Tag Archives: Walking.

WILD LANCASHIRE MOORS – CARTRIDGE HILL AND MORE.

I may be accused of plagiarism, today’s walk was almost a repeat of Michael’s recent exploration of these parts. I acknowledge his inspiration for this walk and accept that it would be difficult, nay impossible, for me to assemble a post of his standard. My delves into the internet came up with virtually the same history of the area.

We, the Rockman up from Bolton and I, start from the same Royal car park as last week but have another itinerary in mind. We noted the demolished mill’s pond on this occasion and then took the track up the moor. The Stepback Brook, culverted in parts, was followed past a pretty fall and into a sheltered copse known as Lyon’s Den, named after John Lyon, a seven-foot-high giant who apparently constructed a simple house of turf and heather here around 1790. There was no sign of his abode, but all around were signs in the landscape of abandoned coal pits and small stone quarries. The track we were following no doubt served one or the other.

We came out onto the windswept moors with views back to Darwen Tower wrapped in its temporary sheeting. Tracks go in all directions, but we take one to the west, leading to a shoulder with newish fencing and a gate. From there we make our individual ways, picking the driest parts up Cartridge Hill. At 402m this is the highest part of Darwen Moors and neither of us had visited it before. The hill itself was nondescript and rounded but had a stone cairn on the summit and excellent views over the Bolton hills and the Lancashire plain. Even wetter ground brought us down to pick up another pit track, this took us in the right direction under Turn Lowe. In these wild moors, finding a track you can follow relatively easily is a godsend not to be scorned.

Ruins of a farm appeared alongside the track – Higher Pasture Barn. Long since abandoned. I’m reading at the moment a book about the cruel Highland Clearances (On the Crofters’ Trail by David Craig) and I reflect back to all the ruined crofts I used to see on my Scottish stravaiges. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries many farmsteads on these Lancashire moors were abandoned either from natural relocation to the mill towns or by the water boards taking over the land for water catchment areas. A glance at the early OS maps shows their origins. I remember reading a learned history of the fate of the Haslingden Grane valley families when the reservoirs were constructed. A significant social clearing has occurred here on these  moors. Ironically, just down the road, Lower Pasture Barn has been saved from collapse and converted into an expensive luxury country residence.

Higher Pasture ruins.

More fortunate Lower Pasture.

But another extensive ruin was soon to be encountered on this walk. The short stretch of road to get there was a disgusting depository of rubbish – cans, bottles and take away plastic, that Bolton and Darwen can’t be proud of.

Hollinshead Hall has its own Wikipedia entry   I don’t remember visiting it before and was eager to explore the ruins. I wasn’t expecting such an extensive site. First we made use of some of the low walls for a bite to eat whilst a school trip played hide-and-seek. Once we had the place to ourselves, we could wander at will, postulating on the functions of the various spaces. Is there a master plan somewhere? What I had read about was the only remaining intact structure – The Well House and its spring. Probably the reason for the citing of the original C17th buildings, and also at one time a supposed cure for eye problems. We climbed up to have a look at it and to peer through the opening into the interior, where two large troughs are fed by an ornate Lion’s Head. The spring supplying the building is up above it, but I was distracted from further exploration by my phone falling out of a pocket into the precious waters.

The whole valley of the Roddlesworth, once meadows and pastures, has become a plantation after the water board’s purchase. We spend the next hour wandering along its old tracks, picking out sites of buildings slowly disappearing into the greenery. On the moors we meet few but down here dog walkers are out in force. We join some of them in the café for coffee and cake.

*****

ANOTHER DAY OUT WITH POPPY.

January 20.  Darwen Tower.

It’s almost 5 years since I had a day out with Poppy, the Rockman’s Airedale Terrier.

I didn’t remember the car park at Ryal Fold being so large, of course we ended up in different areas before successful rendezvousing. Whilst I was waiting, I got into an emotional conversation with  a gentleman from Darwen. He had walked up through Sunnyside Woods and was heading onto the fells, his local walk. He told me of the loss of his wife of 53 years during lockdown, and also of one of his sons. The conversation became tearful as he recollected their walks together and his now empty house. There is a huge amount of pent-up emotion from the last two years. I seem to come across these people.

The morning was perfect, frosty with bright sunshine, so lots of others were setting off on their perambulations. It was really too soon for a coffee in the café/information centre, so we just picked up the bridleway heading into the fold of hills past the workers cottages of Hollinshead Terrace. A cotton mill had stood where the car park is today. It was stone-built for Eccles Shorrock of Darwen in 1859. (He also owned India Mill in town, seen later today from above). At its peak, the mill had 333 steam-powered looms and employed 150 people. It was demolished in 1903.

National Library of Scotland, 1894 OS.

Once out onto the moor, Poppy went her own way, sniffing from grass to grass, the slow pace suited me. The frozen way led steadily uphill until it came alongside Stepback Brook. We were tempted to continue into the shady gorge and view its waterfall but decided to leave that for another day when we may explore the way farther south and perhaps the remains of Hollinshead Hall as well. No, we climbed up on a zigzag path out onto Darwen Moor. There were signs of disused mining shafts up here, ?coal. More tracks led away from long forgotten sandstone quarries.

A well-used track then headed straight to the tower. From our elevated position down to our right was Darwen, with the chimney of India Mill very prominent. More dogs joined in the fun with Poppy.

85ft high Darwen Tower, more correctly called Jubilee Tower,  was constructed in 1898 to mark Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee, the year before, but more importantly to commemorate freedom of access to the local fells. A dichotomy of interests, nonetheless. It was always known to my children as ‘the space rocket’ seen from afar.

An extract from Wikipedia is worth a read —                                                                                   Packmen, peddlers, farmers, and labourers used tracks and moorland paths to go about their business. In the 1870s the Lord of the Manor of Over Darwen, the Reverend William Arthur Duckworth, blocked ancient rights of way preventing access to the moor even though he was an absentee landlord. Game rights were a valuable commodity, and Duckworth did not wish to have his land devalued by trespassers on the moors. William Thomas Ashton, manager of Eccles Shorrock’s mines at Dogshaw Clough and Entwistle Moss used the moorland footpaths as well to deliver coal to farmers and other customers. Whenever Duckworth’s gamekeepers blocked his way, Ashton cleared the paths. The struggle led to the courts where Duckworth lost and in September 1896 people resumed walking the moorland footpaths. Ashton had died in 1884, his sons led a procession onto the moors in celebration.

