods in 1972. (see below *)  I’m soon back where the tram road passed by, but take a left to stay on the ELR track. These resurfaced ways create a network of walking and cycling paths south of the river, most of which I was previously unaware of. Must come with the bike and explore further. Always adding to my list.

Up ahead is a wooden sculpture, the Tree Pod by Rosie Fenwick and Ben Maris, along with pupils from Lostock Hall Secondary School. Carved from oak trunks, it lets you stand inside and peer through the holes. The Tram Road, on reflection, would benefit from some artworks, and some seats – there wasn’t a single one on the stretch I walked.

A little further is ‘Coupling Rods’  by John Packer and Martin Maudsley, paying homage to the railway history and at the same time incorporating insect-eye-like lenses,

The raised rail embankment gives views of the Preston skyline and, at one point, the New Tram Bridge across the fields. 

Now approaching the city, the disused rail bridge, with its original pedestrian walkway, crosses the Ribble.

Trains are rattling across the Main Line bridge downstream (well, not in my photo), and there is yet another view of The New Tram Bridge upstream.

From the balustraded bridge, you look down on Miller and Avenham Parks, both busy on a sunny afternoon at the end of the school holidays.

Then, all of a sudden, you are in the rail station car park, with the shops ahead where the Butler Street station and goods yard used to be until the seventies redevelopment. *

Butler Street Station, to the east of the main station, before demolition.                   Blog Preston.

I’ve enjoyed walking back into history and seeing more possibilities for exploration south of the river.  The mural on the Station Inn also reminds me to seek out Preston’s street art before too long.

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You might not have read this far, but I’m going to sneak in one of my 52 Ways to Walk chapters, Exercise your curiosity muscle – Walk a Ley Line.

Well, I’m always curious when out and about, so that ‘muscle’ must be strong. I didn’t know of any obvious ley lines in this area, so I did an internet search and came across The Lamanche Zodiac from the Journal of Geomancy, joining features in a line from Preston to Cheshire.  “A star-aligned landscape formation that mirrors the constellations of the zodiac using roads, streams, churches, and ancient trackways “,  proposed by Kathryn J. Preston in 1977. Reading further only confused me more.

“The concept of ley lines was created in the early 1920s by English amateur archaeologist Alfred Watkins. While walking through Herefordshire, England, Watkins noticed that ancient sites like churches, standing stones, and burial mounds seemed to fall on continuous straight paths. In his 1925 book The Old Straight Track, he argued these lines were ancient, pre-Roman trade and travel routes used for navigation. Watkins never attached any supernatural meaning to his theory.”    Britannica

In the 1960s,  the idea evolved away from archaeology and natural features into more esoteric beliefs. They were seen as channels for spiritual or magnetic powers, connecting sacred sites or even serving as landing guides for alien visitors.

No scientific evidence shows that Ley Lines exist, so I won’t necessarily be walking the Lamanche Line.

In the past, I have created my own straight-line walks using end-to-end points of personal interest. Most notably from Blackpoll to Aldbrough on the east coast. These have been great fun to plan and walk but of no other value or meaning. To counter this negativity about the possibilities of Ley Lines, I proposed today’s walk as a chance to ‘use my curiosity muscle’ by walking the old rail lines. Simple, effective, and satisfying.

 

A WHITTLE WANDER. Part Two.

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Hoghton to Whittle-le-Woods.

I enjoyed the first part of this walk last week and was keen to return to complete the circuit. Today was strangely not so good, with overgrown paths, hidden stiles, and unhelpful landowners. Read on.

My bus into Preston arrives seconds after my connection to Hoghton leaves. I have time to visit the bus station cafe, not the best of coffees. The onward bus is modern with visual and audible announcements of the next stop, a great help in areas you don’t know well. I alight at the Royal Oak, as announced, where I finished last time.

I stroll down the road to find the footpath leading down to the canal. It looks like a private drive, no signage, but I persist past the barking dogs onto a choked path, the first of and easier of many. I’m not sure I have seen watercress flowering before.

I suddenly come onto the towpath of the Liverpool-Leeds Canal. Or is it the Leeds-Liverpool Canal? It depends on your perspective. Red rose, White rose. There is a small marina down here.

Life on the water.

I take some ancient steps away from the canal onto a busy road. Thankfully, within a few yards I climb a stile into fields. But where does the path go  – no sign of other feet. There is a stile somewhere, and then I’m confronted by this.

Out of the horsey property, there is more trouble; I climb a dodgy stile, only to be confronted by impassable undergrowth.

Why don’t the property owners maintain the stiles and give adequate signage? A question I’m always asking. Would make life easier for all concerned.

Somehow I find my way to the bridge over the motorway, quite grand for a footpath.

Why do I always take nondescript pictures of motorways?

Getting out the other side is not easy. Does nobody walk these paths?  I haven’t gone far, and soon I am lost with no sign of a path. Last week I relied completely on a paper map for navigation; today I am happy to switch on my phone OS app to locate my mistakes. I dodge through a field of cows and climb into a deserted, dilapidated farmstead. With more hope than faith, I stumble down into a deep ravine and thankfully find the footbridge and steep steps back out.  I have a rest at the top and plan ahead. A field of maize will be impenetrable in a few weeks if nobody comes this way.

And it is a maze to find my way through the next ‘hamlet ‘, Ollerton Fold. All that is needed is a few discreet arrows to get the walker through, rather than blundering into gardens. One resident helps me to escape but warns of worse to come. I do get a lovely view across the valley towards Brindle with the canal below.

Then it is more of this…

…and this.I 

As I approach Withnell Fold, I am debating in my mind whether to drop down to the canal towpath for some easier going. The village is hidden from the world at the bottom of a cobbled cul-de-sac. Once a large paper mill operated here, and the terraced housing was built for the workers. Not a lot has changed, though there is some new housing in what used to be the mill complex. A good history of the village can be found here, and a local walker/historian, Boyd Harris, has even more fascinating history on his website.

Withnell Fold Farm.
Village Stocks.
Reading Room.

Most of the remaining mill buildings are ruinous, but the engine house chimney has been restored and can be seen from miles around, as in my header photograph. So after a mooch around the village, I end up on the canal towpath. The delights of the Witton Wander footpaths to Higher Wheelton and Heapey will have to wait for another time.

A group of volunteers for the Canal Trust are busy Himalayan Balsam bashing; it is very profuse in one area which borders a nature reserve.

A group of cyclists are riding from Liverpool to Leeds in a day.You can do the maths.

There are boats moored up further along, and I can indulge in my usual diversion in finding the corniest name.

 

There is more action when I reach the ‘Top Lock’, the highest of seven locks raising boats 65 feet. I ignore the inn on the other side.

Further down, two boats pass through a lock together, thereby saving water. Watching boats negotiating locks is a favourite spectator pastime.

I drop down to where a disused branch canal went off to Whittle-le-Woods and go in search of a footpath back on the real Whittle Wander. I paced up and down the towpath, using my GPS to find it, but there was no way through a thick hedge. Only now, looking more closely, do I see it was on a lane from the next bridge and not directly off the towpath (red arrow). An easy mistake to make but annoying nevertheless. I ended up backtracking and following the Whittle-le- Woods canal branch to the nearest road. 

The road, which fortunately has a pavement, takes me under the motorway past some neat cottages to the outskirts of the town.

A friendly pub, The Roebuck, beckons from across the road from the small Jubilee garden with its clock.

I sit in their beer garden enjoying a pint and contemplating the day’s walk. The state of the footpaths in the early part was disappointing. They are not well used in what should be a popular area. On the day, I made the right choice to take to the towpath, which turned out to be an interesting stretch. It was my error near the end, not identifying the correct path. I intend to return and do a loop that includes the bits of the Witton Wander I have missed, as I do find the area historically and scenically interesting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PILGRIMS PROGRESS. FINISHING IN LICHFIELD.

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Day 19.   Fradley to Lichfield.

I’ve been here before at the end of my Two Saints Way from Chester.

The bus stops right outside St Stephen’s Church in Fradley. I notice the writing on the porch above the door, a biblical quote. Presumably, that is where the phrase ‘watch your step’ originated, a fitting warning to us pilgrims.  It is open and the heritage group are setting up an exhibition. They are all very friendly and pleased to narrate the church’s history and show me around. We even find a chocolate egg hidden behind the piano, missing from the children’s Easter hunt. The interior is bright and airy.

One of the group was involved in the planning of the Pilgrim Way Church Trail, which I’m following. By the time I leave, the morning’s drizzle has abated, meaning I have walked the whole route without the need of waterproofs, if only I had known at the start.

They warn me of the HS2 workings closing several footpaths into Lichfield. I plot a way using minor roads further north. Even so much of the area seems to have been grabbed by the HS2 fiasco. I thought it was stopping at Birmingham.

