Tag Archives: Pendle

A WHITTLE WANDER. Part one.

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I came across the Whittle Wander on the LDWA  excellent website. I was looking for a short, long-distance way to get me back into the swing of things. It turns out to be a 16-mile circuit from Whittle-le-Woods “that takes in the canal, the river, and the beautiful countryside of the West Pennine Moors, reaching the Darwen Valley”. The author, Trevor Headley, a specialist in this area, has several publications.  I previously walked his East side of the Ribble Valley. which was well thought out and an enjoyable route. I struggled to get Headley’s contact details to order his guide for the Whittle Wander, so I had to be content with an outline map, which I plotted onto my paper maps.  Awkwardly across three 1:25,000 sheets. Incidentally, the route is not waymarked.

Thus armed, I set off on the bus to Preston, then continued on to Whittle-le -Woods. I alight at the church on the main road, and there, right next to the bus stop, is a signed footpath. The map suggests a path going between houses, so I start confidently.

The path has the impression of antiquity, possibly the route to and from the church. I pass the Parish Club. Originally a Methodist Chapel completed in 1840. Then, in 1897, when the current Methodist Chapel was built on the A6, the building became the Parish Club until 1911, when it became ‘Whittle Pictures’ and subsequently a thriving factory. It is now repurposed once again as a community centre.

Across Chorley Old Road, once the coach route to Preston, the path runs through open countryside. Further on, there are notice boards telling of its history and recent attempts to preserve it, an old way between Leyland and Brindle.

At its end, my map appears to show a footpath that runs right before ducking under the motorway. It doesn’t feel right, little used and overgrown. Himalayan Balsam is taking over. There is no obvious turning towards the motorway, and soon I’m heading in the wrong direction. A quick turnaround, still no sign of a motorway underpass. Is my map reading at fault, or is there really no path?

A closer look at the map later shows there was no way.

I head back to the cottages. at Hill Foot Farm…

…and use the road to Whittle Hills, another character house.

Then, according to my map, a farm track to North Bank Farm. Even here, the signing is confusing. I want the higher of the two motorway underpasses, A on the above map, so, ignoring the signs, I brave the farmyard and walk out at last; it seems to have taken an age to reach the other side of the motorway.

Under the motorway.

You may wonder why I have been so fixated on the map features and Rights of Way on this walk. Well, I’m into week 26 of my 52 Ways to Walk, at the longest day, – Walk with a map. I’ve been walking with a map all my life, only recently using phone OS mapping. So today I am relying completely on my paper copy of the 1:25,000 map, my phone consigned to the interior of my rucksack. I think I have an innate sense of direction, so I don’t need my compass to orientate me, it’s safely in the rucksack too, you never know. One has to constantly maintain a greater awareness of one’s surroundings, near and far, to correlate with the paper map, spotting features and signs to fix one’s position at any one time. I was lost earlier because I had misread the map – there was no continuation under the motorway from the first path.

The footpath now goes through fields, thankfully recently mown, and over some hidden stiles to emerge onto a minor road.

 

Right in front is the track heading up the field towards Denham Hall, now all plain sailing and a joy to be out in the countryside.

More fields take me to Walmsley Fold, busy with modern machinery.’ Fold is a common name on the map in these parts, originally an animal enclosure which grew into a farm or small community.

A quiet road reached Top o’th Lane, a row of cottages originally built around 1800 for quarry and handloom workers. The loom room windows in the basements. They have a fine view across to Great Hill and the western Lancashire Pennines. 

 

It’s good to be up high looking out over Preston, the Bowland Hills and Pendle,

But then I find myself in a large field full of frisky cows paying me too much close attention, not so pleasant. I back off carefully until I can escape via a stile into Brindle village.

I wander into St. James’ church. Its tower is from about 1500, the naive C19th, with many changes over the years; Paley was involved, as usual. I am immediately struck by the amount of stained glass. Every wall has large windows. 

On the edge of the village is the Old Smithy and next to it the Parish Pound. I’m sure there is more to explore in the village, but it is time to get going; the day is heating up. Heading towards Hoghton Tower, which can be seen on its hill in the distance. I navigate through fields and country lanes, possibly using my own variation of the Whittle Wander.

I come out onto the main road at Riley Green, next to the Royal Oak. 

I could finish here, but I want to complete the loop around Hoghton Tower and the River Darwen. I have described this in more detail when I last visited here on a similar walk. I’ll make do with a few pictures today.

 

Whilst I am taking the photo of the Giant Hogweed, a Kingfisher flashes by – wow.

And then I’m back at the Royal Oak for a quick half before catching the bus back to Preston.

The Whittle Wander wanders off back to the start via Wheelton and places, but I’m leaving that half for another day, hopefully it will be as interesting as today’s walk. Won’t be just yet, though, as the heatwave settles in.

***

 

 

 

ON THAT TRAIL AGAIN.

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Not all those who wander are lost. Bilbo Baggins.

Yes, you’ve guessed it, I’m on the Tolkien Trail, for the umpteenth time. I don’t think I progressed from reading The Hobbit to the Ring series, so I don’t understand all of the associations of Tolkien’s fantasy worlds and our Ribble Valley. JRR Tolkien indeed visited the area whilst his eldest son was studying at Stonyhurst College in the 1940s, and no doubt he explored a little, being an advocate of nature, but did he really lean upon the area for inspiration? It would be good to know if the green rolling Ribble Valley, which we so appreciate today, is in the background somewhere.

In these days of Instagram and social media, many places tied to a film, book or TV scene have become must-visit spots for that selfie.  The shopkeepers and pubs nearby will be rubbing their hands if their village or street is featured on TV week after week, but what of the local population who have to endure inconsiderate parking and intrusive behaviour? Try going to Haworth on a weekend. The same is happening to previously hidden beauty spots; the litter generated in some corners of the Lakeland is staggering. Internet searching even provides lists of ‘iconic’ locations.

So how does The Tolkien Trail fit into the scheme of things? Many of us have explored and enjoyed the area around Stonyhurst for decades without a thought of Tolkien or Middle-earth. Local enthusiasts and the tourist board seem to have hit upon the idea in the early 2000s, conveniently at the height of the Lord of the Rings film series’ popularity: literary connections were made and leaflets printed, and it has increased in popularity ever since. It has been included in several guidebooks, and YouTube videos are freely available. There are no standout Tolkien locations for the Instagram brigade, aside from perhaps Cromwell’s Bridge, to distract the walker. This trail is all about the natural scenery, which one hopes the visitors appreciate.