Renovations of sorts were being carried out on the tower, and it was cordoned off, cloaked in scaffolding and sheeting.  Over the years there have been several repairs including a new steel dome winched into place by helicopter in 2012., the last time I was up here.

On our way down the badly eroded old quarry track, modern steel industrial units glistened on the Industrial side of Blackburn, with Pendle looking rather diminutive behind. Poppy made friends with some horses in the adjoining paddock. There seemed to be tracks going off in all directions, no doubt reflecting the early industrial past.

We were heading for Sunnyhurst Woods, a public park purchased by Darwen Corporation in 1902 commemorating Edward VII’s coronation. The Sunnyhurst Inn was not open, so we continued and entered the woods through the Lychgate. It was like entering another world of trees, ferns and deep secret valleys. A handy metal seat provided by The Friends of Sunnyhurst Woods was ideal for a drinks break as it was in the sunshine. Once lower down, we came out between the paddling pool and the Greenway Shelter (the bandstand). We realised we had never been farther downstream where there are other attractions – again another time.

Lots of families and dog walkers were making the most of the sunshine and exploring the paths. How lucky to have this area on your doorstep if living in Darwen. We found our way up the valley past Earnsdale Reservoir, with the tower overlording it above. Fields took us to the original C17th farmhouse at Ryal Fold and back to the car park. The Royal Hotel was now open and  people were enjoying a socially distanced and probably cold drink in the garden.

The 4-mile walk was easy, but I didn’t feel that my plantar fasciitis appreciated it. I spent a lot of time chatting to the Rockman so wasn’t concentrating on photography, but here’s a selection….

Darwen Tower across the frosty fields.

 

Hollinshead Terrace.

 

Onto the moor…

 

… leading the way.

 

The ridge to the tower, Blackburn and Pendle in the distance.

 

The mill town of Darwen.

 

Rocket men.

 

The Rockman, Poppy and friend.

 

Entering the Rabbit Hole.

 

Not a day for paddling.

 

The bandstand.

 

Follow me, keep up.

 

Earnsdale Reservoir.

Ryal Fold from Historic England.

The Royal.

Poppy had a great time, hopefully so did the Rockman.

Thanks to Michael of The Rivendale Review fame for reigniting my interest in this area.

*****

 

I HAD A PLAN.

On recent trips up Longridge Fell, I came across a new, at least to me, path deep in the trees west of the highest point. I noticed, at the end of this narrow corridor, light coming from the west. I calculated that if I was there as the sun was setting, the light would be concentrated through that point. That was the plan.

So today, after watching another farcical Prime Minister’s Question Time, I parked up on Jeffrey Hill just after three pm. The sun was already low, and the temperature was dropping. I hurried up the drying path towards the trees leading to the trig point. The decorated Xmas tree had been stripped of tinsel and baubles. Strangely, the tree with more environmental decorations hadn’t, I removed the remaining cardboard stars, now considered as litter. I digress.

After visiting the top, I took the damp track into the forest and diverted onto the ‘new’ path. All was gloom as I walked deeper into the trees. It was obvious that I had missed the ideal time, and the sun was setting past my portal. I suspect that two weeks ago would have been the optimum for the sun shining along the corridor of trees. There is no way back, I will have to wait till next year to test my theory.

In the past I have visited places in the world where the juxtaposition of some physical feature with the sun, moon or stars, at various times of the year has had some significance for the local populace. Our forbearers took a keen interest in astronomy. They derived a cyclical calendar predicting changes in the seasons, which they connected to their agricultural practises and pagan beliefs. Having a fixed physical point in the natural landscape helped them identify the passing of the year and its recurrence. A hole in a rock on the hillside or a nick in the skyline gave some sense of time. It was then only a short step to create a megalith, sundial or more complicated celestial instruments and then observatories.  This is all a little farfetched from my little pathway lining up with the setting sun.

By the time I was back at the car park there was only one vehicle there, thankfully mine, and as I drove back to the village the setting sun was flaming the low clouds.

BEACON FELL – Déjà vu.

A couple of weeks ago I wrote of the devastating storm damage in the forests on Longridge Fell, well today I witnessed the same on Beacon Fell. The difference being that here, as it is a public park, the foresters have been busy clearing much of the damage making the place safe for the public. I imagine that at the time of the storms, early December, the public would have been excluded.

I only came up here this afternoon for a short walk, I seem to have been up and down Longridge Fell most days during the holidays – time for a change of scenery.

The sun was trying to make an appearance.

Parked up in the little quarry on the quieter east side of the fell, a modest circuit was completed from there. The little pond was looking particularly attractive in the low light. I wish I could paint. Round the corner piles of cut timber started to appear and it was obvious that there had been a lot of storm damage in amongst the trees. Logging machinery was scattered about, being a Sunday, nobody was working. I expect that when they replant, they will use more sustainable native species. Where there is destruction, there is hope.

Not a word about the virus.

AFTERMATH OF THOSE STORMS.

If you go up to the woods today, you’re in or a big surprise.

There must have been a lot of trees blown down in our recent storms, Arwen and Barra, I started to notice them as I walk farther along the fell. I haven’t been past the trig point on my tentative walks to see if my Plantar Fasciitis is improving. Today I intended to give it a sterner test, if you can call 6 miles a test.

It was when I met a couple who had turned back because of the difficulties that I questioned my sanity for continuing. Already I’d had minor diversions around fallen trees, but I fought my way through onto one of the obvious forest tracks on the ridge, thinking I had escaped the worst. Even this track was completely obliterated a little farther on as I approached what was named Sam’s View, a panoramic clearing. I had to go well off route to avoid the worst of the fallen timber. I could hear voices in the forest to my left and suddenly a family of four emerged looking rather dishevelled, they had been in there awhile trying to navigate around the damage. The father showed me their tortuous wanderings on his phone, I pointed them to a safer track.

I’d intended going as far as Kemple End on the ridge, but the way forward in that direction, a little difficult at the best of times, was wholly choked with fallen trees. I was glad just to return to the main forest road. Lots of families and lots of dogs were promenading this track, it was a Bank Holiday after all. I soon went my own way and traversed the fell back to my car. My heel is certainly improving, providing I stick to soft ground.

