Tag Archives: Long Distance Walks

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. A LOST MOORLAND CROSS.

Day 5. Haslingden to Hawkshaw.

It is too complicated to relate the bus journeys involved in getting to the start and returning from the end of this section. I am now following the route described by the Holcombe Moor Heritage Group. The moors rise above the urban sprawl of Bolton, Balckburn, Bury and Burnley.

Returning to Haslingden’s St James Church, I seek out the Anglo-Saxon double cross base, which I overlooked when here before. It is next to the tower. It’s strange to have two crosses so close together. Was it a plague stone? I’m in luck; the church is open for a service at 10 am so that I can look inside. Built to house a large congregation, its galleries once had tiered pews.

From up here, the valley still looks Victorian, apart from the dual carriageway.

From a different time, cribbed from ms6282 somewhere.

Some dingy sets lead down to the valley where the A56 thunders through. Litter is a big problem everywhere – we are becoming a throwaway society, not in the admittedly problem of mass consumerism, but in the dumping in the street or layby of trash. I could easily get grumpy in this post,

Eventually, I find a way under the highway into an industrial complex. Where once there were ‘dark Satanic mills’, there are modern brick and metallic units, possibly Satanic. Large car parks suggest a large workforce. Outside one office was a solitary cycle, cable locked. Our obesity rates have doubled in the last 20 years but nobody wants to ditch the car for a few mile’s journey. I told you I am getting grumpy.

Across Grane Road, I pick up Cycleway 6 on the old Accrington-Bury train line. I last used it out of Accrington. Here, the surface has been relaid with a friendly walking surface. It proves popular with dog and baby walkers escaping the urban sprawl. It is accompanied by the culverted River Ogden, once the water source for the valley’s industries.

Ahead is the Helmshore Textile Museum, which is unfortunately not open today. Its chimney was sited high on the valley sides.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Helmshore_Mills_Textile_Museum

The distinctive Musbury Heights is always in the background.

Looking at the old maps, one notices, as well as all the mills, there are fields set aside for tenter frames to stretch the wet cloth.

Onwards by the river until the bridge at Hollin Bank, the renamed Cotton House Inn.

A stroll up Sunny Bank, where once there had been mills, which is now an upmarket housing estate.

After an hour or so of walking, I take an iron gate into a steep field and out again..

I’m now onto the steep Stake Lane and swap the tarmac for cobbles.

At the fell gate is Robin Hood’s Well. Thought to have been a welcome place, after the desolate moors, for pilgrims to rest and take a drink on their way to Whalley Abbey.

All the while, if looking back, there are tremendous views of the Rossendale Valley. Too good for my phone to capture.

Now I’m on the moor proper, and what a day. Blue sky, bitter cold, but no wind. Unfortunately, I’m looking straight into the low sun, so photography is difficult, compounded by my not being able to operate my camera easily one-handed, so I’m relying on my cheap phone. The way borders on a MOD firing range, but there are no red flags flying.

It doesn’t take long to reach the cairn and memorial stone to Ellen Strange, murdered here in 1761. It was thought that her husband, John Broadley, killed her on Holcombe Moor. He was arrested and sent for trial; however, he was later acquitted due to lack of evidence. The cairn has been there for years, but the memorial stone is a recent addition in the 70s by a local historian and theatre director, Bob Frith. It depicts a slight falling figure and the letters of E S, which can just be made out today against the low light.

Ellen was buried in Holcombe Churchyard. Over the years, various folk laws have given different versions of her death, which are examined here – https://markwrite.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2018/10/ellen-strange-booklet.pdf

It has become a place for an annual pilgrimage to remember victims of domestic violence still prevalent today.

There are yellow-topped marker posts leading across the moor on the edge of the firing zone. Today, the going is firm, with the surface partially frozen.

Pilgrims Cross is an iconic monument sitting high up on Holcombe Moor. The four sides tell the story and history of the cross, its significance and its destruction. The ancient Pilgrims Cross was standing in A.D. 1176, and probably much earlier than that. Although nothing is known about the removal of the ancient cross, the socket was destroyed by unknown vandals in 1901, and by 1902 the present stone was put in place.

From Lancashire Past blog.

Crosses such as these would have been invaluable in guiding medieval travellers in knowing how far they had travelled and navigating in poor weather, especially crucial on moorland such as here. This area would have been forested until medieval times.

There’s an error in the first inscription above, which names Whalley Abbey. This was not founded until 1296, which was after the cross was in position. However, near Whalley is its rival, Sawley Abbey, which had been in existence since 1149.

The last face, which is in poor light, reads –

IN A.D. 1176 AND IN A.D. 1225, THE PILGRIMS CROSS IS NAMED IN CHARTERS OF GIFTS OF LAND IN HOLCOMBE FOREST. IN A.D. 1662, KING CHARLES II GAVE THIS MANOR TO GENERAL MONK, DUKE OF ALBERMARLE, THROUGH WHOM IT HAS DESCENDED TO THE PRESENT LORD OF THE MANOR.

In the hazy distance can be seen Peel Tower, which I visited from the Ramsbottom side in November 2022. The way is mainly stone-flagged. But today, I decide on another summit, Bull Hill, 418m. I don’t think I have ever ascended it before, but today, I’m here; the way is clear, and there are no red flags flying. A path leads directly to the trig point which is out of view for most of the way. Well, what did you expect, it’s in the middle of nowhere.

Rather than backtrack, I took a beeline to intersect the ongoing route at Red Brook. This gives some dramatic scenery. Peel Tower over to the east, with the steep-sided Red Brook valley dropping away, like a Lancastrian High Cup Nick. My path kept high on the west flank, all new scenery to be enjoyed. The low light was becoming worse, unfortunately.

At the end of the fell, the path drops down to the ruins of Lark Hill. This C17th farm survived until the coming of the firing range at the start of the First World War. Many farms were demolished within the range.

Somebody has in the past tried to salvage some of the roof stones. but hasn’t succeeded.

By now, my phone is running out of battery, but it is easy to follow Hawkshaw Lane down to the main road, where I just miss my bus by about five minutes. Fortunately, the Red Lion is nearby to rest with a pint until hopefully the next bus in an hour.

A fine stretch of Pilgrimage with those Saxon crosses; I hope you have enjoyed it.

***

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. MILLS, RAILS AND COBBLES.

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Day 4. Accrington – Haslingden.

I completed this short walk a week or so ago but didn’t get a chance to record it before being carted off to the hospital. I have left it till now to maintain the sequence of my ‘pilgrimage’ to Manchester or even Lichfield.

Leaving Accrington bus station, I end up in the Town Square area: municipal buildings, banks and churches from the Victorian era. Faded grandeur comes to mind.

I search for St James’ Church, founded on this site in 1546. The present building dates back to 1763 and is showing its age, but services are still taking place. Inside are memorials to the Peel family and 11th Battalion East Lancashire Regiment, better known as the Accrington Pals.

Nearby Cannon Street Baptist Church has been converted into luxury apartments. And looks very smart. The centre of Accrington would be worth further exploration.

I strike out past the Tesco store, past the skate park and pick up a Cycleway 6 sign. Hynburn Greenway.

Hereabouts is the Ashton Frost Cog Wheel from the steam engine of Primrose Mill in nearby Church. The mill was built in 1884 and was capable of driving 400 Lancashire Looms. Demolished in the 80s. Scaitcliffe Mill was built in the 1850s as a cotton mill and later became Platt Brothers manufacturing looms. All that was left was the canteen, now the offices of Hynburn Borough Council.

Across the way is the building of Globe Mill, a rival works manufacturing machinery for the Lancashire textile industry, 1853 – 1993, at its height employing 6000 people. Now a conference centre.

We are in the centre of Lancashire’s Industrial Revolution here. At one time, wall-to-wall mills and even a coalmine, right under the centre of Accy.

