Tag Archives: Preston

THE HARRIS IN PRESTON. 3. THE ART GALLERIES.

There is ‘art’ everywhere you look in the newly refurbished Harris, from historical paintings, selected items from their collections and temporary exhibitions. There are over 800 oil paintings and over 6,000 watercolours, drawings and prints at the Harris.

If, on entering the rotunda, you look up, you will see a full-length 20-meter textile sculpture crafted from rayon and paper. Hannah Robson’s ‘Transformation’ sought to explore the industrial history of the local Courtaulds factory through handweaving and rayon.

There are lots of paintings of the good and possibly not-so-good people of Preston. I highlighted benefactor Harris and architect Hibbert in my last post.

A sombre family portrait from the 17th century.

Here are two Lord Mayors from the last century.

Paintings give us a glimpse into the past.

Soon, industry dominated the town—a 20th-century painting by Charles Cundall.

Two portraits are synonymous with the Harris Gallery.

Pauline in the Yellow Dress was painted in 1944 by her husband, H J Gunn.

Dorette was painted in 1933 by G. L. Brockhurst.

Alongside is the bold contemporary A Portrait by Anthony Pilbro from 2000.

In the same space as these portraits is a digital picture frame operated by a camera. You sit in front of it, compose the frame with you in it, choose a background and style, press the button and hey presto – your image is part of the Harris collection. I couldn’t resist a Napoleonic pose.

There are more paintings from the Harris Collection scattered about this floor. I like ‘Untitled and Adam and Eve‘ by Hugh Byars, 1991.

And the 1942 ‘In for Repairs‘, an oil by Laura Knight, while she was an official war artist.

I am always pleased to come across a Stanley Spencer. Wisteria.

A room is given over to –

Mr Williams researches old photographs of Preton and transforms them digitally with colour, producing some beautiful images.

He has also taken the time to create short animated videos from some of the scenes.

All that art, and I have only just reached the top floor with the promise of more.

As I mentioned, the Harris has a huge collection of paintings. Let’s hope the curators are able to rotate them into the galleries. The first room features paintings selected by different communities, including HMP. ‘The peoples choise’.

Blue Flamingo Cafe, a community dementia outreach organisation, chose ‘In the Beys Garden‘ painted by J F Lewis in 1865. He is described as an Orientalist painter but I think this painting has hints of the Pre-Raphaelite movement.

Every gallery in Lancashire should have a Lowry. Appropriately for Preston – ‘Millworkers’.

This ainting looked interesting.

And for a touch of Edwardian prudery.

There have not been many statues on show, but up here, there is a delightful bronze, Pablo Picasso, Aged 7, by Anthony Padgett, who works in the city.

I’m attracted by the sound of birdsong to a separate area where a two-screen video is playing.

This turns out to be a fascinating look at the ecology of the Chipping area and the Bowland Fells.

Unfortunately, a rowdy group of school children arrived as I was preparing to watch and listen. I gave it up as a bad job and will return as soon as possible to absorb the experience and learn more about the Weld family from Leagram Hall, where I often walk.

All that remains is to visit the galleries hosting The Harris Open, an annual event that highlights local artistic talent. Anyone living or studying in Preston is free to enter.

Here is a selection of the entrants.

Probably my favourite –

Out of the 400 entrants, I forgot to look who had won.

Despite the length of this post, I have only sampled from the vast array on display. More visits are necessary.

A WEEK TO REMEMBER.

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My walking task this week – Walk to remember. I was excited, I would recall places, people and events on my daily walks around the village. Then I would return home and search for photos and diary entries to enhance the memories. But it was not to be. Walking to remember was based on flimsy research that suggested that after a short walk, one’s receptive memory is enhanced for a period. As I’m not studying for any exams or learning poetry, perhaps I should, I did not bother to test it out.

But I had a week to remember.

Another birthday came along. My family turned up trumps and took me out, first for a walk and then for a lovely meal. My daily walks around Longridge, with my arm still in a sling, are, by necessity, becoming tedious—almost a repeat of lockdown. But friends have responded and driven me to ‘new’ venues for exercise and nature. More pub meals ensued. The weather has varied from pleasant springlike to wintry storms. I spent one of those wet days in the Preston Harris Museum and Art Gallery, which gave me something to post about.

What will next week bring? I’ll be walking with my ears, the 14th of 52 ways*. Have we really reached the 14 th week of the year already? At least the clocks change this weekend, which usually sees me setting off on some multi-day walk or pilgrimage. I’m already plotting for when I’m released.

52 Ways to Walk. The Surprising Science of Walking for Wellness and Joy. Annabel Streets. Bloomsbury Publishing. 2022.

THE HARRIS IN PRESTON. 2, THE MUSEUM.

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I’m still here, there is so much to see and take in at the recently refurbished Harris Museum, Library and Art Gallery. Time to look at the museum. Well, it is no longer a museum as you would imagine. Throughout the three floors, there are exhibits mostly focused on Preston’s rich history.

But first, there is information on the establishment of the Harris itself, most of which I detailed in my last post. Edmund Robert Harris not only founded the Harris Museum in 1877, but also the Harris Orphanage and the Harris Institute in Preston.

His architect for the museum was James Hibbert. He wanted visitors to be inspired by classical Greek and Roman scenes.

There are paintings by Edwin Beattie of the marketplace from that time.

But let’s go back further in time to the end of the last ice age. In July 1970, the almost-complete skeleton of an elk was found during building work on a bungalow in the Fylde. The skeleton is around 13,500 years old and is particularly important, as barbs were found embedded in its bones – the earliest evidence of hunters this far north. It’s on display here.

Moving forward to the Bronze Age. I often walk around the Bleasdale Hills north of Preston. I was there this week. In the fields below the fells is the Bleasdale Circle, dated to 1700BC. It consisted of an outer circle and an inner circle within a ditch lined with birch poles. The circles were marked by wooden stakes, the inner ones now replaced with concrete posts. The Harris tells the story of the circles, their discovery in 1899 and excavation, and the burial urns found within them. It is good to see the urns on display once more, along with some of the preserved birch poles from the ditch.

Somewhat later in history. 15 May 1840, workmen repairing the southern embankment of the River Ribble, near Cuerdale Hall, were surprised by the discovery of hidden treasure: a total of 1,000 oz (31 kg) of silver ingots and 7,000 Anglo-Saxon coins in a wooden and lead box. Thought to have been deposited 903–905 AD. At today’s value, £2.600.000. Why they were buried there is a mystery; read Joseph Kenyon’s account here. Most of this hoard, the largest ever Viking discovery, is in the British Museum, but the Harris has a small display of coins, some of the ingots haven’t been returned yet. Not to be missed.

There is mention of the decisive 1648 Battle of Preston during the Second Civil War when Cromwell’s Parliamentarians defeated the Royalists.

Other exhibits, scattered across the floors, focus on Preston’s social and industrial history.

The historical importance of Preston’s trades has been celebrated every 20 years since 1542, with The Preston Guild. King Henry II awarded Preston its first royal charter in 1179, along with the right to have a Guild Merchant. The Guild was an organisation of traders, craftsmen and merchants entitled to trade in the town. Nowadays, schools, businesses, theatres, churches, community groups and more are incorporated into the celebrations. The next Guild is 2032; we have a phrase for rare events: “once in a Preston Guild”.

The cotton industry was a driving force behind Preston’s growth. Originally a small market town, textiles were produced from the 13th century onward. It was in Preston that Richard Arkwright and John Kay developed their highly important spinning frame.

The progress of cotton spinning and weaving looms from a cottage industry to the large mills drove the population into the cities. There were many mills in the town. By 1850, there were 64 mills in town. Horrocks operated 10 mills by 1865, and many of the displays focus on their production.

A dark episode of Preton’s history involving the Horrox family is the Lune Street massacre of 1842.

In the foyer and stairwells, a video, a freeze, and a carpet installation by Khaled Hafez highlight Preston’s connection to the Egyptian cotton trade and uncover some of the darker sides of our colonial occupation in the early C20th. Art and history brought together.

The YouTube video is worth watching for background information.

And then in 1939, along came Courtaulds, spinning Rayon fibre, mainly used in the tyre industry, but also viscose silk for textiles. As the cotton mills started to close, Courtaulds employed 2000 workers until 1980, when it closed.

