Tag Archives: Longridge Fell

LITTER.

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I do a litter pick-up on Longridge Fell.

Litter drives most people mad.  Cans, bottles, food wrappers, dog poo bags. Unfortunately, they are everywhere these days. Our roadsides are a disgrace, and our footpaths often the same. I do a regular ‘litter pick’  on Longridge Fell, as do others, and I think it has helped. But recent episodes of irresponsible wild camping have left a lot of litter. Time to clear it; nobody else will.

This fits in perfectly with my 52 Ways to Walk – Pick Up Litter As You Walk chapter for this week.

Litter is so intrusive visually, especially in rural surroundings; not so great in towns either. It can harm wildlife and pollute our rivers. One wonders what the cost is for local authorities?

So let’s get picking. I wander through the woods; the odd can and dog poo bag are easily dealt with.

Soon I am at one of the sites of an open fire. I collect discarded melted bottles and bits of metal barbecue mesh. Can you understand the mentality of anyone lighting fires in the middle of a forest during a heat wave? 

I have a full carrier bag, and when I reach another campfire site, I need to return the next day with a bigger bag.

I have a very satisfied feeling for doing some good for the environment and my community. People I meet are interested and give me encouragement in the task at hand. All to the good. So, on your next walk, why don’t you do a little litter-picking? Go on, it’ll give you a boost and help the environment at the same time. It’s not so easy if you don’t go prepared. A litter grabber, gloves and bags are really needed. One tip from the book is to have two separate bags, one for recyclables and one for landfill, as you won’t feel like sorting through the mess later.

 

 

CALM RESTORED.

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There’s nothing that beats a beautiful garden for restoring one’s equilibrium. Woodlands, lawns, borders, meadows, roses, ponds and more.

Add to that a fantastic view across Chipping Vale of the Bowland Hills and some delicious cake. All in the aid of charity.

My frustrations of earlier melt away.

FRUSTRATIONS.

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I’m up early, for me, and setting off for a short walk up the fell at 8 am. Gotta beat the heat.

I don’t often walk up Spire Hill these days. My  ‘It’s grim up north’  Scots Pine has been cut down. They have tried to improve the fell by drainage, which is the opposite of what we should be doing; we need to restore the carbon-holding mosses up here. Trees have been cut down for no reason on the fell alongside the wall. And worst of all, the area around the trig point is desecrated by some egocentric individual who thinks this is the most iconic and desirable trig point to visit and sign his inane ‘summit book’. Shades of social media influencers – well, we don’t need them in an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, AONB.  See later in my frustrated rant**

Whilst up here, I wander into a wooded area owned by United Utilities. I am astonished to find motorcyclists camping in its midst. And even more horrified to see signs of open fires. This is a high-fire-risk area, but obviously, some people don’t care.  I take a picture from a distance and log a grid reference and then pass them by, probably sleeping off last night’s indulgences. I know I am being prejudiced as to their presence. But how did they get in here? There is a small gate for walkers, but the main gates are normally padlocked. I realise on the way out that the padlock has gone, and I suspect forced entry. The notice on the gate gives a phone number to report any problems. I make a note of it as my phone turns off.

Back home a little later and with my phone charged up, I try the local United Utilities number advertised at the gate. No longer usable, is the answer I receive. Looking up United Utilities online, they have a 24hr contact number.  One gets the usual ‘your call is important to us’ message as they try to direct you to an online help zone. I’m having none of that and hold through several different phone options, none of which are relevant to my situation. I haven’t had a leak, a flood. or moved home, nor do I want to pay my bill.

At last, a human, or at least I think he is, answers. Name, address, phone number OK Then he asks me for my email address, and I have to stop him and explain, without all the red tape, that I haven’t phoned about a domestic water issue, but that I am concerned about one of United Utilities’ properties. He doesn’t seem to have a list of properties available. What is the postcode? Is there a house nearby? I actually find the postcode whilst talking to him, but it doesn’t help. I know I’m up against it when I offer him the grid reference. Have I what3words? It is becoming obvious that he is unable to locate the property in his system. Amazingly, he asks me once more, is there a leak or a flood?  I reiterate the possible danger of a forest fire, but he doesn’t seem to have a way of dealing with that. There doesn’t seem to be any person in authority to speak to, so I suggest I might be better off phoning the police – he thinks that is a good idea, and I feel he is glad to get me off the phone.

There were many negatives there, and at the end of the call, United Utilities was unable to satisfactorily address a case of unlawful camping and the potential for a forest fire on their property. I tried my best to explain the problem and the location, but his computer system didn’t have the capacity to process my information. In the past, a handler would have written down all the information on a piece of paper and known who in the operation to speak to.

A call to the police on 101 was more straightforward; I was put through to the appropriate person. She processed my information quickly and identified the problem and its exact location. Somebody would be sent to have a ‘word’ with the campers. I have no idea of the follow-up.

One tries to do one’s best in these situations but become frustrated by the inflexibility of the systems. One hears of the same problems dealing with any of our utilities, banks, medical or other establishments.

As a follow-up, I try to complain to United Utilities. Having had no success on their phone lines, I go straight to their website. This is again a complicated affair, but I persist with the form-filling only to receive a refusal to send at the end of the procedure. A ‘bad gateway’ to blame, I do not know how to fix that problem, so I give up.

One last try: I’ll write an email directly to them, though finding their email address rather than their website is not easy. I doubt they will receive my complaint. I may try phoning them after the weekend when they may be better staffed.

** More frustration with the situation up at Spire Hill, which I visited earlier in the day. Way back, I emailed Bowland AONB, now retitled National Landscapes, and overseen by Natural England, concerning the installation of what I can only call paraphernalia. I will remind you of my photos at the time.

I received no reply from Natural England.

I next contacted the countryside officer at Ribble Valley Council to query whether any planning regulations were being broken. I emailed him photographic evidence, and he promised to look into it. After three weeks, I had heard nothing, so I spoke to him again and was told he had handed the problem to Natural England in Bowland. Nothing has been heard since. These public servants are poor at communicating with their public. Time for another telephone call next week.

To rid myself of the frustrations, this afternoon I’m planning on visiting one of our local gardens open under The National Garden Scheme for charity. Flowers and cake should calm me down.

 

MAD DOGS…

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…and Englishmen.

You won’t get me out in the midday sun this week.

I manage an early-morning walk in the shade up on the fell. There is a slight breeze, but the temperature is already 26°C.

It’s a little cooler down by the stream.

I’m home well before lunch and rehydrating behind drawn curtains; the temperature is up to 31°C.

My wise cats have more sense than those mad dogs.