The cycleway goes alongside Platts Lodge between tall red metal columns. I now find these were the supports for a railway bridge. The lodge was built before 1848 when the Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway arrived from Bury, hence the surviving bridge columns over the water. The lodge served several industries in the vicinity but is now a nature reserve, even if it is a little neglected. Mill buildings across the way are a further reminder of the industrial past.

Looking back at town centre flats.

Before leaving the urban environment, another mill site, Victoria Mill, is passed through, the obvious weaving sheds displaying their roof lights.

This is what the whole area looked like on a 1900 map.

National Library of Scotland.

Now, on the Hynburn Greenway, the old rail line stretches slowly up a 1 in 40 incline from Accrington towards Baxenden—a good example of a reclaimed cycle/footpath. One soon forgets the busy town.

Down to the right is the Priestly Clough; the woodland here is ancient, from at least AD1600. At Shoe Mill Bridge, there used to be a five-arched bridge carrying the railway over the stream and a very tall mill chimney.

At Baxenden, the railway walk runs out, and a diversion through more old cotton mills, now used as a scrap yard, takes one across the road almost next to the famous Holland’s Pies factory.

Now, high on Back Lane, I have better views of the open countryside and distant moors. Was this the original byway before the Turnpike Road and industries arrived in the valley bottom? A stone trough gives some antiquity. There is Holland’s Pies in the valley.

As I drop into Rising Bridge, there are terraced houses heading steeply down to the main road where there had been cotton mills. Note the cobbled streets; to be accurate, these are ‘setts’. Rectangular and often made from hard-wearing granite. Cobbles were rounded and taken from rivers.

Up a side street, I find a bench for lunch before going under the A56. A nearby carved wooden ‘Once upon a time’ chair is dedicated to a baby’s death.

Sometimes, it’s the smallest stories that are most beautiful, the smallest footprints that make the biggest impact and the tiniest of hearts that create an eternity of love.

Now, back on a small lane. The traffic on that roundabout looks horrendous; this is when you are glad to be on foot.

I fall into step with a local walker; he is interested in my route. If I had known, he said, I could have used a slightly higher route, which would have taken me past The Halo Panopticon statue.

The road climbs steadily out of Rising Bridge with isolated rows of cottages at its side. When looking at the old maps, you realise there had once been collieries and mills all around, which explains their existence. Some may have been handloomers. Everything is on a slant along here. The road is named The King’s Highway on those maps.

Stone setts are just below the surface.

I come across The Griffin Inn, the headquarters for Rossendale Brewery; I can’t go past without sampling their pale ale, appropriately named Halo. That’s Haslingden Moor across the way.

A distinctive feature on the hillside as one drives down the A56 past Haslingden is the squat church of St. James. This is to be my final destination for today. Little ginnels lead me into the churchyard. The church is closed. Not a place to be on a misty night, the abandoned gravestones and memorials give it a ghostly atmosphere.

Here is an extract from the church’s history:-

Our building is, reputedly, the highest church above sea level in the country. The first recorded mention of Haslingden Church was in 1284 when it was one of the seven chapels in the Parish of Whalley….in 1296, the Tithes value of the Glebe was six pounds per year, and in 1535, the value of the living was put down in the King’s Book as seventeen pounds, eight shillings and threepence.

Between 1550 and 1574, the church was rebuilt in the perpendicular or Tudor style.

Disaster struck after a long period of burying within the church, so the building became unstable and eventually fell. The church remained a ruin until the middle of 1773 when money was collected and rebuilding began. During the reconstruction, marriages, baptisms, and burials were solemnised in the old tower, which remained standing.

The third church on the site was completed in 1780 at a cost of one thousand, four hundred and fifty pounds and in 1827, the Tudor tower was demolished, costing seven pounds, and the present one erected at a cost of nine hundred pounds and the gallery was added in 1878.

The present bells were cast in 1830, and the clock was purchased through a public subscription in 1831.

The oldest gravestone is dated 1629. They give a fascinating history; life was perilous back then.

A sombre end to the day.

Haslingden in the late 1800’s – look at all those mills.

I catch a bus back to Accrington and look forward to my next section, which strikes out across the open moors away from the industrial past.

***

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.

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. ONWARDS TO WHALLEY.

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Day 2. Ribchester to Whalley.

I have time to look around Ribchester before setting off on my walk this morning. I spoke about its mill heritage last time, and today, I alight from the bus next to Bee Mill and its repurposed sheds.

Before the cotton mills arrived, in common with many areas of East Lancashire, the village was a centre for handloom weaving. The cottages of Church Street opposite the White Bull are a row of Weavers’ cottages noteworthy for their unusual configuration of windows. Built for the handloom weavers, they have three levels with a single window at the uppermost. Although it is commonly believed that the window in the top level is to illuminate the looms, this may not be the case as the weaving would probably have been carried out in the lowest part of the house because of the size of the loom and the need for damp conditions to keep the cotton flexible.

I pass both the pubs in the centre. I even have time for a quick look at the Roman Baths. It’s time to get moving. I follow the road eastwards out of the village, as taken by the Ribble Way. The pavement is narrow, and the road is busy, which is unpleasant. A true Pilgrim would follow the lane to visit the Norman church at Stydd with its medieval cross base. https://lancashirepast.com/2014/07/05/the-knights-hospitallers-stydd-church-near-ribchester/

I have been that way many times, and I know the field paths onward to Ribchester Bridge are particularly muddy. This area was flooded two weeks ago, so I continue along the road to the bridge. A recent crash has damaged the parapet, dislodging stones into the Ribble; a crane is being set up to try and recover them. The bridge was built in 1789.

I chose to walk the minor road to Salesbury Hall and then by the river to Dinkley Bridge. An alternative would be to keep on the north bank, but that path can be quite awkward. The two make a popular circuit from Hurst Green. I march past the grand gates of Lancashire Show Ground…

… and onto Salesbury Hall. A chapel existed on this site from medieval times, and slowly, a hall and estate developed around it. The original Old Hall was pulled down in 1883, and a large mansion was built on its site. Whenever I passed, it always reminded me of a French Chateau.

This hall was recently demolished, and a large modern mansion was built in 2005. Planning permission was also granted to convert the neighbouring farm complex into a rural office park—money talks.

I leave the road to enter Marle Woods. I pull out the trekking poles to negotiate the slippery terrain between tree roots. Here is Sale Wheel, the origin for Salesbury. Today, the Ribble is calm as it pours through the narrow rocky divide and spreads out in the ‘wheel’ before trundling on to Ribchester.

The footpath is slowly eroding away, a combination of footfall and floods.

The walk through the fields alongside the Ribble is a delight. More people are met, many doing the circuit I mentioned. We are all in a good mood with the winter sunshine. The new bridge is shining bright.

I catch a glance of the old Dinckley Hall before climbing up the road away from the river.

Branching off to Aspinalls. I find a seat for a break and a snack. The owners come along. It was their Mother’s seat, but I am welcome to use it. From here, I look across to Whalley Nab, with its pylon. The route goes up there next time.

Fields lead on before a drop to Dinckley Brook and ahead a holiday park. Static caravans are unexpected here in the Ribble Valley.

The path comes out at the Black Bull pub. More importantly, it is next to old St Leonard’s Church. I’ve been here many times; you can get the key to the church from the pub. Today, I look around the outside for evidence that it was built in 1557 using material from the dissolution of Whalley Abbey.

Beyond the church’s graveyard is another burial site – a large field dedicated to the lives lost in the adjacent Brockhall Hospital, a large Mental Institution in the old-fashioned sense. One of the largest mental institutions in Europe, housing 3,500 patients in 42 acres of grounds. A poignant memorial to the mainly unmarked graves of hundreds of residents. A Gerald Hitman bought the Brockholes site after the hospital closed and developed it as a gated housing estate. He and his son are buried there. For a more detailed reading on the hospital and its cemetery https://www.calderstones-cemetery.co.uk/brockhall-hospital-cemetery/

I do a little road walking, with Pendle ahead as usual, before fields across to Lower Elker where dogs come rushing at me. Fortunately, the lady farmer calls them off and has a pleasant chat with me about all things sheep.