I cross the Coventry Canal and, with hindsight, could possibly have used it for some distance up to Fradley Junction, then connecting to footpaths into Lichfield. I had to look up the Coventry Canal on the map, as I was previously unaware of it.

As it is, I’m committed to a narrow lane used as a cycleway. I think I’m walking through the site of the wartime RAF site, judging from the occasional hangars still visible.

My first view of the famous triple Lichfield steeples, Ladies of the Vale, is ironically through HS2 security fencing.

Little ginnels wind through housing estates and straight to St Chad’s church.

St Chad’s Well was looking attractive, with a covering of Russian Vine. That was until I was closer and could see a body slumped inside it, down and out. Inside the church, a wedding ceremony is being rehearsed, so I don’t linger.

 A word or two about St. Chad while we are here.
“St Chad was born to a noble family around 634. He was educated on Lindisfarne and spent time as Bishop of York and Abbot of Lastingham. In 669, he was appointed Bishop of Mercia, one of the most powerful Anglo-Saxon kingdoms. Chad chose to centre his administration in Lichfield, not Repton, where he founded a church near the holy well and a community which became the religious heart of the kingdom.
  On his death in 672, his remains quickly became venerated and a place of pilgrimage. Bishop Hedda, his successor, consecrated the first Cathedral in Lichfield. St Chad’s remains were transferred from his church to there, and the shrine grew quickly in importance and became one of the most important centres of medieval pilgrimage in the country. At the reformation, his remains were removed for safety into private hands, eventually resting in Birmingham Cathedral”
Since my last visit to Lichfield in 2021, a new shrine has been established in the Cathedral in 2023. Relics from Birmingham have been incorporated into its cross. See below.
The cathedral is across the park and Stowe Pool.

I pause on the way to admire the bronze statue of St. Chad by Peter Walker, 2021,  and some of the ornate stonework.

The usual crowds throng the magnificent western front with all 19th-century replacements of medieval figures, showing apostles, kings, and saints.

I’m greeted at the Cathedral door by one of their volunteers; they must have known I was coming. It turns out he is a historian of all things related to Chad. He tells me of many sites throughout the north; some close to home, which I will have to look into.

There is a service in progress in the chancel, so I sit and listen to it being broadcast throughout the Cathedral—a moving sermon reflecting sensibly on some of the world’s present problems, if only our politicians could listen.

Lichfield Cathedral is the only medieval three-spired Cathedral in the UK, and is a treasured landmark in the heart of England. (Lincoln only has towers) It is one of the oldest places of Christian worship, and the burial place of the  Anglo-Saxon missionary  St Chad. There is so much to see in its interior. George Gilbert Scott was heavily involved in its restorations. As noted above, a new shrine has been placed in the cathedral. It is a simple shrine with a cross incorporating a ‘relic’ of St. Chad from Birmingham, above a circular illuminated halo.

Among the cathedral’s many other treasures, in the Chapter House is the fine 8th-century sculpture of the ‘Lichfield Angel’, thought to be from St Chad’s tomb, as well as the 8th-century Lichfield Gospels.

Last time St. Chad’s Head Chapel was closed, so I am pleased today to be allowed up the steps to this peaceful space. This is where his skull was initially kept as a focus for pilgrims. After his remains were removed, people still came up here to pray. I suppose now his new shrine below will take preference. I’ve already been in the Cathedral for more than an hour and a half and have only cherry-picked my points of interest. One could easily spend half a day in here exploring. But before I leave, some mention should be made of the story behind the stained glass in the Lady Chapel. Originally commissioned for the nuns at Herkenrode Abbey (about 50 miles south-east of Antwerp) in 1532. Fortunately, the glass had been removed and taken to safekeeping before Napoleon’s troops arrived. It was bought by Brooke Boothby, who sold it to the Dean and Chapter for the price he had paid. It was installed here between 1803 and 1806. The abbey itself may be no more, but its images remain for us all to enjoy.

Lichfield’s streets are busy, it looks like an interesting city, but I have trains to catch.


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Another walk completed, even if in stages from January, due to circumstances.  From an initial idea of connecting Whalley Abbey to Manchester Cathedral, it evolved into a more extended pilgrimage from my home to Lichfield. Maybe about 160 miles in all. Following ancient ways, passing Saxon crosses, absorbing Ecclesiastic history, meeting wonderful people, and experiencing our diverse environment in all its guises.

How you approach a route is in your own hands; it may be a spiritual journey, a chance to experience the rural beauty or simply hearty exercise. Let’s not forget that walking is fun.

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. THE PILGRIM WAY CHURCH TRAIL.

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Day 18. Branston Bridge to Fradley. 

Rather than just walking along the canal towpath towards Lichfield, I have found the Pilgrim Way Church Trail, A fourteen-mile route from St Michael’s Church in Tatenhill to Lichfield Cathedral. It follows an ancient path which may have been the route taken by Saint Chad on his journey to establish Lichfield Cathedral.

And how I’m enjoying it.

There are six churches on the trail, fine examples of churches from the Saxon to Victorian periods. The route takes you through some of Staffordshire’s finest countryside.

I’m back at Branston Bridge Inn, but I leave the canal to walk up lanes to Tatenhill. It’s already warming with the full sun.

Fortunately, there is a cycle path for most of the way.

Tatenhill.  St. Michael and all Saints.

  The squat sandstone Parish Church of St. Michael & All Saints Church is a 13th-century building which was substantially enlarged and altered in the 15th century. Around 1890, Bodley ‘restored’ the church.

The church is closed, so I walk on up the road. I stop to check where my footpath leads when a farmer appears. He has just been feeding his stock. He is happy to chat about all things rural. He runs a small farm with only 15 cows and 40 sheep, which he manages in an environmentally sound manner. He is a tenant on the current Lord Burton’s land. They tolerate each other despite being so different. Surprisingly, he knows Lancashire well from all his dealings, even visiting a blacksmith in Bolton-by-Bowland.

Whilst chatting, he points out a well across the road which I was unaware of. He calls it a ‘wishing well’, but it has possibly been a holy well in the past. Underneath its hood, there is clear water.

I take the path through the farmer’s fields, and thankfully, his cattle are out of sight. A wood alongside has won an award for forestry, but I can’t see why. Along the byway hedges berries are flourishing this year.

Over the valley is a large manor house, Rangemore Hall, previously owned by Lord Burton.

My way takes me through one of those places with accumulated junk, in this case, cars. There is a Morris Minor in there somewhere.

Escaping from the junk yard, I dive straight into a field of sweet corn where the path is not obvious, I just push my way through.

A lane takes me to my highest point and then straight down through varied countryside to the scattered houses and church of Dunstall.

Dunstall St Mary’s.

St Mary’s is a church built for the Dunstall Estate and stands alone. It has an imposing tower demonstrating the wealth of the benefactors, the Arkwright family, before they moved to Cromford. It was completed in 1853.

I enjoy the cool of the beautiful stone interior. The walls of the Chancel are particularly fine, lined with alabaster. The Church Warden is busy preparing for a wedding tomorrow.

The font is carved from Caen limestone with ornate panels, here Moses is striking the rock.

A fine alabaster Reredos at the altar was in memory of the Hardy family, who ensured the church was completed after Arkwright’s death.

Everywhere you look, there are delicate carvings.

The grandeur is completed with stained glass windows in memory of the Hardy family.

On a more mundane note. I eat my lunch sitting in the porch out of the hot sun.

The nearby listed church hall was once the estate’s school and has apparently a fine interior.

Onwards through the Dunstall Estate, past some delightful properties and across the land on a bridleway. The Dunstall Church stands out across the way. This is quintessential English countryside.

There are plenty of options through the fields.

Barton-under-Needwood has a busy main street, no more so than at the local Co-op, where I purchase a coffee and cake to be enjoyed on the seat outside. The church is only a stone’s throw away in a well-kept churchyard.

Barton-under-Needwood.  St. James’.

 Local boy John Taylor, the eldest of triplets, rose to prominence and riches under Henry  VIII. He decided to build a new church to replace the 12th-century chapelry, which existed in Barton. He was already a sick man and died in 1534, a year after the church was consecrated. 

Its exterior perpendicular style has changed little in seven centuries, but the interior has been altered many times. 

As I enter through the glass inner doors, I notice they are etched with what looks like a stylised conch shell, which is St. Peter’s emblem, found on many pilgrim routes.

I don’t find anything unique in the church, but there are some fine, mostly Victorian and modern, stained glass windows.

After a bit of newish estate wandering, I come across the Royal Oak. At last, a pub serving Marstons Pedigree on draught. I can’t leave the area without tasting one of Burton’s famous brews. And very cosy it is inside, top marks.. Out of town, I pick up a green lane leading straight to the church at Wychnor.