I arrive in Hurst Green at lunchtime, the streets are packed with cars, signs implore considerate parking, and there is a small car park at the village hall (voluntary contributions). I know I am adding to the problem. Why didn’t I catch the hourly bus from Longridge or come midweek?

I tend to walk the route widdershins, thus avoiding that long drag back up from the river to the village right at the end of the day. Most of the leaflets and guides go clockwise, and this is reflected in the steady stream of folk coming towards me all afternoon. Without exaggeration, at least a hundred; at one point, I wondered whether there was a sponsored walk underway. But the wide landscape easily swallows them, and as I said, there are no real honey spots. On reflection, I don’t recall seeing any litter.

A wedding reception is in full flow at the Shireburn Arms, a popular venue with stunning views over the Ribble Valley. Through their car park, a gate leads into a field that drops down to the River Ribble. 

Towards the bottom, it narrows alongside a steep gorge before crossing the stream.

Alongside the river, the pipeline carrying water to Blackburn is a graceful addition to the scenery. One is uniquely walking on Astroturf. A solution to prevent erosion on this popular stretch. Strips salvaged from an athletic track were laid down a decade ago and seem to be lasting well.

Pendle pops up on the horizon and is with us all day.

Yellow Loosestrife and Geraniums give some colour.

Approaching Jumbles…

…and Tracy’s seat. 

The giant hogweed we are warned against. Do not touch!   

Hacking Ferryman’s house, Kemple End in the background. 

17th-century Hacking Hall. 

Site of the Hacking Ferry, which operated until the 1950s, Tolkien’s era. The Calder is joining in. 

For more on the ancient ferry – https://bowlandclimber.com/2020/02/23/roads-to-nowhere-part-2-hacking-ferry/

All along this stretch,  chattering Sand Martins are swooping over the river. One is just as likely to see a Little Egret as a Heron these days.

 

The Hodder is joining from the left.

The ancient Winckley Oak.

 

I learned to drive one of these before I was a teenager. 

Stonyhurst College towers come into view. 

That iconic bus shelter with a handy seat…

… and a view of Pendle. 

C16th packhorse bridge. Cromwell’s army unlikely crossing. 

One is now following the Hodder, which is mostly hidden by the summer vegetation. There are some good little bays for paddling along this stretch.

And a lively weir further on.  

The trail climbs away from the river to Hodder Place, once a preparatory school for Stonyhurst College, but before that, a cotton mill owner’s property. Was there a mill on the Hodder below? I don’t think so, his must have been elsewhere..

I march through the grounds of Stonyhurst College before taking the footpath back to the village, arriving down Smithy Lane next to the photogenic Shireburn Almshouses.

Gothic Revival style St. Peter’s.

Almshouses.

I enjoyed my slow wander through our beautiful countryside and, like Bilbo Baggins, didn’t get lost once.

For a shorter version of this walk – https://bowlandclimber.com/2025/03/01/tolkien-in-the-mists-of-time/

***

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.

 

NO SINGING TODAY.

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Singing and walking may become a theme this week.

We, the Rockman and I, were on our way back from visiting the Pieman in Yorkshire. He has had a rough time of late, slow recovery from a hip operation, only to be followed by a disastrous fall, which broke his other hip, ending in a prolonged hospitalisation. He is making some progress and was just about up to our company. We go back a long way, climbing and walking, and have shared many an epic. So there was a lot to chat about, and his wife is very patient. Not to over tire him, we leave early afternoon, and that is how we find ourselves parked up for a visit to the Singing, Ringing Tree.

The Singing Ringing Tree is one of a series of four 21st-century landmarks, or Panopticons (structures providing a comprehensive view), in East Lancashire. I have written about it before and have visited several times. The Rockman had expressed a desire to visit the site, and as it wasn’t that far off our planned journey, we made the effort to run the gauntlet of traffic through Colne and round Burnley on the M65. Climbing a thousand feet up minor roads onto the moors, we reach Crown Point with dramatic views over Burnley and the backside of Pendle. The little car park always looks a bit dodgy, made worse by litter and flytipping.

The result of all that climbing is that it is decidedly chilly up here, but the strong breeze bodes well for the singing. The Singing Ringing Tree has been constructed from open-ended metal pipes, which, in the right conditions, i.e. windy ones, produce an eerie whistling sound that I’ve experienced on more than one occasion. Think of blowing across the top of a milk bottle. It can be seen in the distance, tree-like, and it is only a ten-minute walk away.

The statue is quite dramatic on the edge of the moorland, looking down to the industrial Burnley conurbation as well as Pendle and Rossendale. The three peaks are visible on a good day. But never mind the views we had come to hear it singing, and today, for some reason, it wasn’t. Was the wind in the wrong direction?  I blew down a few tubes, but that didn’t impress my companion.

Defeated, we returned to the warmth of the car for our continuing ride home.

Thanks to the Rockman for driving me to see the Pieman, which was a worthwhile visit. I’m only sorry he wasn’t rewarded with a singing tree. So here, to appease him and you, is a YouTube video of the tree in a more melodious mood.

For those of you who haven’t read some of my historic trekking posts, here’s an explanation of the affectionate names I use for my four close friends of many decades. The Pieman – the caterer. The Rockman – the geologist. The Professor – the teacher. The Plastic Bag Man – the purveyor of all things in plastic bags, sadly no longer with us. Heaven forbid what they call me.

No singing today, but let’s see what the week brings.

AN EASTER DAY.

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  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…

 

 

 

 

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.

OUT OF THE ROUGH.

12 Replies

Dusty and Dinkley.

  In my last post, some time ago, I was in the rough.

  Well, I seem to have taken some time to escape. Out of nowhere, my throat became encased in sandpaper, and my voice struggled to function. A week of hot drinks, gargling and cough medicines ensured the bug didn’t get onto my chest, the main worry for us oldies. Disturbed sleep was mitigated with whisky. 

  Of course, there was that stormy Friday when one of my mature trees snapped in half, pulling with it a climbing rose I’ve had for 40 years with stems thicker than my arms. The devastation was evident from my kitchen window, but I was in no state to go out and sort it. 

  On the mend, I eventually ventured out with a chainsaw and loppers. But that rose was a nightmare; it would hook me up from all angles, taking lumps out of my jacket and skin. An hour a day was all I could manage—slow progress and still not all cleared. 

   For company, I would bring out my kittens to play in the garden. Oscar is becoming a proficient climber, while Dusty quarters the lawn, honing her skills in pursuit of insects.  I need to keep an eye on them as a tom from across the road is very aggressive towards them. 

  In a second, Oscar is up a tree, but little Dusty is chased out of the garden.

