Tag Archives: Long Distance Walks

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. THE SHORT, HOT DAY.

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Day 11.   Monsal Head to Bakewell.

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

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

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

Field paths head off down the hill.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

***

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

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

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

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PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. MAINLY MONSAL.

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Day 10.  Buxton to Monsal Head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

To start with, the railway cuts through the limestone.

And then along the gorge of Cheedale.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I can watch the sun go down from my boudoir.

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

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

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

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

***

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. THE HIGH PEAK.

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Day 9.    Whaley Bridge to Buxton.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It starts off well alongside the Goyt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

View of the marketplace.

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

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

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. THE GOYT WAY.

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Day 8.   Marple to Whaley Bridge.

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. OUT OF MANCHESTER.

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Day 8.   Levenshulme to Marple.

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

*

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tracks”

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

David Dudgeon (Belfast artist and poet), 1999.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

***

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS.  URBAN FOR A DAY.

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Day 7.   Across Manchester.

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

This is a better image from the British Pilgrimage Trust.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

Mirror wall, Greenham Common.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

*

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

ON MY DOORSTEP.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*

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

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS.  INTO MANCHESTER.

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Day 7.   Radcliffe to Manchester Cathedral.

An easy 10-mile walk along cycle paths.

The good weather is lasting, so it’s time for another section of my ‘pilgrimage’ from home to Manchester. A  walk, a bus, another walk, a train and a final bus deliver me to Radcliffe bus station by 10 am. Strangely, there was an Emu puppet on that crowded bus from Bolton.

I’m surrounded by busy roads and feel a little disorientated. Across the way is Asda, which I recall being mentioned in my guide: “go down alongside their petrol station to pick up the Cycle Route 6.”

It is signed up a ramp onto the bed of the old Manchester to Bury and East Lancs line. I used it before coming out of Accrington.

Like magic, within seconds of stepping onto it, all is peace and quiet. Only bird song is audible – and quite a collection of species, all no doubt mating and preparing nests. I cross the Irwell Viaduct  (Built in 1846 from timber, but replaced with cast iron in 1881 and reopened as a cycle way in 1999) and plunge into the woods. This is Outwood Country Park, where coal mines once existed.  Little, inviting paths go off in all directions.

The cycle route joins the Irwell Sculpture Trail from time to time; signposting is excellent. I was along here before    https://bowlandclimber.com/2014/08/06/irwell-valley-trail-2-into-manchester/

An Irwell sculpture.
and another.

The remains of an old platform for Ringley Road station are passed.

A667 brick bridge.

The rail line traverses beautiful, remarkedly undulating, wooded land.

I can hear the motorway long before I reach it.

I catch a glimpse of part of the Clifton Viaducet carrying the old railway across the Irwell once again; It has thirteen arches, a remarkable construction from 1846.

The day warms, and I end up stripping off layers for a change. I’m glad I brought plenty of water as I sit for an early sandwich. Dog walkers appear from everywhere. Notice boards tell me I am in Phillip’s Park, land previously an estate for a wealthy Manchester industrialist, but before that a medieval deer park. 

More parkland, Drinkwater, nothing spectacular, but with all the greens of Spring coming to the fore. Primroses, Blackthorn, Cherries and Willow catkins adding colour.

 In a clearing, there is a totem ploe.

I just keep following the cycle path 6.

My route keeps me away from the River Irwell until I arrive at the first road, Agecroft, of the day and a car park.

I cross the bridge over the river adjacent to the Thirlmere pipeline. ‘Manchester Corporation Water Works – 1892’. 

Continuing between the river and a massive cemetery. I’m impressed by the many graves that are brightly bedecked with flowers  – of course, it is Mothering Sunday this weekend.

The Irwell creeps into town. The Manchester skyline is ahead. The inevitable urban litter starts to appear where I reach housing; we are a messy and wasteful society..

When I last visited the Kersal wetlands, it was all wild; now there are houses. And this was/is a flood plain.

Murals on a pumping building reflect local history.

I cut across the fields to Cromwell’s Bridge, an impressive Victorian structure. In fact, as I wander by the Irwell, I cross several bridges with their foundation plaques.