I never knew Preston was famous for wired and gold threads or was at the forefront of teatotalism.

Preston Docks grew along with the town, opening in 1892 and providing deep anchorage for large vessels from the Ribble. It is now a marina.

The “P.P.” on the city’s coat of arms officially stands for Princeps Pacis (Latin for “Prince of Peace”), referring to Christ, but is commonly interpreted locally as “Proud Preston”. The emblem features the lamb of St. Wilfrid, the city’s patron saint. The coat of arms is proudly worn on Preston North End football shirts. The team was a founding member of the football league in 1888.

Tom Finney, one of PNE’s famous footballers, is one of the photos featuring well-known personalities. Do you recognise the others?

One is the early feminist and suffragette, Edith Rigby.

There is so much more to explore, but it’s time for another visit to the cafe before exploring the art galleries.

THE HARRIS IN PRESTON. 1. THE LIBRARY.

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‘The mental riches you may here acquire abide with you always’

A suitable Victorian inscription from the building.

In 1877, wealthy local lawyer Edmund Robert Harris left £300,000 to Preston Corporation to fund a library, museum, and art gallery. To start with, the library and collections of the Literary and Philosophical Institution (established in 1810 in the town) were purchased and displayed in the basement of the town hall. Land was obtained on the Market Square, and local architect James Hibbert was contracted to carry out the work; the building opened in 1893.

Hibbert chose a neoclassical design. The Victorians believed that classical art and architecture had an uplifting effect on the public. This resulted in the imposing building we see today with its stately columns and classical sculptured pediment depicting famous Greek figures.

The Harris has been closed since 2021 for a major £19 million restoration project known as “Harris – Your Place“. The Grade I-listed building has had repairs, including asbestos removal, structural improvements, and upgrades to heating and accessibility, reopening in September last year. The reopening was fanfared with the Wallace and Gromit exhibition, which I visited after Christmas, vowing to return to see where all those millions have been spent.

I’m back today. The bus from Longridge lands me at the brutalistic bus station, from where a short walk takes me to the Harris. I hope I can manage my phone camera with my one good hand. After passing through the dated shopping arcade, I can walk past the new cinema complex next to the underused open market; somewhere around here is the much-photographed Wallace and Gromit seat.

Narrow alleyways once surrounded the market square, but over the years, development has cleared them away, including Sir Gilbert Scott’s 1867 ‘gothic’ town hall, built from Longridge stone. It burnt down in 1947 and was demolished in the 60s to make way for modern developments that now look rather shabby. A small 16th-century shop is the only remnant of those early days.

I’ve mentioned the site of the old bull ring before, found in a corner of the flag market.

The Harris dominates the east side of the square.

Despite that formidable collonaded facade, the entrance is achieved up some hidden side steps. The front elevated steps are reserved for more formal gatherings.

There are automated doors into the foyer, with its stairs on either side, leading to the roll of honour of Prestonians killed in the First World War.

The central circular atrium is the hub of the building, with three stories leading to side galleries and an upper Egyptian gallery (only open to guided tours), all lit by the tower and the glass dome 120 feet above. The neo-classical theme continues throughout the interior. The centrepiece here is the famous Foucault pendulum, the longest in the UK, hanging the full height of the atrium. As the pendulum swings in a fixed plane, the Earth rotates beneath it, causing the pendulum’s path to appear to rotate over time. The earth moves for me.

Previously known as the Museum, Library and Art Gallery, the refurbished Harris aims to act as a Community, Cultural and Learning hub for the city and its surroundings. It succeeds on all three levels, so much so that in this post today, I am basically concentrating on the library side of things. There is so much to see, one visit is not enough.

Forget about the hushed, somewhat dingy library I used regularly when I first moved to Preston in the 70s; all is now open, bright, and friendly. The lending library is still operational on the ground floor, although I imagine it is far less used than it was of old. I’m heartened that people want to read a physical book, of course, all for free. Do you still get fined for overdue books?

It’s good to see young children being encouraged to start exploring books.

Right next to the lending library, through the small shop, is the cafe, a busy spot with good coffee and cakes, which I can vouch for. Even here, there are several informal displays of the museum’s collections, mainly ceramics. I am heartened to see a bookcase full of the entire OS 1:50,000 map series, plus many of the recreational 1:25,000 sheets—what more does one need – coffee and maps.

Coffee break over, I explore the library further on the first floor and find a room set aside with computers that is very busy, all surrounded by soothing artworks.

The reference part of the library is full of books and magazines just waiting to be browsed. There is an extensive selection of local interest editions. One could spend a happy day here.

Another space has rarer books in locked cabinets – for serious research. Other rooms are for quiet study.

That’s all for the library, but as you have noticed throughout, other exhibits are intermingled. I will post further on the Museum and the Art Gallery exhibits.

A GRAND DAY OUT.

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The Harris Museum, Preston.

I’ve just spent the last couple of hours re-watching Nick Park’s early Wallace and Gromit films on iPlayer. (A Grand Day Out, 1989; The Wrong Trousers, 1993; A Close Shave, 1995; A Matter of Loaf and Death, 2008). I felt I had to after visiting the Wallace and Gromit: A Case at the Museum exhibition in the newly opened Harris Library, Museum and Gallery in Preston earlier in the day. These four short films were produced at Aardman Studios in Bristol, and originally shown on BBC TV. My memory of them is somewhat vague, but I find them much more enjoyable than his full-length feature films: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit, 2005 and Vengeance Most Fowl. 2024. That possibly says more about my attention span rather than the films’ qualities. I now think that if I had refreshed my memory of the films before visiting the exhibition, I would have derived more from it.

For anyone wanting to see the Wallace and Gromit exhibition in Preston, it closes on January 4th.

When I first moved to Preston in the early 1970s, I was a regular visitor to the Harris Library for books. I remember glancing at the museum exhibits and art gallery. One or two objects stayed in my mind from that time: The Lady In the Yellow Dress, the central pendulum, an ancient Elk’s skeleton and pottery remains from Bleasdale Circle. The years go by, and I haven’t visited since I moved to Longridge. The Museum and library closed in 2021 for a major multimillion-pound redevelopment. It reopened to much acclaim at the end of September 2025, with the Wallace and Gromit exhibition a major attraction. I still hadn’t visited, but today my grandson and his partner, both recent art students, came up from Manchester to see the present exhibition before it closes, and I was gladly dragged along.

We emerge from the brutalistic bus station and make our way through the ageing shopping arcade to emerge alongside the Victorian buildings at the heart of the city. The covered market, the council offices, the old law courts, and the delightful arcade which deposits us into the Flag Market. The old post office, on the far side, was destined to become a hotel, but work has apparently stalled. The Harris, which we have come to visit, dominates the square. Opened in 1893, the Grade I listed building is owned and managed by Preston City Council. Its origins are from a bequest from Edmund Harris, a wealthy Preston lawyer, in 1877, in that grand age of Victorian educational enlightenment. The building was designed in a Neo-Classical style by local architect James Hibbert. “To Literature Arts and Sciences” is enblazoned across the portico.

As an aside, I recently wrote about a bull-baiting ring at Worston and, on further reading, came across an often-overlooked bull ring on the Flag Market in Preston. Bull baiting was banned in 1726. Time to find it. Yes, and there, hiding just behind the falafel stall, in the SW corner, is evidence of it.

Into the Harris we go – it is free to visit. “The Harris is here to serve as a cultural hub, bringing together communities and promoting creativity and learning” I realise immediately how vast the interior is. A central rotunda with rooms disappearing on all sides and on four floors. A Foucault Pendulum, displaying the Earth’s rotation, hangs 35m, the longest in the UK.

We did a whirlwind tour of the library areas and some of the upper galleries before joining the queue for the Wallace and Gromit display. The queue lasted an hour before we were let into the exhibition. A good chance to chat to the friendly people of Preston. Behind us was a gent wearing a TVR-emblazoned hat. TVR sports cars were manufactured in Blackpool and once achieved cult status before being bought out by foreign investors. One of my friends still drives one, and the man in the queue once had three in various states of repair. The family in front had an excited young fan of the W and G films, and somehow the conversation turned to visiting Sri Lanka and its tea plantations. I now realise we were passing a display on the history and importance of tea, on the upper gallery. The view down from here was acrophobic.