Wychnor St. Leonards.

The original church was a simple, small Norman nave, which was extended in the late 1200s. Over the next few hundred years, an aisle and a tower were added. Unfortunately, regular services are no longer held here, and it is not open today.

The adjacent fields show evidence of earthworks of a medieval village, which even I could make out.
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Suddenly, I’m back alongside the Trent and Mersey Canal. I’m not sure where the original tow path ran, but along here, modern walkways have been installed over the marshy areas.

I manage to catch this Heron.

I’m on the edge of the village of Alrewas. 

A couple are enjoying a picnic by a branch of the River Trent, where a ford used to be on trade and pilgrim routes. Interested in my walk, she spends a lot of time helpfully suggesting cafes I could visit, despite the fact that most of them were miles from my route. Car drivers have little conception of what it is to walk a long-distance route.

Alrewas.  All Saints

A church, connected to Lichfield, has stood on this important site from at least 822AD (some suggest St Chad himself founded it in the 870s), the first building being of wood. This, in due course, was replaced by a simple structure in local stone and developed over the centuries since then.  It is closed today.

I don’t see much of Alrewas except the village sports fields before quiet lanes into Fradley.

 I walk along nondescript housing estates. People I meet, in their front gardens, have little knowledge of where or when buses leave to take me back to Burton. My reading of the timetable is mistaken; there is no 15.35. Despite the buses running supposedly  every hour, they seem to miss this slot.

So that gives me time to walk along to St. Stephen’s church

Fradley.   St. Stephens.

St. Stephen’s was built in 1861 as a Chapel of Ease for Alrewas. Its unusual design and its position on the corner of Old Hall Lane have made it a landmark feature for the village. A pleasing modern building, again closed, but that leaves me to look around the well-kept graveyard. There are 34 simple war graves, many Australian airmen alongside RAF pilots from the nearby wartime airport. In amongst them is a sole headstone to a German pilot, Joachim Schwarz.

My bus turns up at 16.35 and drives around in circles to get me back to Burton. It’s been a long, hot day, The Weighbridge Inn is the grounds of my hotel, so I enjoy a pint there on the way in.

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PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. MAINLY REPTON.

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Day 17. Repton to Branston Bridge. 

Everyone has been telling me of the wonders of Repton’s St. Wystan’s church.

My bus drops me off at the Cross, the original market cross..On the way in, I spotted a local butcher and grocery shop, so I head there first to buy a proper cheese and onion pie for lunch.  I’m disappointed with supermarket ones. Back at the cross, I am able to take better photos than I did during yesterday’s rush hour. I wander up the High Street to take a look at some of the buildings, many of which are owned by Repton School.

A sign advertises The Maple Leaf, a community cafe down a side street. I’m served a large cup of coffee for less than £3 by the lovely lady volunteers. A gentleman has the same idea, and we share a table outside. It is already uncomfortably hot and humid. In conversation, it turns out he is an amateur Local Historian. We enjoy chatting about Saxons, pilgrims, hidden wells, the Trent, and much more. You can find him at http://www.fourshireshistory.co.uk

Time to have a look around St Wystan’s Church. St. Wystan is depicted above the porch entrance, holding his sword.

“Repton is the cradle of Christianity in the Midlands”, says the sign in the church. Christians have worshipped since 653 AD, when an Abbey was established on this site, following the introduction of Christianity to Mercia by Elfleda. 

From the outside, St.Wystan’s is a handsome medieval church. Its tall and thin spire dates from the 15th century, as does the tower.  Other features date back to the 14th century. Much of the chancel is Saxon, extensively modified, and it becomes particularly interesting, for here, under the chancel, lies a Saxon crypt. 

The Chancel. Note the upper chamber, which would have been reached by steps from outside.

 Repton Crypt dates from the first half of the 8th century, during the reign of King Aethelbald of Mercia. Constructed perhaps as a baptistery, sunk 1.2 m into the ground,  with a spring below it. It was later converted into a mausoleum, perhaps to receive the body of King Aethelbald himself. King Wiglaf (827 – 840) built the church chancel above it. Wiglaf ‘s grandson, Wystan, was murdered in 849 and buried at Repton. Wystan became venerated as a saint probably after ‘miracles’ occurred, and the crypt then became a place of pilgrimage. When the Vikings invaded, the remains of St Wystan were taken away by escaping monks; they were returned to Repton after the Vikings had departed. (Later, King Cnut of England (1016-1035) had them removed to Evesham Abbey.) The church was restored after the Vikings left, but the importance of the crypt gradually declined. The adjoining priory didn’t survive the Dissolution, although the parish church was spared. Archaeologists discovered a mass Viking grave located above where the Trent used to run.

For a long time, the crypt was entirely forgotten, lost beneath later work. It was only when a workman fell into it during building work in 1779 that it was rediscovered. Near the crypt part of an Anglo-Saxon cross-shaft was found. On one side is a kilted warrior on a horse.   This is thought to be a representation of King Aethelbald of Mercia, who died in 757 and was entombed in the crypt. The ‘Repton Stone’ was seen in the Derby Museum on my previous visit.

Narrow, worn stairs lead down into it, and once your eyes have adjusted, you see beautifully carved stone piers supporting the arched roof enclosing four burial niches.  It is one of the oldest and most important examples of Anglo-Saxon architecture to survive intact.   Sir John Betjeman described it as “holy air encased in stone”. And when you stand down here in complete silence, you begin to feel what he meant. 

In comparison, the rest of the church has less interest. A tall bell tower, a C15th alabaster tomb, Victorian and later stained glass, and more fragments of crosses.

St Diuma, St Wystan, St Guthlac, St. Chad.

Adjacent to the church is the arched entrance into Repton School, from the C13th and the only surviving part of the Augustinian Priory on this site.

Enough history, let’s get on our way. 

Passing the School’s chapel, I find a path alongside the Leisure Centre, and I’m soon in undulating rough fields. There are occasional views across the way to the Willington Wetlands, where Beavers have been reintroduced. 

St Anne’s Well is marked on the map but is not obvious or signed from the PRoW. I have to backtrack and scramble down the bank to an overgrown hollow, and there it is, a stone-lined trough leading to a channel. I push through the brambles to get a closer look. There is no water at present, but the silted-up base is damp. What was its function? Given its name, did it have some religious connection?

It’s down there somewhere.

I move on through flower-rich meadows, now apparently on the Trent Valley Way.

Passing a pipeline bridge with dire warnings not to climb, so I just follow the footpath on this side of the Trent to Newton Solney.

A convenient bench serves for a snack. Newton Solney was a brick-making centre in the 17th and 18th centuries, and on a trade route with a nearby river crossing.

I have time to look around St Mary the Virgin’s church. 14th century, but restored and enlarged over the years. There are several tombs of the local de Solney family dating back to the C14th.

The kissing gate out of the churchyard is a precursor of those new galvanised ones – but much more elegant.

A busy main road bisects the village.

Once across, a walled track leaves the road, the bricks probably made in the village.

It leads to the large Newton Park farmhouse, but my footpath crosses fields with the spire of Winshill, the prominent church ahead.

Through Bladon Farm, and down their access road, do you remember these old farm diesel pumps?

The climb back up to Winshill was starting to look intimidating.

But then a  Trent Valley Way marker alerted me to the Dalebrook walk. So, back into the undergrowth to follow the little stream. The sandstone bed is clearly visible in places.

Local communities have facilitated some colourful wildflower areas.

I eventually come out onto the main road alongside the Trent, but at least there is a decent footway.

A lot of the properties along here have a riverside frontage, or rather backage. That must add a few grand to the value of your house.

I’m heading to the Trent Bridge, a famous Burton landmark. This 29-arch bridge was completed in 1864, replacing an earlier medieval 36-arch one downstream. The river has changed course over the years. The New Bridge was widened in 1926 and had a tramway running across it until 1929. There is a photo of both bridges coexisting for a short period.

It’s a different picture today with queues of cars trying to cross in the rush hour.

I was hoping to walk into Burton through the riverside Washlands, a flood plain on the edge of Burton. The way seems to be blocked off with those builder’s wire fences, so I don’t risk it.

Instead, I just walk along the High Street. Burton-on-Trent was the brewery centre of the country at one time, and there are some fine civic buildings from that prosperous time.  

Several old brewery sites are passed as I walk up Station Road. 

Coors Brewery is the new face of brewing in Burton. I’m feeling fit, so walk on past my hotel to do a few more miles and shorten tomorrow. Past the station, I come across the prominent Town Hall and then the Gothic style St. Paul’s Church.

An ally gains the Trent-Mersey Canal, whose towpath I follow for a couple of miles.

The Bridge Inn, where I waited for my taxi, didn’t even have a draft Burton beer. 