This Englishman will see you next week.

A GOOD NIGHT’S SLEEP.

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Walk in an evergreen forest.

Week 25 of my 52 Ways to Walk Odyssey. I’m still going strong. Will I see out the year?

It’s almost the longest day, and I don’t feel I have achieved much, walking-wise, this year. I still haven’t managed one of my mini long-distance routes with a few hotel or pub overnighters thrown in. There’s time yet.

A retreat of mine for a quick hour is the plantation up on Longridge Fell, which is called Cowley Brook  Woodland. I’ve been up there a few times this week and realised it provides me with that evergreen forest walk. Owned by Unite Utilities, originally a commercial pine plantation which was partially cleared a decade or so ago and replanted with deciduous trees. In that time, more evergreens have appeared, presumably from seeds in the ground. Looking back at an old post from 5 years ago, I am amazed to see how the woodland has developed. Compare a photo from February 2021 with today’s view. I wonder whether the planted deciduous trees will survive with all that natural competition?

 

The evergreens, specifically pines in this case (cedars, larches, firs, pines, and spruces), all have a distinctive resinous smell. Essential oils, phytoncides, are produced by the trees as a defence against insects, fungi and disease. These chemicals are said to have medical benefits, namely boosting immunity, reducing stress and aiding sleep. It is the latter that I am hoping for today. Walking in the forest in the afternoon on a warm, windless day is recommended. There have been a few of those this week,

I wander slowly through the woods, breathing deeply and touching the greenery as I pass. I realise I can’t always identify the coniferous species; there is a mixture in here, but it doesn’t matter for now. Larches, spruces and cypresses seem to be the most prominent in the ‘new’ plantation. I can immerse myself in the new trees, as most are just over head height.

Along the way, a Slippery Jack or a Larch Bolete, I forgot to check the tree, has suddenly appeared in the warm, moist weather.

Higher up the hill, mature pines and the more sterile commercial spruces are still standing, with their foliage many feet above.  So here I  concentrate on their bark and any resinous sap exuded from damaged areas. This is more pungent than the odour from squeezing the greenery of the low tees. It does stick to your fingers, though, and, without thinking, transfers to my phone’s touchscreen when taking pictures.

It is invigorating up here, and the day is enhanced by a chorus of bird song**. But my joy is blunted by finding the site of a campfire, right in the middle of the forest! and the associated litter, which I will deal with another day. It is difficult to understand some people.

Forest Bathing, the Japanese process of relaxation known as Shinrin Yoku, has become fashionable. I can see its appeal, and I intend to seek out more natural evergreen forests rather than commercial ones, if I can find any nearby. There is a small patch of possible Scots Pines across the way on a piece of fell I’ve never been on. This is where the cuckoos lay their eggs most years.  I’m surprised to still hear a male over there at this time of year.

 

So did I sleep any better – well, no. I am a bad sleeper at the best of times, and this week I have the added distraction of the World Cup. Broadcast from the States, so airing on our TV late at night and in the early hours. I should have brought some of that resin sap back with me.  That has suddenly brought back sensory memories of applying resin (rosin) to my bow when I played the cello. How wonderful, maybe I should buy a block to keep under my pillow.

**I have just come across this photographer’s website, which has an article on Cowley Brook.

Better go before the football starts, it could be a late night.

 

BOUNDING ALONG.

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You join me halfway round my Longridge walk. I’m on the road heading up to the fell, with the wooded hill of Tootle Heights in the background; this was on the edge of what was once a large stone quarry, now a caravan park.  There are several old photographs from the early 20th century depicting a ‘broad walk’ going up the heights where the people of Longridge would parade in their Sunday finery. I often imagine the scene as I walk up here.

I cut off into the park right next to one of the old tunnels, built in 1839, that goes under the road for 55 yards into the quarry, which is now barred. Stone was extracted and carted through the tunnel. Wagons took stone from here through what is now the park on the railway line leading to Preston. Brake wagons were used down the gradient to Preston and hauled back empty by horses. Steam engines came into use in 1848.

I stroll past the miniature Miyawaki forest, which is showing growth in only its second year. I only hope I’m around in 10 years to see how it has developed.

Several of the dog walkers in the park are acquaintances, so progress is slow.

At the bottom of the park is the line of the old rail track going to Preston. IA branch went off to the right for a few hundred yards to the base of what was Lord’s Quarry. It is now a popular path leading to the top of Lord’s Lane, better known locally as Mile Lane. It winds its way between trees and undergrowth. I have forgotten that the Rotary Club undertook its resurfacing a few days ago. I get to walk on it for the first time. They have thankfully not tarmacked it but used hardcore and sand. It looks a little severe at the moment, but once the edges soften with foliage, all should be well.

Then I’m at the top of Mile Lane and away from people, I can resume my walking with a bounce theme for this week’s 52 ways. The book titles the chapter “Jump Start Your Walk for Super Strong Bones.”  

We are all aware that weight-bearing exercise is essential for strong bones, especially as we age. Women in particular are prone to osteoporosis, but it applies to us males also. Science suggests that regular exercise helps preserve our bones, but to improve bone density, one needs higher-impact exercise. Running, jumping and hopping all provide that high impact. Walking fast with varying changes of direction is better than strolling. The book suggests doing some jumps in the privacy of your home before setting off.

After the said jumping, I left home with thoughts of bounding along the pavement, with a few shimmies thrown in.  But I immediately fell into step with a friend walking her dog, and we ended up strolling through the village. I didn’t mention my original intentions. Going our separate ways, that’s where you joined me.

Back on Mile Lane, I increase my speed and do some jumping over cracks in the concrete. This is all becoming Monty Python-esque. I don’t jump like I used to. I’ve noticed climbing stiles; I gingerly edge down where, in the past, I would have leapt from the top step. The mind is willing, but the body is weak. Fell walking does involve far more ‘stressful’ strutting than walking on the pavements, must get back to it more.

Walking down the main road is no fun; the pavement is narrow, and the cars speed past too close for comfort.  At the corner, I escape and head down Old Clay Lane. This was marked on early 19th-century maps as ‘old ‘, so it must have a long history. Where the house is now was once Thornley Tile Works, working from the latter half of the 19th century until early in the 1900s. There was probably a clay pit there long before. It is now a rather overgrown and often muddy path. Today it seems drier, full of flowers and bird song. I do some leaping over the wet patches. I disturb an owl in the trees.

I’m soon home and repeating a few jumps in the privacy of my house. Must do it more often.

A bit of bounding, a bit of history, some nature and plenty of chatting – all good on a short walk.