At last, we were in…

… which meant nothing to me until rewatching the early films.

The genius creator behind Wallace and Gromit was Nick Park, a Preston lad born in 1958. He had a keen interest in drawing cartoons from a young age, encouraged by his father. Some of his early attempts are on display.

His college graduation project, A Grand Day Out, was brought to fruition with the help of Aardman Studios. It was six years in the making. He has worked with them ever since, on far more projects than W and G.

The secret behind his Wallace and Gromit stop-motion animations is his use of plasticine for his models. This blends in with the characters, giving them a somewhat homely northern character. His choice of Pater Sallis for Wallace’s voice-over was a master stroke, even if the accent is more white rose than red. A fire at Aardman Studios in 2005 destroyed many original models, but enough survived and are on display here today.

The exhibition highlights the level of detail that Park put into creating his characters, with many of his original sketches on display.

The detail was further carried through to his sets, several of the originals being displayed. If you are a fan, you will recognise them.

Using the plasticine, Park created a range of expressions for Wallace’s vocabulary. These he preserved and used as and when on his character.

Throughout the exhibition were models used in the original films, a fascinating collection.

I can’t convey the amount of material and information in this exhibition. What a shame it’s coming to an end this week.

Throughout the display were videos from some of Nick Park’s films, which were much appreciated by all ages.

I will be back soon to immerse myself in the libraries and galleries. Here is a taster, the enigmatic ‘Pauline in the Yellow Dress’.

THE GARLIC SOUP THAT NEARLY KILLED ME. Part two.

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The outcome.

The fire brigade have done their bit, demolishing my back door to gain entry. (Might have been easier to force the Yale lock on the front door) They cut me out of the chair which had held me tight for eight or nine hours. The ambulance crew assess me, slightly hypothermic with a rapid pulse rate, bruising and swelling to my knees, hands and back. But I can stand gingerly, and I don’t think any bones are broken. A hot cup of tea is heaven.

You may remember I have recently adopted two new kittens. They are just getting used to my house and are loose in the kitchen when I fall. There is no sign of them when the ambulance crew rescue me, perhaps they ran upstairs with all the banging. I ask the firemen to pop them into the cage with some food if they appear later. The firemen stay behind until a security firm makes the house safe. I’m off in the ambulance to Royal Preston Hospital again.

Casaulty is relatively quiet at 6.30 am on Easter Tuesday. I see the triage nurse quickly, and then go back into the waiting room in a wheelchair. An hour later, I’m wheeled into another nurse who takes blood and observations. Another hour in the waiting room before a doctor sees me. It’s difficult to tell who people are in the hospital these days, as they all wear almost standard uniforms. Back in the waiting room before a visit to the X-ray department. And so it goes on, all the essentials covered, but at a slow pace.

At some stage, I’m told I will be admitted to a ward, but at present, there are no beds. In the meantime, I have an intravenous drip set up. I prepare for a long wait in my wheelchair, but suddenly I am taken to a ward, a bed becomes available, and I’m just lucky to be chosen for it. It is mid-afternoon by now.

The ward I am on is the Acute Frailty Unit. A succession of nurses and doctors deal with me. More blood is taken, and another IV infusion set up when the first one leaked in my arm. Their concern is the level of Creatinine Kinase in my blood. High CK levels are an indication of muscle damage, and after my trauma, my muscles are releasing loads of it. If it becomes too high, it can cause kidney damage. All the extra fluids are to speed the progress of its elimination.

This continues for four days until the levels of CK come down a little. My arms are becoming more and more bruised from the frequent blood tests and IV drips. A small price to pay.

The bruises and swelling behind the knees and on my hands and elbows lessen, but the large friction burn down my back, from rubbing against the chair seat, is very sore and oozing. It will take a few weeks to heal. This makes it very difficult to sleep comfortably, especially when connected to a drip. The general noise on the ward I can cope with. ( I will spare you the gory photographs of the injuries) I am in much better shape than the other elderly men in the ward, who are frail.

More doctors visit me, and everyone is incredulous as to the circumstances of my injuries. All the staff are friendly and proficient, and I have nothing but praise for them. Even the meals are OK. But when may I go home?

Eventually, my bloods improve and I am discharged. I walk gingerly to my son’s car and head back to Longridge.

First of all, I have to report that the kittens didn’t stray and they are sitting in their cage to welcome me. In the intervening days, my son has been visiting them.

But what of the rest of the house? The back door, or where there had been a back door, has been boarded up securely. The surrounding plasterwork has suffered from the ‘break-in’ and there are bits of glass everywhere.

Outside are the remains of the door, showing signs of how difficult it had been to breach.

The offending kitchen bar stool is lying there and sends a shiver down my spine to think back to my imprisonment for over eight hours within it. I just made it out in time.

Getting comfortable with my skin damage is still a big problem, but my general mobility is improving quickly, especially as I now have more freedom to exercise. I’ll be down to the shops tomorrow.

Further lessons learnt.

Maybe buy tinned soup.

Check the house for trip hazards.

Consider an external key safe.

Consider a personal emergency button; there are several to choose from, all connecting to a call centre if needed. Perhaps it would be better to have one of the ‘clever’ watches that can make a call for you, as this could be used whilst on my outdoor activities, giving a greater range of security backup. I will look into the various options; my sons are already doing so.

Oh, for a quiet life.

A PAUSE IN MY PEREGRINATIONS.

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There is a happy ending to this story.

I’m gazing out at the night sky from my room on the 4th floor of The Royal Preston Hospital.

With all this dry weather, you may expect me to be discussing further progress on my Pilgrim’s Way from Longridge to Manchester. That had been the plan. I walked a little further at the end of the week, but I didn’t get a chance to write it up.

I awoke the following day to find I couldn’t move my left hand and wrist. Initially, I thought I had just slept badly on it, but after half an hour, I still couldn’t use it. Some anxiety set in that I may be having a stroke. My first inclination was to phone my son to take me to casualty, not an inviting thought. I remembered some recent NHS adverts detailing the first signs of a stroke and the importance of getting to the hospital as soon as possible. So I phoned NHS 111. After a bit of faffing, when the call handler couldn’t find my address, things went smoothly, and she immediately organised an emergency ambulance.

I only had time to grab a few clothes and medications before the sirens announced the ambulance’s arrival. They were brilliant and succinct in their history-taking, examination and assessment. Blood sugars, blood oxygen, ECGs and an intravenous line inserted. I was loaded into the ambulance for a quick blue-light journey. All I could hear was the siren sounding at various bottlenecks whose locations I tried to visualise. 12 minutes door to door.

Straight into the stroke reception unit (there were over 100 waiting next door in casualty) and their friendly nurses, soon seen by a doctor of unknown rank and sent for a brain CCT scan down the corridor. Then, on the trolley, down a corridor that looked like a war zone, into the lift and up to a space in the ward, all within an hour from my house.

By now, I was attached to a heart monitor and an IV infusion drip. From then on, I lost track of where and when. The ‘stroke’ doctor examined me and looked puzzled. He would get his consultant to see me. Nil by mouth was the sign above my head. I just lay there, not wanting to bother my family unduly.

It seemed ages before the consultant arrived. He thought I probably hadn’t had a stroke, but more likely radial nerve damage to my arm. I would need an MRI scan of my brain and neck in the morning to clarify the situation. He ordered a cake and a glass of water from the ward to prove I could swallow without choking—a practical physician. Down came the drip, and I was moved to a smaller room, now not needing constant observation.

Time goes slowly. They find me some food for supper. Son C only lives half a mile from the hospital and arrives to check on me. And importantly, with a newspaper for my evening’s entertainment. I fumbled with the pages one-handed to get to the crosswords.

The usual frequent blood pressure, pulse, temperature, and blood sugar checks continued through the night—a succession of different nurses, all very professional, tending to me. I was beginning to feel like a fraud for occupying a bed when I was obviously not ill.