 

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. ESCAPING DERBY.

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Day 16. Derby to Repton.

 My mobile rings at 10 am “Do you fancy a coffee?”  I do, as I’ve just arrived back in Derby after a very early start from home. Over the sound of the busy traffic, I explain my whereabouts; no need to explain why I am here. Hopefully, completing my ‘pilgrimage’ to Lichfield. That coffee will have to wait. 

On this trip, I managed to walk across Manchester almost entirely on cycle paths or parklands. I was pleased with my choice of routes, but the leisure infrastructure was a great help. So far, I managed to walk into Derby in rural surroundings, but getting out of the southern side could prove challenging. Looking at the map, there are no obvious green spaces and no cycle ways or redundant railways. I need to get to Repton somehow.  Half the fun of choosing your own route is the time spent linking up likely footpaths on the OS map.

However, first, I want to visit a couple of sites in Derby that I missed last time. 

St. Alkmund’s Well.    Derby’s last remaining Holy Well. The earliest mention of the well dates back to 1190, but it may have been in use much earlier, possibly as early as 800. I find it hidden away in a residential area of the city.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/c8reyld535jo

I retrace my steps to the bridge over the bypass leading to the stately St Mary’s Roman Catholic Church. It is closed, but I find a bench in its peaceful garden for a breakfast snack.

Nearby, a plaque commemorates the site of the original St. Alkmund’s church, which was demolished to make way for the bypass road. During this demolition, the sarcophagus of St. Alkmund was discovered, which I viewed in the Derby Museum on my last visit.  Here are some historic pictures of the church and its demise.

I can’t find the plaque, so I move on.

A 5-minute walk away is The Chapel of St. Mary on the Bridge, one of six medieval bridge chapels left in the UK. It stands just above the Derwent next to the 18th-century St Mary’s Bridge, which replaced a medieval bridge to which the chapel was originally attached. I don’t know how I missed it before.

The first chapel was probably built late in the 13th century on the original stone bridge. Later in the 14th century, it was replaced by the present building. The chapel would have been a place of prayer for travellers leaving the city and a collection point for bridge tolls.   The hagioscope, or squint, was used by the hermit to monitor traffic, as well as by passers-by to see the altar. One of the arches of the old bridge can be made out under the chapel.

Unfortunately, it is closed, so I miss out on its peaceful interior. It’s open on some Saturdays and continues to have services.

I don’t dally at the Museum of Making, the Cathedral, or the Art Gallery/Museum, all of which I visited last time.

Instead, I head across the city to visit St. Peter’s church, which apparently has much of interest from Medieval times. The streets around here are edgy with lowlife, a heavy police presence reinforcing the feeling. ( I learn later that there have been recent armed robberies here, a bank and the Pawnbrokers, hence all the police) Anyhow, the church was closed, so I don’t see the Florence Nightingale window.

I’ve had my fill of Derby’s beggars, drunks and addicts. Sorry to be judgmental, but it is a fact of many city centres these days. My resolve is weakened, and I jump on the first bus heading out of town. This saves a couple of miles of suburban walking. A Pilgrim’s dilemma, forgive me.

Using my bus app, I know where to alight in Littleover to get back on track. The road looks busy with little verge, but fortunately, there is a traffic-free way alongside a new housing estate. I get my first glimpse of the countryside along with the loud mooing of a herd of cows. Let’s hope I don’t encounter too many of them.

A footpath continues past a fishing lake to the edge of the farmland. The bedraggled Heron is the only one fishing.

The farm is bypassed, and I’m on my way. The fields are not well walked, but those new-fangled metal kissing gates lead the way. Strangely, they are all missing their yellow catches. Did they run out of funds during the installation, or are scrap metal dealers profiting? 

Kestrels quarter the newly cut fields;  no doubt, the rodents have less cover.

Over to my left are five cooling towers, all that remain of Willington Power Station, a familiar sight for travellers on the A50.

I pass through one of those farms that collect junk, but don’t worry, they are commited to the environment. 

The steeple of Findern church is a good landmark to head for. On a map somewhere, I saw this route marked as The Priory Way, and as I enter Findern, there is a board explaining where and why the Priory existed; it has since disappeared completely.

I find the Find Cafe in the village’s old meeting rooms.  A pleasant surprise: good coffee and cake. 

Findern was mentioned in the Domesday Book when it was held by Burton Abbey.  All Saints’ Church was rebuilt in 1863, on the site of a Saxon place of worship. Its fine sandstone a pale colour.  Again, it is closed. There are some interesting properties around the village green. The village pump is preserved along the High Street; it was used until 1931, when a water main arrived.  

A short stretch of pavement walking alongside a busy road over the A50, and I’m soon back in fields leading to the Trent and Mersey Canal. First, I can’t resist diving into the Willow Spiral, funded by the nearby Mercia Marina. It could do with a trim, but I do reach the centre. 

A metal footbridge has me on the canal towpath for a stretch into Willington. The canal barge owners are a friendly lot with some fine narrowboats.

There is little to detain me in Willington. Despite the sign, the church is closed. I’ve not had much luck so far today. The bridge leaving Willington over the River Trent was built in 1836, replacing a ferry, and was one of the last main road toll bridges in England. It was not made free until 1898. It has five elegant arches, which I can view from the site of the demolished toll house. The toll fees per animal, for assorted carriages and wagons, were based on the thickness of their wheel. 

The stretch of road leading to Repton is very busy, and the pavement is narrow.  The spire of St Wystan’s prominently ahead. I’m relieved to arrive in one piece.

Immediately, the influence of the Repton School premises takes prominence with their chapel and modern buildings. The Chapel was opened in 1859; prior to that, pupils attended St. Wystan’s.

It’s rush hour, and the village roads are a nightmare; I risk taking a photo of the Village Cross and St Wystan’s Church before catching the bus to Burton-on-Trent. Exploration of Repton can wait till tomorrow.  

***

I’m booked into the basic GO2 Hotel for three nights. A converted grain store by the railway.

***

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.  

***

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. WHALLEY TO ACCRINGTON.

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Day 3.  Mainly Hynburn.

I managed to obtain a copy of ‘The Pilgrims’ Way from Whalley to Lichfield’ from the Holcombe Moor Heritage Group. (hmhg_chair@btinternet.com)  So, it goes further than Manchester, my original destination. That should give me plenty of walking opportunities this year. The booklet gives detailed directions for the stretch to Manchester, which I am walking at present, and then just outlines suggestions for an onward journey to Lichfield. Plenty of scope for researching and planning.

But first, let’s get to Manchester.

*

” I don’t have time for the church; I’ll start there next time” That was the last entry in my pilgrimage route as I reached Whalley and visited the Abbey. And I have little time to spare today as I am late setting off on this next section. I have relied on some previous photos to illustrate the church’s exterior and interior.

The Church of St Mary and All Saints is an active parish church in the Diocese of Blackburn. A church probably existed on the site in Anglo-Saxon times, and the current building dates from the 13th century.

C15 Whalley Abbey choir stalls.
Misericords.
C17th Church Wardens pew.
C16th St. Anton’s Cage.

C15th Perpendicular East window with C19th glass.

 

The south door, with C11th Norman Pillars, incorporated.

There are three well-preserved C10th to C11th Anglo-Saxon crosses in the churchyard, which must have had some significance to the travelling monks.

*

The day had started badly; I arose unrested after an interrupted night. I was in two minds about whether to set off, what with my left hand pretty useless and my dreary state. I eventually decided to give it a go. Last week’s walks with friends had bolstered my confidence. I thank them all.

I go for the 9.58 bus, only to find it has left at 9.48, the correct time. Back home, I procrastinate, but with the day and my mood brightening, I eventually decide on the 10.48 to Whalley.

Whalley and its Nab.

 

That viaduct.

Whalley Nab has to be climbed. I follow the ancient Monks’ trod, which JD and I had descended a few weeks ago on our Hynburn Clog walk. It is much harder in this direction. I usually walk with a pair of poles, but for now, I can only grasp one, so that will have to do. It helps steady me, but I miss the rhythm of two. I want to report on cobbles worn smooth by packhorses over the centuries, but the way is still covered in autumn leaves.

At the top, I pass the cluster of properties, all now very desirable, but how did they fair in that mini winter we endured last month?

I realise I don’t think I have ever been to the true summit of Whalley Nab. Is it on private property?

Onwards on familiar paths, over one ancient broken clapper bridge and the next restored with concrete slabs.

The terrain is undulating! I flirt with the River Calder.

All beautiful green countryside. Unusually for walking in this area, Pendle Hill is not so prominent; it is a hazy Great Hameldon, up above Accrington, I am focused on.

I vaguely remember coming through that scout camp, but  I do not know when or why. Now, I am in new fields skirting Squires Farm and suddenly into the park on the edge of Great Hardwood.