My last post was dedicated to my son’s dogs. To redress the balance, here are my two cats waiting for my return this afternoon.

A RIVER RIBBLE RAMBLE.

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Follow a river. 

Yes, I’m onto my next week of 52 Ways to Walk, all about walking by rivers. The book says “researchers found that a landscape that included running water had a restorative effect. Was it the sound of running water? The light reflecting from its surface? ….  The presence of water makes many of us feel calmer.” 

I have a favourite short walk along the banks of the River Ribble—time to revisit.

Looking back, I have completed several long-distance paths following rivers, so there must be something attractive about them. The Speyside Way, The Wyre Way, The Tees Way, The Severn Way, The Dearne Way, The Thames Way – the list could go on. And of course pertinent to today’s stroll, The Ribble Way.

Does one go upstream from the coast to the source? Or do you start high and follow the river down?  The choice is yours, but I tend to favour source-to-sea aesthetically.  Finding the source is not always easy, as there are often myriad streams up on the fells. It is rare to find the highest legitimate spring giving birth to a great river. I thought I found it on the Bollin Valley Way in the Macclesfield Forest. I might have been mistaken.

Getting back to today’s excursion by the Ribble, which is one of the great northern rivers, arising high in the Pennines and gathering waters on its way to its estuary out past Preston. The proposed ‘Way’ alongside it is flawed by a lack of access to its banks for over half its length. Landed gentry and fishing syndicates intervene. Successive governments have fallen short on this aspect of our freedom to enjoy the countryside. Between Preston and Ribchester is a prime example, from Red Scar to almost Ribchester, the long-distance route is nowhere near the river.

But my Ribble loop is legal and strangely not even used by the official Ribble Way. Here is a map of my extended loop walk. I find a place to park at the bottom of Alston Lane, and to make the route longer and more interesting, walk back partway up the lane, passing the University’s observatories and the gates to Alston Hall.

An almost hidden stile leads into a field. It’s signed for the Ribble Way, but there have been few through recently. Yes, that’s Pendle in the background.

Finding a way down to a hidden stile that collapses as I cross it. I spend time on the Lancashire County Council app photographing the evidence and posting a report. Do they have the time or money to deal with these problems?  The next stile is more substantial. There is even an old Ribble Way sign.

The grass in the field is long, and I almost step on a hare that bounds off. A large bird flies out of a tall tree – it must be a buzzard, but it just doesn’t seem right, an osprey??  They have been seen at Brockholes Nature Reserve just downriver from here. A flowering elderberry in the hedge row reminds me to make some cordial from the pink-flowered one in my garden.

Leaving The Ribble Way, a track takes me down to another hidden series of stiles in a wooden dell. One stile is easier to crawl beneath than to try to climb over. I seem to be having a problem with stiles today, old age?

Reaching the lane, I am only a few yards from where I parked. This has been a pleasant ramble in itself, but I haven’t reached the river yet. I turn left and soon enter a horse paddock. Fortunately, the residents are resting in the heat, so don’t bother me—a field of buttercups.

Soon, I am heading down to the river at last. I hear it before I see it. The Ribble speeds along over minor rapids before settling down to a lazy flow. What a contrast to wintery conditions, we hardly had any rain the last couple of weeks. I try to capture the atmosphere in a video.  

The path alongside the river has been strimmed, presumably for the fishermen who access this stretch, so I can walk effortlessly, whilst watching the flow of the water. I must admit it is calming.

There are places where one can access little stony beaches, and the water looks tempting on a hot sunny day. But the river is still cold, a young boy tragically died this week, a few miles upriver at Ribchester.

I’m almost at the bottom of the ‘loop’ and can look inland towards Longridge Fell. Continuing the circuit, there, on the opposite bank, is Balderstone Hall. The river becomes shallow here over rocky shelves, and this was the site of an ancient ford. I was tempted today.

Leaving the river, I pass the new build that was under construction last time I was here. It looks very severe, not at all in keeping with its surroundings.

Walking up the rural lane, I come across this tractor parked up. If I see a vintage tractor, I include a photo for certain readers – well, this one is brand new, straight out of the saleroom; if they have tractor salerooms.

Taking the bridleway towards Old Alston Hall.

I watch a couple of young girls putting their ponies through their paces. A pleasant chat with their father, but I’m not invited in for tea.

https://historicengland.org.uk/listing/the-list/list-entry/1072296?section=comments-and-photos

I walk past their large barn, and around the corner is my car parked in a shady spot.

A walk I’m happy to repeat at any time of the year, hidden rural Lancashire, and especially that invigorating river.

 

LOCAL, ONE MORE TIME.

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I’ve contented myself with mainly local walks for the last few months, whilst not allowed to drive post-shoulder operation. Hence, my posts have been more mundane than usual. Another week and I’ll be back driving – for good or bad, the cost of fuel will come as a surprise.

However, today I find myself walking up ‘Mile Lane’ again, my usual three-mile walk to go shopping. I don’t need to walk that far to the shops, but they say exercise is good for you. Besides, I’m testing out this week’s idea from the 52 Ways to Walk book’s entry, Walk Hungry. I’ve already done Walking after Eating, which wasn’t conclusive about whether it aided my digestion or lowered my blood sugar. Not a very scientific approach, I’m afraid.

Finishing this morning’s crossword mid-morning, I still hadn’t dressed or eaten. An opportunity to rouse myself and walk hungry.  So without further hesitation, I’m out walking. Would it help regulate my fat burning and insulin levels, as some of the book’s science suggests? I would have to walk regularly before breakfast to obtain any benefits, which wouldn’t fit my rather ramshackle lifestyle.

Mile Lane again.

But there are benefits, as I enjoy the ever-changing skies, bright blue one minute and threateningly black the next. We are in a spell of changeable weather; rain is forecast by lunchtime, but it appears to blow over without troubling us. Notice in my photo across the meadows towards the village and St Wilfred’s steeple, the cows are lying down – an old folklore of rain to come. (Late afternoon, we experienced a heavy hail storm!) 

Last week I talked of the Hawthorn blossoming in our hedgerows, and was reminded by Shazza of the abundant Cow Parsley. I’m able to redress that today on Mile Lane, which I have said many times is less than half a mile long.  The Cow Parsley is indeed profuse this year.

Also very prominent in the hedgerow is another white flower, Garlic Mustard. Appropriately named ‘Jack In the Hedge’. The leaves do have a faint garlic smell.

Whilst I’m taking time examining the flora, I notice the flower spikes on the Holly. We are more used to its showy red berries in the autumn and winter, but the flowers are quite complex and often go unnoticed.