  That was the start of three days of worrying for her safety. I went around neighbours’ gardens and alleys, rattling tins and knocking on doors. I left bedding and a litter tray out to offer her some olfactory guide back. I resorted to a Facebook message. And it rained nonstop.  She was spotted in a garage but ran off, which gave me hope. But it was unlikely she would willingly return to my garden after the scare she had experienced. 

  To my joy, yesterday, after a vain morning search for her, she turned up in my porch. A lovely neighbour found her in their garage and coaxed her out. She was happy to be picked up and brought home. With relish, she tucks into a juicy chicken drumstick. Oscar is thrilled to see her, and we are now all having a cosy purring night together.

  I hope we are all out of the rough.

*

  Which is all a prelude to my walk today. It would have been easy to sink into another coffee and a book, but the sun shine beckons—time to get moving. I have in mind a gentle walk alongside the Ribble at Dinkley. 

  Surprisingly, I am the only car in the usually popular Marles Wood carpark. To vary the day and for an easy start, I just walk along the road to the pub and church at Old Langho. It’s a quiet stretch of road, and I relax into a gentle rhythm, enjoying the crisp air and sunshine. 

  I remember when this house was a pub, The Tanners Arms and then a Chinese Restaurant, Mr Foo’s? Allegedly, he lost the place playing mahjong. 

  I’m not sure when the next bus will come along here.

  I pause at the sandstone bridge over Dinkley Brook.

  My obligatory shot of Pendle, with his head in the clouds. 

  The Black Bull hasn’t opened yet, and there is a burial service at St. Leonards Church, so I move on. You can read more about the church and Brockhall Hospital cemetery here and here.  

  More lodges are being built on the adjacent site. I am soon through and dropping down to cross Dinckley Brook for the second time this morning.

  Once up the slope, I head for the cluster of houses. Dinckley is a scattered community. Rather than continue on the lane, which I’ve walked before, I fancy a footpath going past Cravens, which might give me a view from the hillside over the Ribble. I often feel anxious walking down private drives, but I needn’t have worried; a series of gates takes me through their yard and back out into fields. The views I hoped for don’t materialise due to a belt of woodland above Dinckley Hall, but I do look across to Longridge Fell above Hurst Green.

  And there is this stately oak.

  Wire fencing hems me in; its purpose becomes apparent at a gate. The wigwams are just visible on the skyline before I reach the road going down to the hall. 

  Now on familiar territory, I make my way past that lovely shiny new bridge, replacing a ferry and a previous suspension bridge, whose opening plaque from 1951 is still on display.

  Despite all the rain we have had, the river is running low, with the shingle beaches visible.  

  The flood debris left on the banks, some 10 feet or more above today’s level, is scary.

  The bridge is better viewed from this angle.

  As I say, the river is low and ambling along at a slow pace, which I happily go along with. Entering Marles Wood, the only leaves left are on the young beech trees.  

  The river picks up pace approaching the rapids, but bears no resemblance to when it is in full flow. The Wheel is barely turning.

  I sit on a rock, drinking my coffee, watching the river flow by; at peace with the world.

*

But never mind Dinckley, Dusty is the star of the show.

* 

IN THE ROUGH.

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                                                     Looking across to Sabden from Wiswell Moor.

Wiswell Moor.

   I’m intrigued by the name  Jeppe Knave on the map of Wiswell Moor. Looking into it, there are various stories, but basically, he was probably  Jeppe Curteys, a local robber who was beheaded for his crimes in 1327 and buried up here for whatever reason.  

  I set out today, halfheartedly, to see if I could locate the stone. I am really just out for a circular walk from the little village of Wiswell, making the most of another sparkling November day. I have to scrape the ice from my car this morning.

  There appear to be road closures in Wiswell, but I find a quiet street to park on. Cutting across fields, I arrive on Moor Lane. New houses are being constructed up here; they will have views over the Ribble Valley to Longridge Fell and Bowland. I hope for the same as I climb higher.

  At the top of the lane, there is a choice of footpaths, and on a whim, I take the left one, which, according to the map, goes close to Wiswell Quarry. The sheep study my slow progress upwards. Looking back, the view is definitely worth capturing in a panorama shot.

   I have never climbed here. It looks a bit scrappy, but I don’t get up close.

  I drop down the cobbled quarry track to join a lane, Clerk Hill Road, which connects farms along the flank of Wiswell Moor. It goes straight ahead uphill. The last farm has a strange building with an old ‘chimney’ – a man at the farm tells me it was once an abattoir.

The quarry track.

Clerk Hill Road

Old abbatoir at Wiswell Mooor Houses.

  Leaving the tarmac, the bridleway borders open access land on the moor. Yes, that’s the bulk of Pendle ahead.

  Looking at the map, Jeppe Knave’s Grave is in the second field, but there was no way to enter it due to the height of a splendid dry stone wall, with no gateway along its length. 

  Oh well, I can give it a miss. But then a gate brings the bridleway onto the rough, open fell. I now realise I could walk up to the trig point on The Rough, which again I’ve never visited, and could I then possibly find a way back into the grave field?  Off I go. 

 

    There is no track across the reedy ground alongside the wall. It’s also steeper than it looks.

  As I struggle, I start to regret my decision and consider my escape. Rough by name and rough by nature. I’ve started leaving a route map in our family WhatsApp group for my nearest and dearest. But here I am already going off piste on remote moorland. As the ground steepens, it becomes less boggy, so head down and plod on. At last, I reach the watershed. There is a gate ahead, then a high ladder stile into the field I want. I regret not noting the grid reference for Jeppe’s grave. It’s over there somewhere.   

 

  Once over the high ladder stile, there is a faint track going across the moor, and I surmise that it must lead me to the grave. Thankfully, it does.

  There are scattered rocks in a dip. Looking closer, there is an upright inscribed stone, Jeppe Knave.   This seems pretty new, and yes, behind it is an older inscribed stone lying on the ground.  I had not realised that the ‘grave’ was on the site of a Bronze Age burial ground, which, in any case, I wouldn’t have recognised. I can find no reference to the ‘new’ inscribed stone. Was it brought here or created in situ, and was there a need for it?

  Satisfied, I head back to the wall stile where I find an ideal spot for some lunch – the Shepherd’s Cave. The vistas over the Ribble Valley and afar are remarkable.

 

  Why have I never been here before?  Someone I know has been here before with an interesting tale – https://conradwalks.blogspot.com/search?q=trig+Wiswell+moor.

  I ritually touch the trig pillar on The Rough, 315m. Do I retrace my steps back down all that rough moor to the bridleway? But there seems to be a trod heading north-east towards the Nick. Let’s try it, so off I go again. The path improves as I follow it.