It was reassuring that most of the original Scots pines and Beech trees had withstood the storms.

Go careful up there.

OF THE SEASON.

I came out today and climbed the fell to try and capture a suitable photo for my season’s greetings. Maybe a robin, maybe a patch of snow or some holly berries or even a man in a Santa hat. No, I have failed, as you can see from my photo above. All was grey and gloomy.

It’s been that sort of week.  Most days I didn’t venture out into the raw weather. I was kept busy wrapping presents and mulling over wine. Making lists and peeling vegetables. Phoning distant friends not seen for months, even years. Avoiding the crowded last minute shopping. Enduring lateral flow tests and crossing fingers, already two of my grandchildren will be absent from the festivities. So this is Christmas.

  One bright spot today was a repainted slate poem in a cupboard with a humorous line – which made me smile.

Strange things happen on Longridge Fell.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS.

ANOTHER DAY — ANOTHER TREE.

I had been told by Clare, of Slate Poems fame, of another decorated Xmas Tree on the fell. I was up here to find it. Parking was difficult on this fine Sunday afternoon, remember the chaotic parking situation in our earlier lockdowns. The good weather had brought lots of families out at the start of the Christmas Holidays.

Would you believe it?  As I walked through the gate onto the fell, I bumped into Clare herself exercising her beautiful Collie.

I normally take the more northerly track overlooking Chipping Vale, I call it the ‘panoramic balcony track’, but there is also a track following markers going straight up the fell leading to boggy terrain, best avoided. Incidently this track goes through the site of some Bronze Age hut circles and burial grounds, I have tried unsuccessfully to locate these on the ground in the past. 

This was the way to the decorated tree and the way I followed today. The stone cairn has had an addition of balanced stones, often seen on rocky beaches, I suspect they won’t survive a winter storm. Not far past the cairn is the tree. It was decorated with more environmentally friendly items; fir cones, wooden ornaments and nut strings for the birds. Satisfied with my ‘find’ I continued on through those forementioned bogs to regain the regular track, which does have its own boggy moments.

The other Xmas Tree with its tinsel and Angel topping was passed, and I reached the Trig point. There were good views, but nothing compared to yesterday’s cloud inversion. Circling through the forest, I was surprised at the number of trees that must have come down in our recent storms.

Once looking across the Ribble Valley, Pendle and Samlesbury there was a repeat of the cloud inversion * in a southerly direction.

* Cloud inversions take place when the temperature is warmer higher up – such as on a hill or mountain – than it is down at the bottom of a valley

The colder air at the lower level traps mist and fog creating the impression of mountain summits floating above the clouds.

*****

Map showing the two Xmas trees…

AN ANGEL ON LONGRIDGE FELL.

I almost never set forth yesterday, the mist was so thick down in Longridge, but I wanted to continue with my renewed walking therapy. Friends had called in for coffee, so it was 2pm when I emerged out of the worst of the fog to park on Jeffrey Hill. The whole of Chipping Vale was a sea of cloud, with only the higher tops of the Bowland Fells visible across the way.  My route up the fell was shrouded in mist, giving a spooky feel to the place in the low sunlight. I had the feeling that I was being followed, but no one else was about. As I climbed the air cleared and soon I was above in blue sky with the ridge of Longridge Fell visible ahead.

I stopped briefly to place an angel on the top of the decorated Xmas tree, the reason for my venture after comments from my last post  –   https://bowlandclimber.com/2021/12/17/longridge-fell-christmas-tree/

At the summit was a lady with her Collie dog, she had been there awhile, enthralled by the views in front of her. It was indeed spectacular. Thick cloud filled all the valleys, and there above were the tops of the fells in sparkling clarity. Beacon Fell, Fairsnape, the Croasdale Fells and Waddington Fell. And in the distance the Yorkshire Three Peaks. All islands in the clouds. Looking down onto the mist I thought there was the arc of a broken spectre, but unfortunately it never really materialised.

Another walker arrived with his Springer Spaniel. Whilst the three of us chatted about the spectacle, the two dogs ran themselves ragged in a game of tag. I stayed longer than usual before drifting away as more people started arriving. I continued taking photographs as I came down the fell. By the time I had reached the road, a full moon rose from the east as the sun set in the west.

A perfect ending to a unique afternoon.

My pictures below don’t really do it justice.

THE LONGRIDGE FELL CHRISTMAS TREE.

A Christmas Tree has appeared on Longridge Fell, well actually there are already thousands in the forest up there. No, this particular one is garlanded with tinsel and festooned with baubles. You will find it as you climb the muddy track alongside the wall leading to the summit from the Cardwell parking on Jeffrey Hill. I don’t know when it began to be decorated, as today is the first time for weeks I’ve been up here.

The sun was shining brightly enough to tempt me out for a walk this afternoon. I was wary of my painful heel, but I figured that the ground would be soft. And it was. A few cars were parked up, but nothing compared to the chaos of recent lockdowns and travel restrictions. Are we going to see a repeat in the next few weeks as the Omicron variant outpaces our boosters? A conservative 93,000 cases today. I feel safe up here.

I take the panorama path high above Chipping Vale with the Bowland Fells across the way. The little spring as you start to climb was running full. This is where one has to hop around to avoid the worst of the bogs.

The Xmas tree is halfway up, adjacent to the watery path. To be honest, it is somewhat underwhelming. I make a mental note to possibly return tomorrow with some festive reinforcements to improve the look of the tree.

I continue up to the trig point and try to update my summit photos in the low winter sunshine.

Walking back down, I find it difficult to see where I’m placing my feet in the low sunshine. I complain to a passing walker ascending with the sun behind her, and she rightly rebukes me with “let’s be glad of the sun at this time of year”.

I was glad to be out on the fell on such a glorious day.

MILES AND MILES.

It’s that time of year again when one reflects upon journeys undertaken.

Sometime and somewhere earlier I signed up * to walk 1000 miles in the year, well I didn’t actually sign up but having seen the challenge I decided to keep a personal  tally of my mileages. Most years I do far in access of a thousand, but we were living in strange times and travel was limited. Doing less than three miles each day seemed easy enough. I was just going to count actual walks, not going to the shops etc.