Day two dawned as I watched the sun rise over those East Lancashire hills I should have been walking in. What a view it was from up here. Stretching from the Pennines, Winter Hill, over the city’s landmarks: Deepdale Stadium, home of Preston North End FC, the skyscrapers, St. Walberg soaring steeple, Tulketh Mill, to the Fylde coast and Blackpool tower. Even the Welsh Hills could be made out in the background. What a great day to be on top of a fell or in a south-facing hospital ward four floors up. I used my nose to press take on my mobile against the window.

This is how it would have looked 100 years ago.

Speech therapists, physiotherapists and occupational therapists all visited without doing anything. But when was the trip for my MRI scan? I don’t think I saw a doctor. My son M and grandson S made the journey from Manchester, loaded with drinks, snacks, books, and papers, which are much appreciated. Of course, while they were visiting, a porter appeared to take me for my scan at about 4 pm. He insisted I use the wheelchair even though I am perfectly capable of walking. This is my fourth MRI scan in the last 6 months, so I’m becoming an expert. Even so, towards the end of the half-hour session, I developed an irritating tickle in my throat, which I only just managed to control without moving.

When I am wheeled back to my room an hour later, I find M and S tucking into snacks they had bought from the hospital shop. Their choices looked most unhealthy. Considering our nation’s rate of obesity, should a hospital be selling these products, they have banned smoking. Interestingly, my meals during my stay were fine, but again, there was too much emphasis on processed sugary foods.

Day 3 dawned sunny and bright; oh, how I wish I was out walking. But with a bit of luck, I would be discharged. After three days as an inpatient, somebody came to check on my regular medication, which I had smuggled in. Apparently, they should have been under lock and key; anyhow, the locked drawer on my bedside table was broken, so they remained in their plastic bag.

My room was cleaned, I had a morning coffee, and I was offered towels for a shower. An exciting morning. At least I managed to read one of the books Grandson S brought me. L’Étranger by Albert Camus. I remember reading it, in the original French version, back in the ’60s at university. I did those sorts of things then. It is easy and classic to read but challenging to understand without a background in existentialism.

Finally, the consultant appeared and confirmed his diagnosis of radial nerve damage. I would need further nerve conduction studies and physiotherapy as an outpatient. But I could be discharged after I was fitted with a wrist splint. Lunch was served. I packed my bags and put son C on red alert for my escape.

Things are not as simple in the NHS as nowadays. The physiotherapist and his student turned up and reassessed my problem. “We will get you a splint as soon as possible.” Would that mean another night in the hospital? True to his word, he reappeared with the appropriate splints and promised to tell the ward nurse I could be discharged. He came back a little later to ask for a favour. His student had only recently arrived at UCLAN to commence a physiotherapy course and was rather shy at communicating with patients as yet. Would I be happy to talk to her for a while? Of course. So I had a lovely, broad, raging conversation with her for twenty minutes or more. Aged just 18, she had travelled a week ago to England from Dubai to start her vocational training. Her English, and her understanding of its subtleties, was excellent. She has already come up against the Scouse accent and conquered it; wait till she has a Glaswegian patient. I probably gained as much from the conversation as she did.

It was getting late when the porter came to take me, wheelchair bound to the discharge ward. I’m not allowed to walk. Thankfully, I don’t have to wait for medication; I am free to go.

I told you the story had a happy ending.

I have nothing but praise for the treatment I received from beginning to end. There are niggles that shouldn’t be there, but the staff, many working 12-hour shifts, are holding the NHS together. They deserve our utmost support and whatever pay rise that they come by. Would you work 12 hours for the minimum wage under these stressful conditions?

Now, at home, I’m learning how to pull my trousers up and put on a shirt one-handed. Taking the tops of jars is a challenge. Thank heavens for microwave ovens and air fryers.

I’ll be back on the trail before you know it.

TWO BRIGHT DAYS.

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20231130_135009x The temperature is hovering just above zero, but we must be under a high pressure there is no wind and the sun is shining. Perfect. I don’t carry a camera for these two days, I’m trying out my new phone.

Wednesday I join that walking group who put up with my irregular appearances. I’m not really a walking group type of person, a miserable old bugger and proud of it. The meeting place is strangely the Capitol Centre in south Preston. Perhaps the whole thing is a subterfuge for some Christmas Shopping. But no, once we all assembled we are marched off into no man’s land of Walton-le-dale and Lower Penwortham. Old railways and tram tracks wander through light woodland and surprisingly green fields. I keep seeing cycleway signs, so I must look them up for further exploration, there is no such thing as a wasted walk. The talk generally is about the state of the nation in particular the NHS, we are all of an age when most are afflicted.

On our way.

Cheeky chap.

Safely back at the shops

Time passes quickly, I have no idea where I have been but the leader sensibly hands out a map of our route for perusal later. P1010908

The highlight of these walks is the pub lunch at the end. Today it is Hunters. Being smart I looked up their website the night before and memorised their own map of the locality. So once we were back in the car I proudly said I knew the way. We all seemed to drive off indifferent directions. Ten minutes later we realised there was no pub at our destination. Out with the phone to plot another route, this time putting in the name of the road – Hennel Lane. Another ten minutes and we were parking up in what appeared to be tacky family fun road house. It was, but the food was ok and they had some decent beers. Should I tell them of their website error or just let other people find out the hard way as we did. You can see the two sites on the map below, take your pick. Capture

Thursday, another day of frost and sun. The usual procrastinating and I end up with a walk up Longridge Fell, nothing wrong with that. I realise I have not had my breakfast which is a bit strange. Being on my own I can dawdle and take pictures of frozen grasses. 20231130_131451

When I set off there are few cars in the carpark but later in the afternoon it is quite busy, dog walkers mainly taking advantage of the good weather. I take my usual route contouring the lower fell – the ‘panorama route’ I call it because of the views over Chipping Vale and the background Bowland Fells of Fair Snape and Totridge. I walk up to the trig point on Spire Hill. The boggy areas are semi frozen making life easier but still giving way on the wetter sections. I have the place to myself, there is not a sound or a drop of wind. The three Yorkshire peaks are clear in the distance, I head back down through the trees first and then reverse my upward route. I meet a mountain biker making the best of the conditions. P1010897 20231130_134954

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A lady is setting up her easel to sketch the scenery in front of her. Unashamedly I interrupt her saying ” I wish I could do that”. She is very modest and replies she struggles to produce anything worthwhile. I’m sure she is underplaying her talents. I find out the name of the gallery in Ribchester where she exhibits and promise to visit. 20231130_142518

A little farther on I meet a friend who spends his time photographing wild life, particularly birds. He is out to see the barn owls that quarter the fellside most evening. I should come up tomorrow to do the same as there is also a short eared owl about. His camera is a foot longer than mine. What envy? 20231130_131355

Two contrasting walks!

Lets hope for more days like this and the winter will feel much shorter.

FUNGAL FUN AT BROCKHOLES.

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I am a born again Mycologist. I’ve seen the light.

I’d signed up for an ‘Introduction to ‘Fungi Walk’ at Brockholes. In the depths of Brockholes’s Nature Reserve Jim, our ‘guide’, holds a small piece of twig with some even smaller black and white stems – Candlesnuff Fungus, for us to examine. This minute organism may even provide the compounds to fight cancer. He emphasises the importance of fungi in evolutionary terms and future research. Fungi, neither animal nor plant, have been on this earth 1.5 billion years. There are millions of varieties, but we only know of a small percentage. They have helped our environment to evolve. And what may they hold for the future?

What is the world’s largest living organism he asks? – not the Blue Whale or the Sequoia Tree – no there is a fungus that occupies some 2,384 acres in Oregon’s Blue Mountains. 1,665 football fields, or nearly four square miles. A truly humungous fungus. I like the style of our ‘funguy’ Jim. P1000382

Jim, has only this week been on the telly, BBC Northwest Tonight with everybody’s favourite Roger Johnson in a feature on Brockholes Nature Reserve. Have a look Here if it is still available.

We are in the presence of an amateur expert though even he can only identify a fraction of the thousands of UK’s fungi. Perhaps a hundred or so noted at Brockholes. And the general advice is don’t eat any of them unless they are on the shelves at Tesco. (other supermarkets are available) The names of some of them give a warning. Death Cap, Destroying Angel, Funeral Bell.