  I love walking high on the fells with my destination far off in the distance. Pendle Hill, or more correctly Spence Moor, is on the skyline. Can I see the summit of Pendle?   A gate, with a plaque to a local cyclist, sees me off the moor.

 In no time, I’m at the Nick of Pendle with Sabden down in the valley, and the ski club on the north side. Busy with traffic, I’m brought back to reality. But I only have a  few yards to go before I hop over a wall back onto the moor.  

  Soon, I join an old trackway leading down to Wymondhouses. Ingleborough and PenYghent are just visible at the head of hazy Ribblesdale. In front of me, Longridge Fell and the Bowland Fells

  I recognise the buildings from a walk in the past. There is a sign above the door which I can’t read from this distance, but looking back at previous posts I find this photo explaining it.  

  The higher path I take is very boggy, and I inevitably end up with wet feet. Not many come this way; somewhere I have gone off track.  I rejoin the public footpath at Audley Clough, and fortunately, there is a stile. Climbing out of the clough, I am suddenly back in cultivated fields, and an obvious path leads to Cold Coats farm.

  The grass and puddles have been frozen since this morning.

  All I have to do is stroll back along the lane to Wiswell and find which street I parked my car in.

  A very satisfying day, with the bonus of finding Jeppe Knave’s grave and enjoying an unexpected high moorland ridge walk.

*

HOT OFF THE PRESS.

8 Replies

Dean Clough Reservoir.

  I buy far too many books; I’ve a little stash awaiting my attention this winter.  I’m currently reading Alan Cleaver’s ‘The Postal Paths’, a loving look back at the ways our rural postmen used to travel before they were issued with vans. That particular purchase stemmed from my attempt to follow one of our local postie paths under the fell.

  In the past, I have often been inspired and guided by publications from Cicerone Press. Set up way back by two Lancashire lads, Walt Unsworth and Brian Evans, climbers and walkers who had a flair for researching routes and producing damn good guidebooks for the rest of us to follow. I would hazard a guess that you will have one or more on your bookshelf.

  Their regular newsletters appear in my digital newsbox. For November, they were tempting me with 20% off all their catalogue. My ambitions are limited these days, so aspiring treks in far-off places I can ignore, but a newish series of Short Walks in various UK destinations caught my eye. A few were promptly ordered. In the bundle that arrived yesterday was one on the Ribble Valley, which was only just published this year and written by Mark Sutcliffe, whom I respect as a trusted guidebook author. Okay, I have probably walked the Ribble Valley to death, but I am always curious about how others approach it.

  Walk No. 5 – Dean Clough Reservoir seems an ideal, fairly local walk for these short days between the showers. Today, the rain isn’t forecast until three this afternoon. Yes, I’ve walked this particular area several times, but Mark gives a new twist to the familiar and maybe paths that I have never explored.  I didn’t know one could walk the south side of the reservoir, and who doesn’t love navigating a golf course? 

  One advantage of Cicerone is that once you have purchased one of their guidebooks, you can download a GPX file of the route onto your phone. Of course, I forgot to do that today, but it is not necessary as the book has good OS mapping and an accurate description of the route. 

  Time to get walking. In fact, it is just before midday when I park up at an abandoned Indian restaurant in Langho. The last time I came this way, I arrived by train, which is a more sensible approach. But needs must. 

  I know the way up a residential road to where the footpath sneaks behind the last house and attempts to follow a stream bed, which is slowly, or perhaps rapidly, eroding away. Today, with the slippery leaves, it becomes a bit of an obstacle course.  The obstruction caused by a fallen tree, which I encountered last time, has been cleared, but the path now seems more precarious. Of course, I emerge onto the lane at York unscathed.

  It’s still all uphill past the cottages. Locals stop to chat, and I struggle to catch my breath.

  The Lord Nelson pub is left behind as I climb another steep lane. More locals join in; this is a popular walk. I stop to look back across the Ribble Valley to Longridge Fell.

  Through a gate, I end up on the open common of the ridge with no name.  Rather than head up to the rocks along with everybody else, my way slants across to the right, passing some tough-looking ponies, before rough ground down to the bridleway above Deans Clough Reservoir. Yes, there is rain in the air.

  I follow this up to the prominent band of trees on the hillside.  Doesn’t gorse brighten your day, whatever the month?

  I’ve traversed this way several times, but as I said, I was unaware that there is a permissive footpath along the south side of the waters. So that’s where I head. A decent path provided by United Utilities skirts the shore all the way to the dam, leaving you to enjoy the views right through to Pendle. One can never get away from Pendle in the Ribble Valley. I’m not sure why the reservoir has a dividing weir, but it appears that you can walk across it.

  Across the main dam, I climb back up onto the ridge, but instead of heading back down to York, I veer right towards Whittle Hall.  From up here, trying to ignore Pendle, there are views back across hidden East Lancashire.  

  The buildings of Whittle Hall are navigated surprisingly easily, and now for the golf course.

  So I just follow the black and white posts; there doesn’t seem to be any golfers out. But what a view they have over to Kemple End. The ground is treacherously wet; crampons or at least golf studs would be of help. Soon, however, I’m in an old byway—Doctots Rake, avoiding all the fairways. I wonder how that name originated.

  Once over the railway, I pass the clubhouse, but don’t seem to find a way in for that promised cup of coffee.

  Not to worry, I’m back at the car in ten minutes and home in twenty. What a good choice for a Short Ribble Valley walk.

  And today, storm Claudia is creeping past, and bits of my roof are falling off.. 

*

NOVEMBER ARRIVES.

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  Searching hidden wells.

  The clocks have changed.    It’s November, not my favourite month.

  Hopefully, most of the noisy Halloween and Bonfire Night bangs have passed. Recent research has shown that the noisy grenades launched into the sky at this time of year, apart from scaring the hell out of ourselves and our pets, have a significant adverse effect on our bird population, especially the newly arrived migrants—time to switch to silent fireworks.

  General lethargy has already set in; my Circadian clock is now running fast or slow, I don’t know which.  All I know is that I don’t really get going today until after two o’clock. There is a break in the rain, although the clouds suggest more is to come. Yesterday I only managed half an hour in the plantation before the heavens opened. Today I try a longer walk on the fell. I have identified a feature on the map that I would like to investigate.

  Just off the track, two wells are marked, one of which is named Dobson’s. Let’s see what an older map has to show, 1912, before the afforestation.

Yes, they are both marked. Let’s go and have a look. 

There are no cars parked at the usually busy rough layby on the fell road. It’s, as I said, not the best of days.