*  I think it was one of my fellow bloggers that mentioned it first. Just found the website concerned   http://www.walk1000miles.co.uk

I was well on target by the middle of August, 900+ miles, despite the lockdowns and the ban on travels abroad. But then disaster struck, that’s a little strong, when whilst bouldering I landed badly on my right heel. I rested what I thought was just a bad bruise, but it persisted to the extent I couldn’t walk comfortably at all. The pain and disability started to resemble Plantar Fasciitis (self diagnosis). My walking was curtailed and I started on rest, ice and stretching exercises. Despite visits to a physiotherapist and a podiatrist, I’m still not back to fitness.

As you have noticed from my posts, to keep some sort of exercise going, I dragged my bike out of the garage, gave it a quick oil and started cycling around the area, keeping off busy roads as much as possible. A daily walk comes natural to me, but getting the bike out, gearing up and perhaps driving to a suitable venue is not as spontaneous and thus often missed.

So, how is my walking mileage tally working out if I want to equate to my cycling exploits. Let’s say I walk at 2.5 miles per hour (4.02 km/h) and cycle at 10 miles per hour (16.09 km/h),  a leisurely pace.  Does that make a 30-mile bike ride the equivalent of a 7.5-mile walk.  If you agree with that premise, all I have to do is divide the cycling miles by 4 to obtain the equivalent walked miles. Job done.

But it doesn’t feel like that. When I’ve finished cycling 30 miles in just over 3 hours, I think I’m more tired than when having walked 7.5 miles over similar terrain. I know I’m trying to compare oranges with apples, and I’m not very efficient using a mountain bike on roads. I could get scientific and talk about calories burnt – 200 cals walking and 60 cals cycling a mile. But I don’t worry about calories when I’m enjoying exercise outdoors. What about steps, which I’ve never counted, –  10,000 steps for 5 miles walking whilst roughly 16 miles equivalent in cycling. Both these examples give an approximate  ratio of 3 to 1 instead of my original 4 to 1. Thus, 30 miles cycling would be 10 miles walking.

I’m as confused as you by now. Sticking a pin in it, I think I’ll use the more conservative 4:1 and be done with it. So since I started cycling in September, I’ve “walked” at least an extra 140 miles, so my modest target of 1000 has been reached.

‘So what’  you may say.

.

ANOTHER LETTER TO YOUR MP.

On a regular basis, I call upon my friends to sign a petition or write to their MP on environmental problems that I become aware of, and I think need public interaction. On the whole, the government pay lip service to these issues and are inclined to take no positive action. Hence the need for the likes of us minnows to show solidarity and complain and object in any way we can. The recent National Trust decision to ban trail hunting on their lands was I’m sure due to the number of members expressing their feelings through petitions and votes.

Your local MP is dependent upon your support and if sufficient numbers of their constituents express concern on a topic they have to listen. This obviously often involves the ‘party line’ and therefore the more ground level public opinion goes against them the more important that this opinion is heard and heeded. Whichever government is in power, they shouldn’t be allowed to ignore this voice. Lets make them work for their salary and Xmas Party.

Yes, you have guessed it, I’m appealing for you to consider another issue ongoing at the time which will have serious consequences for our access to our countryside in the future. People need to connect to nature and the countryside in our increasingly complex world. Take a few minutes to read the Ramblers latest concern on the far-reaching Agriculture Act https://mailchi.mp/ramblers/accessnatureelm?e=4bf1748d16 and if, like me, you are sufficiently engaged to write to your MP using the simple links on the website.

Have a good day.

THE RIVER DUNSOP.

The River Dunsop runs for only 2.3miles from the junction of its tributaries, the Brennand and the Whitendale rivers deep in the Bowland Hills, to where it enters the Hodder below Dunsop Bridge. At its head are weirs and fish ladders, trout should be heading up stream at this time of year. I’ve had a couple of forays onto the Hodder and the Lune in the last week in search of leaping fish, with no luck. My plan today is to check out the weirs at the head of the Hodder. The rain isn’t due until lunchtime, so I’m away earlyish.

  Because of my troublesome heel I’m avoiding walking any distance and this is why the River Dunsop has been chosen. From the café in Dunsop Bridge there is a private road, recognised as a bridleway, conveniently running alongside the length of the river. In past times I would have cycled all the way from Longridge, but today the bike is in the back of the car until the car park is reached. The crowds of summer have gone and there are only two other cars parked up.

  I pedal along happily taking in the scenery with Middle Knoll blocking the head of the valley. Despite it being a dull autumn day the situation is as dramatic as ever. The weirs I was aiming for are by the bridge at the junction of the rivers.  I’ve come this way many times before and photographed it in the sunshine. Such as here.

   You’ve guessed it — I saw no fish.

    Not really disappointed, my chances of leaping fish were low, I cycled farther up the track to look up into the Brennand Valley which seems to go on for ever into the distance. I’ve not explored that area for some time. From the map there are possible tracks all the way to the remote Wolfhole Crag. Likewise, I then intended cycling up the right-hand track for a short distance to obtain a similar view into the Whitendale Valley, but a notice banned cycles. That is the way to more desolate moorland past the Duchy farm, which I last walked going through to Hornby on Wainwright’s Way. 

The Brennand valley.

  It was good to be in this wonderful place even if only on the humble road low down in the valley.  It was a quick turn around and a gentle ride back to the café for coffee. The larch trees turning yellow lend some colour to the scene. 

Back down the valley with rain approaching.

The bridge over the Dunsop.

Puddleducks’ cafe.

  For anyone wanting to sample the wildness of Bowland without the commitment, this short journey up the valley, preferably on foot, is highly recommended. You can tell I’m passionate about Bowland.

Whilst driving home for lunch the rain started in earnest. The morning had been well spent.

 

A LUNE INTERLUDE.

 

I was sure when I passed this way before there was a fish ladder next to the Halton hydroelectric installation on the Lune.  That vague recollection had brought the three of us along the banks today. I have not mentioned it, but last week Mike and I ventured down to the Hodder to try and see salmon leaping up its weirs. That was a complete failure, as had been my attempts last year, along the same stretch.