***

It didn’t stop raining all night, and I was expecting a wet morning ahead so dressed for the occasion with full waterproofs as I parked outside the reserve in the Crematorium grounds, (saving the £5 parking fee). This gave me a brisk mile walk down through the woods to the Floating Visitor Centre meet up. There were maybe 20 of us, an eclectic bunch. The sun shone throughout the morning and hence I sweated undercover. P1000347 P1000348 P1000353

P1000357 Jim led us out into the reserve, and we had only gone a few metres before he stopped on a grassy verge. A keen eye was needed to spot the tiny fungi, Blackening Waxcaps, They slowly revert to a black mess. I would have walked straight past them or even worse squashed them. The more studious followers were making notes.

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Then onwards into the woods. Puff Balls, Brackets, Slime, Jelly Ears etc etc. Here are some of my hurried photos. P1000366 P1000365 P1000369 P1000368 P1000375 P1000379

Jim was a wise general naturalist as well as a fungus finder and imparted words of Lancashire wisdom as we proceeded. All very entertaining. Buzzards flew overhead and Long Horn Cattle grazed the meadows. All too soon the adventure was over, and we headed back to the floating visitor centre and more importantly the café. P1000386

After a coffee I had a stroll around the rest of the reserve. There wasn’t a lot happening, so I headed to the River Ribble and followed its banks back to Red Scar Woods and the climb back up to the crematorium high above the river. I was peering around me and examining every bit of dead wood for specimens, I didn’t spot many but I am full of resolve to get out tomorrow with my new-found enthusiasm for fungi. I need to download one of those apps to my phone to help in identification. P1000383 P1000350 P1000389 P1000391 P1000394 P1000396 P1000398 P1000399 P1000403

The Autumn colours are finally coming through and the cherry trees in the Crematorium were particularly dazzling. I had ended up walking about 6 miles in my wanderings.

THE GUILDED WHEEL.

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

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

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

My phone camera comes into action on the tree lined boulevard into Avenham Park. Miller Park is looking immaculate, although the former, now empty, Park Hotel overlooking the scene has run into planning and financial problems as have many civic schemes in these cash strapped days. 20230815_123702 20230815_124108

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

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

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

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

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

A GREENER FULWOOD.

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You may remember my March walk in the woods of Fulwood. That was an exploratory walk discovering many green spaces, several of them managed by the Woodland Trust. My comment at the time was “What must it be like when the bluebells are out and the trees showing much more greenery?”

Well now was the time to find out. I also wanted to create a more accessible route taking in the best woods and avoiding roads as much as possible and perhaps write a small definitive guide to the chosen route.

I was weary from climbing at Kemple End yesterday, so I only wanted a short walk. The sunny afternoon was ideal for this Fulwood circuit of about 7 K.

Since my visit in March the trees have certainly greened up and most are in full leaf giving dappled lighting. Oak, Sycamore, Beech, Chestnut, Birch, Ash and Wild and Bird Cherry were all present.

The bluebells were flowering in profusion, most were English Bluebells, Hyacinthoides non-scripta, as opposed to the Spanish ones, Hyacinthoides hispanica, although some were possibly hybrids.

Here is what the NT has to say about bluebells –

It is fairly easy to tell the difference between English and Spanish bluebells, but the hybrids can be trickier as they take characteristics from both

Flower and stem. The individual bells of the native bluebell are narrow with straight sides and have petals which curl back at the edges. The stem is curved, with most of the bells hanging to one side. The bells of Spanish bluebells are more cone-shaped and their petals tend to flare rather than curl back. The stems are more upright, with bells hanging all round. Native bluebells are usually a deep blue-violet shade, while Spanish ones tend to be paler. Confusingly, both varieties can also come in white and pink.

Pollen colour. Look at the pollen inside the flower. If it’s creamy-white then the bluebell is probably native (or a hybrid). If the pollen is green or blue, it’s not native.

Scent. Native bluebells have a strong, sweet scent, which makes the woods smell amazing on a warm day. The Spanish variety has little to no scent.

Leaves. Native bluebells have relatively narrow leaves, around 1–1.5 cm wide. Spanish and hybrid bluebells tend to have much bigger leaves, around 3 cm wide.

Apart from the bluebells there were many other flowers showing themselves. I still haven’t found a decent identification app that works with my ageing phone.

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Mason’s Wood is a wonderfully secluded valley, Wild Garlic pervading the air throughout.

I continued on the public footpath alongside Savick Brook to try and find a way back by Sandy Brook avoiding the busy Eastway. All routes were private and hidden behind locked gates. I tried my best and had to return to the path alongside Preston Golf Club, whose course was looking immaculate. I suppose we forget the importance of green spaes provided by golf courses in cities. Mark Twain famously said “Golf is a good walk spoilt” but now it looks like “a good ride spoilt”.

Crossing Eastway was braved, there is no obvious way without it, and I finished the walk along the delightful Sandy Brook back to Fulwood Row.

Lots of green spaces and I think I have my possible guide to them almost complete. I will post it here whenever.

***

SPRING ON THE WHEEL.

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It’s peaceful on the Preston Guild Wheel today, there is no wind. Very few people out, not even many dog walkers. I cycle slowly round, not having been on the bike for nearly two months. I’m in no rush and have time to see what Spring is bringing to the route. The woods have greened up since my last visit and bird song is everywhere. It is in the woods, Red Scar in particular on the early part of my circuit, that the floral display has changed. The celandines are fading to be replaced by the spreading sea of bluebells. Wild garlic is looking fresh, and its white flowers are opening up. Patches of cowslips and cuckoo flowers light up more open spaces. The green hawthorn has started to flower, it’s probably time I cast a clout, but the fickle weather changes day by day. P1000958 P1000962 P1000970 P1000976

The notoriously muddy section at the bottom of the hill as you enter Brockholes Reserve has been drained and a decent hardcore surface created. I call in at the first hide to see what’s happening on the water. I’m not carrying binoculars, but I make use of the shop selling binoculars and telescopes. Their equipment is so much better than my antiquated items. Maybe time for an upgrade, but the assistant baffles me with his enthusiastic technical sales talk. At least I checked out the lake with his powerful scope.

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On alonside the Ribble, through the parks and then the docks. The long drag alongside Blackpool Road went on forever as I pass the nearly finished junction for the Western Link Road. The Guild Wheel now goes under the bridge carrying this road. P1000978

My favourite café, The Final Whistle on the University’s playing fields, is surprisingly closed. I have to make do with one of their benches for a sit down with some water and a banana. I find the ‘hilly’ sections through Fulwood a bit of a chore and have a few spells of walking. Just over 21 miles in Spring sunshine.

IF YOU GO DOWN TO THE WOODS TODAY…

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A follow-up to my post of last week on Woodland Trust sites in Fulwood.

I had to go into Preston to pick up my camera after its repairs. Wilkinson’s has served me well over the years and many cameras with personal care.. My pocket Lumix Leica had started with a fault involving the electronic zoom – it wouldn’t. I persisted for a while using the manual setting but eventually returned it to the shop for attention under its two-year warranty. The young shop assistant tried to tell me I had damaged the zoom by dropping the camera, I explained I hadn’t. He wrote about ‘damage’ on the repair form and said he would speak to his manager – he didn’t. Subsequently, I was informed the camera’s zoom mechanism was replaced and ready for picking up at a charge of £167. I phoned to say I had disputed the cause of the failure and expected the warranty to cover the charges, the temporary assistant said he would speak to the manager – he didn’t.

I arrived in the shop clutching my warranty and asked to speak to the manager. He was very understanding and agreed that the repairers had said there was no sign of any physical damage. Of course there was no charge, I thanked him for his fairness. I will no doubt be giving this independent but expanding business, my custom in the future as opposed to the internet. Just don’t deal with the young temporary assistants.

Being keen to try it out and as I was in town I thought I would visit the two Woodland Trust woods in Fulwood omitted last week. They didn’t fit into my circular walk being more stand-alone sites. The Woodland Trust website gave me maps and access points.

ASDA WOOD.

“Public access is informal and limited. There is a stile on the southern boundary which is used irregularly as a foot access route to Asda, a network of informal unsurfaced paths run through the site for approx. 500 metres. The woodland is not thought to be well-used except perhaps by a small number of people as a shortcut to the superstore.”