There is a well-positioned War Memorial in the park. I can’t count the number of names lost in WW1.

On a more personal note.

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.

Typical Lancashire terraced houses line the route into town. One terrace has been taken over by a care home association.

What can I say about Great Harwood?  Years ago, I used to know a lady who lived here, and it seemed a pleasant working-class town. Now, there doesn’t seem to be a shop of any value if you don’t need your nails painted, hair cut, or your vapes replenished. There is not a cafe or convenience store in sight. Maybe I am on the wrong street. Perhaps I am being harsh; if you live there, sorry and tell me otherwise. 

The first line of John Bunyon’s ‘The Pilgrims Progress’  – As I walked through the wilderness of this world,

I leave as I entered. I do love terraced housing.

Past the cemetery, there is a rural stretch of walking on an old railway, The Great Harwood Loop. Dr. Beeching was no fan of branch lines by 1963. I found this interesting read on the history of the line and the surrounding industries. http://www.disused-stations.org.uk/features/north_lancs_loop_line/index.shtml

The Leeds-Liverpool canal on a familiar towpath to Rishton.

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.

The origins of the Parish Church of St. James, Church Kirk, can be traced back as far as the seventh century. The tower of the present church is thought to date from the 13th century. The building is a sorry sight, with services long since abandoned and notices proclaiming a conversion to upmarket accommodation—a fate of many churches. I was hoping the churches would be the highlights of my journey, but this is disappointing.

Life around here hasn’t changed much in the last century for some. I see my first lambs of the year, always a joyous occasion…… and then I am immersed in industrial squalor along the canal.

The only glimmer of hope is a solitary fisherman intent on hooking the resident pike.

The last mile into Accrington, again on an old railway line,  was slightly nervy with lots of hooded characters frequenting the area. One prejudges the situation. I arrive into the centre of town without being mugged.

Tescos seems to dominate the scene, built alongside the railway line. 

St. James Church is nearby but my bus is due in a few minutes from the modern bus station for a journey through unknown surroundings to Blackburn. Another modern bus station, right in the centre of town. I have time to delve into the thriving market hall to buy some samosas for supper. The onward journey home is much more rural.

Accrington bus station.

Blackburn bus station.

Blackburn market.

I’m pleased with my eight solo miles, using only my right hand for support. As a walk, it has plenty of variety, and as a pilgrimage, it gives ample opportunity to reflect upon both our Christian and Industrial heritages. Closed shops, crumbling mills and graffiti reflect the issues confronting our modern society.

DAY ONE OF THE CANAL CLOG.

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JD’s wife drops us off on a frosty Moor Lane up Whalley Nab above the town. I know this is cheating, but it puts us directly onto on the route, saving 400 feet of climbing. And there is our first waymark: for the record, we are not wearing clogs!

A warm-up stroll along the lane brings us to a farm and a conversation with the lady farmer. She bemoans the recent theft of her quad bike, an essential tool on moorland farms. What she would do to the perpetrators is not printable. We can look back across to Longridge Fell and the Bowland Hills behind, but as usual in these parts, Pendle takes pride of place. All the snow from last week has amazingly disappeared. 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.

More awkward climbing brings us to a minor road on a ridge from which a misty Blackburn is seen down to the west and the distant sprawl of modern industrial sites and towns to the south and east in the M65 corridor. Other recognisable features, Darwen Tower and the Winter Hill mast, seem very distant. There are enough green spaces for our route to follow, and we have good views of the Hambleton Hills. Can you spot the canal?

We joined the Leeds-Liverpool Canal, 60 miles from Liverpool and 67 and a bit miles to Leeds, the longest canal in Britain. Starting in 1770, the canal took 50 years to construct, including the 91 locks. In the C19th, it became the main highway for industrial goods across the Pennines. A seat provided a good lunch spot after five miles of walking.

The towpath allowed much more relaxed strolling as we slowly circumvented Rishton, our first major mill town on the route. There was evidence of abandoned mills alongside the canal. Many have been demolished and replaced by modern housing; others are now used for different purposes.  Out of interest, here is an extract from Grace’s Guide to British Industrial History, listing mills once operating in Rishton. Can you imagine the conditions and pollution? And the noise of all those clogs on the flags in the morning.

  • Rishton Victoria Cotton Mill Co, Ltd., Victoria Mill; 50,000 spindles, 208/50° weft, 168/328 twist; 1,100 looms, shirtings, T cloths, domestics, sheetings and heavy bleaching cloth. Pay day 28th of each month, by remittance. William Wilson, manager; R. H. Place, secretary.

As it once was.

There is a cafe on the bridge, but it is closed, so we explore further along the High Street until Cafe 21 appears. This cosy spot is frequented mainly by locals having all-day breakfasts. Two cups of coffee cost £2.50. which may reflect their quality, but we appreciate the sit-down. Off-road cyclists are having problems with their electric bikes.

Back into the countryside for a while before crossing the M65 on the Dunkenhalgh Aqueduct, built in the 80s.

Rude Health. Copyright.

Once over, we leave the canal for now and take an optional bridleway heading towards Church, a district of Accrington. The church is visible from a distance, above the canal at Bridge 112. This is a ‘changeline’ bridge where the towpath moves to the opposite bank, but the horse’s tow rope stays attached to the barge. My camera has gone to sleep along here, so my photos are taken from the Geograph site, with the original credited. A useful source of information – http://www.geograph.org.uk

Peter McDermott. Copyright.

 

Ian Taylor. Copyright.

I now regret that we didn’t follow the canal loop in full.

A family of gorgeous ginger cats inhabit the canal-side farm.

Just over on the other towpath is the halfway point on the canal with a suitable line, milestone and surround. 63 5/8 miles either way.

Mat Fascione. Copyright.

On a nearby bench, a youth tends his feet. Carrying a fifty-pound rucksack and doing twenty-plus miles each day, camping out each night is taking its toll, but he still hopes to reach Leeds in three days, ready for work on Monday.

We clog on slowly. 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.

It was a bit of a slog this morning, but the canal towpath gave easy walking. A rest up in our luxurious room, a hot soak in the bath, a couple of pints and a bar snack. Perfect. The resident ghosts didn’t disturb my sleep.

***

HYNBURN CANAL CLOG.

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A search for likely walking routes in my area, Lancashire, on the Long Distance Walkers Association site, LDWA, produces an abundance of trails, long and short. To untangle that spaghetti, one can search for paths of a certain length within one’s area of interest. The forecast is suitable for a couple of days at the end of this week, so let’s see what comes up. A twenty-mile walk in the Hynburn district, that hilly industrial area between Blackburn and Burnley, The Canal Clog, would make a good two-day walk for this time of year. The reference to clogs links back to the area’s industrial heritage, cotton mills and canals. When I first moved to Longridge, another cotton town, way back in the early seventies, there was a clog maker trading there. The walk is apparently waymarked by a pair of clogs.

I download the route’s GPX file onto my phone and have a look at the description on the website, from which I print off the relevant parts.  https://ldwa.org.uk/ldp/downloads/HyndburnClog.pdf

The Canal Clog cuts the Hynburn Clog into a northern half and a southern circuit, which we will look at another time.

Dividing the trail into two roughly equal days with an overnight stop halfway takes some planning. A well-known hotel, The Dunkenhalgh, is just off-route but an ideal halfway point if we can begin at a suitable place. I pinpoint Whalley as the starting spot. Approximately 10 miles each day.

I enlist the help and good company of JD for this walk. He is willing and enthusiastic as always, and his wife is happy for him to be away for a couple of days.

Here is the route untangled.

And this is the Borough of Hynburn.

The hotel is booked, so let’s go.

THE DEARNE WAY – TWO.

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West Clayton to Barnsley.  Artful dodging.

The Dearne Way website has this information for following the river through Bretton Country Park –

MARCH 2023:It has been reported that the gated entry point to Yorkshire Sculpture Park off Huddersfield Road (SE 295123), at the eastern end of Bretton Country Park, is now locked, with walkers asked to pay the ticket price of 9 pounds to make use of the previously permissive paths through the Park.

The YSP website says:
 “You are free to walk along the public bridleway between West Bretton and High Hoyland. Exiting this path and entering YSP Grounds will require an admissions ticket. Ticket checks take place across the Parkland, including at Cascade Bridge, where the bridleway passes through YSP.”

Our GPX file for this LDP has been changed to make use of only the two Right of Way (the Public Bridleway and the Footpath from Haigh to Litherop Road) through the Park. (Should YSP change their policy, the original route may be reinstated.)

 The OS map clearly still shows the Way staying close to the river on the permissive path to exit at the eastern gate. The situation hasn’t been resolved, and the up-to-date GPX  follows a public footpath through the fields south of the river thus denying the walker a highlight of the valley. Whilst technically correct it seems churlish of YSP to penalise the infrequent Dearne Way walker. 