  Not be defeated it was time for another try. We engaged Sir Hugh into our quest, even if it was just to get him away from his models. Meeting up at the defunct Halton Station, This should be an easy walk for my damaged heel. The rain stopped as we stepped out of the cars and incidentally started once more in earnest when we were just arriving back at them. Good timing.

  We crossed the narrow road bridge built from the remains of an older rail bridge. Down below, the River Lune was running high and fast. I made my excuses then, saying there was probably too much water for the salmon leaping.

  We walked past the housing developments near the old Halton Mill and forge and in half a mile arrived at the weir. I pointed out the fish ladder, but they were not convinced, and there were certainly no fish. I began to doubt my research from last year when a ladder and automatic fish counter were mentioned at this site. We poked about at the turbine house and admired the view of the L shaped weir with its rushing flood water.

  My intention was to walk there and back, but somehow It was I who suggested carrying on and creating a circular walk via The Crook of Lune.  I’m regretting that decision now as I sit with an ice pack on my heel.

  Mike and Sir Hugh were pleased with the walk which was new to both of them, It’s difficult to take Sir Hugh somewhere fresh.

   We spent time on the bridges over the Crook of Lune with the views up the valley and immediate vicinity. Something new had appeared on the eastern rail bridge — a multitude of fresh flowers adorning the railings.  They certainly brightened up the scene and we pondered on their originator. It so happened that he was stood almost next to us and we were soon in conversation with him. From Transylvania and now Morecambe, he cycles here most days with the altruistic idea of brightening peoples lives. And he feeds the doves and pigeons. It’s a shame people go off with his best roses, but that’s altruism for you.

  We couldn’t dally any longer and set off back along the south side of the river stopping at the weir again where there was a fish ladder but of course no fish. As I said we arrived back at the cars as the rain started and drove off to nearby Caton and the Ship Inn where we enjoyed, yes you’ve guessed it — fish and chips.

It’s still raining tonight  and due to continue for a couple of days with more flooding, lets hope that may have some influence on the delegates at Glasgow’s international climate  summit.

  Any ideas where we can try again next week?

Too much water?

 

Turbine fish ladder.

 

Flower power.

 

The artist in situ.

 

More prosaic.

 

No fish this side either.

 

Halton’s station framed.

*****

LAST DAY ON THE TWO SAINTS WAY.

Cannock to Lichfield.      7 miles.

  My B&B host gives me a lift back to the Ring Circle Fort, and I’m on my way, downhill to Lichfield.  One was supposed to be able to see the cathedral from up here, but low cloud prevented that. There was good walking up on Gentleshaw Common and then old tracks through woods to come out onto quiet lanes to sleepy Chorley.

Back into the fields I came to Farewell Hall and the Church of St. Bartholomew built on the site of a priory.

For the next two miles I walked along the ancient Cross In Hand Lane, so named from the wooden cross pilgrims would hold as they approached St Chad’s Well. This lane was a joy to walk, in places hewn out between sandstone banks and in others with mature hedges. A scattering of farms were passed along the way, and at the bottom of the last hill a cave reputedly used by Medieval candle sellers to pilgrims.

Medieval cave?

Lichfield was entered alongside the old Pinfold, which has been recently restored.

The house belonging to Erasmus Darwin, the Physician and naturalist and Charle’s grandfather, is now a museum in the shadow of the cathedral. The man himself was looking out of a window. There are many fine houses in Lichfield which is worth a longer visit.

At last the three unique towers of Lichfield Cathedral were seen as I approached the magnificent entrance. A Saxon church was built here to house the bones of St Chad, to be replaced by a Norman Cathedral, the present Gothic structure dates from the 13th and 14th centuries.  One walks down the beautifully vaulted nave, through the chancel and there in front of you is the shrine of St. Chad.

Behind in the Lady Chapel are the famous Herkenrode stained-glass windows rescued from Belgium. St. Chads Head Chapel was closed to the public.

Two relics related to St Chad were on display —  The Lichfield Angel,  a beautiful limestone carving from the chest that contained his bones. The 8th century St. Chad Gospels, from which St Chads cross emblem was derived.

Leaving the Cathedral I notice the statue of St Chad by local sculptor Peter Walker  recently installed in the grounds. He looks a kindly man. The south door is every bit as good as the main one,

I then wander alongside the lake, Stowe Pool originally a 12th century millpond and fishery, to reach St Chad’s Church and Well and my final interpretation board!  When St. Chad arrived in Lichfield, 669, he baptised converts at a local spring and founded a monastery. He was buried here in 672 but his bones moved the Cathedral when it was built in 700. The present day church is mainly from the 14th century with many more recent modifications. Nearby is the Well which has been popular as a pilgrimage place, at one time surrounded by arched walls but now by a simple wooden structure. I’m not sure that the water is very pure.

My journey had come to an end, I have learnt a lot and experienced a good mixture of rural and urban scenery. The route was well thought out in that respect. The churches have been inspiring and whatever your religious views they are beautiful buildings and how well we preserve the past in Britain. The problem of churches being closed occurs anywhere nowadays. The guide book is well written and informative, the instructions are clear. There was no shortage of accommodation (putting my Crewe faux pas aside) or dining possibilities, although Covid precautions are still affecting the latter. As usual, I met relatively few people walking any distance, and only four on The Two Saints Way. I covered 90 miles from Chester to Lichfield, but I have to say I was relieved to know I could now rest my heel for a few days. There has been constant background pain all week, which at times distracted me from my surroundings — I was beginning to feel like a real pilgrim towards the end and possibly should have dipped my foot in St. Chads Well.

*****

DAY SEVEN ON THE TWO SAINTS WAY.

  Milford (Stafford) to Cannock.        10 miles.

  You have done well to follow me this far. I have done well to get this far. There are no churches to bore you with today!

  I have a dilemma — an extra and not particularly inspiring 4 miles from Stafford to reach Cannock Chase which I’ve done before on other occasions. A bus goes to Milford every hour. Dilemma solved, I take the pilgrim’s bus.