I walk down the road to join the footpath going up to Brownslow Brook.  This used to be one of my regular runs; I now carefully follow it with my two ski poles for security. We are in the second generation of trees here since I moved to Longridge. Mountain bikers use this path, and I wonder if it is them who have been trying to repair it since I was last here. I cross Brownslow Brook and climb into the area which was cleared a few years ago. 

Higher up is one of my favourite trees, I call it the Brownslow Beech.

  But nearby is a windblown beech which supports a lovely selection of fungi. I’m entranced for a while searching for them. 

Green Thorn, the farm on the fell, is on the market if you fancy a ‘getaway from it’  property. Note this photo; next year, there may be an executive mansion enjoying the view over the Ribble Valley.   I do a little circuit on the main track before heading back.

  However, on the way, I keep an eye on my GPS to locate the wells, which are just off the main track. Strangely, the OS map coming up on my phone differs slightly from the one I viewed this morning.  Dobson’s Well is marked virtually on the track. 

  I later check my paper map – yes, it is. I stop and look at the appropriate point, nothing but trees, but I can hear water. I dive into the vegetation to track it down. I don’t find a well, but I do see an outflow of water.  Was it a spring rather than a well? Only Mr Dobson would know.

  Now, let’s try to find the other well, marked on the map just a short distance away. Exactly where I wanted to leave the main track, there appears to be a path or more likely a mountain bike trail.

  I follow it for a while, watching the little red arrow on my GPS close in on the well. Once again, I have to take to the trees. They are tightly packed, and I push through cautiously. Curiosity killed the cat.  After some time, I admit defeat – there is no water to be found. I wonder if the forestry operations have obliterated all signs of it. Well, I have tried, and perhaps I’ve had a 50% success. 

I continue down the main track with murky Pendle across the valley. A pleasant walk on the fell, making the best of a November afternoon. 

I’m still pulling pine needles out of my hair. 

TWO FELLS. EASY EASINGTON AND WINDY WADDINGTON.

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 The above shows Waddinton Fell on the left and Easington Fell on the right.

 The last thing I need when I’m trying to squeeze in an afternoon fell walk is a road closed sign.

 There is no quick way around Waddington, so it is even later, 1 pm, when I park up at the summit of the B6478 road over to Newton. This road doesn’t seem to have its own name, unlike nearby ‘The Trough’ or ‘Birdy Brow’. Long ago, we called it The Moorcock Road. But the Moorcock Inn has been gone for decades, replaced with private houses.

 Anyhow, I am here, the sun is shining, and the air is clear. I’m looking forward to a short fell excursion. Walking down the road from the parking, I pass Walloper Well. The fresh water flows continuously most of the year, passing cyclists often top up if they know about it. In the past, this would have been essential for horse-drawn carriages.

 My footpath leaves the road here, across boggy ground, and I wonder if it is the correct one as I flounder in the mire. Eventually, it becomes clearer and drier. I’ve been here many times, but not often in such brilliant conditions.

 Striding onwards, I don’t go to investigate Old Ned or The Wife, piles of stones on the moor. I’ve checked them out before, and they are just what the map says—piles of stones. I have never found an explanation for their origins.

The Wife?

  Leaving the Right of Way, I follow a quad bike track towards the summit of Easington Fell.  It’s all open access anyhow. The views open up in all directions, but most obviously towards the Yorkshire Three Peaks across the Craven Gap. A few stones mark the summit, a modest 396m.

 Turning around, I head back to the road. Initially, I had planned to extend the walk into Grindleton Forest, but looking at the time, I think better of it. The wind is increasing, and it is feeling quite cold. 

 Over to my left, across the Ribble Valley, Pendle looks as proud as ever.

 There is a clear track back after I get through the fell gate, which seems easier than usual.  A cross stile reminds me that the Lancashire Witches Way comes across here before heading into Bowland.

 All I have to do is follow the obvious track back to the road seen across the way. It is boggy but not too bad. Just wait until we have had some more rain. I’m aiming straight to the quarry at the summit of the road with Waddington Fell and its prominent mast behind. I can see my car clearly —the only one.

 On a whim, I decide to climb up onto Waddington Fell. But I first have to circumnavigate the extensive quarry, which is not in operation on weekends. Dropping down the road for some distance to a gate I know, which gives access onto the fell. It’s all supposed to be Open Access, but gates and walls get in my way. Nonetheless, I arrive at the trig point. Is it 395m or 396m, equalling Easington Fell, which I stood on less than an hour ago? I don’t care, as it is one of the best viewpoints in the area.

 360 degrees. Down Chipping Vale, The Bowland Fells and beyond, Yorkshire’s Three Peaks, Ribblesdale, and Pendle, obviously. My attempt at a whole-panorama shoot on my phone didn’t work out, so here are a few shots from my camera that don’t do it justice.

 The walk back is along the rim of the massive quarry.

Easington Fell in the background.

 A bonus as I make my way around are views down to the Hodder Valley with the village of Newton nestled in below Beatrix Fell.

 I’m still the only car parked up.

 A short but very satisfying afternoon. I’m relieved to be back in the car. On Waddinton Fell, I was exposed to a vicious wind, and the temperature dropped significantly—time to get the woolly hat and gloves out of the cupboard. And it is the end of British Summer Time for this year.

*

TRY AND TRY AGAIN.

5 Replies

I thought the noise from the A59 was increasing; we had not heard it all morning. And there it was, suddenly in front of us, with cars rushing past. This was not part of the plan; we should have been in quiet fields heading back to Worston. Halted in our tracks, out comes the map, and I realise my mistake. While chatting away on the easy lane, we had walked right past our footpath junction. Backtracking, we added half a mile to our walk. To make matters worse, that was the second time I had made a similar mistake this morning. I will annotate the map with a couple of red blobs, and I must try harder with my navigation.

After our unsuccessful walk a couple of weeks ago when non-existent stiles and cows defeated us, I come up with another idea for Mike’s exploration for his group’s walk. Starting from and finishing at a pub, no awkward stiles, no steep inclines or boggy hollows. I base my walk on one advertised in the Ribble Valley Walks with Taste leaflets. https://www.visitribblevalley.co.uk/things-to-do/walking/walks-with-taste/ 

With a few tweaks, I have a walk of the preferred 3.5 miles. Now, let’s try it out on the ground. I have walked most of these paths before, but that doesn’t always make them suitable for an elderly walking group. 

The quiet village of Worston is just off the busy A59, but it seems in a different world away from the hustle and bustle. It does not attract the tourists like nearby Downham, even on a bank holiday weekend. There is ample parking at the pub, The Calf’s Head.

I know my way through the squeeze stile onto the path alongside Worston Brook.  We are in limestone country at the foot of Pendle, and I search the walls unsuccessfully for crinoid fossils.