Another strong, sweet scent comes along as I pass a Mountain Ash in full flower. The Rowan, also once called the “witch wiggin tree,” was planted outside homes in ancient times as a protection against evil and witchcraft. They are common in Lancashire; we had a lot of witches.

With the Bowland Hills in the background, I move on into the park. Diverting to check on the Miyawaki Forest, planted here last year, it’s good to see the native trees have grown significantly this season and are reaching above the paling fence. It will be interesting to see which varieties do best.

The local council is limiting mowing in parts of the park for environmental reasons, resulting in a colourful splash of Buttercups.  In amongst them is a young Oak, one of several planted by our active local Environmental Group. Things are looking up for nature, and hopefully, the younger generation will take heed.

Did you, as a child, hold a buttercup under your pal’s chin to see if they liked butter?  A glow appeared like magic. Of course, we all liked butter because the flower petals are highly reflective to attract insects.

After shopping, I reach home – my poached egg tasted that little bit better this morning. Maybe walking hungry is a good idea. Do you have a favourite walk to the shops?

 

 

DANCING IN THE WILD.

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I can now manage stiles, so my options for walks from home multiply. Let’s visit some of our neighbouring field paths, which I usually have to myself. Given this week’s walking topic, Take a walk dance. Solitude would be an advantage. I’m not the best of dancers.

In March 1599, Will Kemp, a comic actor in Shakespeare’s company. Morris danced from London to Norwich and wrote a book about it called “Nine Daies Wonder”. It took him 23 days. His reasons for this escapade are not clear. The reasons for my walk dance are not entirely clear either. Anabelle Streets, in her book, gives us this.

“Dance has been proven to lift mood, improve balance, and boost aerobic fitness. I like to break up my walks with short bursts of dance and wave my arms in the air”  All very plausible, adding some playfulness to the activity and boosting our dopamine.

I’m ready to go, although I haven’t decided on my dance step yet.

It’s amazing what you can find on YouTube.  I’ve no idea who Su Lee is; she is not the best dancer, but it’s a simple, catchy tune to accompany me as I dance through the fields. Yes, I know I’m far too old for this malarkey.

  When I think back on long road treks, I often skipped a few steps to break the rhythm.
As children walking to and from school, we would devise some playful steps to avoid the cracks along the way. And what about kicking a tennis ball or a stone down the pavement? I still do.
  The fields are the driest I’ve seen them for a long time, there are flowers everywhere, and lots of birdsong – it makes you want to dance. I took a few of the usual photos, but thankfully no selfies, by the time I reached the road home, all dancing had stopped to preserve my dignity. My dancing days are over.

 

Out of the village. 

Down a green lane.  

Open fields and the Longridge.  

Bowland View.  

 

Sheep and lambs are bewildered by my antics.  

Sycamore
Oak.

 

Strange.  

I normally walk past this seat, but today, after all the exertions, I was glad to sit and stare at the views and blue sky. My phone ran out of juice, so you will just have to believe me. I’m pretty much out of juice myself; I realise what the last four months have taken out of my life.

VISTA VISION.

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Two birds with one stone – not literally.

The first figurative bird is to climb up Longridge Fell, which, for various reasons, I’ve not achieved this year; Sir Hugh’s transport comes to my rescue on this account.

The second figurative bird is to Walk with Vista Vision, yes, this week’s walk of the 52. I’m not sure whether to involve Sir Hugh in this process.

So yes, I’m hoping to kill two birds with one stone.

The morning starts with strong coffee after my sleepless night, and as it turns out, a similar but strange disruptive occurrence for Sir Hugh. (If he posts about it, I will give a link at the end) He has kindly come down to Longridge to ferry me to pastures new. I promise to then take him up high with minimal effort. The day bodes well for a fell walk—clear blue skies but with a chilly east wind, which is easily combatted with an extra layer. As expected, the layby on the southern side of the fell is busy with cars, probably mostly dog walkers. I remember in the later lockdown times, hundreds of cars parked along here, I went elsewhere.

The main track is a gradual gradient up the fellside, suitable for our advancing years. We keep a steady pace, which allows us to chat and catch up as we go. There is a lot of shared history between us.

The forestry road continues without reaching the top, so we take a side track, which has seen many fallen trees since I was last up here.

As we approach the ridge wall, I talk of the ‘promised land’ ahead, a quote from Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath.

We go through the gate onto the open fell, and there in front of us is the Vale of Chipping with the Bowland Fells stretching across the skyline—my Vista Vision. And there is more in the haze over to the Yorkshire Three Peaks. Photographs of this panorama never do it justice, well, not mine at least, even though I must have scores.

The wall leads us towards the trig point on Spire Hill, 350m. I’m really dreading it, but don’t say anything to Sir Hugh. I came up here at the end of last year and was dismayed by the inappropriate summit ‘furniture’ that had been constructed. I wrote about it at the time.

Things have taken a turn for the worse; the perpetrator has since erected an ‘information board’ that obstructs the views true fell walkers have come to admire. Sir Hugh is not impressed.

Moving on quickly.

I know the ridge trail ends up in boggy ground amongst fallen trees, so we take a relatively new mountainbike track southwards to meet the fell road. This track is a delight to walk, though I certainly wouldn’t want to ride its treacherous jumps. But what a contrast to all the crap at the trig point.

Back on the forest road, we follow it eastwards, enjoying the vistas in all directions as we go.

There was once a clearing on the fellside hereabouts with a log to sit on and admire Sam’s View. The hills bordering the Trough Road, beloved by cyclists, running through the Bowland Fells. Today, the log is disintegrating, and the view is obstructed by new tree growth.  We still find a bank seat in the sunshine. As is the way we discuss diverse topics, for some reason, A J Cronin’s novel, which we probably read as sixth formers way back when. Despite recalling the medical plot, the name of the book doesn’t come to us till later in the walk – The Citadel.

Merlin picks up a noisy Robin and a Willow Warbler? I’ve no idea what the latter is doing up here, but we spot its slender profile on a waving tree top.

Sojourn over, we cut back to the main forest track and begin the homeward leg. We now have vista views to the hazy hills of East Lancashire.

A final path takes us out of the forest past one of my favourite beech trees.

All day I have been visually scanning the horizon and distant fell vistas. According to research, this, rather than focused vision, has a liberating effect on the brain’s sensors. I just know I like panoramic views from up high.

Sir Hugh’s version…https://conradwalks.blogspot.com/2026/04/longridge-fell-with-bc.html

 

 

OVER THE HILL.

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Somewhere on WordPress, someone uses the title “Over the Hill”. You can imagine his or her demographics. Today, I’m over the hill whichever way you take it.