  This section over Cannock Chase brings back memories of when I completed it in reverse with my mate Mel 20 years ago. I’ve just returned from his delayed wake, he died in the middle of lockdown, April 2020. We were finishing The Heart of England Way back then, having walked from Lichfield to Stafford. As was our custom before travelling to our respective homes, we would have a few beers and a meal. We were in some dingy curry house in Stafford, Mel ordered a Chicken Jalfrezi, a fairly hot dish. When it arrived there must have been 30 whole chillis in it, I don’t know if there was any chicken. Mel managed a good three quarters of his meal. He was sweating profusely when the waiter came for the dishes, seeing the remains of his meal the waiter turned to Mel and said “so you don’t like chillies?”  This was met by much guffawing from Mel, he was still laughing about it years later. Great times.

   There are tracks all over the common at Milford, it must have been a nightmare during busy times in lockdown. Today it was mainly dog walkers parking up. Once in the trees the tracks can become confusing, I took the first compass bearing of the trip to get me into the Sherbrook Valley. There are numerous named LDWs coming through here.  As the clouds were down on the tops  I thought the valley route would be more attractive and so it turned out. Hands in pockets type walking, whistling a tune.

Having dallied with The Staffordshire Way, I joined The Heart of England Way, which led me to a visitor centre where I enjoyed a coffee and cheese slice. This was timed well, as it had started to rain. The car parks were full to overflowing, and yet the area is so vast that people soon thin out.

  The area around the visitor centre was RAF Hednesford in WW2 and has an interesting history worth reading. There are remains of huts scattered around and a Burma Star Memorial.  

   This area is popular with mountain bikers and there are several demanding loops heading into the trees and hills. The railway is crossed by an elaborate footbridge, which I don’t think was here the last time. More mountain  bikers were parked up just off the main road.

The main track I was using undulates through the forest and gradually climbs up to pass by an Iron Age Castle Ring Fort. This is the highest point on Cannock Chase at 801ft. The bracken growth at this time of year tends to hide the features, and the views weren’t good today.

There is a pub just down the road, but as was the case of many, it was closed and looking unkempt. I set off to walk the lanes but came across a pub that was open, The Rag. A pint and crisps were welcome and there happened to be a bus stop almost outside which would get me to my B and B on the edge of Cannock.  The bus driver was surprised to get a passenger from this out of the way place.  It was soup and sandwiches in my room tonight.

 

*****

DAY SIX ON THE TWO SAINTS WAY.

Stone to Stafford.      11 miles.

*****

  I enjoy a leisurely breakfast, this should be a short day. Another gel pad is added to my right heel, I’m beginning to walk on high heels.

It didn’t take me long to get back onto the way at St. Saviour’s churchyard in Aston. In the porch of the church I noticed a cockerel mounted above the door. Its interesting history was noted..

Behind hedges and walls across the lane is Aston Hall, now a home for retired priests. It was here in 1839 that the bones of St. Chad were found, having been hidden at the time of  the Reformation. They are now strangely in Birmingham Cathedral rather than the more obvious Lichfield. A lady dog walking told me how she discovered many of the local paths around here during lockdown and had noticed the TSW markers. I enjoyed a long stretch through fields with open atmospheric skies, just what you need to put a spring in your step in the morning.

I  then entered a watery nature reserve. A man birdwatching was eager to tell me of a large bull blocking the path at the next stile. He had taken evasive action and clambered along the banks of the stream, he was in no hurry to return. Forewarned, I proceeded carefully and sure enough the bull was lying there with his herd of cows. I never know which breeds are allowed in fields with public footpaths, and I probably wouldst recognise them anyhow. A bull is a bull whichever breed and this was a large one. I couldn’t see any obvious escape route, so I stood and watched for a while before tiptoeing cautiously past against my better judgment. I’m alive to tell the tale.

Burston village was across the canal, a few cottages surrounding a millpond, delightful. Behind and strangely adjoined to the last cottage was a little chapel, St. Rufin’s. (he of the legend)  It is thought there has been a church in this vicinity visited by pilgrims since the Middle Ages.

A peaceful stretch of canal was now followed  with boat owners relaxing or busying themselves with jobs on board.  I watched as boats negotiated the locks, by now I think I would be able to navigate these canals.

The guide book said leave the canal at the ornate bridge…   This took me into the village of Salt, I had promised myself a pint and sandwich in The Hollybush Inn, one of the oldest pubs in the country. Alas, it was closed. An appointed caretaker has been here since last July 2020 keeping an eye on the place. He was sat outside and pleased to chat, but there was no offer of a brew, even when I expressed my disappointment.     There followed a bit of hilly walking and wandering through large fields to come out in a crop being harvested on the edge of an MOD property. The incongruous memorial behind bars told the story of the Battle of Hopton Heath, fought here in 1643 between Royalists and Parliamentarians.    The entry into Hopton  through sandstone cuttings was promising, but the village was mainly modern bungalows.

  My way onwards to Beacon Hill was obvious and the hill promised views to The Wrekin and Cannock Chase. All I got was the approaching dark rain clouds over Stafford..  I’d had no rain all week, but ended up donning waterproofs for the last mile or so through the streets of Stafford. By the time I reached the centre, it was dry. St. Mary’s church was much better cared for compared to Stoke Minster, but unfortunately was closed. The foundations of an earlier Pre-Norman church can be seen  in front of the church.

  The narrow lane leading to the high street passed the largest wooden framed town house in England. Shame they can’t spell ‘phone’    Next door was my comfortable hotel, The Swan an old coaching inn, and opposite was the oldest building in Stafford, St. Chad’s Church,1150. In its grounds was the base of a Medieval stone cross.

*****

DAY FIVE ON THE TWO SAINTS WAY.

Stoke-on-Trent to Stone.     13.5 miles.

  A long day.

Having slept in I crept out of my Airbnb at 9am, nobody else was up. My first priority was to find breakfast. By the station, all the cafés and bars were busy with football supporters topping up their alcohol levels before travelling to Birmingham for a derby match. I found a popular little café near the Cathedral where I had another oatcake, this time with an egg filling.

The Cathedral was large and imposing, but with rather run down grounds, it was not open. The present church is from the 19th century. In the graveyard is a Saxon cross from the earliest 8th century church. The cross has fine carvings, which may be the origin of  The Staffordshire Knot emblem. Another church was built in Norman times and its arches survive in the graveyard. Apparently inside the Cathedral is a memorial to Josiah Wedgwood and also to Stanley Matthews the footballer. I found the graves of Spode and Wedgwood. Time to move on.