The best and safest way to cross the busy A59 is by the bridge leading to Billington.

Whalley comes into view with the railway viaduct centrefold.

The public Right of Way towards the viaduct is blocked by a construction site with no explanation. They seem to be building everywhere in Whalley.

I am dwarfed by the railway viaduct – 600 yards long, 70 feet tall, 48 arches and over 6 million bricks, red and blue. There is a metal footbridge over the River Calder alongside the viaduct, Old Sol’s Bridge, originally serving a cotton mill on the south side of the river. It was built in 1993 to replace one built in 1909 and is named after Solomon Longworth, owner of Walmsley Mill, who donated the original bridge. Nearby is Longworth Street, formerly Factory Street, built for the workers at the mill.

Once across, I head under the viaduct and enter the village through the original C13th gateway to Whalley Abbey.

The gardens are open, so I go through the next, C19th, gateway to look around.

The pay booth is closed, but a sign says to scan the QR code to pay; I cannot do that, so I walk about for free, which is what I expect the other visitors are doing.

The Abbey was a large Cistercian abbey founded in 1296 and dissolved in 1536 when it was largely demolished. Subsequently, a country house was built on the site for the Assheton family. This, after many modifications over the years remains as a retreat and chapel.

Most of the ruins are just outlines of the previous monastic buildings. Some have fared better than others, and one gets a feel for the scale of the place.

My bus is due in a few minutes, so I don’t have time for the Church, I’ll start there next time.

I certainly picked a good day for this walk, with blue skies throughout and excellent views showing the Ribble Valley at its best.

***

DAY TWO OF THE CANAL CLOG.

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After the trek to the restaurant, a good breakfast sets us up for the day. The day is dull compared to yesterday; as you will see, it stayed that way all day. Along with the rush hour traffic, we are soon back at the canal bridge. This area is known as Clayton le Moors, famous for its Harriers athletic club, JD used to run with them in the past.

Enfield Wharf is where we join the canal. There is an old warehouse by the steps, and what used to be stables are on the other side. Both are listed buildings and reminders of past trade and transport on the canal.

Copyright Mat Fascione.

Things are changing along the canal. A housing estate is being built right up to its bank, and already there has been a breach. To our eyes, they don’t seem to have reinforced the bank before the houses were started. Looks like trouble at t’mill. We use the canal towpath for about three miles; there are no locks on this stretch, but there is plenty of other interest. The M65 motorway runs parallel to us, so there is always some traffic noise. Leaving Clayton, we edge past Huncoat, where coal was mined, and bricks were fired; the canal would have been busy with traffic – as is the motorway now.

One of several swing bridges serving farm tracks.

And another.

We wonder how the chap we met yesterday is progressing on his trek to Leeds. Our canal stretch is over by bridge 119; we take easily missed steps onto a lane leading to Shuttleworth Hall—another world after the gentle canal towpath.

Shuttleworth Hall is a C17th Grade I listed house. It looks impressive, with the arched gateway leading to the towered doorway,1649 date stone, and all those mullioned windows. It is now a farmhouse, and we go around the back to follow the footpath. Dogs are tied up and barking, straining at the leash. It is worrying that the farmhands go to them and hold them down – “they like to bite.” We make a hasty retreat.

Down a track and then into a reedy field. JD thinks he has found the path. He hasn’t, and we flounder through the reeds before coming out onto a lane by an old cotton mill. Initially, it was water-powered, but at some stage, a boiler and chimney were built to provide steam power.

Crossing the busy road at Altham Bridge, we join the River Calder on its way from Cliviger through Burnley and onto Whalley before joining the Ribble. What an environmental disaster the next mile is. First, an evil little brook comes through the field from an industrial site. We can smell the hydrogen sulphide from some distance away. And then, the water looks like sulphuric acid bleaching the vegetation before discharging into the Calder. (back home, I may well try and report this pollution incident to the Rivers Authority, something I’ve not done before)

Then, what should be a pleasant walk through the meadows alongside the river was blighted by a continuous line of plastic bottles washed up by the last flood. There were thousands of them. Who’s responsibility is it to clean up this mess? I’m sure the farmer doesn’t have the time or resources to tackle it. Today, it is unsightly and probably of some danger to grazing animals. Still, it brings home to us the amount of plastic going down our rivers into the sea and probably ultimately into our food chain. The loutish public, who randomly dispose of their drink containers, are beyond educating. The only answer is for manufacturers and supermarkets to stop using plastic, but no government has the will to impose this. My hazy photos don’t show the full extent of the plastic.

We are relieved to leave the river and climb up towards Read. The old Blackburn to Padiham Loop Line is no more. But the history of it is fascinating to read giving an added insight into the area’s industrial heritage. http://www.disused-stations.org.uk/features/north_lancs_loop_line/index.shtml

We enter the village alongside an old mill now repurposed. Two large stone blocks, probably from the mill, will provide a lunch spot while we try to digest the plastic problem.

Rather than follow the busy road, we climb up into the posher part of Read, which eventually takes us through the grounds of Read Hall. I’ve often wondered about the domed stone structure in a field; looking up the listed buildings, it turns out to be a C19th icehouse with a square entrance on its north side, not visible from the lane. Beautiful parkland follows a far cry from the industrial centres only a few miles to the south.

I’m on familiar ground now and make a beeline to the cafe at the Garden Centre alongside The Calder. After a welcome coffee, we meet up with the river over Cock Bridge, thankfully, for a litter-free walk. A final climb up to Whalley Banks, an isolated hamlet of stone houses.

From there, we follow the old packhorse trail heading to Whalley Abbey. And there are those six million Accrington bricks of the famous viaduct.

We have no time to look around the town, as soon we are on a little bus speeding back to Longridge. Without venturing far from home, we have completed an interesting circuit: good exercise and a good stopover, all a little tainted by the plastic pollution we encounter.

Time to have another search on the LDWA site.

***

And by popular request, well, Sir Hugh and Eunice, at least – a clog song as suggested by Tony Urwin.

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.

R. and T Clayton, Limited, Bridge Field Mills; 1,024 looms, fine shirtings, cambrics, fine jacconettes, satteens and velvets. Pay day every Friday, 10 to 12.

Edward Eccles and Sons, Wheatfield Mill; 702 looms, printers, mulls and jacconettes.

James Hanson, Rishton Mill; 20,000 spindles, 508/608 weft only; 600 looms, dhooties, mulls, jacconettes and fancys.

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.

Smithson Brothers, Daisy Hill Mill; 144 looms, heavy sheetings and twills; and at Bank Heath Mill, Golborne; and Spodden Vale and Lower Mills, Facit, near Rochdale.

J. Whittaker and Co, Spring Mill and Britannia Mills; 787 looms, shirtings, sheetings, printers and domestics.

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.

SPIRES AND STEEPLES – FOUR.

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Ruskington to Sleaford. 6 miles.

Follow the Slea.

I have time to look at the church this morning before finishing my last leg of the Spires and Steeples Trail. Once again, I’m blessed with the sun and blue sky. The sun brings to life the warmth of the Lincolnshire limestone from which this church, like all the others, is built.

The village has a bustling main street with an enclosed stream running down the middle. Yesterday, I thought the village had a cooking odour, it is not as noticeable today. I read that the largest employer here is Pilgrims Foods who produce Scotch eggs and cocktail sausages.

For a change, here is a church built with bricks – the 1883 Zion Wesleyan Church.

I’m soon out of the houses, crossing the railway and into open fields. Thankfully, these haven’t been ploughed, I hope to avoid yesterday’s mud.