“The small size of this site, and the fact that it is surrounded by housing and a superstore limits its value as a wildlife habitat. Unfortunately the woodland does not l ink with any other habitats, and there is no opportunity to extend it. However, it is a mature and stable woodland which provides a refuge for urban wildlife.”

Not exactly encouraging. I parked up in the far corner of the superstore car park and found the shortcut mentioned, a muddy informal track connecting to Eastway. What else did I find? Well everywhere along the border of the wood with the car park an unbelievable amount of dumped rubbish. Not just the odd drinks bottle or takeaway box, no everything but the kitchen sink. There was probably a sink in there somewhere. A lot of the mess was Asda packaging hurriedly discarded whilst on the premises, but others must park up here, well away from the public eye, and have a right clear-out. It was disgusting, and I am surprised Asda are not sufficiently ashamed and embarrassed to do something about it.

My enthusiasm for the oaks, birch, hawthorn and sycamore dwindled – it was so messy at the edges. The woods drop away steeply and would be difficult to access even if there were paths. Best stay away, or at least just sit in the car park listening to the bird song whilst you throw away your rubbish. I notice The Woodland Trust does’n put their usual signs up here, or more likely they have been burnt.

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Eastway gate into Asda Wood.

Deeper in the wood.

CLOUGH COPSE.

“A popular wood with local dog-walkers and joggers Clough Copse consists of a wide variety of tree life including oak, ash, sycamore, cherry, beech, elder, hazel and holly. Bluebells, dog’s mercury and red campion can be spotted as well.”

Sounds more promising. I’ve never been into these housing estates alongside The Guild Wheel. A maze of roads, upmarket houses and plenty of green spaces. From one of the roads where I parked I eventually found a path onto the Guild Wheel which I followed downhill towards the Old Tannery on Savick Brook. On the map I had spotted a track heading back up into Clough Copse. This well maintained way alongside a smaller brook is local authority owned. There are bridges and steps leading off into unseen housing. The deep clough divides and there didn’t seem to be any track up the right-hand branch. The Woodland Trust announce their presence. I followed the pleasant left-hand clough and yes there were dog walkers about.

Out of the estate to the Guild Wheel to start.

Finding a way in off the Guild Wheel.

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A small ‘smoke-free’ children’s’ playground appeared on the edge of the housing. I continued upwards with the stream below giving interest. Patches of Wood Anemone, Lesser Celandines and Primroses added colour. Only the Blackthorn was showing any blossom.

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All too quickly I popped out the other end onto some unknown road and was able to find my way back to the car. Really this wood is just a narrow strip offering locals a welcome green way out of their estate. Again there was plenty of bird song, so it is providing a habitat for our wildlife.

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tempsnipASda (2)

!. ASDA WOOD. 2. CLOUGH COPSE. Purple, route walked.

Maybe Clough Copse would be worth a revisit when the bluebells are out and the trees leafed up. But really it is only of use to the surrounding estate. Stay well away from Asda Wood.

My curiosity satisfied and the camera tested. Now after the two visits I have in my mind’s eye an idea for a pleasant walking circuit of the best of the Woodland Trust sites in Fulwood. But let’s wait until the woods are farther on after Easter.

SOME FULWOOD WOODS.

9 Replies

David Attenborough has just told me and the rest of you on his latest TV documentary that the UK has the worst woodland density of any European country. That does not surprise me given our government’s rough shod treatment of our environment. They don’t even approve of Attenborough’s climate predictions. Who would you trust our natural treasures to – David or Sunak, Hunt, Coffey et al. We are woefully short of natural diversity and though it is small scale The Woodland Trust charity have something to offer on a local level and potentially a wider scale the more people know of them and their work. But how much more we need to do to re-establish our natural woodlands after years of local destruction for housing, transport, agriculture and sterile forestry plantations.

This was to be an afternoon of exploration which will be of little interest to most of you. Fulwood lies to the north of Preston hard by the M6. A land of suburbia, upmarket houses and expensive cars. And it is spreading fast to link up with Broughton and Cottam. New estates appear by the month and roads struggle to cope with the traffic. Alongside the motorway industrial units and office blocks use up most of the remaining land. So what is a ‘mountain man’ like me doing here? Well for a start mountains are off the agenda until hopefully the knee has improved. Secondly I noticed on a walk on the Preston Guild Wheel last week lots of tempting linear woodland walks. Most of them signed and presumably maintained by The Woodland Trust charity. A fellow blogger Clare highlighted some woods in the area a year ago, and I have to thank her for that. It lit a spark in me, and I am off to discover what has been hidden under my feet or wheels all those years.

A bit of research on The Woodlands Trust website showed an interactive map of all their woodlands. I focused in on the Fulwood ones.

Capturewoodland Trust

Armed with a sketch map I left Fulwood Row onto the Guild Wheel through Hindley Hill Woods. ( Fernyhalgh Woods according to the Woodland Trust Map, but let’s not quibble. On the east side of the Motorway alonside Savick Brook they are named Squire Anderton’s Woods. I traversed these on my Haighton walk last week) This is all familiar territory but once I crossed Longsands Lane I diverged from the GW north into Midgery Woods, crossing Savick Brook, and going uphill towards the constant drum of the motorway. The path goes alongside the motorway for 300 metres with expensive looking houses to its other side, they must be glad of the belt of trees to give them some insulation from the noise. One could carry on along here all the way to Moss Leach Woods, but I’d had enough of the noise so took a pleasanter path through trees over the roundabout and re-emerged back onto the GW at Midgery Lane. I followed the Wheel northwards until I came to the entrance to Moss Leach Woods on the right. I had a quick foray in the woods towards the motorway out of interest before continuing.

The Guild Wheel.

Savick Brook.

Heading to the Motorway.

On the map is marked Cromwell’s Mound in a field just off the Guild Wheel – I had never noticed it before. A public footpath crosses the field here just south of the mound which to my surprise was clearly visible, although I need a better photo. ‘Cromwell’s Mound fieldwork remains in good condition and is a rare example of a monument associated with the Second Civil War of 1648.’ For the full history behind this mound have a read here. The developers have encroached upon this historic site with the planning departments colluding.

A fuzzy Cromwell’s Mound.

I should have just carried on across the field but instead retraced my steps and followed a narrower path continuing in the Moss Leach woods by the stream. This was very muddy and came out at the same place as the Public Footpath – lesson learnt. I was now on the busy Eastway, again I could have gone straight across, but I wanted to look at the strip of woods heading south from the road just past the roundabout. Walking alongside this road is not pleasant. Thankfully the strip of woodland was signed, and I enjoyed a good stretch. I probably passed over the moat of the demolished Broughton Tower along there somewhere, another one to come back to. The path narrowed alongside houses, and then the way continued onto Tower Lane, showing cobbles in places near Tower Farm. This made up lane. now between upmarket properties, came to a T-junction. With the lack of knowledge of any other ways I turned left and soon reached Eastway again. I walked down the grass verge, there being no footway, until I reached the entrance to Mason’s Wood. Looking at the map I could have reached this point more easily from the Guild Wheel, cutting out the loop to Cromwell’s Mound. but that wasn’t the point today.

North end of what had been Tower Lane.

Tower Farm.

How much?

Eastway – best avoided.

Mason’s Wood was a gem. a deep wooded valley with the path winding along it. Little bridges lead to paths rising to the housing on the west bank, whilst hidden on the left was Preston Golf Club. This could become a favourite of mine. The wild garlic was just leafing up.

Entrance to Mason’s Wood.

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At the end a footbridge took me across Savick Brook and onto the edge of the smart looking golf course, complete with its usual warnings and arrows. But all went well until a muddy exit back onto Eastway which I then followed until Fulwood Hall Lane on the right. To escape from the busy road I ducked down here and found a path following Savick Brook upstream. I still had to cross and recross the busy roads again at the roundabout to continue upstream. That bit needs sorting out.

Savick Brook again.

Preston Golf course.