I cancelled a walk over Longridge Fell at Easter because there were no buses, and it rained anyway.

But today the weather is perfect, little wind and full sun with temperatures in the high teens. After lunch** I take the little bus towards Ribchester and alight at Ward Green near Angel’s Restaurant. As I walk up the lane, I realise I am probably overdressed for the conditions; too late now to divest myself of my jacket. I plan to take a traffic and stile free route over the tail of Longridge Fell, maybe avoiding all the noise pollution from the other day.

I pass the Written Stone, on which I have often commented.

Ralffe Radcliffe laid this stone to lye for ever AD 1655

  The enclosed lane above is drier than usual, and I am soon in the fields below the development at Craig Y. The youngsters bouldering there knew nothing of how it used to be open fields.

I’m pleased to see the pair of Great Crested Grebes are back, though no sign of their courting dance today. I miss not carrying my telephoto camera.

Spot the Grebe.

It’s downhill from here, still on a very quiet lane. These houses must have a wonderful view of the Bowland Fells.

Halfway down, I take a farm track back towards Longridge, passing this curious structure built into a wall.

Past the busy working farm is a stone house recently empty.  The man who lived here was always around as you walked through. I remember some of his stories.

  “There was one more encounter at Sharples House. The farmer there had previously talked of having the largest cheese press in Lancashire; I believed him. In the past, many farms in the area made their own tasty Lancashire cheese. Today he seemed in a good mood, so I enquired further, and he took me to see the stone, which was indeed large and must have weighed a ton. He explained that the house was from the late 17th century. A former occupant, Peter Walken (1684-1769), had been a nonconformist minister as well as a farmer. Uniquely, he kept a series of diaries, most of which have been lost, but two from 1733-34 have been found and published by a researcher from Preston museum. The present farmer was contacted and was able to see Peter Walken’s journals, but described them as boring, though they must have given an insight into farming life in the first half of the 18th century. He also told me about a mystery from the last century: two thieves broke into the house, killing the farmer, but the daughter escaped by hiding in an adjacent barn, which he pointed out”

One wonders how much local history has been lost. The old house will soon be converted.  I don’t go looking for the cheese stone. Here’s a previous photo.

 

To be honest, I’m feeling weary, overheated in my winter jacket, and in pain from a pulled muscle from the recent, persistent cough. I trudge on, my mind drifting to a drink and a sit-down in the farm cafe further on. A friendly dog runs up to me. I recognise her, it’s Zola, an Australian Kelpie. Not far behind is C, remember those slate poems, out enjoying the sunshine. In my weary state, I turn down the offer to accompany them, but gallantly, they turn around and head home, where I am very grateful for that drink and sit down.

The last mile past the cricket pitch and via Sainsbury’s drags on. It gives me time to look up at the way I came over the fell.

I’m reduced to a snail’s pace by the time I reach my house. I certainly feel over the hill.

      _____

  ** After lunch.  This week’s ‘way to walk’ topic is ‘Walk after eating,’ which doesn’t motivate me. The blurb says walking aids digestion. I’ll leave it at that.

AN EASTER DAY.

8 Replies

 

  A Catching Yellow.    A mundane post mainly about gate catches, oh! and the moon if you get to the end.

   “It’s crazy”, as Manuel would say in Fawlty Towers. It’s Easter and the weather is crazy. A few days ago, I was out in sleet and hailstones, so bad we had to curtail the walk early in one of our excellent hostalries. Then calm and warm. Then along comes Dave, the latest storm. My windows rattled all night, but this morning the sun comes out, even though  I can hardly stand up in the wind. And this evening all is peaceful, and I’m looking forward to a brilliant sunset.

  I have just returned from a six or seven-mile walk around Longridge.  Blown and blasted by the wind, but invigorated by the sunshine. My mission was to investigate changes on the ground of my, or anybody else’s, Round Longridge Walk. I have talked about the origins and development of this route over the years. The problem is that Longridge is bursting at the seams, its wasteline expanding with all that Easter chocolate. Where there were fields, hedges and trees, we now have desirable countryside housing estates, you know the language. Bowland Meadows, Primrose Drive, and Linnet Lane. All imagined in the developers’ world and all destroying what they represented. Sorry, I have gone off on one there. I keep doing that. But as Manuel would also say, “I know nothing”

  I walk down Green Nook Lane. (The term “Nook”  refers to a secluded, “out of the way” place.)  The lane leads to a secluded house, but we are diverted away over a bridge spanning the infant  Savick Brook, which winds its way to Preston and the Ribble. It doesn’t look that clean as it passes. This is not surprising, but not excusable, as we are in the centre of an industrial complex. 

  I walk alongside the touchline of one of the football pitches. It’s heavy going after all the rain, wouldn’t want to be running with the ball. I reach a bridge, followed by a new metal gate with one of those fluorescent yellow catches. Said to be hard-wearing and visually clear to all, they are becoming more common in the countryside. The field edge is better going until a dodgy bridge that will need replacing soon. A concrete track is not much better, often disappearing into mud. Originally, I used to follow this track through the farmyard out onto the main road, but there is now a gap into Alston Grange waste land. Last year, this was obstructed, but I’m pleased to find another one of those new metal gates with a yellow catch leading into the ponded area linking to paths that bring me out directly opposite Pinfold Lane. 

  A familiar route was taken down the lane which leads to a few isolated ‘farms’. It is rare to see a car along this stretch, but here’s one coming towards me – the driver’s window reveals a friend happy to chat. The lane had just reopened after a tree blew down last night, someone has cleared it – a large beech. I  suspect there will be others down in the area. I pass by the observation hides looking over a disused reservoir.  It’s too windy for many birds to be out, though there are swans on the water. The lane leading back up to the village is known locally as Happy Alley, don’t ask me why; there is a graveyard at the top. I don’t follow it that far, but take a wooden gate into the field north of the reservoir. Sheep and lambs are everywhere. I struggle to get over the wobbly stile out of the field and almost turn back, somehow, climbing over the gate was the easiest option. I daren’t risk a fall before seeing the shoulder specialist at the end of the week.

  I stick with the roads until I can turn up Tan Yard lane heading steeply up to the top of the village. There had been a tannery up near the quarries at one time. There has been some minor rerouting of the PRofW recently, an improvement that keeps it in the field rather than through houses. A new metal gate, complete with a yellow catch, leads the way. There is another one up ahead. This elevated path gives great views across Dilworth Reservoirs and across the Ribble Valley to Whalley and Pendle Hill. 