A couple of lanes and I start walking alongside a stream, presumably the one from the village; it’s named The Beck on the map. I’ve always associated the name Beck with more Northern areas, but I suppose the Scandinavians populated here at some stage. This is proper Fenland, which has been drained since the C17th.

On the first road I come to, I meet a cyclist, and we pass the time of day as they say. I find it strange that he is riding an electric, full-suspension mountain bike in such flat terrain; of course, I don’t mention it. There is another large chicken factory on the horizon at Anwick.

Farther down the lane is an ornate stone bridge over the River Slea where The Beck joins it. The Slea runs to join the Witham, which I followed for a short way out of Lincoln; it was made navigable in 1794 up to Sleaford. Locks were built at the various working mills to maintain a sufficient water flow. Of course, the coming of the railway in 1857 reduced its traffic, and it closed in 1881.

There is parking by the bridge for ‘Stepping Out’ walkers. I have noticed their signage in several places this week. Stepping Out is a 130 miles network of short walks across North Kesteven,

From the bridge, there is a view of the abandoned St. Mary’s Priory, Haverholme. Established by the Gibertine Order in the C12th and in several hands after the dissolution. The ruins are from an 1830s rebuild.

My route follows the Navigation to Sleaford, so I don’t have to worry about finding my way. It gives pleasant walking passing several abandoned locks. I suspect there will be a band of committed volunteers, like elsewhere, wanting to reopen the canal, an almost impossible task.

I duck under a busy road and then the railway.

The last lock is at Cogglesford Watermill. It is still working and is open to the public for viewing. I quickly look around and chat with one of the volunteers about a similar working mill in Lancashire, the Heron Corn mill near Milnthorpe. It turns out his grandmother comes from there, but he doesn’t know about that mill.

I found this which gives some interesting history about the mill and the Sleaford Navigation.

The last half-mile is designated a nature reserve and gives pleasant walking right into the heart of Sleaford—many restored buildings are linked to the previous Navigation traffic.

My route terminates at the parish church, St Denys. The traffic is a nightmare in the town, and even worse, the market square adjacent to the church is being dug up and relayed.

St Denys is a magnificent church reflecting the past importance and prosperity of Sleaford. I manage to find its entrance behind the construction work, and once inside, all is peace and tranquillity.

The steeple contains the oldest part of the church,1180 and has a very early example of a broach spire. St Denys’ is renowned for its window tracery and its stained glass. The Gothic nave dates from around 1360 with the chancel added about 1430.

The tomb of Sir Edward Carre (died 1618)

As I said, the traffic in the town is horrendous, and I don’t feel the need to explore further. Most shops are decked out for Christmas shopping, and I have no desire to partake. There are restaurants of all nationalities; an authentic-looking Polish one tempts me, but it is closed, as is the museum. I pass the town hall, a strange little shop, the Handley Memorial (local politician and landowner, C18-19th), an art deco cinema and converted warehouses. Maybe I should have spent more time in this historic town.

The bus back to Metheringham departs from the Rail station. ***

***

An enjoyable few days. The terrain has been flat and primarily featureless, but the villages and their churches are a delight. The footpaths are well-trodden, primarily by dog walkers taking their daily exercise. Let’s gloss over the mud.

If I had a suggestion, it would, I think, have been better to walk from Sleaford to Lincoln, thus culminating with a final uphill to the incomparable Cathedral. A two-day walk with a stop in Metheringham halfway.

For the record, six spires and eight steeples.

I’ve been so lucky with the weather in this week’s changing forecast. Hopefully, I can reach home tomorrow in the eye of the next named storm, Darragh. We are certainly having a mixed climate so far this winter.

SPIRES AND STEEPLES – THREE.

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Metheringham to Ruskington. 8.5 miles.

Rural rambling through Lincolnshire lard.

I had been told about the mud in the fields on this section, but I never imagined it would be so bad, but it is December after a wet autumn. Why should I be surprised? This Lincolnshire mud is the thickest, stickiest, and heaviest I have encountered. I liken it to lard rather than soil. Read on.

It is good to start today’s walk from the pub in Metheringham, The Lincolnshire Poacher, where I’m staying.

I have time to look at the two crosses in the centre of the village. One medieval, C14th, which at one time was in the roadway but has been moved to the pavement to preserve its parts. A postcard from 1909 shows the main part of this old cross with a lamp installed on top.

The remains today.

The newer one on the traffic island has had a chequered history. When the medieval cross was removed in 1911, a new cross was built in the road celebrating the coronation of George V. Unsurprisingly, this was also damaged by an American army lorry in WW2. In 1949, another cross was erected, but its design was never liked, and eventually, in 2011, the unpopular 1940s design was replaced with a facsimile of the 1911 cross; this, too, suffered accidental demolition when hit by a vehicle in December 2020. The cross was repaired, and a new head was fitted to replace the shattered one. I wonder how long this one will survive on this busy junction?

The local fire brigade erected a beacon to celebrate Queen Elizabeth’s platinum Jubilee in 2022.

And in a corner is one of those Lion Headed water hydrants dating from installing a mains supply in the 30s. The neat 1900s Methodist church next to the bus stop is now a private dwelling. Time to get going.

I take a lane to St. Wilfred’s church, another grand Lincolnshire stone building. The church, which has a fine interior, is, unfortunately, locked at this early hour, 8.30 am. Much of Metheringham’s village was destroyed by fire in 1599, and little more than the Norman tower of St. Wilfred’s church survived.

A couple are feeding the grey squirrels in the graveyard.

My early start is to make the most of the daylight hours. And this morning, the sun is shining bright, although the temperature is only 3 degrees.

Soon, I’m out in the countryside and enjoying the expansive views. It’s all decidedly flat, though. The sun is low in the sky, making it difficult to see to the south, the direction I’m going. Since my recent cataract operations, the world has been much brighter.

The next village, Blankney, after only a mile, is reached across the cricket pitch. It is an attractive stone-built village owned by the Blankney Estate. There has been a village here for over a thousand years. The original C18th hall burnt down in 1945.

St.Oswald’s church is just off the main road, surrounded by green fields. Again, it is constructed of pale Lincolnshire limestone glowing in the low sun. Although it has origins in the C12th it has been rebuilt many times. The door is firmly locked.

The trail wanders through part of the estate; as I said, the hall has gone, but I pass the remains of stables and a massive walled garden. One can only imagine the size of the workforce when in its heyday.

Pleasant field tracks head towards Scopwick where there is a small war graves cemetery. Most of the dead were aircraftmen from the nearby WW11 Digby airfield.

I walk through a small estate of bungalows, wondering if they are a community project, perhaps with an overseeing warden. I think when the time comes, I could live somewhere like this, keeping most of my independence. Ever hopeful of living to 90.

An enclosed path, on one side neat little cottages and on the other the Church of the Holy Cross. Again an ancient church with Georgian and Victorian alterations. This one is open, so I get to look around.

I have time to explore Scopwick, built around a green with a little limestone stream. Could be in the Cotswolds.

Soon, I get my first experience of that glutinous mud in large fields ploughed only recently. Not many have been this way, not the usual dog-walking terrain. The ground is soft and saturated. After a few steps, my boots accumulated a few pounds of mud, and my poles weighed down with clinging dollops of the stuff. It won’t shake off, and with every step I take, it worsens; lifting my legs is an effort, and my pace drops to nothing. The field seems to become larger and larger, with salvation farther away.

At last, dry land appears, and I clean off all the mud with difficulty. I cross a lane and come face to face with locked gates at a sewage farm. Retracing, I spot the little path leading into the woods. Some better fields, i.e. grassy, and I’m into Rowston where the church, St Clements, has an exceptionally slender tower which I could see from those muddy fields.

Over the road is the C14th village cross.

A bit of respite from fields, a quiet road, and I’m into Digby at the Red Lion Inn and the medieval stone buttercross. Nearby is a strange circular village’ lock-up’ which is Grade II listed,

Dedicated to St Thomas the Martyr (Thomas Becket), a church has occupied this site since Saxon times. Built in the Gothic style, it has a tall crocketed spire.