There is work afoot in the brook as though they are trying to alter the flow of the water, which sometimes floods the village.

Above us on Crow Hill, horses stand out in silhouette.

Ahead of us are Warren Hill and Worsaw Hill. These are all the remains of reef mounds, where calcium deposits built up on the Carboniferous sea bed. (not quite the same as Coral reefs, but that’s where the geology becomes too complicated for me) The last Ribble Valley ice sheet passed over and around these mounds and eroded weaker rocks, giving the rounded hills we see today. I’ve been up Worsaw Hill once, great views and a Bronze Age burial mound at its southern end. But today we are just concentrating on the path ahead.

We reach Worsaw End Farm without having to climb a stile, bonus points for me. This farm at the very base of Worsaw Hill and its barn are famous for being used as a location in the old black-and-white film Whistle Down the Wind, starring Hayley Mills. I have just spent an hour and a half watching the film on YouTube. I will link it in at the end of this post. Worth an atmospheric watch.  Jesus Christ, he’s only a fella. 

We walk on without any religious encounters. The lanes around here are virtually traffic-free. So quiet that I make my first mistake and wander on further than necessary, involving a retrace up the hill to try again at the field gate we missed. 

Back on track, we are walking on the bridleway connecting the farms below Pendle Hill on this western flank. Easy going past the historic Little Mearley Hall.


This oak could go onto my list of favourite trees. From up here, we have hazy, distant views of our familiar Kemple End and the BowlandFells.

But Pendle always takes prominence.

At Lane Side, we follow a track down the hillside. It has been recently stoned over and is not the most pleasant of surfaces for walking. But we manage to walk all the way down to the A59 without realising. 

Backtracking again.

After our second backtrack, the fields are followed easily back to Worston with only one stile to negotiate.

In my recent posts, I have been highlighting the proliferation of fruit and berries in our hedgerows this season. How’s this for a hawthorn bush?  

A pleasant green way leads to the village green, where there is a curiosity, a ‘bullring’ embedded in a stone. Was it used for bullbaiting? 

‘Bull Baiting’, by Henry Thomas Alken. 1820

We end up sitting in the beer garden of the Calf’s Head, enjoying a pint with Pendle ever present. Our walk has been a success. About 3.5 miles, only one stile, gentle gradients, points of interest and that stunning Ribble Valley scenery. We were not over enthusiastic about the artificial stony track down from Lane Side, and it might be worth exploring the bridleway coming down from Little Mearley Hall alongside Mearley Brook as an alternative. That gives us an excuse to come back to this quiet corner of Lancashire and another visit to the Calf’s Head beer garden. 

*

*

And as promised – 

WAYSIDE FLOWERS.

6 Replies

I wasn’t sure how to title this post; it’s a simple circular road walk out of Longridge onto the lower slopes of the fell. I’ve done it many times and probably written about it here more than once. I need to build up my strength again, and five miles or so is just what I need. I’m sure I will find something of mild interest to enhance the exercise. 

It’s the first of June, I was hoping to link in ‘Bustin’ out all over’ but the weather has taken a turn, and it’s cool and windy. I missed much of the good weather back in April and May. Let’s imagine. 

Back to the day, I park up at the edge of the village and immediately spot some white valerian growing by the roadside.

Let’s make it a wayside flower walk. In no particular order, I come across lots of species. You will recognise most of them.

Must make some cordial.

I have probably missed many more. 

I pass the golf club…

 wind up and down the lane…

to enter the plantation through the rapidly growing bracken…

where there has been diverse replanting, all is green and lush…a robin rejoices…

the old trees are rather gloomy…

but somewhere up above there’s a hidden male cuckoo…

 

“when the cuckoo first cuckoos in the leaves of the oak

and brings joy to mortals on the boundless earth”        Hesiod, seventh century BC.

I come out onto the higher fell road with distant views to Pandle…

and even a zoom to Pen-Y-Ghent…I head up to the seat on Jeffrey Hill for a drink and that view over to the Bowland Fells.

But what a mess somebody has left, not to mention the fire risk. What are they thinking? I will try to drive up later to clear the rubbish.

It’s all downhill on the road back to the village. I have time to catch the Great Crested Grebes on and off their nest doing a spot of housekeeping. I can clearly see four eggs this time. Fingers crossed.

It is raining when I reach my car – so much for June. 

THE STEEP SIDE OF LONGRIDGE FELL.

9 Replies

 Longridge Fell is an example of a cuesta; the ridge has a sharp drop or escarpment on its northern side and a gentler slope on its southern side.

Today, I was tackling that steep northern side.

A tardy start to the day meant I was too late for journying to East Lancs to continue my Manchester ‘pilgrimage’. But the forecast was too good to miss, so a quick change of plan sees me catching the number 5 bus to Chipping; there is a stop on my corner. There are only two of us heading to Chipping.

The bus turnaround is next to St Bartholomew’s Church; I wander into the graveyard to pay my respects to Lizzy Dean, whose tragic story I have mentioned several times in these pages. Her gravestone is under the ancient yew tree. The church was established before 1230 and rebuilt in 1506, so one can only guess the tree’s age.

Lizzie was a maid living in the Sun in the year 1835. She met up with a local lad who claimed the deepest love for her and proposed to her, and she gladly accepted. However, two days before the wedding, James told Lizzie he had fallen in love with her friend Elsie and called off their wedding day. He now planned to marry Elsie in the church opposite.

On the wedding day,  Lizzie went up to the pub attic overlooking the churchyard. She wrote a suicide note, placed a rope around her neck, and died. The note in her fist read, “I want to be buried at the entrance to the church so my lover and my best friend will always have to walk past my grave every time they go to church.”

The story doesn’t end there. For almost 200 years, the ghost of Lizzie has haunted the Sun Inn and the churchyard opposite. Just ask anyone in the village.

A cyclist who had passed me back in Longridge whilst I was waiting for the bus is attending a grave. We exchange pleasantries. It turns out to be his parents’ grave. All his family came from Chipping, and many worked in the nearby Berry chair factory. He points out the adjacent grave where two of his uncles are buried following a car crash in Longridge in 1973. Three chairworkers died in that accident.   http://kirkmill.org.uk/workmates-killed-in-tragic-accident-december-1973/

He is cycling back to Garstang while I am heading for the fell, which I can see plainly across the vale to the south—first, a stroll down historic Windy Street.