The canal was regained for a few miles to get me out of Stoke. A typical stretch of urban towpath but well-used by joggers and cyclists. Somehow, I walked past the Britannia Football Stadium without noticing it, its new name is the awful Bet365 Stadium. I did however spot the sign on the marina — line dancing?

I cut through the backstreets of Trentham and arrived at the entrance to Trentham Gardens, a very popular family destination, I did not have time to visit the Gardens, but I called at their café for my mid-morning brew. Shopping seemed to be the main attraction.

After crossing the River Trent, I passed by an old courtyard, the original entrance to the estate. It seemed a shame it was going to ruin. Across the road was a modern courtyard development  modelled on it giving no doubt very expensive accommodation.

A little church, St Mary’s, was tucked away on the edge of the gardens. In the graveyard was a Saxon cross with  a well-worn Kneeling stone at its base. Pilgrims would have prayed here for centuries.

A steep track led up the hillside into King Woods on a ridge, all part of medieval hunting grounds. Down below, traffic crawled along the M6 on the stretch I broke down on last week, that’s another story. I couldn’t miss the football ground from up here. Despite all the cars and crowds below at Trentham, I was the only person walking along the airy ridge. I was surprised then when I came across a Colditz type wire fenced enclosure. Apparently this is The Monkey Forest, one of the Trentham attractions which must have cost millions to construct. There was no sign of the Barbary Apes that live in there, but I hadn’t paid my entrance fee.

Farther on, I could hear excited voices in the woods and again I was surprised to come across an aerial assault course, the Trentham people certainly know how to extract money from visitors.

I made my own assault of the hill in front of me to come out into the open at the 1st Duke of Sutherland’s statue. His statue was erected here in 1836 as an indication of his service to the local populace. This popularity didn’t extend to his time in the highlands, where he was responsible for much of the Highland Clearances and was hated by the Scots for evermore. His statue on Ben Bhraggie has been threatened with  demolition on many occasions. There were good views down over Trentham Gardens with its lake and the Stoke area in general, and quite a few people had come up here for that reason. (heading photo)

At the bottom of the hill was the little village of Tittensor with the church of St. Luke’s in the middle of a housing estate. It had an attractive timbered tower, a Duchess of Sutherland foundation stone, a bench for refreshments and the now familiar TSW interpretation board.

There was a very pleasant stretch over Tittensor Chase’s sandy heathland. Just visible in the high bracken were a Saxon burial mound and a much larger hill fort, Bury Bank,  which at one time was the capital of Mercia and probably the birthplace of St. Werburgh, a then princess, to  King Wulfhere. This family has gone into folklore from the ‘fact’ that Wulfhere killed two of his sons, Wulfad and Rufin. Read the full story involving St. Chad  here.

Tittensor Chase.

Saxon mound.

Bury Bank, ancient fort ahead.

Then I was back on the Trent and Mersey canal towpath for a mile into Stone. The town makes much of the legend mentioned above. The main street looks similar to many other pedestrianised town centres with its Costa Coffee, Wethespoons, Mountain Warehouse etc.

The St. Michael’s Church was built in 1758 in the grounds of a previous Augustinian Priory, where there was a shrine to St. Wulfad, who was supposed to be buried here under a pile of stones. Today the church was closed so I couldn’t view the stained-glass window dedicated to Wulfad and Rufin. In the grounds was a family Mausoleum of Earl Vincent,  an admiral in the time of Lord  Nelson and a Crompton grave.

Vincent Mausoleum.

Crompton family C17th tomb.

My hotel for the night was out of town. On the way I stopped at a garage to buy some milk and in conversation with the attendant found he had some involvement with the church back in Tittensor. He is doing the Two Saints Way in day sections, we compared experiences, a strange meeting. My hotel, Stone House, was the best of the trip yet.- a sumptuous bath and an excellent Indian restaurant.

*****

DAY FOUR ON THE TWO SAINTS WAY.

Barthomley to Stoke-on-Trent.     12 miles.

  I think I was still in shock this morning, I emptied the coffee sachet into the bin rather than my cup and then I used my asthma spray on my armpits. What more could go wrong?

The advantage of the taxi back to Barthomley was I didn’t have to face that busy road again. The driver was Turkish and on the way I got his life history. He lives in Alderley Edge because that has more say with the girls on dating sites than Crewe would have.      He made out he was also a football agent and told me to look out for an up and coming star at Liverpool – Harvey Elliott.

I’ve inserted an extra heel pad into my right boot.

Well signed and stiled field paths took me south from Barthomley, heading for a valley which the guide book author rated as one of the most scenic stretches on the way. Mill Dale. I wasn’t  that impressed. Once I had found the path down into the valley, I felt hemmed in by fencing. I would have liked to wander by the water. Yes, there were good stretches of water in the distance, but I seemed separated from the reality. This was reinforced at the end near houses where the way ahead was obscured, deliberately? I made my way up into fields above the valley.

I crossed what must have been the M6 and then started climbing a small hill with views back to the Cheshire Plain, Mow Cop to the northeast and then down to villages with a monument to Wedgwood prominent on Bignall Hill behind. I assumed it to be for Josiah Wedgwood of ceramics and pottery fame, but I find out later it is a John Wedgwood, 1760-1839, a local coal mine owner and employer. Within a few hundred yards, the scenery has changed – gentle Cheshire to grittier Staffordshire.

Audley is the first village I come to with a welcome little bakery where I can sit outside in the sun and enjoy a coffee and cheese slice. Naughty but nice.  The route winds its way between villages using green areas which in the past have been a hive of industrial activity. The area was rich in coal, ores and clay. First Leddy’s Field reserve and then the much larger Apedale Country Park. I meet three walkers who lived around here as children and can remember the pits and railways. They are having a nostalgic meet up.

Leaving Leddy’s field.

‘Last of the summer wine’

Apedale.

Walking along the old railway, I make good progress. A park warden tells me of the problems they have had during lockdown with bad parking and litter. They were reduced to a skeleton staff who spent most of the time dealing with the nuisances and now are way behind with their general work. He is a keen walker, having completed many long distance paths, and is proud that the Two Saints Way comes through his patch. In another part of the park there is a heritage centre, museum and narrow gauge railway. Tours of some old mines are possible.

The pit railway.

Nice job!