I go inside and find a lady polishing the pews in advance of Christmas celebrations, quite a task. We chat about the village and my walk. It turns out she knows Longridge as friends she visits live nearby; small world as usual. I end up eating my lunch in the porch, a pleasant interlude. When I come out, the day has changed; gone is the blue sky and sun. A chilly mist has descended, completely changing the landscape.

A stone clapper bridge crosses a stream which is followed out of the village…

… straight into vast ploughed fields stretching forever.

There is no path, and I try to follow tractor tracks. The mud is deep and clinging as before, and I feel isolated in the mist. Looking back, I can just make out Digby’s church spire. After almost a mile of slow progress, I am relieved to reach a stile into a pasture.

I’m not in the mood for any additional exercise. On the green in Dorrington stands the large ‘Dorrington Demons’ carving.

The legend says – that when it was attempted to build a church on this site, each day’s work was mysteriously undone during the night. This kept happening and one large stone was moved to the church’s present site up the hill from the village. Obviously, demons at work. (I don’t visit it but notice it later when passing on the bus)

The woolly creature watched me out of their paddock straight into another nightmare.

The pictures tell it all. The third and by far the worst ploughed field today, potatoes last year. Completely waterlogged, isolated telegraph poles are the only feature in over half a mile. My feet are sucked inder at every step, and my poles disappear to an alarming depth. My only thought is, don’t fall over; I wonder what I am doing here. Even getting to the stile at the end was a menacing quagmire.

I lick my wounds before daring to show myself in Ruskington. Across the way is All Saints Church. Like all these villages, there has been a church since Saxon times. All Saints was built with a spire, but it collapsed in the C17th. The tower was rebuilt and the stones from the spire used to construct the south porch. There is a gargoyle on the east wall of the porch from that time. There are interesting stained glass windows. One reflecting the designs of William Morris.

Another full day, made longer by those three muddy episodes, but very enjoyable nonetheless – at least afterwards in the shower.

SPIRES AND STEEPLES – TWO.

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Washingborough to Metheringham. 10 miles.

Tranquil villages.

I find myself back at the lower part of Washingborough near the Ferry Inn, which relates to an earlier boat crossing of the River Witham before the bridge I used yesterday was built.

From here, it is uphill to the prominent St John the Evangelist Church; I spotted its steeple at the end of yesterday’s stage. It is probably the oldest structure in the village, with the tower’s base dating from Norman times. It was restored in 1860 by Sir George Gilbert Scott, the Victorian Gothic Revival architect (St. Pancras and Albert Memorial, etc.). The warmth of the Lincolnshire limestone strikes me. Unfortunately, I cannot access the interior, which has some fine stained glass, including the ‘Zeppelin’ windows, commemorating 23rd September 1916 when a Zeppelin bombed the village in mistake for Lincoln. An elderly lady is weeding a grave, the sister of her mother who died of Diphtheria aged five at the beginning of the last century, a sad link with the past.

Onwards up the hill, yes, there are hills in Lincolnshire, is a welcome carved wooden seat depicting aspects of the village’s story.

The rough ground behind it is marked on the map as Pits Woods, and as I walk through it, one gets the impression that digging occurred in the past, possibly for iron or silver ore in the limestone.

A section through housing estates is well-signed with the S&S logo, so I’m soon alongside the railway. A new underpass has been built since my guide was written.

I then follow Branston Beck for a couple of miles. It has recently been cleaned, and hopefully, brown trout and water voles will return. There is plenty of bird life in the reeds.

The beck-side route marches straight to the village of Branston, or rather, the village is marching out into the fields. Some farmer has made a pretty penny here, and they complain about the inheritance tax, payable at 20% when the rest of us pay 40%. There’s a lot to see in Branston. First I arrive at the old sheep wash on the beck with its recent art installations.

There is a lot of artwork on a village trail relating to its history and environment.

I make a detour to view the village waterwheel constructed in 1879 to pump water to the houses of the local gentry before the main’s water arrived in the 1930s. Honestly, there was little to see, the wheel being enclosed and on private land. The diagram explains it better than I can.

Heading up to the church, I pass a small green with three elaborately carved wooden chairs. Again, this is part of the art trail.

Nearby, a plaque on the house commemorates the Enclosure Act, which had a profound effect on the subsistence farming population. I haven’t even reached the church.

All Saints Church has a commanding position. There is Saxon masonry in the tower, the tower’s west door is Norman and the Perpendicular style spire from the late C15th. Much of the church was “restored” in 1876 by Sir George Gilbert Scott, a name we keep meeting. Today, the church is locked, so I cannot see the C14th Nave or the elaborately carved benches. Note the modern replacement window from 1962 after a fire in the chancel.

Whilst wandering around the churchyard the peace is broken by the sound of jets above. They are gone before I see them but I’m ready the next time around. I can’t believe it, but these are the Red Arrows on an exercise. They keep circling, five in front v-shaped, with one following behind. I even get to see some red vapour trails. How do you capture that with a phone camera?

Meanwhile, time stands still in the mosaic at my feet.

Time to move on. Once out of the houses, I am into fields of what I think is sugar beet.
Not too muddy, and soon, I’m onto tracks across the fens. Out of the blue, a cafe appeared. Part of the Hanworth Lesure Complex. It is lunchtime so I call in for a coffee and carrot cake. Perfect.

There are pitches for camping and lakes for fishing.
Across the fields is the small village of Potterhanworth, until recently a centre for sugar beet breeding.

I look in the bus stop, which is bedecked with murals and has a window looking out to the church.

The Church of St. Andrews has a C14 tower, but the rest is Victorian. The parish council are having a meeting inside, so I move on, I am sure I would have been welcome. Across the road from the church is another impressive building, a huge water tower built in 1903 as part of a water supply system from a borehole in a nearby field. I need to stride out; time is passing.

Nocton, has plenty of interest; these villages have made an effort to highlight their heritage.

‘Dandelion Sundial’ by Cliff Baxendale is surrounded by relief panels depicting various aspects of Nocton’s history.

The present Church of All Saints, designed by, you guessed it, George Gilbert Scott replaced an older one in the grounds of Nocton Hall; both were demolished. A local man tells me the interesting history of the hall and churches. You can find it here.

On the way out of the village, I am surprised by the delightful ‘Cow’ created by Nocton schoolchildren from old scrap farm tools which had been ploughed up in the surrounding fields. Easy going on the bridleway across what were formerly massive potato fields for Smiths Crisps with their own railway. Dunston is a small, sleepy hamlet. St Peter’s church was largely rebuilt in 1874, but its mediaeval tower remains, and there is an Early English south doorway. At least I get to look inside this one, which is good because there is a hagioscope or squint, so the congregation in the north aisle could see the altar. A new one for me.

It’s dusk when I arrive in Metheringham, a long day but full of interest.

***

SPIRES AND STEEPLES – ONE.

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Lincoln to Washingborough. 4.5 miles.

Leaving Lincoln.

I emerge from a few hours enthralled in Lincoln Cathedral and start my Spires and Steeples Trail from the grand west door. In some ways, it would have been more of a climax to finish here, but let’s not belittle Sleaford until we arrive there.

I will probably write about the cathedral soon, but where will I start? There is so much history, beauty, and awe.

It’s easier to just set off on the trail. I want to tick off a few miles to make tomorrow more manageable. Out of the cathedral grounds, Lincoln Cathedral lost its spires centuries ago and down that ‘steep hill ‘ everyone talks about. It is steep, and those coming up take frequent stops to look in the tourist shop windows.

At the bottom, I dodge a few streets and pass by my first spire. The stately St. Swithins is now looking uncared for. The original church suffered a bad fire in 1644, the fate of many early wooden churches. It was rebuilt but replaced with this Neo-Gothic building in 1869, designed by James Fowler, a distinguished Victorian church architect. The mathematician George Boole was christened in the earlier church in 1815. More of him later. The congregation still meets in a nearby building whilst the repairs to the church’s roof are being funded.