  I skirt the caravan park and come out right next to Craig Y Longridge, our renowned bouldering venue. Three youths are enjoying their first visit and doing their best to avoid the wind. A lot of my local walks seem to end up here at present.

  To follow my Round Longridge walk further would involve several stiles, so I’m happy to walk down Higher Road back home.  I am pleased with the new gates I’ve encountered and can update my description. 

  Being Easter Sunday, the shops are closed. I had been hoping to look around our new bookshop in the old chapel at the top of the main street, exciting news for Longridge. Something for next week.  

Green Nook Lane.

The first bridge and galvanised gate.

The dodgy bridge.

The new gate with yellow catch.

Either way, past ponds.

Pinfold Lane.

Happy Alley, with St. Lawrence’s and the Dog Inn prominent on the skyline.

Wooden gate.
Sheep field.

Dodgy stile.

Lower Tan Yard Lane.
Higher Tan Yard Lane.

 

 

New gate, yellow latch.

And the next.

Dilworth reservoirs and the Ribble Valley.

Distant Pendle Hill.

Into the caravan site. 

Out of the caravan site.

Craig Y Longridge.  

   *

All of a rather mundane walk today, but in view of the ongoing NASA Artemis space mission around the moon, a good excuse for a post in order to play…

 

 

 

 

ON AND ON,,,

13 Replies

  We have slipped into April. I can’t help but reflect on this passage of time. Three months of 2026 have gone by without me hardly breaking out of the bubble that is Longridge town. I have slowly and reluctantly adapted the word ‘town’ to the ‘village’ that I have known for over fifty years. 

  Three months of my life drifted away. 

  Plodding one-armed around the village every day, I’m one of the lucky ones; friends are falling away with dementia and other terminal illnesses. Today I come home with delicious curries from Rabia. I chat to acquaintances, which does make it feel like a village once more; we all have our grumbles. 

   I am so grateful to friends who have driven me to fresh scenery. But today I’m back to the familiar with a Walk with my Ears, this week’s project. I want to be away from people and noisy streets; I want to be able to close my eyes and focus on the auditory, away from the visible. I will take Merlin with me. I choose a route into what I hope will be open countryside, not far from home. I slip by the farm shop, nursery and cafe; agricultural diversification. Once in the fields, I switch to auditory mode, but I still pick up distant traffic noise. Deeper into the countryside, the sound of agricultural machinery intrudes. This is not what I expected: a sharp dose of reality. 

  I stop and listen, but the birdsong and rustles of vegetation nearby are diluted by human activity. Frustated, I carry on and come out onto the lane heading up the steep Birks Brow, where at last the background noise is absent. I stop once again and hear robins, blackbirds, carrion crows, bleating lambs and buzzing bees. My attempt to record it is interrupted by a passing car. 

  Time to accept that I now live in a noisy semi-urban environment. Imagine walking with your ears in the middle of Manchester, would you hear their bees? One realises the value of relatively inaccessible places, where I usually find myself. The world is becoming increasingly fragile. I wander home through the noisy streets, reflecting that my desired utopia is out of reach at present. 

  On and on …

 

 *

Tomorrow I have a plan: catch the bus to Knowle Green and walk back over the fell tracks, hopefully with no awkward stiles that would turn me back, or worse. I’m searching for a quieter environment. 

  It didn’t happen, I had forgotten about Easter with a reduced bus service – and it rained. 

ANOTHER WEEK DAWNS.

9 Replies

I’m ticking off the weeks since my shoulder operation. The pain is subsiding. I saw the consultant, and he emphasised the need for my right arm in a sling for another month minimum. My brain is adapting to left-handedness, but there are so many occasions when you need two hands. I’m not complaining.

This week starts with a mixed forecast but mainly dry, allowing me to walk a few miles most days around the village. What of my 52 Ways to Walk book? I choose another week’s topic that fits my circumstances. Walk Within an Hour of Waking. Walk at Altitude, Walk by the Sea, Walk With a Dog, and others will have to wait.

  Those of you who know me will realise I’m not one for the crack of dawn, except when I’m away on a multiday trek. That slothful habit, combined with my present fitful sleeping, doesn’t bode well for the task ahead.  But I don’t need to be up at an unearthly hour – just walk within an hour of rising. That fits in perfectly with my first leisurely morning coffee.

  The purpose of this early walk is to stimulate your receptors with natural light at the start of the day. A quick burst of cortisol and serotonin prepares one for the day ahead. I’m all for that, especially at this time of year when feeling sluggish. For years, the importance of bright natural light in winter has been recognised as a way to combat SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder), also known as the Winter Blues. (Symptoms: Low mood, lack of interest in hobbies, guilt, irritability, difficulty concentrating, craving carbohydrates, and oversleeping.) Recognise those? Somewhere, I have a ‘lightbox’ for therapy, but I always forget about it until about now. 

  Natural winter sunlight is what is needed. Hence, walking within an hour of waking, it doesn’t have to be a long walk, I aim to get back for my second coffee within half an hour. I’m feeling rather smug with my early morning walks, and probably more refreshed for the day ahead. Today, son number one visited to help out with transport. We had the chance later to drive up the fell for a glorious walk on the forest tracks, not a stile or ford in sight. A welcome change of scenery. Still no one-handed photographs, but I will leave you with this little number from 1966!

RAIN … careful what you ask for.

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My rain dance backfired. The temperature has plummeted, and we wake up to snow this morning. That is not one of my 52 Walks.

My son and partner are coming up to see me and taking me out for lunch. The two dogs enjoy the journey and know my house well. They are more excited about seeing my kittens again than about the treats I offer. The kittens take it in their stride.

Our usual walk with the dogs is in the plantation on the fell. On the way up, as the snow thickens, I begin to have doubts about the wisdom of driving high, but there is no ice on that nasty corner, and we park safely without incident.

What a difference a dusting of snow makes to the landscape. Everything is brought into focus, distances seem to spread, and the surrounding hills look twice their height. We are the only ones out, so we have the privilege of being the first to leave footprints. Well, not exactly, the dogs rush ahead, so we are left following pawprints as we weave through the trees. The air is bitter, but the tree cover eliminates any windchill.

A good time is had by all, and we retreat to the cosy bar of a local inn. The dogs sprawl out in front of the woodburner, enjoying their doggy sausages.

What a great way to spend a few hours in good company and a brief winter wonderland.

LET IT RAIN.

6 Replies

I recall a walk last year when I was passing through trees in a sudden downpour, the air cleared, and a freshness filled my nostrils. A combination of petrichor and scent from the leaves. It was a very vivid change. still clear in my mind, though I can’t remember where or when, so I can’t find a reference to it in my posts.