Once out of the village, I pick up a field track by the bridge over Chipping Brook. I have never found the paths easy to follow in this area, but today, things have improved by the way marking for the relatively new Ribble Valley Jubilee Trail.  https://www.ribblevalley.gov.uk/mayor-1/mayors-walk    

Strangely, all the gates and stiles have been dismantled, leaving free passage for animals between the fields leading to Pale Farm, and they have certainly curned up the wet ground. Lapwings are heard but not seen, but March Hares bound out in front of me. Some convoluted ‘diversions’, well signed, lead me past the next habitations.

Alongside these fields, a new wastewater treatment works is being constructed, a significant undertaking in the valley. 

I then strike out across ready fields, aiming for a footbridge over the infant Loud with the steep slopes of Longridge Fell looming up above. Cardwell House, my destination, can be clearly seen at the top.
Continue reading →

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.

***

THE START OF ANOTHER PILGRIMAGE?

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Day 1.  Longridge to Ribchester.

A pilgrimage is best started from one’s doorstep.

As you know, I’m not religious, but I enjoy a walk with a purpose. If that purpose links religious or historical sites with a new countryside, I’m ready for the challenge. In the past, I have completed several ‘pilgrimages’. Possibly the most enjoyable was cycling the Camino from Le Puy en Valay in France to Santiago de Compostela in Spain. But I have enjoyed shorter trips in Britain. St. Cuthbert’s Way, St. Hilda’s Way, The Pilgrims Way, Two Saints Way, Lancashire Monastic Way. The list goes on.

I’ve found another one, recreating a route from Whalley Abbey to Manchester Cathedral courtesy of the Greenmount Village Walking Group.  https://www.westpennineway.org/pilgrims-way-2/

But why not walk from home?

There should be a link-up. I am looking for a direct route to Ribchester before another to Whalley to connect with the above-mentioned Pilgrims Way.

There is a break in the weather after all those storms. It’s clear, but winter is still in the air. I leave at lunchtime and am unsure what held me up;  just remembered it was the Big Garden Birdcount. I live just across from the pub. Perhaps a church would have been a better starting point, but there doesn’t seem to be anything of note in Longridge’s selection. *I take a shortcut up one of our stone terraces. There was a farm here before. I usually manage to get lost in the modern housing estate that follows. The climbing for the day is done by the time I reach the old Quarryman’s Inn, which is blue plaqued, but now an infant nursery. Down Tan Yard, through more quarries, houses new and old with views over our reservoirs and on to Lower Lane. Quitisential Longridge. The road is getting more hazardous to cross at the gated entrance to Higher College Farm. Now, a small industrialised site, but with hopes to develop an entire retail park, which is totally out of character for this rural setting. Their plans have been turned down for now. It would help if they would upgrade the stile for a start.

I’m now in open fields overlooking the Ribble Valley. But first, I need to pass through one of those agricultural graveyards where everything has been saved for the day it could be required – i.e. never. Lower College Farm is, thankfully, bypassed. They have some antique farming or milking implement on display. Any guesses as to what it is?

A brief spell on Hothersall Lane. I could have carried onto the bottom and followed the Ribble to Ribchester. But no, I want to try a Bridleway more directly to Ribchester. It is tarmac to Ox Hey and then muddy fields on unmarked paths; my GPX comes in handy on several occasions. The benefit of this higher way was the extensive views over the Ribble Valley, with Pendle Hill always taking the eye with the ever-changing light playing across its flanks. The Ribble winds its way through Ribchester, and from up here, it can be seen snaking into the distance, where the Hodder and the Calder have joined it. As well as Pendle, I can make out the lower hills of Whalley Nab, where this pilgrimage will take me.

I make a beeline to Parsonage Farm, where the land drops away to the Ribble Valley. I’m looking straight down to Ribchester from up here, and the staggered slanting roof lights of Bee Mill stand out.

This reminds me that Ribchester was once a busy mill village. There were two large cotton mills on either side of the road:  Ribblesdale Mill, with 405 looms, now demolished and replaced by a housing estate and the above-mentioned Bee Mill, 320 looms, the remains used by small industrial and retail units. The latter is also known as Bannisters Mill from the family that has owned it for generations.  When I first moved to the area in the early 70s, it was still operative, and we would buy fabrics from their mill shop. Its chimney was demolished in 2003. Here is an aerial photo from 1950, courtesy of Historic England, of Bee Mill in the foreground and Ribblesdale across the road. 

But I’m getting ahead of myself – I haven’t even reached the village.

My path takes me to the site of Bremetennacum, the Roman fort of which much has been written. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bremetennacum Nearby metal detectorists are combing a field, presumably legally? I’m heading to St. Wilfrid’s Church, Grade I listed with abundant historical interest. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St_Wilfrid%27s_Church,_Ribchester

I go inside for a proper exploration, they have a good printed guide avaiable. There was a church on this site from the C13th, chapels were subsequentally addded and the tower in the C 15th. Unusully ‘dormer windows’ were constructed in the roof to give more light. Victorian restorations took place in 1881.
I find a few curios.

Dormer windows.



C14th font.

Church Wardens’ box pew.

Triple stone sedilia, for seating the clergy during mass.

C13th double bowled Piscina.

Inscribed box pew.

‘Lepers squint’ opening to the outside.


The Dutton Chapel on the north side contains fragments of a wall painting of Saint Christopher from the 14th or 15th century. At one time church walls would be extensively illustrated but most has been lost over the centuries. 

Modern stained glass, Dutton Chapel – can you spot Pendle?      

Fragments of Medieval glass.   

Carved figure on a column to Dutton Chapel. C14th.

 

Victorian glass in the Houghton Chapel.

In a niche inside the church I spottted a Scallop shell, someone else has been on a pilgrimage. The scallop shell was traditionaly associated with Pilgrims, especially en route to Santiago de Compostela. Mine, from 2001, is hanging from my bed.
 
In the churchyard there is a prominent sundial. Its original C14th base was for a cross, crosses were prominent on Pilgrim routes as waymarkers and for prayer. 
The Roman Museum is closed but I wrote about it here – https://bowlandclimber.com/2019/11/28/a-lancashire-monastic-way-6-red-scar-to-ribchester/
 
I wander down to the riverside, a picture of calm, and yet only two weeks ago it rose 10feet or more, flooding the lower part of the village, a frequent occurence. There is evidence of its ferrocity in one of the riverside trees. The fisherman across the way casting his favourite spot.

Today’s Journey really was completed at the Church; I wandered up the narrow lane to catch the bus home.

* After a bit more reading, I find that St. Lawrence’s Church on Chapel Hill in Longridge was built as a chapel of ease for St Wilfrid’s, Ribchester, in the early 16th century, So there is a connection, and perhaps I should have started there rather than at the pub.

***


Continue reading →

DAY ONE OF THE CANAL CLOG.