*

An early breakfast at my luxurious hotel lets me catch the scheduled X1 bus to where I finished yesterday. This should mean I won’t be walking in the dark tonight. The day’s weather looks promising.

I cross the River Dearne by the packhorse bridge, as folks have been doing since the 1400s.

Nondescript lanes head away from the industrialised valley taking me towards the sewage farm, where I drop into conversation with a local man and his dog on subjects far and wide. Most of it is of no relevance to this post, you know how sometimes one strikes up an instant ‘friendship’ with a total stranger. What is of relevance is that he tells me of a scheme to create reedbeds alongside the Dearne for environmental and conservation measures. He proudly takes me to view the workings which stretch for acres. Diggers and other unidentifiable machines are busy preparing the ground. It all looks chaotic and a mess, but let’s return in a year or so when the reeds are established.

The footpath through the area is clearly signed and well-surfaced. This makes my mind up as to my onward strategy. I still hadn’t decided which route to take through Bretton Park, but now that I have passed the works, I am more or less committed to following the original way on the Bridleway into the YSP. I dispense with the GPX version for now. Didn’t you just know I would?

Waymarking hasn’t been consistent and disappears altogether in the neglected fields rising to the park.

The signage on the bridleway at the entrance is rather misleading. I ignore it and march toward the bridge; workmen appear surprised to see me, as the park probably hasn’t opened officially, but say nothing. Work is being carried out on the Cascade Bridge, but I don’t need to cross it.

I follow the course of the Dearne downstream. There are no other visitors, as it has just turned 10 am when the park opens. Another walker with a rucksack appears; he, like me, has entered on a PRoW, following a walk in a book by well-known outdoor author Paul Hannon. We compare experiences; he walked The Dearne Way several years ago using a now out-of-print booklet. 

Strolling past the Caro installations and into the Henry Moore field. The sunshine highlights the curves and colours. Today I’m not rushing about trying to see everything, just absorbing the space’s ambience. Sculptures like these are so much better seen in a large natural arena.

On past the lower bridge, Damien Hurst dominates with his oversized figures. I’m not really a fan of his, but I do appreciate his interpretation of the girl who, for years, represented the Spastics Society ( now Scope) with her collection box ransacked. Society broken.

Do you remember this?

I’ve never been as far as the Weston at the eastern gate of the park. A light and airy building. It’s coffee time, so I visit their café or should I call it a restaurant. It has built up a reputation for fine dining, reflected by the clientele this morning. My small cup of coffee costs over £4, and it doesn’t even come with a token biscuit.

But a fantastic bonus, well worth the price of the coffee, the adjacent gallery is just opening with an exhibition of  Elisabeth Frink’s paintings and statues. The space is so beautiful with a ‘slotted’ ceiling letting in a pale light complementing the natural colours of the walls.

Her work is well represented, with a group of her trademark heads centre stage.  Beautiful animal prints, plaster dogs, weird bird bronzes, and more. Despite being in the middle of a long walk, I spend much time enjoying the exhibits. (on until February) It was only recently that I visited another Frink collection in Swindon. I could fill a full post on this gallery alone; maybe I will when I get home; here is a selection.

In contrast, the next half mile next to a busy dual carriageway and roundabouts to the motorway is mad. I am relieved to reach the fields alongside the Dearne. Easy walking with once again the Autumn colours taking my attention. A seat appears on cue for my lunch break.

As Darton comes closer, the dog walkers appear from everywhere, all have a friendly Yorkshire disposition. For a small place, Darton seems full of cafes, restaurants and takeaways. I settle on the friendly gluten-free cafe, where my coffee costs only £2 this time, and I catch up on all the local gossip.

I still have a fair way to go. 

Suburbian streets dominate for a while until I reach an abandoned railway heading east through former colliery sites. Crossing the Dearne once more, I share fields for some time with lots of ponies. Are they descendants of the pit ponies?

I become disorientated and quarter the compass before finding my way out of the fields and onto what was once the towpath of the Barnsley Canal, built to transport coal from the area.

As I approach the town, the tarmac takes over, with all its detritus.


I wonder why the route doesn’t visit the Fleets, a large lake. So I divert to see a large fishing lake.

Asda superstore has to be circumnavigated; even though I need to pick up food for later I can’t face the scramble in there. I catch a bus up into town. I must say I am impressed with Barnsley town centre. The bus and rail station are integrated, and when you exit you are into the main pedestrianised shopping plaza. A permanent memorial to those who have died with Covid-19 and the unsung workers of the pandemic has been unveiled in Barnsley.

My bed for the night is in the Premier Inn, which happens to be at the highest point of the town. The only entrance I find is through a multistorey carpark. A friendly welcome. My room is on a higher floor with good views over the town.

***

THE DEARNE WAY.

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A 32-mile route following the River Dearne from its source in the Pennines to its confluence with the River Don.

No, I hadn’t heard of it either.

We seem to be in a settled period of weather so my mind starts wandering and thinking of a few days away walking. I prefer a place-to-place walk over a one-centered one. I hesitate to call them long-distance walks as I have recently chosen a medium distance of 50 miles or so, giving me an average of about 10 miles per day. Cicerone Press is a good source of likely routes with new titles coming out every month; it’s worth subscribing to their newsletters.

This month, I noticed a new guide to a Pilgrim Route in Fife from Edinburgh to St. Andrews. It seemed to fit the bill perfectly. A little research showed no transport or accommodation problems. My medical appointments are hopefully now dwindling and I was free until past the middle of the month. I started to book it when a nagging doubt came into my brain. Something is happening on the 12th, of course, a standing arrangement with a friend, which I was looking forward to and wouldn’t want to change. I wonder why I didn’t write it on the calendar in the first place. Phew. (That day went well and Sir Hugh has written it up, I have reblogged it with his permission)

 My window of opportunity has now narrowed, but undaunted, I look for a possible shorter alternative. Fife can wait till later. The website of the LDWA has a search facility. I type in Yorkshire 25 – 35 miles. Hey, presto, The Duerne Way appears. There are links to downloadable maps, directions and background information, all sounding interesting. It is marked on OS mapping and I believe it has been waymarked at some stage, depicting a miner’s lamp. Start thinking coal, mills, canals, and rail.

Booking.com comes into action for the first night, but I must revert to Premier Inns for the next two. Seth is booked into his favourite cattery and a train ticket purchased to Huddersfield. Getting to the start of the walk from Huddersfield may be challenging, but I’ve planned a short afternoon for that day.

Here is where I’m heading. Time to get the flat cap out.

GLASSES IN GLASSON.

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                                                                    Glasson across the mud flats.

I manage to make my routine cycle ride to Glasson a little different this time.

*

I find myself driving into Lancaster on a hot afternoon. Thankfully it’s a Sunday. I normally avoid Lancaster City’s roads wherever possible, they are a nightmare of one way streets and I’m always in the wrong lane at the next junction.  I’ve come from Halton on the north side of the Lune and I need to get to Glasson Dock on the south side of the Lune. Any mistake in Lancaster will send me all the way around again, possibly to be repeated ad nauseam. My worst nightmare.  There are too many choices and everyone else knows where they are going. Today I can’t read the signs clearly, there is a reason for this that will become obvious shortly.

I don’t have time to admire the magnificent city centre Victorian architecture as I queue at traffic lights. A bit of lane drifting and I think I’m on the right way near the hospital, but no I’m heading for Aldcliffe which I had cycled through earlier today. At least I’m south of the Lune. I stop to look at my map, I don’t have satnav, and yes a left turn will take me to the A588, the main road to Glasson.