The forecast for this week is rain every day, as if we hadn’t had enough.

Not having much free time, I am limited to local short walks. So I bring the week’s topic, Walk in the Rain, into action, slightly out of sync with my 52 Ways to Walk book. No one need ever know.

I have several choices: walking from my house on good surfaces or a short drive up the Fell. Despite waking most mornings to rain, by the time I set off to the shops or around the estates, the air has cleared, and hardly a drop of rain falls. The only evidence of the downpours is puddles everywhere and waterdroplets hanging from the branches. I feel overdressed in full waterproofs.

As the week progresses, I need to plan more carefully if I want to get wet. Driving up the fell should get me into the low cloud and hopefully rain. On two occasions, this bodes well, the windscreen being well splattered as I park up.

But within seconds of putting a foot outside, there is complete calm. The day is still dull, but there is no rain in the air. Normally, I would say I am blessed, but I now feel cursed for my rain walk.

The walking is still pleasant in the cool, unpolluted air and with the wet foliage, but I’m not getting the full tactile experience of rain falling. Nor do I notice all those scents supposedly released from the foliage. I can’t be too disappointed, as I’m sure there will be many days in the year when I’m drenched.

 

Maybe tomorrow?

This came up a few weeks later.     https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/videos/c78rk48lnxro

*

  Whilst on the subject of weather, I hope the early appearance of one of ‘my’ hedgehogs isn’t brought about by climate change, when his food may be in short supply, and when we may see plummeting temperatures this weekend. 

 *

  And on the subject of Climate Change, today, President Trump has revoked laws established to reduce our dependence on fossil fuels and limit greenhouse gas emissions. A dangerous and ill-founded decision made partly to appease his pals in the oil industry. This is how the BBC reports it.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/cn0zdd7yl4vo

*

 

Slowly Sinking, Miami. Isaac Cordal.

MUD, GLORIOUS MUD.

24 Replies

My 52 Ways to Walk book, Annabel Streets, has muddy walking as its topic this week. There is no shortage of mud in the fields and paths at the moment. It’s been the wettest January in years.

I can’t quite get my head around some of the science offered for the benefits of walking in mud. There is talk of Geosmin being released by bacterial activity in wet soil. Apparently, we can detect its earthy odour in minute amounts. It is supposed to improve our mood. Certainly, the smell of rain on dry ground, Petrichor, is pleasant and is partially due to Geosmin.

I don’t think mud does anything for me. But out of curiosity, I have to don my boots, Wellingtons would have been better, and walk through it, where normally I would try to avoid it. There is a corner of the fell where mud is ever present. I tramp around in it, gradually getting wetter and wetter. Yes, there is Geosmin or something in the air, but it doesn’t improve my mood. Not a very scientific experiment, I admit. My mood generally improves when I am outdoors: walking, climbing, gardening, birdwatching, or whatever. There must be multiple factors at play – I’m just not sure mud is one of them. The only benefit is for my balance as I try not to nose-dive into all that mud.

  As an aside, I find a large carrier bag hidden behind a wall on the fell. It contains half a dozen large canisters of nitrous oxide, so called laughing gas. They seem heavy, but I’m not sure whether used or full. Have they been dumped after a ‘session’, or are they hidden for pick up later? At the end of my muddy walk, I collect the carried bag and its contents and take them to our local waste disposal site. The men there are used to this – “we get loads”. They have a special locked enclosure for them. I do worry about the health of our children in these modern times and the availability of this dangerous substance, along with all the others. What a simpler childhood I enjoyed all those years ago.  

A NOSEY AROUND THE VILLAGE.

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Is it a village or a town I wonder?

Longridge was once a village centred on stone quarries and cotton mills. But that was long ago, there has been steady development in the last 50 years, until it is now a dormitory town of Preston.

The population in 2000 was about 7,000; it is now estimated at 12,000. So I think it is, in fact, a town even though the established locals still refer to it as a village. Make of that what you wish; it is irrelevant to today’s walk.

Delving into my 52 Ways to Walk book for this week, I have the snazzy title Breathe as you walk. That sounds fairly obvious. But no, there is more to it than that – let’s focus on Nitric Oxide, NO. (not be confused with nitrogen dioxide, NO2, a brown gas and major air pollutant or Nitrous Oxide, N2O, which is laughing gas) When I studied Biology in the sixties, Nitric oxide was established as highly reactive, having a lifetime of a few seconds, and I don’t recall any properties that applied to the human body. But we are in a different century, and it has assumed some importance to our physiology.

Nitric oxide is a vasodilator discovered in our bodies a mere 30 years ago. One source is from the nasal membranes, so nasal breathing delivers it directly to our lungs, helping to improve oxygen uptake. I have double-checked some of the science, and there is relevant and reliable clinical research. Interestingly, if you hum at the same time, more nitric oxide is produced.

Nasal breathing is already known to filter out more airborne pathogens than mouth breathing, and it also slows breathing, having a relaxing effect well known to Yoga followers.

Hence, on my walk today, I will try to breathe through my nose as much as possible. I realise that most of the time, when exercising, I predominantly breathe through my mouth. A gentle walk around the village/town is chosen. On the flat, slow nasal breathing is easy once you concentrate. Going uphill, breathing in through my nose but breathing out through my mouth works best. I don’t notice any extra energy on this limited walk. Of note, I am much more aware of the traffic fumes when breathing through the nose. Urban walking is probably not the healthiest option when it comes to pollution. On the contrary, at other times the scents of the countryside will be more acute with nasal breathing.

On the whole, during my walk, I find that trying to concentrate on the nasal breathing interrupts my enjoyment of the surroundings and my train of thought. More practice is needed.

*

I follow one of my usual circuits. Out past the cricket pitch, up Mile Lane (which is only half a mile), and down the path onto the top park. Here I divert to have a look at the little Miyawaki tree plantation. Most are just sticks at this time of year, but I notice yew trees and gorse in amongst them.

Down Higher Road, I pass the terraced row of stone cottages, said to be the first erected by a mutual building society.

At the top of the main street is a little fast-food outlet advertising burgers and wraps, not the sort of place I would normally use. But through the grapevine, I learned they prepare a daily curry, cooked on site in small batches from natural ingredients. I have started to pop in when passing to see what’s on offer in the curry department. Everything I have tried so far has been authentic and delicious. I go in today and come away with a portion of black bean dhal and some vegetable pakoras. Rabias Kitchen  – my little piece of India in Longridge. As one has to say  –  other outlets are available. In fact, Longridge is saturated with takeaways. 