A steep road, there are a lot of hills today, brings me into Chesterton, an old colliery village, and the outskirts of Stoke. It is urban walking for the rest of the day. The pubs here have closed down, the church has an unkempt appearance and the streets untidy with litter  The café I find specialises in Staffordshire Oatcakes  These are a local delicacy like an oaty pancake, very popular in the Stoke area, I buy one filled with cheese and sit on the steps of the nearby Salvation Army hall to eat it with my coffee. I must look like a tramp.

  An unsavoury park takes me up a hill into the next area of housing where I rely on my phone satnav to navigate me down to the Trent and Mersey Canal.

  The walk along the canal was varied from industrial wastelands to upmarket waterside living. There were reminders of the pottery trade all along the way. I stuck to the canal towpath, whereas the Two Saints Way wandered into the old garden festival site and on to visit the Potteries Museum. I had hoped to see the Staffordshire Saxon Hoard there, but the museum is closed until later in the year, which is a shame.

Best floral display.

Wasteland.

The Round House. Formerly part of the Wedgwood Etruria Pottery works, and built 1769.

I dallied at the junction of the Trent and Mersey with the Caldon Canal. The Etruria Industrial Museum there was closed!

  My Airbnb room in Stoke was not far from the canal in the student area, my hostess is a holistic practitioner and a musician, the house was an oasis of calm. Down the road was an Afghanistan restaurant which served fabulous food, the staff were obviously concerned about their relatives and happenings out there at the moment now under the Taliban. Most won’t be eating as well as I am – Qabuli Pulau.

*****

DAY THREE ON THE TWO SAINTS WAY.

Nantwich to Barthomley.      12 miles.

  I reflect on the temporary healing powers of beer and Brufen as I hobble into Nantwich on a lovely sunny morning. The Church of St. Mary doesn’t open its doors until 10am, so I poke about in the narrow streets with some surprising finds.

Chimney from a wheelwright’s forge and smithy,

The Market Hall.

Good to see it thriving.

Parked up for the day’s shopping.

Immaculate Higgins classic.  I saw the proud owner cycling on quiet lanes later in the day.

  St Mary is an amazing church – cathedral like. You are enthralled as soon as you enter the Nave. Most of the church is C14th, and it is recognised as one of the finest Medieval churches in England.   The splendid, intricately carved Monks stalls with triple canopies and their Misericords grab your attention.     A fine tomb to a Thomas Smith and his wife from the C17th…     …and an effigy of C14th Sir David Cradoc, patron of the church, in alabaster.   A majestic modern stained window depicted life in rural Cheshire, linked into the creation story with Halley’s Comet in the right trefoil, dating it to 1985.    I forgot to look for the several ‘Green Men’ in the church. On the outside there were some fine gargoyles, in the red sandstone.
  At last, I was away and walking through pleasant parks alongside the River Weaver. Dog walkers were in ascendancy – I wonder how long this passion with dogs will last? Nantwich seemed to be a good place to live.

    And then I was in the countryside with well-marked paths leading me on.   I was on my way to Wybunbury, Winbury to you, and I was pleased to find the post office open with coffee and sandwiches available to enjoy on the seat outside. I take every chance I can for a sit down and some caffeine.

  At the end of the village was St. Chad’s tower once a C15th church but now truncated since the demolition of the main part of the church in 1972 due to subsidence. The tower was stabilised in 1832 using methods of under-excavation, later employed to stabilise that leaning tower in Pisa. Apparently it still leans to the north. It is thought that one of the figures at the entrance depicts  St. Chad. A modern St. Chad’s church was passed in the village earlier.

As it was early C20th.

  The path out of the churchyard took me through a wetland reserve and up into horse paddocks with a multitude of stiles, when a simple footpath diversion would have been more sensible.   On the outskirts of Hough I met up with a man and his Springer Spaniel, both as keen as each other on exploring the boggy land in the woods which we traversed. Then it was into fields of tall maize, where you just had to follow a narrow corridor. Somewhere along there I crossed the West Coast mainline, the real one this time. I was glad of a sit down and coffee at the White Lion in Weston. Across the road was the small brick built All Saints’ Church with its unusual semicircular chancel.

  Time was passing on as I walked the narrow lanes to Englesea Brook a small hamlet with a museum devoted to Primitive Methodism. Originated in America, the movement began in England around 1807. It was mainly a working class movement and had a part to play in the establishment of the trade unions.  A prominent tomb in the graveyard is that of Hugh Bourne, one of the pioneers of Primitive Methodism.   Onwards past some fine houses with a few hills to climb at the end of the day.   At last the steeple of St. Bertoline’s Church at Barthomley came into view, standing on Barrow Hill an ancient burial ground. This is where on a visit a few months ago I discovered the Two Saints Trail, it felt good to return here. Each section of the way has an interpretation board erected by http://www.twosaintsway.org.uk

St. Bertoline’s is a handsome church in red sandstone, most of it dating from the 15th century, though there is a Norman doorway built into the north wall. Inside are tombs of past notables in the Crewe Chapel. The chancel was rebuilt in 1925–26 by Austin and Paley, well known church architects from Lancaster. Above the west door are three carved heads, the left one was replaced in 2015 with the homely face of Bishop Peter Forster of Chester. I met the vicar as he came to lock up and of course discussed at length ‘my pilgrimage’.  He had recently come to this church from a Blackpool parish – what a contrast.

  Adjacent to the church is the friendly White Lion Inn where I enjoyed a pint of beer in memory of Dor whose relatives are buried here and who loved this pub.   This has been a long day, five churches, but it was not finished. I had struggled to find accommodation in Barthomley and all I could manage was the Travel Lodge a mile or so away just off the motorway on a busy dual carriage way. I risked life and limb getting there only to find I wasn’t booked in. Not knowing there were two, I had by mistake booked the Travel Lodge in Crewe, a few miles away. They could accommodate me here, but at the cost of £100, the ‘walk in rate’. I laughed at that, as they had never had anybody actually walk in before, cars and lorries only. Helpfully, the receptionist suggested getting me a taxi to the other place and before I knew it I was putting my feet up in my booked room. That was the least expensive way out of the dilemma, and I would book a taxi to take me back to Barthomley in the morning. But I did feel stupid.

*****

The arrow on the map shows my eventual destination.