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

A warm-up stroll along the lane brings us to a farm and a conversation with the lady farmer. She bemoans the recent theft of her quad bike, an essential tool on moorland farms. What she would do to the perpetrators is not printable. We can look back across to Longridge Fell and the Bowland Hills behind, but as usual in these parts, Pendle takes pride of place. All the snow from last week has amazingly disappeared. Once we leave the lane into rough fields, the walking becomes taxing for a mile or so. Waterlogged ground with the odd icy patch, undulating in and out of small valleys, awkward stiles, low blinding sunlight, navigational errors, and some thick gorse bushes to negotiate. I’m not complaining; just look at that blue sky.

When we reach the chain of reservoirs, things improve, and we meet other walkers. Some share our joy of the day, and others unhappy about the pending encroachment of urban areas into the scenery.

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

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

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

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

As it once was.

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

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

Rude Health. Copyright.

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

Peter McDermott. Copyright.

 

Ian Taylor. Copyright.

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

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

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

Mat Fascione. Copyright.

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

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

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

***

HYNBURN CANAL CLOG.

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

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

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

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

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

Here is the route untangled.

And this is the Borough of Hynburn.

The hotel is booked, so let’s go.

A SNOWY FORAY.

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Who doesn’t like a snowy scene?

The other day, I drove up to the New Drop Inn from the Hall’s Arms. Both these long-established locals are now closed, one becoming a business centre and the other residential units. The road was just clear of snow, but there was little room for passing other cars. The temperature hadn’t risen above freezing for a few days. I was hoping to walk around Cowley Brook Plantation to complete my year’s archive of photographs. My usual pull-ins looked dicey. I was afraid I would become stuck, so I turned tail and drove home, probably the most sensible option.

The freeze continues. Thankfully, no more snow falling around here, and the sun shines brightly. I can’t resist another attempt to walk the fell in these conditions. This time, I take caution to heart and park easily at the New Drop crossroads. The side road coming directly up from Longridge past the golf course looks treacherous, and I wish I had brought my microspikes as I walk a hundred yards or so down it.

My footprints are the only ones coming through the waterboard gate by Cowley Brook. Lovely crunching sounds as I pass into the plantation: a couple of roe deer run across my path into the trees, too fast for a photo.

Knowing my way up the hillside, I arrive at my four-way photo spot.

 

I have time to admire the frozen minutiae.

Continuing through the trees to reach my other fixed point.

Mission accomplished, I will put together a montage of the year later or perhaps record another year of changes in the young plantation.

While I’m up here, why don’t I go farther up the fell?  It is difficult walking in the snow in the plantation, so I decide to use the road to gain the fell proper. There is very little traffic. Pendle Hill has become a giant in its winter garb.

Through the gate onto the fell, and I trudge up alongside the wall. Only a few have passed this way. I avert my eyes from the scene of the ‘Grim up North’ tree massacre. Time is a little tight, so I don’t go to the trig point but arc around at the Christmas Tree to take the balcony route back to the Jeffrey Hill carpark. The views across Bowland are spectacular, as are the distant ones into Yorkshire.

As I reach the car park, I see a motorist in trouble on the icy roads below. A notorious blackspot where cars have, in the past, slid off the hill into the fields below. I’m not sure why anyone would have driven up here in the first place. A crowd gathers out of nowhere to give advice.  Luckily, the driver, unprepared in his own words, manages to dig himself out, avoid the drop and continue down the slippery road.

I march along the road back to my car, a great four miles in the perfect Winter scenery.

***

BREAKDOWNS AND BOWLAND BLUE.

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I’ve had my fair share of motoring breakdowns in the past.  I’d not been running new cars in later years, more like old crocks. My Mazda Is now 25 years old, but it rarely lets me down. Unfortunately, the last time it did was on a ‘smart’ motorway. The experience has left me traumatised and very wary of venturing onto such motorways. I was fortunate to crawl into one of their scarce emergency refuge areas. “A ‘place of relative safety’ you can pull into if you have an emergency and need to stop driving on an all-lane running motorway”. That was only the start of my problems. Using their roadside emergency phone was almost impossible due to the constant traffic noise. Trying to give details of my AA membership and location took an inordinate time over the phone. I was eventually rescued. The next day, I installed the AA app on my mobile. (Other breakdown services are available) 

‘Cometh the hour cometh the app’  to misquote Churchill and others. The hour came this week after a meet-up lunch with my Skipton cousin in the Spread Eagle at Sawley. Leaving the car park, in the Daccia this time, I heard a crunching sound from my back offside wheel. Going a little farther, it became louder, and smoke appeared from the wheel as it locked up; it was time to stop.

Time to call the AA. Simple this time: open the app, press a button on my mobile, enter a few details, and a man is on his way. He arrives in twenty minutes and diagnoses the problem – seized disc brakes preventing the wheel from rotating. He can’t tow me, and I imagine waiting a long time for a low loader to take me home. But no, this man is resourceful. He can’t free the brakes, but with a magic piece of engineering, which I didn’t understand, he fitted a freewheel to the outside of the hub. Thus, I could drive the car, although minus one brake, as he followed behind with flashing lights.

We were back at my garage before it closed. They have a backlog of work at this time of year, so I didn’t expect to see my car until after Christmas. To my surprise, I had a phone call this morning to say the job was done, new discs fitted, and I could collect it anytime. Thumbs up to the AA and my local garage.

*

Thus, I am now parked up at Chipping for a short walk to make the most of this dry, sunny day. The gritters are out in the village, just managing to squeeze through the narrow streets. It is cold.

Several of you will recognise this walk, one of my winter standbys, but to disguise it somewhat, I’m walking clockwise today. Usually, I go anticlockwise, widdershins, as they say in Scotland. Everywhere is bedecked for the season.

Up past the old mills, Chipping was once an industrial hub. The chair works closed in 2011, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kirk_Mill The road is surprisingly steep.

Round the corner the lane heads to the fells, enclosed by hedges. Look at that blue sky.

And there is Parlick with its wrinkles highlighted in the low sun. I have climbed some of those gullies in winter’s past when they iced up sufficiently. And there across the valley is Longridge Fell shadowed by its larger neighbour Pendle.

At the end of the lane up to Saddle End farm, I’m pleased to see the hens are still laying, I buy half a dozen.

It’s all downhill from here with time to take in the scenery on the way to the the sheep farm.

This is where you look out over the laund, an ancient deer park. I never tire of this view.

Down through the grounds of Leagram Hall, I stop again to admire some of the ancient oaks. All too soon, I’m back at my car. The day is closing, and the northerly wind is biting deep.