I cut back through our recreational park with its children’s playgrounds, skate park, and now the brand-new Pump Track. I stand and stare at some of the youngsters pumping their way around the circuit. It looks like great fun. Let’s try to give our children something to prise them off their screens and possibly keep them away from more antisocial behaviour. Our community is not immune to vandalism and drug problems.

As an example of antisocial behaviour – I cpme across flytipping by the roadside next to a new estate.

This is followed by a thorough soaking from a motorist driving over the speed limit through a large puddle. Nose breathing took a dive as I swore at his rapid passing.

I don’t expect to venture far this next couple of weeks, what with the weather and appointments. Local walks will have to do. 

 

 

 

A NEW YEAR. IN BOWLAND MEADOW.

19 Replies

 

  My walking year wasn’t meant to start like this.

*

  I had a busy and costly day yesterday. 

  A dental appointment in the morning – check-up and a difficult molar filling that keeps dropping out and will need some major drilling in the near future. 

  Physiotherapy appointment at lunch time to assess some abdominal muscular problems, which have completely stopped me from venturing out in 2026 so far. Suspect nerve impingement in my thoracic region. Hopefully not a kidney stone, as my GP’s appointment is in two weeks.  

  Afternoon – ultrasound scan of my shoulder, which has suffered from the bar stool episode last year. The charming radiologist tells me I have a complete tear of the supraspinatus. No quick fix there.

  ‘That was the day that was‘, which left me £500 less in my bank account.  Having said that, I don’t begrudge a penny of it if it gets me back on the road. (OK, I know I’m lucky to be able to afford it where others may not.)

*

  Today, my muscle spasms are less, thanks to the physiotherapist’s strong-arm massage on my back yesterday—time to stop the painkillers. I have watched the blue skies on several days this year and been unable to get outside and enjoy them. By lunchtime, the day is set fair, and I decide to go for my first walk of 2026. My choice of route is modest and local. It has only now struck me that the name of the estate I walk around is Bowland Meadows – serendipity.

  I would have been happier in the Bowland Fells, but needs must, and at least the meadows have been granted a local name, although Bowland View would have been more appropriate. The meadows are no more, yet more countryside has been sacrificed for our mad rush to build more houses at whatever cost to nature. Barratt Homes,  as the developers, fall back on giving the streets ‘nature-related’ names, as you will see in my photos. Is this to dupe the house purchasers into thinking they are moving to a rural life? What was wrong with Factory Row, Mill Street and Gas Alley?  As our natural fauna and flora are being destroyed, the popularity for naming streets after birds, animals, trees and flowers has increased exponentially. There is some perverse psychology at play.  Similar to the global companies offering to plant a tree for every pound spent on destroying the planet. It just doesn’t work. 

  Having said all that, my stroll around Bowland Meadows reveals diverse, pleasant housing, open green spaces, play areas, and a connection to the surrounding countryside, for now at least. And of course, those Bowland Fells will dominate forever. 

  Let us hope they appreciate the view and the ‘rural life’ they have signed up for.

  Let’s also hope for some snowdrops, primroses, and bluebells to brighten their Spring. 

BAILEY’S LISTED BUILDINGS.

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Aighton, Bailey and Chaigley is a combined parish in the Ribble Valley, centred on Hurst Green. Many of you will have walked hereabouts, Longridge Fell, Stonyhurst College and the Tolkien trail, without realising its parish name. Today I’m exploring the Bailey area, west and south of Hurst Green. Looking at the map this morning for inspiration, I notice Bailey Hall with a moat surrounding it. Checking Historic England, it shows up as a Grade II-listed C17th house on an earlier C14th site, of a Chantry Chapel. A public footpath goes through its grounds.

A short drive and I’m parked in Hurst Green. I take the familiar track alongside Dene Book, which I’ve described many times. Renovation of the two houses along here is underway. Looking down through the bare trees, one can see the spot where a mill race came off the Brook to serve a bobbin mill further down the valley.

I walk on past the quarry to reach Sandy Bridge, a substantial structure for the little valley. Of course, this highway previously served Greengore, a C16th Hunting Lodge for the medieval Stonyhurst Deer Park.

The waterfalls above the bridge are particularly lively today and stand out well through the bare trees.

I don’t go as far as Greemgore, as I want to use some field paths I may not have trodden before. There is a hazy view of Pendle across the valley, header photo. I know I’m going to get muddy. I navigate through the yard of Hill Farm and, on in the fields below the shapely Doe Hill, with its crown of trees.

Bailey House is next, and the way is clear. This is a grade II-listed C17th building, partially hidden from the right-of-way.

I come out onto the main Longridge Road at the site of the now-demolished Punch Bowl Inn. (On old maps, it was named Fenton Arms) There is a lot of local controversy over the fate of this Grade II listed C18th inn. I walk down the lane beside the rubble.

An empty house is passed, and then a concrete drive winds through the fields towards Bailey Hall. I’ve not been down here for decades. Approaching the buildings, I pass barns that I later find out are cruck-framed. The largest barn has been converted to impressive living accommodation.

Bailey Hall stands alone, with the remains of the surrounding moat visible. Some windows have been bricked up, presumably in response to the 1696 Window Tax introduced under King William III. The whole building appears unbalanced to me.

The remains of the Chantry Chapel are difficult to make out, mainly a pile of stones. It had been built and occupied as an outlier to Whalley Abbey. so the local population could pray without difficult travel.

The moat is clearly seen on the east side of the house, where I enter the woods and drop down to a footbridge over Bailey Brook. (interestingly marked as Foot Stick on old OS maps)

The way across the fields to grade II listed Merrick’s Hall (Priest’s House on the old map) is marked by white poles, which are a great help; if only more farmers would do the same. The hall is unoccupied and in a poor state. Through the south side windows, I can just make out an elaborately carved fire surround in one room. At the front of the hall are some interesting mullioned windows, but all a little sad.

The farmer has a sizeable collection of scrap metal.

I have never been in St. John’s parish church, just across the road, so it’s yet another discovery for today. Built in 1838, it has a plain interior. What strikes me immediately is a beautiful stained glass window reminiscent of the Arts and Crafts style of William Morris and Burne-Jones. The box pews were removed in the early 20th century and replaced with pine pews.

The church prides itself on its eco-sustainability; it won a coloured glass award. On the west wall is a charming church clock.

All I have to do is walk down the steep Dene to finish this worthwhile little circuit of Bailey.

The Bayley Arms (note the change in spelling) looks very dilapidated, let’s hope it doesn’t suffer the same fate as the Punchbowl.

*

National Library of Scotland.