I had noticed several large black canisters strewn by the path earlier, but now I come across a nest of them. On closer inspection, they are industrial-grade laughing gas, an illegal Class C drug. These are full and no doubt hidden for use at a later time. Welcome to the city.

I’m now surrounded by skyscrapers. 

The River Irwell creeps off through them to join the Ship Canal in Salford.  Would it be worth using a scooter or bike for the last section?

I find my way through the maze of streets to the Cathedral forecourt. I’m unlucky; the Cathedral, dating from Saxon times, is closed for a charity dinner this evening.

I will have to make time to explore when I return for onward travel to Lichfield. Yes, what started as a ‘pilgrimage’ from my house to Manchester Cathedral is leading to bigger things. I need to get the maps out and start planning.

*

With time to spare, I spot a statue of Mahatma Gandhi.

“Be the change that you wish to see in the world”

Our present world leaders are intent on war, land-grabbing and financial deals. A far cry from Gandhi’s vision.  Let’s have a look at some of his other famous quotes.

“Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.”

“The greatness of humanity is not in being human, but in being humane.”

“In a gentle way, you can shake the world.”

“Change yourself – you are in control.”

“I will not let anyone walk through my mind with their dirty feet.”

“The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.”

“Freedom is not worth having if it does not include the freedom to make mistakes.”

“We need not wait to see what others do.”

“A ‘No’ uttered from the deepest conviction is better than a ‘Yes’ merely uttered to please, or worse, to avoid trouble.”

“The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others.”

“To call woman the weaker sex is a libel; it is man’s injustice to woman.”

“Earth provides enough to satisfy every man’s needs, but not every man’s greed.”

“Love is the strongest force the world possesses.”

“Nonviolence is a weapon of the strong.”

“A man is but the product of his thoughts. What he thinks, he becomes.”

*

On a lighter note, the Manchester bee is all over the place.

The facade of Victoria station advertises the places it serves.  Inside, everything is new and confusing. Northern trains have a bad reputation, but I am soon back at Preston.

And on a hoarding, there is this line from Erin Hanson.
.

There is freedom waiting for you,
On the breezes of the sky,
And you ask, “What if I fall?”
Oh, but my darling,
What if you fly?

A good enough take on life as I enter another decade, I have flown most of the time.

***

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS.  MORE SAXON CONNECTIONS.

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Day 6.   Hawkshaw to Radcliffe.

Back in Hawkshaw, the bus from Bolton drops me at the Wagon and Horses. It is one of those modern buses with announcements for each stop, a great help in unknown areas. In the past, I have missed my stop or alighted a mile or so too soon.
The village is still asleep as I find Two Brooks Lane heading south. I pass some surprisingly well-kept tennis courts for a place this size. The lane descends into a valley of rough mixed woodland; here and there are remains of buildings and watercourses. At one time, there was a bleech works here employing 200 people. Bleaching was an important part of the cotton industry. The chimney from the works still exists on the hillside, but I couldn’t spot it.

Climbing out of the valley, I pass through a small hamlet of tastefully renovated farms and cottages.
Above them are the lodges that provided water for the mill. It is a steep climb up to them but rewarded by excellent views back to the moors above Holcombe, which I passed over last time when visiting the ‘Pilgrim Cross’.

Onward and upward past Tom Nook Farm, the ancient cobbled track, Black Lane, runs straight to the ridge of Affetside. The medieval mule track from Manchester to Whalley? I notice I’m following part of the Greater Manchester Ringway LDW.

I arrive directly at the door of the Packhorse Inn; it is just opening, so I grab a morning coffee as diners start to arrive.

The Pack Horse was a flourishing inn over 600 years ago, when it was on the main pack horse road to the north, the Roman road Watling Street, where Black Lane crossed. Affetside was a market village and later developed as a mining community – the row of cottages next to the inn was built for miners working narrow drift mines nearby. At the back of my mind as I leave was some story of an old skull kept behind the bar. It is too late when I do recall that it was possibly that of a local man from the 17th century.

Across the road from the inn is The Affetside Cross, which has a puzzling history. Dating the cross is difficult. At one time, it was thought to be a Roman cross. The metal plaque next to the cross shaft suggests it was a Saxon cross. English Heritage states that it is an early Georgian market cross on the site of a medieval cross serving the Manchester to Whalley route. The cross has been incorporated into a pleasant Millenium Green area, and I chat with the gentleman responsible for its upkeep.