*

The day had started with a drive up the motorway to park up as usual at Halton ‘station’. It was very busy and I just about squeezed in on a verge. I unloaded my bike and realised I had forgotten my helmet. Even though I was going to be off road all day I felt very vulnerable with just a peaked cap. My worst cycling accident happened on Blackpool Prom when a collision with another cyclist sent me head first into the tram lines. Thankfully I was wearing a helmet that day. Hence my apprehension now. P1060017

Not having been on my bike since February, surely not that long – it has been very wet, I was looking for a straightforward ride. Well it was, I arrived in Glasson on a high from all the fragrant May blossom lining the route. I had cast a clout now that May was out and I was glad of it as the temperature soared. The tide was well out exposing acres of mudflats. I smiled cycling down that slight dip in the old rail track at how on a couple of occasions I’ve nearly come to grief in the floods that can cover the way, all was bone dry today. The motorcyclists were out in full force.P1060020P1060027P1060023

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My usual haunt, the village shop across the harbour had undergone a change, a wider door straight into the bakery section. I usually order one of their cheese and onion slices. Is this the only reason I cycle to Glasson? But what had happened to their really quite good coffee machine? It had gone but you could get one from the Smoke House shop next door. Have they missed a trick there?   I was going to call in there anyhow for some smoked mackerel for Sir Hugh whom I hoped to visit later in the day. I got my coffee and sat outside the shop enjoying my slice whilst chatting to a fellow cyclist who had come down from Hest Bank. It was a great day to be out. Before leaving I returned to buy the mackerel and enjoy a bit of banter with the lady shop assistant who was struggling to unpack crisp packets for an instore display. For a full selection of their products – The Port of Lancaster Smokehouse

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Refuelled I set off back with renewed energy. Whizzing along the old railway line past Ashton Hall golf course and taking the side route to Aldcliffe to join the canal, which stays surprisingly rural, for a last burst through Lancaster to the Lune Aqueduct. It was only then I became aware that I wasn’t wearing my glasses, I hardly need them hence the delay in realisation. Was i still under the influence of the May blossom? A furtive search in my handlebar bag failed to find them. You know more or less straight away where you have probably left them. In the shop where you were balancing mackerels, glasses, phone and credit card. P1060060P1060062P1060067

So once back at the car I set off to navigate to Glasson.

My glasses had been handed in at the shop, the lady assistant was still battling with the crisps. So all was fine. Well almost, in my fluster about the glasses I’d forgotten I was nearly out of fuel – where is the nearest garage?

Sir Hugh never received his mackerel and in any case he was taking advantage of the good weather and wandering in the Eden Valley once more. I hope he has enjoyed a more relaxing day than mine. I await his report at conradwalks.

FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS.

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20231213_123002
I have been visiting Morecambe on my ‘off road’ cycle rides for some time now, there is a good network of cycle paths in the Lancaster area. And that is where I am, the only choice – clockwise or anticlockwise? A tossed coin determines my day, simple enough.
Lethargy sets in from the word go – I’ve not been on my bike since that unfortunate episode back at the end of August. It took two months to get my car repaired. My bike has sat in the garage for three months, I gave the front wheel some more air but think the back is OK. I capitulate early on and walk up the ramp to the canal aqueduct. Even on the flat I am struggling to keep up a decent pace and I am very wary of the narrower sections of the towpath under bridges. The water looks very cold. I realise my back wheel is taking the bumps badly, yes it is underinflated. I press on even though I know I should maybe give it some assistance with the hand pump. I’m too lazy to bother. Anyhow the sun is shining and there are few people about, let’s just get on with it. Where have all the ducks gone?
Soon I am on the famous promenade stretching ahead of me for four or five miles. The tide is in and the water lapping up to the sea defences. With the sun shining the cluster of boats, usually seen floundering in the mud, give the impression of a Mediterranean bay. 20231213_121415

As I near the Midland I can here a bell chiming, I instantly know where it is coming from – the Time and Tide Bell on the Stone Jetty. One of several around the coast of Britain. I have documented this bell before and photographed it at different states of the tide, but this is the first time I have heard its ghostly sounds. Makes me think of shipwrecks and sea sirens from the deep. I get up close and feel the vibrations, I try a video just for the sound but of course the wind noise always intrudes. That is why on the telly the reporters have those big fuzzy mikes dangled in front of them.

A couple of ladies walk by. “It must be 12 o’clock the bell is chiming”  “No I think you will find it keeps on chiming” says the other.
I must make the effort one day and dine in the Art Nouveau Rotunda of the Midland. Today I just cycle by and eat a banana on a promenade bench. The sea is perfectly calm.

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I’m always a little wary of a short section of the cycle path past the station and down a dingy alley. I have had a near miss assault there in the past by dodgy characters. Today it is blocked by council workers clearing the ditches and they tell me there is no way through. They agree about the potential danger and explain there are no cameras on that section, a situation easily solved with little cash funding. Anyhow I follow their suggested diversion, which with the aid of my phone’s maps, brings me back onto the cycleway past their work and more importantly past the dodgy section. Thanks for that, I will keep using it in future.
My progress becomes laboured as I pedal the old railway back into Lancaster, over the rattly Millennium Bridge and on alongside the Lune to Halton. 20231213_132515

 My arrival at the car park coincides with the Lancaster University’s rowing club’s Christmas festivities. I hope they all survived their river escapades, I am sure health and safety will keep an eye on the students more than in my day.

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I should have pumped my tyre up way back when. Stubbornness or laziness? More likely stupidity. I was knackered at the end – I thought the bell was tolling for me.

ALL QUIET ON THE MORECAMBE FRONT.

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It’s taken two months for my car to be repaired after my stupid reversing accident on August Bank Holiday, https://bowlandclimber.com/2023/08/30/not-my-finest-hour The main problem was not being able to import the parts from the EU, I wonder why. (As an aside, today in the supermarkets there are no tomatoes as we switch from home produced to imported.) My unfortunate accident occurred after I had been cycling along the excellent cycleways out of Lancaster, and not having my estate car the last couple of months has prevented me getting to these ‘off-road’ venues. Cycling around the lanes of Bowland is scary with fast moving traffic and agricultural juggernauts. I nearly got ploughed into by an overtaking driver on the lane where I live a few weeks ago. Hence, I decided to wait until I could get back using my car to take me to safer and flatter cycleways.

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Today was the day. I loaded my bike into the estate and set off to Lancaster, more particularly Halton old station by the Lune. First time out in the repaired car, it was like driving a brand-new car out of the showroom, you know that anxious feeling.  I’m not having much luck with traffic these days. On Saturday my trip out to the Trough of Bowland was blocked by an accident just  before Dunsop Bridge, fortunately I knew the roads from Whitewell to Cow Arc that then had me over the lovely scenic route to Newton that didn’t take me much longer. Today the A6 going North was a nightmare with traffic avoiding the congested M6. But no matter I was parked up at Halton before the  afternoon turned to dusk. How quickly it does so now, it gets worse when the clocks change at the end of the month – that’s the light not the roads (hopefully).

I took it easy, not having been on the bike for a while. The old railway line (Morecambe to Wennington) took me into Lancaster and over the Millennium Bridge to pedal into Morecambe. All very familiar. 

As one arrives at the sea front you have to stop and gaze across Morecambe Bay to the disant Lakeland hills. The stone pier was high and dry today at low tide. Photo stop. And then alongside the Midland Hotel, Art Decor or Streamline Moderne, where people were gathering for lunch in the panoramic dining room. I keep meaning to go in for a no doubt expensive coffee – but I’m usually dressed like a canary when I’m passing on my bike. A dedicated visit is the only way.

The promenade was quieter than usual despite half-term. I don’t understand ice creams on a cold day, fish and chips a far better option taken by many. The site for the Eden Project is fenced off but no sign of any progress, let’s hope they get the finances to go ahead. It looks rather small to me. There was nothing to stop my trip along the coast, I’ve done it so many times. I was soon on the canal towpath and enjoying my sandwich on my favourite bench, the one decorated with a canal motif. The seat was dedicated to someone who had died aged 70, that seems young to me these days.

The ride along the towpath is easy, and I was soon back at the magnificent aqueduct over the Lune. P1000278P1000280

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I had an option to visit friends but in view of my last episode and not wanting to push my luck I just headed to the motorway and drove home. The car is safely parked in my drive, not a scratch on it. A quiet day all told.

HALF A DECADE OF NOSTALGIA.

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Yes, when I look back to 50 years ago I remember well the walks we took along the Lancaster canal with our two young sons. The youngest on my back and the other in a buggy pushed by my wife. Happy days. Somewhere I may even have photographic evidence.

I wait in this morning for the recovery company to arrive and take away my estate car to a garage, I know not where or even care, for remedial restoration.

Later looking for somewhere flat and easy to walk in this heat I recall those far off days and decide to revisit the canal in the Barton area, west of the A6 and combine it with a little farther exploration. Parking on the narrow roads, now much busier with traffic, doesn’t come easy.