The light was fading, I hadn’t set off until 3pm due to faffing, so I increased my pace along the good path. This linear wood is called Sandybrook, another Woodland Trust site, and is three quarters of a mile long. (Header Photo of Sandybrook) All these hidden woods. It was only in this section, bordering onto the Brookfield estate that I encountered any serious litter. Most of the woods had been clear of rubbish and thankfully poo bags.

Entrance to Sandybrook.

At the end I emerged back onto Fulwood Row, the end of my walk, just as the rain started. Here were present day reminders of the natural habitats we must have lost whilst this area was being and still is being developed, but credit to The Woodland Trust for preserving some of these linear wild life spaces.

Extending Fulwood Row!

This is a fairly mundane write-up, out of necessity, to find, explore and possibly link up the various woods. There is so much green space hiding away from the busy roads in the area, Strangely I feel I have had a good ‘country’ walk today. What must it be like when the bluebells are out and the trees showing much more greenery? Already I can see how to tweak the route to avoid the dreaded Eastway, yet still experiencing the best bits. Today I walked about six miles, but I think an excellent route of about four miles avoiding roads would be possible. The green lungs of Fulwood. My convoluted route is shown on the map below, but I’m sure there will be more to come of these woodland walks in the heart of the city. (Is Fulwood in the city?)

The Woodland Trust site shows two more woods I didn’t or couldn’t incorporate into today’s walk. Asda Wood and Clough Copse. I will make a separate trip to these, and maybe incorporate a bit of shopping at Asda at the same time. Additionally, their website has some very good information on tree identification and other matters natural. Worth a visit and a donation at https://www.woodlandtrust.org.uk/

***

CaptureFULWOOD

HAIGHTON VARIATIONS IN TURN.

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***

An urban rural walk.

Call me a wimp or whatever, but I’m keeping my walks to lowland lanes at the moment. Good surfaces and a modest distance. I’m rather pleased I didn’t cycle today as to start there was a fresh wind which seemed much stronger than the forecast suggested.

Haighton is a scattered farming community to the east of the M6 between Fulwood,Preston and Grimsargh. Possibly best known for the C17 Haighton Manor, a well respected and longstanding dining establishment. I have included walks through Haighton in the past here and here and briefly here.

Coincidentally these other variations were all walked in the early quiet Spring months, as of now. “For everything there is a season” Ecclesiastes 3:1-8. A time, add another turn for Haighton. Also, time for a tune, a bit of optimism doesn’t go amiss at present. I remember hearing many other artists covering this song during the 60s live folk scene in London.

A good reason to repeat parts of those walks today is that Haighton Green Lane was closed to through traffic due to new gas mains being installed. It is normally a busy rat run route in and out of north Preston with speeding motorists, not the safest of pedestrian routes.

I find a small parking space at the bottom end of Cow Hill and stroll down the hill to cross Londonderry Bridge over Savick Brook which winds its way down from Longridge. Ahead are the gates and security cameras of Haighton House, once the residence of David Moyes when he managed Preston and then Everton. I slip up a narrow bridleway alongside the noisy kennels and climb into the woods.

At the top was always a gate securely guarded by a fierce mastiff. The PROW went through the farmyard, but he ensured that one followed the ‘illegal’ diversion around buildings. But today the gate is open with no sign, hopefully, of the dog, but I still take the long route just to be sure. The amount of accumulated waste building materials dumped alongside the rural lane farther on has grown since I was last along.

I come out onto Haighton Green Lane at the top. It is indeed closed to traffic but being a Sunday no work is taking place, (no wonder road schemes go on for months – one would think that if a closure was in place the contractors should work at full pace) Despite the narrow route some drivers try to squeeze through only to back up when they meet another vehicle. On the whole though the lane is peace and quiet.

I’m tempted to go off down Fernyhalgh Lane past the old school (where my children started) the church and Ladywell Shrine, a shortcut back to Savick Brook. But no, I need the mileage and the day is fine, so I continue on the road whilst it is virtually traffic free. There are some fine houses along here as well as the original farms.

Crossing the M6 motorway I stop to watch the southbound lanes coming to a standstill., a well-known black spot. Preston Bypass, as it was known then in 1958, was the first motorway to open in the UK. Since those days it has been incorporated into the M6 with new junctions and carriageways. I try to avoid driving on busy motorways with their frequent hold-ups and after my frightening experience of breaking down last year on a ‘smart’ section of motorway that has been reinforced.

By now we are now on the edge of the countryside. Housing developments are met, creeping out of Preston along the once country road on both sides. I am no stranger to these as they are also engulfing the Preston Guild Wheel cycle route which I now turn onto. I slip past industrial units, smart new office blocks and the back of an Asda superstore. But it is traffic free and not so bad. Lots of people use these stretches for recreation, strolling, dog walking and cycling. Walking today instead of my usual cycling I notice more connecting footpaths going off in all directions and stretches of linear woodlands inviting investigation, many signed by that admirable charity The Woodland Trust. That gives me an idea for a time researching them and a day of exploration and maybe linking them together. When I think back I seem to member Clare of Dreams and Adventures at Cosy Cottage writing about them during lockdown.

The section of the Guild Wheel through Hindley Hill Woods above Savick Brook is always a delight and I turn off onto Fernyhalgh Lane, though I notice more woodland paths on the north side of the Brook I could have used.

Now back under the motorway, at the bridge I don’t climb to Ladywell shrine but take the road into the grounds of Haighton House. A lovely stretch through the well-kept estate alongside the river. Then a more wild stretch above the convoluted water, an Ox-Bow Lake is obvious and soon there will be more, even the path has been washed away here.

I’m soon back at Cow Hill and a climb up the lane to my car.

The temperature had by now slowly nudged into double figures and I felt decidedly overdressed, but I’m not going to complain. It was still only noon when I arrived back home, so I had time for a short bouldering session up at Craig y. I was the only one there, I wonder why, after the crowds last Sunday. Compare and contrast,as my art teacher used to say.

This Sunday.

Last Sunday.

Variety is the spice of life.

***

tempsniphaighton

WOODEN ON THE WHEEL.

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There was promise of sunshine – well there wasn’t any.

I’d hoped to spot some birds on the lakes in Brockholes Nature reserve, I even took my binoculars – I only saw a few coots and a couple of swans.

Maybe a few arty photographs – my camera had reset itself to the wrong setting, so most were out of focus.

I was intent on improving my fitness – just the opposite as you will see.

What else went wrong – well I didn’t get a puncture, thank God.

At the start of the Guild Wheel, I start at the Crematorium, I seemed to be going well yet the cyclists (amateur at best) seen in my photo kept passing me, and I struggled to keep up their pace. My breathing wasn’t right. After my brief unsuccessful stop off at one of the hides in Brockholes for a while along the flat rural section alongside the Ribble I gained a better rhythm. But on the two little rises into Preston I puffed and panted and just avoided dismounting. It was Half Term and there were families out in the parks. I was still just behind those two as we approached the docks, they stopped for a break and I peddled on. The long drag out alongside Blackpool Road was taken slowly, but I misjudged the turn-off for the steep bit onto the bridge and ended up walking. Under the new bridge for Preston’s Western Distributor road and I found myself flagging. A timely bench was too much of a temptation and I succumbed, maybe some food and a drink might help. The pair whizzed cheerily past.

Off again, Preston North End were on their training ground, but they have recently screened it off, so I could only hear their punishing work-out. I felt I was on my own punishing workout. Cottam came and went, and I knew the hilly section was coming up. My legs were the proverbial lead. I just about managed the slight rise over the railway before entering Broughton, new houses everywhere. I knew of the seat opposite the War Memorial and was glad of another sit down and some emergency chocolate. The inscription says “Rest awhile and think on their sacrifice” I sat and thought for quite a while.

Round the back of Asda I plodded on just wishing the next three miles away. I dismounted at all the little inclines and in fact towards the end after a steep hill I just kept pushing the bike for some distance and relief before cycling the last half mile. I’ve not felt so tired for ages, even after my bath I’m feeling stiff and achy.

Sorry to be so miserable, perhaps I should do a Covid test tomorrow.

PRESTON GUILD WHEEL, MISCELLANEA.