The River Witham is navigable from Lincoln to The Wash at Boston, made possible by canalisation in the C18th. I cross over and start walking out of the city, passing a lock basin.

Along the banks are the remains of industries past, but it doesn’t take long to reach more rural scenery.

I come across my first S & S waymark, but I may have missed some in the city.

Looking back, the Cathedral dominates the skyline, as it does from miles around.

The track is popular with cyclists and joggers. A cycleway, The Water Rail, goes as far as Boston on the old railway. I’ve just realised I’m on an old rail track. The railway that finished off most of the river traffic. It took a package boat six hours to get to Boston; the train took one and a quarter hours.

Easy going and I reach the old railway station, cosed 1940, where I cross the ditch into a small park. There are a few animal statues to look out for, and then I’m on the main road through Washingborough, right next to a bus stop with the first steeple for tomorrow visible up the hill.

A good start to the trip, and I finished before it became dark.

As I explained in my introduction https://bowlandclimber.com/2024/12/06/spires-and-steeples/ I am booked into a pub in Metheringham for a few days and aim to use bus transport to the ends of each stage.

***

PS. This walk was completed on December 3rd – I’m not crazy enough to be out in Storm Darragh.

SPIRES AND STEEPLES.

8 Replies

A long-distance path of 25 miles in Lincolnshire, the trail begins at Lincoln Cathedral and ends at St Denys Church, Sleaford. In between it visits a number of towns and villages of the region, each with churches that have eye-catching spires or steeples.
Another short Long Distance Way I’ve come up with, maybe I should start calling them Short Distance Ways. I’ve never been to Lincoln, so this is an opportunity to visit and combine with a few days of walking. At one time, more than a few years ago now, I might have attempted this route in a day. But what’s the rush?
Steeple or spire? Are they the same? A steeple is any church tower, whether with a spire or without. A spire, on the other hand, is an ornament to a steeple – defined in the Oxford English Dictionary as ‘A tapering conical or pyramidal structure on the top of a building, typically a church tower.’
Our excellent OS maps help out by their symbols defining the type of church.

Oh, and by the way, the Spires and Steeples Trail is marked on the OS maps as a recreational route.

The tallest of Britain’s steeples, that of Salisbury Cathedral, which I visited in October, rises 404 feet; the spire is 180 feet high. Lincoln’s original spire, timber covered with lead, on its central tower, was even taller; at 524 feet, it was for two centuries the world’s tallest building; alas, it collapsed in 1549 and now, without a spire, is only 272ft high. Here in Preston, we have St. Walburge, at 309ft, the tallest non-cathedral church in the country.

Salisbury Cathedral.

St.Walburge’s Wikipedia.

A steeplechase was originally a cross-country horse race using church towers as landmarks. And, of course, Bolton’s Fred Dibnah was perhaps the most famous steeplejack.

As well as the churches, there is a series of art installations in the villages on the trail, which should add some interest to a flat landscape. The area south of Lincoln seems to be named North Kesteven, a local government district established in 1974.
I’m reckoning on the train to Lincoln, changing at Manchester and Sheffield, then a bus or train to a village named Metheringham. I will be lucky to arrive within five hours.
There is a bus service between most of the villages on the linear trail so I will be able to split the sections to suit my dallying and to fit around the weather. It is dark before 4 pm at this time of year.

In Metheringham I have booked into an inn for five nights, the Lincolnshire Poacher. This is named after The Lincolnshire Poacher, a traditional English folk song associated with the county of Lincolnshire and deals with the joys of poaching. It is considered to be the unofficial county anthem of Lincolnshire. I shall be whistling it on my way.

THE DEARNE WAY – FOUR.

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Broomhill to Mexborough. The Dearne dawdling to the Don.

A shorter day, or so I thought, and I have time to enjoy a leisurely breakfast. Premier Inns do put on a good spread.

The TPT is busy with cyclists this morning; it is a Saturday. Underpasses have had murals painted on them by local schoolchildren, but unfortunately, the graffiti merchants have spoiled them.

Brisk marching for me on the good surface. I’m walking through an extensive nature reserve, but without binoculars, I don’t see much. A lot of these flooded areas have been caused by mining subsidence. At one point, the exposed surface resembled a slag heap, which it probably was.

As nature intended.

I suppose cycleways are designed for cyclists and a straight, hard surface that goes on and on eventually becomes tedious for walking.

As a distraction, I notice some of the wayside stones have been carved with a ‘nature’ theme, but they are not very obvious.

A flood relief channel and a regulator to restrict the flow were built at Bolton upon Dearne. During the 2007 floods, the washlands filled to capacity but the regulator could not be operated as it had been vandalised!

I was pleased to escape the hard surfaces and walk along the grassy banking of the floodplain after Bolton. Looking at the map now, perhaps I was on the wrong river bank but that is of no consequence. I am making quick time today as there is nothing of great interest to detain me.

The river is indeed dawdling as it approaches the River Don. I want to see the confluence, but thick undergrowth makes it difficult.

The Don is a much larger waterway and navigable from the Humber to Rotheram. Just downstream from where the Dearne joins in is a large lock, and I use its access road to walk into Mexborough.

The Miners Inn, dated 1904, is now a bathroom/kitchen salesroom.

The local motte and bailey is set in a park and fairly obvious even to me.

All looks fairly bleak as I enter the town.

Things improve a little at the centre where there is a market and more shops, but all a bit run down. The loss of mining still affecting Northern towns.

The station is close at hand. The girls are setting off for a night in Sheffield, lashing down the booze on the train. I leave them to it and change for Preston.

It’s been a good trip to Yorkshire. A satisfying route with a logical beginning and end; in between, I think I walked about 36 miles. As I have mentioned, the waymarking is variable, and the downloadable guide, although informative not detailed enough for navigation. The GPX file on my phone saved the day in several places.

I never did see that flash of turquoise. But by popular request, here is a photo of Seth back from his holiday.

***

THE DEARNE WAY – THREE.

11 Replies

Barnsley to Broomhill. Industrial wastelands

The morning starts with a mile downhill through Barnsley to negotiate the busy traffic at that large roundabout.

Barnsley Town Hall

Then I’m back on the line of the Barnsley Canal, still in an urban setting. The Barnsley area had rich seams of coal and was home to many collieries; the mass closures in the Eighties must have devastated the local economy and morale. I don’t think the rest of us understood the gravity of the situation. Most of today’s walk is through that landscape made bare and taken over by nature, either naturally or by the creation of Nature Reserves.

There is little water in the canal, mostly it is reeds or has been filled in.

The way crosses the river down below and enters a larger park area, more like the countryside now.

The downloaded information sheets are not detailed enough to follow the route, and waymarks have been lacking. Hence, I’ve used my phone’s GPS far more than usual. But I do come across this lone wooden post in the park.

Some interpretation boards are less useful than others.

Crossing a road, I come across the Transpennine Cycle Trail for the first time. But what’s that building hiding behind the trees?

This is the site of Monk Bretton Priory and is worth a diversion.

Founded in about 1154, it was a daughter house of the rich Cluniac priory at Pontefract. But it wasn’t an easy partnership, and in 1281, Monk Bretton became a Benedictine house. The Priory owned properties in South Yorkshire had rights over five parish churches, and worked ironstone and coal. After the Dissolution of the Monasteries in 1538, the priory was swiftly plundered for building materials. The priory site changed hands several times before coming under state ownership in 1932. The ruins are now managed by English Heritage.

The arched entrance was up a side street, the Priory now surrounded by housing.

Most is in ruins, but the gatehouse is mainly intact, as is the separate administrative block. Little remains of the church, but the cloisters are evident with the monks’ refectory. Uniquely, much of the drainage system is preserved; running water from the Dearne flushed the latrines and kitchen area.