I eventually find a safe place near Moons Bridge Marina. I’m soon on the towpath which I remember as being very boggy a few winters’ ago. Today was all plain sailing, though that’s the last thing that some of the dilapidated barges moored alongside will be doing. DSC00353DSC00300

Leaving the canal at bridge 35 I take the lane leading to Bell Fold, an organic farm advertising free-range eggs, local honey and damsons. There didn’t seem to be an obvious shop, perhaps they were away for the day. As is common around farmyards there is an interesting collection of ancient and modern. Their collection of old tyres could grace The Tate. The ongoing lane must be one of the worst, I realise the muck I’m disappearing into is of animal origin rather than mud. I would imagine in winter it would be unpassable – very organic. Much, much worse than my photo portrays.  DSC00356

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I’m looking for footpaths alongside Barton Beck. The bright yellow markers made it easy to follow even though the ground showed little footfall. As everywhere Himalayan Balsam is taking over, but I do like the aroma, especially on a hot day like today. The water is a little sluggish, but I spot shoals of ?minnows. DSC00315DSC00318DSC00320

I leave the field via an ornate gate onto a lane alongside the extensive grounds of Hollowforth Hall, I always admired this property without knowing anything of its history. (It is in fact grade II listed, mainly mid C19th but based on a much older farm building) There were always noisy peacocks strutting around. Over the intervening 50 years since my early visits most of the surrounding barns have been upgraded into country residences. DSC00324DSC00321DSC00326

I didn’t know whether I could use the ongoing unclassified lane leading to Park Head, but there aren’t any ‘No Access’ signs, so I walk on to reach the canal bridge where I drop down onto the towpath for the peaceful return leg. DSC00328DSC00329DSC00330

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The canal has a healthy growth of a small yellow flowering water lily. Dragon flies were flitting around, but I never seem to catch them stationary for a picture, have a look at this blog for how to capture wildlife.

Along this stretch of canal one has a three arched aqueduct over Barton Brook as it winds through this rural Lancashire. I go down to explore and judging from the flood debris not a place to be after heavy rain. Farther on is an old swing bridge connecting farm tracks across the canal and then the extensive Moons Bridge Marina where I started.

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DSC00364DSC00360All pure nostalgia and a pleasant way to spend a lazy summer afternoon – reassuringly not much has changed in this rural environment.

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NOT MY FINEST HOUR.

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August Bank Holiday Monday.

For a change I park at the Crook of Lune, famous for its Turner painting. looking up to Hornby Castle and Ingleborough. That view is still there today. I rely on my phone’s camera rather than any artistic ability. 20230828_15165220230828_151617

And then I’m off cycling the old railway line to Halton. On the spur of the moment I decide to climb up to the Lancaster Canal to see me through the city. Once out the other side into suburbs I leave the canal before its towpath deteriorates and follow new-found narrow lanes to Aldcliffe and then descend back down to the rail track taking me into Glasson. 20230828_12460120230828_125402

It’s August Bank Holiday, but I’ve hardly seen a soul. Until now, the place is humming with motorcyclists and tourists around the harbour café. I make my way over to the other side of the dock to my favourite shop – coffee and cake, sat in the sunshine chatting to two ladies who have arrived on horseback. The sea lock gates still seem to be out of operation leaving the harbour unusually empty at low tide. The Port of Lancashire Smoke House still haven’t moved into their new premises. Things go at a slow pace in out of the way Glasson. 20230828_13591920230828_135134

On the way in I had noticed a summer fête at the little canal side Christ Church. I remember getting some delicious homemade marmalade here a year or so ago. I make it my business to call in on the way back. Wheeling my bike between the stalls I find the jam table. I come away with two jars of thick Seville marmalade, made by Beryl as before the vicar tells me.

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The railways and cycle way take me all the way back to the Crook of Lune. They are packing up at Halton, it has been a busy day on the Lune and the cycleways. 20230828_152941

Time to visit my friends in nearby Over Kellet. John, an old climbing mate, has recently been in hospital with a bad heart. I go bearing marmalade. Tea and chat and it is getting late. Prewarned I drive down to the motorway bridge and see that the road is jammed solid going south. Time to find a quieter way home through the hills. Unfortunately my quick three point turnaround had me carelessly backing into a wall. A loud crash as the rear windscreen fell into the boot. Oh dear! I had badly dented the tailgate. I drive home in a more sombre mode and this morning spend an hour on the phone to my insurance company answering tedious questions and facing an expensive repair.

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CaptureGlasson. (2)

THE GUILDED WHEEL.

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My camera went into ‘frozen mode’ after a short time on my latest cycle around Preston’s Guild Wheel. Gone for now are the pictures of the Ribble in flood mode, the harmful Giant Hog Weeds and the cautionary notice to dismount on the steep descent to Brockholes. I had no reason to ignore the latter, I’ve been going from one injury to another in the last month, so caution was uppermost. I had parked in the Crematorium grounds after all.

Ospreys have been regular visitors to the nature reserve recently, but obviously not today. They do have a problem with Himalayan Balsam though. It was surprisingly quiet considering the good weather and school holidays. They must be all at Blackpool, not the ospreys just the crowds.

The rural ride from the reserve along the Ribble Flood Plain into town is unfortunately virtually the last of the green fields on the wheel, housing has taken over elsewhere  in the last few years.

My phone camera comes into action on the tree lined boulevard into Avenham Park. Miller Park is looking immaculate, although the former, now empty, Park Hotel overlooking the scene has run into planning and financial problems as have many civic schemes in these cash strapped days. 20230815_12370220230815_124108

Plenty of cash is being spent on flood defences along Broadgate. I manage to squeeze through wheeling my bike on the numerous diversions/obstructions which I should have or could have taken, I persist with the directissimo. It is all green paint for updated and complicated cycleways at the bottom of Fishergate Hill, I survive into Docklands. No steam trains today. And no more photos.

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After the car showrooms the newly opened Western Distributor road linking the M55 with the western edge of Preston seems to be working fine, but at the end of the day is only there to link up with all the new housing developments. The traffic just keeps multiplying without any structured environmental planning. Planting a few trees alonside the new road fools nobody. I have never seen a boat on the Ribble Link – more money misplaced?  At least it is more carbon friendly if that makes any difference.

One now enters Lea, Cottam, Fulwood and Broughton or wherever. It is all housing, housing with a regulation 5 m square front garden often enclosed in the most unfriendly hedgehog fencings. At least the Guild Wheel has been preserved as a corridor to the other end.

I stop for a snack and contemplation opposite the war memorial on Garstang Road  and all I can hear are builders bulldozers in the land behind me. Nothing is sacred.

I’m flagging now through those green corridors, surprisingly lots of ups and downs. 21 miles is far enough, but I have guilded the wheel, even though it is becoming a little tarnished.

TRIED AND TESTED ONCE AGAIN.

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Following on from my recent cycle outing I feel empowered and keen to get out again. Empowered with a small p but powered nonetheless. I find myself back at the Halton Station parking by the Lune. But this time there is the bonus of the tea van lady, I have missed her sweet smile and eastern European accent. It transpires she only comes at weekends now – I celebrate with a coffee. Her prices have increase by 50% but who cares, this is better than any Costa outlet. (only £1.50 for good coffee here)

The chap next to me is ordering a bacon bap with his coffee having completed a morning cycle ride from Penrith, that must be 50 miles or so. He is of similar vintage to me, and we get into conversation of the cycling variety. His steed is a £7,000 German electric bike, no wonder he is here in quick time. Mine is a no frills, strong as an ox, been everywhere Dawes ‘Wild Cat’ from the 1980s. I don’t think he was impressed.

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The talk somehow drifts to past climbing in the Lakes. He knows Paul Ross, a celebrated Lakes climber, again of a certain vintage, who has recently, since his return from living in the States taken up environmental matters in our National Park. Only this morning I was reading on his Facebook page of the considerable objections to Zip Wires proposed across the old road alongside Thirlmere, which had even  been shamefacedly supported by the head of the Lake District National Park Authority! That whiffs of corruption. Thankfully the planners threw it out.  But we need the likes of Paul Ross to keep abreast of Disneyfication of the Lakes.

By now it was raining, so time for another coffee and time to let the Marathon athletes pass on the track. I became caught up in a similar race last year and found cycling through the racing runners trying. I have time to let them go by today.

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Bidding farewell to my cycling friend I find I’m faster than his batteries, I’m crossing the Millennium Bridge as he heads for the station and home. Being a little wary of a dodgy stretch into Morecambe since I was almost assaulted earlier in the year (a Cassius Clay/Muhammad Ali duck and dive saved me that day) I’m happy today to see there are lots of people out and about, so I feel somehow safer.

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Millennium Bridge.  

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St. George’s Quay.

I make it on to the seafront, the tide is well out. For maybe half a mile I have to navigate around dogs on long leads and teenagers, head down, plugged into their phones. Modern times. Once past Eric’s statue the holiday crowds thin out, and I  can relax and admire that famed Morecambe Bay panorama. I realise I have not been into Happy Mount Park or The Winter Gardens on my visits through here. The latter is only open on Saturdays and Sundays, so I missed an opportunity today.

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Children’s play on the site of the up-and-coming Eden Project.

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The yacht club lookout.

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My way back along the familiar canal towpath seems effortless, and I’m soon back onto the Lune Aqueduct where I finished the other day from the opposite direction.P1020725

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That’s two of my ‘tried and tested’ cycle routes covered, look out for the next two – Blackpool Promenade and Preston Guild Wheel.

Later, in Arnside, tea and cakes were waiting for me at Chez Hugh’s.

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CaptureMorecambe.