Leaving Affetside on the straight Roman road,  the high moors are behind me, and I’m walking through enclosed farmland. As a part of Greater Manchester, or though the locals still call themselves Lancastrians, as they should, many properties have been or are being renovated in not neccessarily the Pennine vernacular style. Equine stabling and enclosures have become a common site. There is more exotic wildlife at one farm. The skyline of Manchester can just be made out as the day turns hazy.

No long-distance route is complete without at least one golf course; I only briefly flirt with the manicured Harwood one. More money is being spent on property renovations.

As I approach Ainsworth, I begin to recognise some of the paths. Around here, I would meet up with my late friend Al, the plastic bag man, for an evening stroll and a pint in the pub.

By serendipity, I arrive in Ainsworth alongside the Methodist Church and the Britannia Inn. I am compelled to enjoy a pint in memory of Al sitting outside in the sunshine with all those recent memories.

Tearing myself away, I cross the road to Ainsworth Church. Understated, but with the best display of crocuses, between the tombstones, I have ever seen.  A church existed on this site from before the 15th century. It was part of the Lichfield Diocese at the time of St. Chad, C7th in Saxon times; I came across St. Chad when I walked from Chester Cathedral to Lichfield Cathedral, where he is buried. I seem to be heading that way again.

If they were the best crocuses I have ever seen, this must be one of the worst paths I have ever walked. Enclosed by fencng, trampled by beasts and seriously waterlogged. With no alternative, it took me ages to negotiate 300 m clutching onto the fence.

Things improved on the cobbled Pit Lane. There is history everywhere.
How is this for a perfect winter oak?

But what is happening here? I have a long chat with Dave, whose wife says he bores people, about the history of the area where he has lived for nigh on 80 years. Canals, pits, mills and railways all play a part. Cromwell and the Royalists come into play when I mention skirmishes around Preston. The fields around here, previously mined, have been allocated for housing. He hopes subsidence may destroy the sheme,  a sentiment I share considering the houses built near me on shifting sands. There is so much urban waste ground for building affordable housing, but nobody seems interested in that. Meanwhile, a buzzard soars overhead.

I’m channeled by more horse premises into the outskirts of Radcliffe.

Over canal and rail, now the metro tram line.

Again, on track of medieval ways here is the Old Cross Inn. Apparently, a fragment of Radcliffe’s Medieval  Cross can be seen in Radcliffe Library.

I have no idea what this collection of stones is. Art or archaeology?
It is World Book Day, and children leaving the nearby school are dressed in all manner of costumes. I keep my phone camera tightly in my pocket. Following signs to the church, I find myself distracted by a stunning sculpture in the park.

Eunice has been here before me.  https://mousehouselife.wordpress.com/2018/10/29/radcliffe-tower-and-close-park/

The church of St. Mary across the way is locked, as all have been today – is that a sign of increased urbanisation?

A church existed on this site since Saxon times—the present one dates from the C13th. I wander around the graveyard, as in many other churches, grave stones have been used as stone slabs on the ground. An interesting one here is the old stone dial from a clock with the Roman numerals just visible. 

A creaky gate leads into a compound where the C15th Pele Tower is displayed, seemingly seldom visited. Eunice gives a comprehensive history. 

I’m becoming tired and can’t find a way out of the field. I have to backtrack through the churchyard and down cobbled streets, passing the C17th Tithe Barn – now an MOT centre.

For a short distance, I follow a track past the cricket pitch but then find myself on the streets. Continue reading →

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. A LOST MOORLAND CROSS.

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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.

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

As it once was.

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

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

Rude Health. Copyright.

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

Peter McDermott. Copyright.

 

Ian Taylor. Copyright.

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

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

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

Mat Fascione. Copyright.

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

We clog on slowly. Emerging onto the busy A678 Burnley Road, we have half a mile to walk before turning into the tree-lined avenue leading to the Mercure Dunkenhalgh Hotel. A C19th Tudor-style house built on the site of a C13th hall. Despite our appearance, we are upgraded to an executive double room unfortunately about half a mile away from reception and bar.

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

***

HYNBURN CANAL CLOG.

20 Replies

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.

9 Replies

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.

8 Replies

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.