Gatehouse.

Administrative building.

Site of the Church.

Intact drains.

One advantage of keeping the mileage down is one is free to explore more, But I’m now back on track, literally, as I follow old rail tracks down the valley. I should look into the history of where these rails went and for what purpose. I assume, perhaps erroneously, that coal transport was involved. I leave one abandoned line to use another. This one is heading to a prominent arched viaduct across the valley.

Leaving the railway, the path becomes indistinct in rough fields alongside the Dearne; concrete barriers have been constructed to keep the quad bikes out. To my right in the trees is the line of the Barnsley Canal again. I’m sitting on one of the barriers having a snack when a couple appears, the first I’ve seen. This is their regular walk, but they are worried about the cattle in the next fields. They are a friendly pair with much knowledge of the area and its wildlife. We walk on together, there are no cows. The canal is mainly empty, but he, being a fisherman, is keen to show me an area where it is flooded and a frequent haunt of his. I would have walked past without knowing it was there. He fishes for carp here and often sees a kingfisher perched nearby. Today, he doesn’t have his rod but has brought some bait to scatter.

I loved their Yorkshire accents; the further east one goes, the longer the vowels become. The lady reminded me of Lucy Beaumont, the comedienne from Hull.

@comedystans

#lucybeaumont #taskmaster #jonrichardson #meettherichardsons #hull #northsouthdivide #northerncomic #standupcomedy #standup #netflixisajoke

♬ original sound – comedystans

I leave them to their peace and walk on to brave the cattle. The frisky bullocks were all down by the river, so I passed safely. Still on the abandoned railway, the river appears below and down there somewhere is an old packhorse bridge.

Time is passing, so when I reach Storrs Mill Lane, I follow it for about a mile rather than the wandering field paths. For the whole length of that mile, the verges were covered in litter. I have never seen so much on a country lane. Why here? Do people make a special journey to throw away their cans and takeaways? I leave the lane at Edderthorpe and walk across newly hoed fields to rejoin the river where it puts on a bit of a spurt to loop around Middlewood Hall.

A diversion up the hill into the village of Darfield, and then I am back down on the Dearne flood plain, managed along here as a nature reserve.

As the light is fading I emerge onto the Trans Pennine Trail, virtually on the doorstep of my Premier Inn for the night. Déjà vu.

Why is my room always at the far end of the corridor?

***

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 – ONE.

14 Replies

Birdsedge to Clayton West. “Nobbut a trickle”

The day doesn’t start well. I have planned a short day’s walking as I have first to cross the Pennines. The usual bus to Preston, then trains to Huddersfield, followed by another bus journey to the walk’s start. It’s all a little complicated, but I had figured on the 8.50 train to Huddersfield, changing at Wigan and Manchester Victoria. This would have me on a bus to the start at lunchtime. While having my coffee at home, an email informs me that the train has been cancelled. Any later, I would struggle to connect with the bus, leaving me short of time in the afternoon; it’s getting dark by four. I need to catch an earlier train, but time is passing. I skip breakfast, run for a bus, and arrive at Preston station with two minutes to spare. The rest of the journey goes more or less to plan despite Northern Rail at Victoria verging on the chaotic.

A familiar figure outside Huddersfield Station.

When we arrive at Birdsedge, I’m the only one left on the bus, a few houses and an old spinning mill.
There is a faded but encouraging waymark for The Dearne Way on the FP sign from the road. The path wanders through the trees, skirting the mill’s lodge. The infant Dearne River, feeding the dam, is barely a trickle, and yet, in the past, it spawned all the industries down its course.
I’m on my way, and the weather is perfect, sun and blue sky, as promised. A few higher fields and walled lanes before I drop back down to the valley, here a woodland nature reserve. The autumn colours and the chirping birds are a joy. The path is hidden by the fallen leaves, and I swoosh through them like a young child. The water of the Dearne is barely visible. The way is proving more up and down than expected, but aren’t they all nowadays?

As I drop into Denby Dale, the many arched viaduct dominates the valley, header photo. The village came to prominence in the Industrial Revolution with mills and collieries. The railway arrived at the end of the C19th.

I join the village Pie Trail on cobbled paths. They have a strange history of giant pie-making here.

I’m content with a pot of tea in a friendly, high-street cafe. I learn how to pronounce Dearne – it’s Durn.

The route climbs out of the valley and traverses fields and woods with views over to the landmark Argiva transmission tower on Emley Moor. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emley_Moor_transmitting_station
Somewhere up here, I walk into the grounds of Bagden Hall; I am staying in the hotel here tonight, but I see the opportunity of walking a little farther, thus reducing tomorrow’s mileage. I am trusting that I will be able to catch a bus back.

Down below is the village of Scissett, which, like everywhere around here, was previously dominated by worsted mills. I arrive at the main road by Spring Grove mill, which has survived, minus its chimney, manufacturing mats and carpets.

Spring Grove Mill Early C20th.

Paths lead through new housing estates and a long railway tunnel to meet with the Dearne again – time for a photo.

I broke my camera last week, so I am making do with my phone this trip; there will be no zooming. What with using it for navigation and pictures the battery is getting low, but sufficient to seek out a bus stop in Clayton West just in time for the X1 to arrive and take me back past Scissett to Nortonthorpe Mill. I find a sneaky, unofficial way into the grounds of Bagden Hall.

The hotel looks impressive with its extensive gardens, now a ‘Wedding Venue’ like many country hotels trying to survive. The price is reasonable and they give me a free upgrade. Bagden Hall was originally built in the 1860s for Charles Norton, a wealthy mill owner who made his fortune running Nortonthorpe’s weaving mills in the valley, which supplied quality yarn to weavers for ‘fancy waistcoat goods’.

It was quite a busy day in one way and another.

***

THE DEARNE WAY.

9 Replies

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.

THE SARSEN WAY 7. Amesbury to Salisbury.

5 Replies

Switchbacks to Sarum.

It’s a crisp, sunny autumn morning. Leaving town I cross the Avon by an old bridge and shortly afterwards cross it again. I must check the map to see what’s happening.

Up and down the downs again, why did I think it would be all flat today?

The first village, Great Dunford, was only a few houses and a church.

As usual, I make my way to the church, dating from the C10th with very little mdern ‘improvements’

But I am distressed to see dog s*** in the church aisle. Can you believe it? I had nothing to clear it up with and nobody was about in the village to report it to. Disgusting.

I again cross the Avon to arrive at the Bridge Inn just in time for a morning coffee.

Back on the east bank, past Little Durnford’s one house and then into the woods for some more undulations. The bridleway I am following is probably an ancient route across these downs. Ahead on the horizon the distinctive spire of Salisbury Cathedral made an appearance and was there for the rest of the day. At 404ft the tallest church spire in England. (Preston’s St.Walburge’s is the third tallest after Salisbury and Norwich)

Coming out of the hills I pass this delightful cottage, aren’t they all?

And there in front of me is the earthworks of Old Sarum.

I didn’t realise it was so large. I have progressed from Barbury Castle to Avebury, and now the grandest of them all, Old Sarum. Despite often visiting Salisbury and Stonehenge*, whilst I worked down in Bournemouth, I was unaware of the existence of this ancient Iron Age fort with its Medieval Castle and Cathedral.

The Iron Age hillfort was established here about 400 BC. It was then occupied after the Roman conquest of Britain when it became known as Sorviodunum.

William the Conqueror recognised Old Sarum’s potential shortly after the Conquest in the C11th A motte was constructed in the centre of the hillfort, and then an inner set of timber fortifications created an ideal army base.

The inner castle was established and a section of the bailey was selected as the site for a new cathedral in 1075. Old Sarum’s importance as an administrative base grew and the new cathedral became a religious and learned centre.

In 1226 the cathedral was moved to nearby Salisbury, although the castle remained an administrative centre into the 14th century and then all was mostly abandoned.