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Henry II granted Preston the right to have a Guild Merchant controlling trade in the town. That was back in 1179. Holding the Guild every 20 years probably started in 1542, membership would only change every other generation. Bringing together the town’s merchants, craftsmen and traders led to pageantry, feasting and processions. Six centuries later Preston still celebrates the Guild (though there has been free trade since 1790) every 20 years.

There is a local saying “once in a Preston Guild” due to the 20 years gap – the equivalent of “once in a blue moon”. We like to be different up here.

The last Guild was 2012 and to celebrate it Preston and Lancashire County Councils devised this 21mile ‘green route’ circling the city nearly all off-road. It was opened in August 2012, and though not as green as it used to be is a lasting legacy to the city and its Guild celebrations. LCC has devised an auditory commentary by scanning the QR codes attached to the mile markers. I must get round to trying them.

Known locally simply as The Guild Wheel, GW, it also has a Sustrans cycling route number – 622.

CaptureGuild Wheel

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I haven’t been on the Guild Wheel since last September’s aborted ride. Let’s see what today brings.

I get off to walk the steep track down Red Scar into Brockholes Nature Reserve. I’ve had enough mishaps recently, I don’t want to tempt fate, who is on strike today? Maybe the Nurses or the Ambulances. Better safe than sorry or worse.

Without binoculars, it is pointless to stop off at the bird hides, though I do recognise some swans from a distance.

The ride alongside the Ribble is the greenest section of the GW and whilst the sun was shining the river took on a liquid silver appearance.

The route brings you right into the heart of the city where the Old Tram Bridge linked Penwortham to Avenham Park. It was built originally by the Lancaster Canal Company in 1802 to link the Leeds Liverpool canal system to the isolated Lancaster Canal using carts to transport the commodities. The arrival of the railways led to the closure of the tramway in 1858. Recent inspections of the bridge have shown it to be on the verge of collapse, and it was closed for good in 2019. There has been a strong local campaign for some sort of restoration, both from a historical view and more importantly as a leisure facility, it being a popular pedestrian crossing of the Ribble in the city. Costings were proving prohibitive but then along comes ‘levelling up’ and Preston has received a £20 million grant from the government. Good news, going hand in hand with Eden Project I mentioned in my last post.

Avenham and Miller Parks are looking splendid. Proud Preston.

It’s 21 miles whichever way you choose to go.

Alongside the GW they are raising the river defences in Broadgate, the work is taking two years and already is causing traffic chaos at that end of the city.

‘Ullo John! Gotta New Motor?

Once I’m past the city of cars I’m on a new piece of tarmac alongside the junction with the Western Distributor Road system, it will soon be open. The GW then goes under the new bridge spanning the Ribble Link Canal.

Western Distributor links, that’s Longridge Fell in the background.

I call in as usual at my favourite café on the GW, the Final Whistle, in the grounds of the university sports fields. Toasted teacake and a coffee £2.95. Whenever I have a toasted tea cake I’m reminded of my sadly departed mate, big Tony, who couldn’t start a day’s climbing without his toasted tea cake and a pot of tea. We had a list of cafés throughout the north-west serving this delicacy. Great times.

A robin is always on hand to help clear up the crumbs.

Nothing much else to report, the housing estates are still proliferating on every space i the Cottam area eating up the green spaces, but what about these catkins in the sunshine – a harbinger of better days to come.

A QUICK VISIT TO BEACON FELL.

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It had to be a quick visit. It was nearly 3.00 when I parked in the quarry, darkness comes before 4.00 and that is when the rain was due.

Aren’t we lucky to have a Country Park on our doorstep? Ready-made trails, sculptures, wildlife and views. Just great for a short visit and a burst of exercise when you can’t think of anything else. I tend to follow whichever path I find myself on, one can’t get lost for long and all will eventually lead upwards to the summit trig point at 266 m. Since thinning of trees has been carried out in the last decade there is a better variety of habitat. The only downside at the moment is that the visitor centre is closed, post Covid or council savings? I wonder what has happened to all the volunteers. Also don’t expect to find the previously excellent café open, they are only doing a takeaway service Thursday to Sunday.

Yesterday I walked quickly around the darkening forest and then out and up to the open fell top. There always seems to be somebody up there, the ‘green lungs’ of Preston. I was soon back at the car satisfied with my quick visit. The rest of the week looks rubbish.

Beacon Fell Country Park – Lancashire County Council

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IS CYCLING DANGEROUS?

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I had an uneventful trip around the Guild Wheel yesterday. I can cycle 20 miles or so without any problem to my knee but can’t walk 4 miles, all to do with weight-bearing. So here I am back at my start, Red Scar, for another muscle strengthening ride. I wouldn’t go anywhere near the motorway system at present, so I’m staying local. The Wheel here takes you along the access road to Preston Crematorium which brings back many sad thoughts of departed friends. I’ve only gone a few hundred yards when ahead of me is a cluster of police cars and ambulances. How can this be on this dead end quiet lane?

A father and daughter were out for a gentle safe ride along the wheel. A stressed inattentive car driver travelling at speed on the wrong side of the road. Result one seriously injured cyclist and one very scared daughter. The dent in the car windscreen said it all. I hope the cyclist is OK.

I turn around and cycle back home.

NEWS FROM THE WHEEL.

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Was I comatosed by the sweet aroma of the prolific Himalayan Balsam plants that lined the route? I seemed to fly around the first half of the wheel without being aware of what I had passed. Time travel on two wheels.

Before I knew it I was in Avenham Park, encountering and trying to avoid the deafened walkers tuned in to their music and the dogs on ever longer leads. Peace returned through the docks. Here I noticed for the first time a signage for an engineering award bestowed on the Guild Wheel.

I’m not sure when I was last here but the groundwork on the Western Link Road has gone on apace. Roads are already tarmacked and the expansive and no doubt expensive bridge over the canal completed. It will be interesting to see where they route our Guild Wheel.

I call in for a coffee and a rather expensive slice of cake at the Final Whistle in the university sports ground.

The only field left in Cottam has sprouted houses since my last visit. Where have all the flowers gone?

I was getting weary by the time I reached Red Scar.

Twenty-one miles and what do you get? Another day older and stiff in the neck.

This was In my head as I rode around the Wheel, it’s been there since my childhood, inspired by –

Tennessee Ernie Ford Sixteen Tons (with lyrics) – YouTube

bowlandclimber

Walks and climbs

Tag Archives: Preston

THE HARRIS IN PRESTON. 3. THE ART GALLERIES.

A WEEK TO REMEMBER.

THE HARRIS IN PRESTON. 2, THE MUSEUM.

THE HARRIS IN PRESTON. 1. THE LIBRARY.

A GRAND DAY OUT.

THE GARLIC SOUP THAT NEARLY KILLED ME. Part two.

A PAUSE IN MY PEREGRINATIONS.

TWO BRIGHT DAYS.

FUNGAL FUN AT BROCKHOLES.

THE GUILDED WHEEL.

A GREENER FULWOOD.

You may remember my March walk in the woods of Fulwood. That was an exploratory walk discovering many green spaces, several of them managed by the Woodland Trust. My comment at the time was “What must it be like when the bluebells are out and the trees showing much more greenery?”

Well now was the time to find out. I also wanted to create a more accessible route taking in the best woods and avoiding roads as much as possible and perhaps write a small definitive guide to the chosen route.

It is fairly easy to tell the difference between English and Spanish bluebells, but the hybrids can be trickier as they take characteristics from both

Pollen colour. Look at the pollen inside the flower. If it’s creamy-white then the bluebell is probably native (or a hybrid). If the pollen is green or blue, it’s not native.

Scent. Native bluebells have a strong, sweet scent, which makes the woods smell amazing on a warm day. The Spanish variety has little to no scent.

Leaves. Native bluebells have relatively narrow leaves, around 1–1.5 cm wide. Spanish and hybrid bluebells tend to have much bigger leaves, around 3 cm wide.

SPRING ON THE WHEEL.

IF YOU GO DOWN TO THE WOODS TODAY…

SOME FULWOOD WOODS.

HAIGHTON VARIATIONS IN TURN.

WOODEN ON THE WHEEL.

PRESTON GUILD WHEEL, MISCELLANEA.

A QUICK VISIT TO BEACON FELL.

IS CYCLING DANGEROUS?

NEWS FROM THE WHEEL.