(Stonehenge was accessible on foot from Amesbury but I had heard awful stories of overcommercialisation so I gave it a miss. There were so many other sites to be visited instead.)

I first walk around the outer ramparts, sometimes on the ridge and others in the ditch, a mile circuit with the castle mound central to it all.

Some lovely beech trees have established themselves along the ramparts.

There is a short section of the wall that once guarded the outer ramparts.

I then examine the footprint of the old cathedral.

I reluctantly pay English Heritage to look around the inner castle, reached by a bridge where the old draw bridge had existed.You need an aerial image to realise the full extent of Old Sarum.

It is all well documented, and I enjoy the experience, but is it worth £6.50?

Back on track, the cathedral spire is coming closer. Chatting with dog walkers, I receive lots of advice as to the best way into town but I stick to the Sarsen Way and PAT signs to the end and enjoy a rural route, avoiding roads.

That is until I get involved with new flood defence and parkland improvements.

But by six o’clock, I was in the centre of town, only a few blocks away from the cathedral.

It certainly hits you in the eye when getting close up. As you have seen the original cathedral was located at Old Sarum, two miles away until it was decided to move it to Salisbury. Foundation stones for the new building were laid in 1220. By 1258 the nave, transepts and choir were complete. The cloisters were added in 1240, and the tower and spire were constructed by 1330.

I am too late to go inside but enjoy the surroundings in the late afternoon sunshine. There are many American and Japanese voices around.

: Salisbury Cathedral.

: Salisbury Cathedral.

In the grounds was a statue by Elizabeth Frink set me off on a search which would lead me to the Swindon Art Gallery. I have admired her work at the Hepworth and YSP in the past.

‘This figure symbolises … human dignity and creativity over militarism and totalitarian disregard for human dignity and rights.’ Stephen Gardiner. Her tense but powerful presence exists beside the tourists and the worshipers.

I wanted to hold her hand at the end of my walk.

***

A convivial night was enjoyed at the Merchants House Hotel.

THE SARSEN WAY 6. Netheravon to Amesbury.

4 Replies

I can’t resist thatched cottages.

A series of small villages and churches along the Avon linked together by byways. My loss of the guidebook possibly means I walk on lanes more than necessary, but I make it to Amesbury, having enjoyed a shorter day.

I say my goodbyes to Swindon’s Travel Lodge and, carrying my worldly goods, walk up to the bus station for the last time. I need to choose a memorable mural for this last occasion.

She just wins over him…

In a more relaxed mood, I can take a later bus to Netheravon, where I finished yesterday. This morning, the little café/florist is open, so I can fuel up on coffee before departing. Whilst there, I witness an autumn floral display being created.

The River Avon is running high, but I am told by a resident that recent works to create bends and oxbows upstream have reduced the risk of flooding. The resident lives in this C16th cottage, the first of many I admire today.

Haxton, Figheldean, Ablington, Brigmerston, Milston, and Bulford all have their charms, with beautiful cottages and Saxchurches. The walking in between, often next to the Avon, is nice and flat for a change, not a down in sight.

Church of St. Michael and All Angels. Figheldean

The owner of this house in Figheldean tells me he needs to have the ridge repaired every 10 years and the whole thatched roof every 20. Finding the skilled people to undertake this and sourcing the materials is becoming more and more difficult.

Moving on….… the whole area is surrounded by MOD land. I never realised that the War Department was acquiring land way back in 1897 by compulsory purchase. At least it is back into community ownership now.

These puffballs were the largest I’ve ever seen, mobile alongside for scale.

Church of St. Mary. Milston.

The Avon is just over there.

St. Leonard’s Church. Bulford.

My arrival into town is still green but noisy from the busy bypass. It must be difficult for route planners to navigate relatively traffic-free ways through urban landscapes. I have no prior knowledge of Amesbury, but I read it may have the oldest continuous occupation in the country. Also in the news at the moment is the investigation into the Salisbury Novichok poisonings from 2018. The intended victims, The Skripals in Salisbury, just escaped with their lives. But Ms Sturgess living at the time in Amesbury wasn’t so lucky with the ‘perfume’ she used.

Lord’s Walk.

Strange.

My hotel is in the middle of town opposite the Abbey Church St. Mary and St. Melor. I have a look around it. Probably on this site since C9th, connected later to the town’s Abbey. The latter disappeared in the reformation, but the church survived for the local population. It remains an impressive building, Cathedral like.

My cosy hotel has a Thai restaurant which I enjoy in the evening. I’ve done well for food this week.

***

***

THE SARSEN WAY 5. Manningford to Netheravon.

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High plains drifter.

The trudge to the bus station is a little damp this morning. This is how I feel –

But the rain stops before I alight from the bus at Manningford Bonhue. I know the start from yesterday and don’t miss the path leaving Wick Lane this time. It is a strange start through an industrial site, part of the Manningford estate. The way is diverted well away from the manor house itself. I seem to be sharing my route with PAT – the Pewsey and Avon Trail, their waymarks come in handy.

Soon I am beside the River Avon, just a stream at this stage. It will be my companion for much of the way from now on. This Avon has nothing to do with Shakespeare or Bristol, I never realised this one eventually enters the sea at Bournemouth, despite having worked down there for some time.

A trout farm diverting the waters.

St. James church, dating back to the C13th, has a large yew growing alongside it. Farther on this is the most amazing hedge I’ve ever seen –

After the inn, I follow the river downstream, but most of the time it is hidden away in the vegetation.

When I cross it again into the little village of Upavon, it seems to have doubled in size.

Thatched cottages start appearing more often. One in the village is having its ridge repaired.

The shop provides me with a morning coffee whilst I watch the village squirrel picking up morsels and then darting across the overhead wires. The day disappears quickly and I have only walked a couple of miles. Before I leave the village I spot yet another Sarsen Stone – this one commemorating some jubilee or other.

The route goes up onto Salisbury Plain, and I have in my mind only to follow it if the tops are clear. it doesn’t look that interesting. The tops are visible so I have to start the climb, which is all on the tarmac. Workers are digging a pit for pipelines, and all is white chalk. Photo opportunity missed there.

Higher, I’m looking down into a valley where a driven partridge shoot is taking place. Guns are becoming part of this holiday. I chat to a farmer who normally beats for the shoots hereabouts but is having a year off recovering from a shoulder operation. Thousands of partridges are bred each year. The customers today are scrap metal merchants, of all people, from the Thames Valley. They pay about £40 for each bird shot. My man is joining them for lunch and some heavy whisky drinking. Not my idea of a day’s fun. He excuses the slaughter by saying the victims are not native birds but red-legged ones from France. Time to move on.

I reach the edge of the military’s training ground. The red flag is flying, but my way skirts the danger zone.
The road cuts through the ancient Casterley Camp, an Iron Age fort.

The views are extensive but mainly featureless, Salisbury Plain stretches a long way.

I don’t feel easy up here. usually revelling in wide open spaces, and I’m glad to descend away from the range. Is it the background shooting disturbing me?

A bonus on the way down is a clear view of a nearby tumulus. Man has been coming this way for centuries.

Confusion comes into play at Compton, no idea what is going on here and I can’t find my way.

Thankfully I am now back in the Avon Valley at Enford with its picturesque cottages to save the day.

The last mile is through fields to suddenly emerge into Netheravon 5 minutes after a bus has departed. I’m left with over an hour until the next. The little café is closed despite saying it is open and there are no free samples at the brewery.

I have time to walk to the church whose origins go back to Saxon times. The tower is the oldest part and is the most prominent feature. The massive arched doorway is closed, but I gain entry around the corner. Inside the church is plainly featured with the tall arches of the tower dominant.

The next bus arrives, and I doze my way back to Swindon. The mural that catches my eye is one by Martin Travers of the South American native environmentalist Nemonte Nenquimo.

***