As usual I did quite well with the jet-lag, being so excited about being in England that I hardly was aware of the 8 hour time difference.  I woke up at 1 a.m. Then again at 3 a.m. and finally at 10:15 a.m! My new address is Hebble End. Hebble means a plank bridge. So Salterhebble, which I intend to visit was built by a man who dealt in salts and dye wares. See Note to self: History society meets alternate Wednesdays in the Methodist church hall.

A day of two halves – the first exploring my immediate environment of Hebden Bridge and the second taking a bus trip to Halifax. Walking along the canal into the center of the town – all of five minutes – was very pretty, even in the pouring rain. When I reached the shops it soon became apparent that the devastating flood here on Dec 26, 2015, was still having a major impact on life here. Lloyds bank had a temporary floor and the whole building was covered in scaffolding. My two possible pin numbers didn’t work and so they were going to have to send me a new pin number by snail mail. Really??  (In the end it took one day short of 4 weeks to obtain one!!) Each block had major reconstruction going on. The library basement is still out of bounds. I wonder if they were able to salvage documents.The flood must have brought a lot of work to the town. Every block had hammering and other construction noises issuing from the dark interiors. Sand bags were still strewn around the streets.

Paying with my credit card, despite its chip and pin still required the checkout guy at the Coop to ask for my ID! I had a cup of coffee outdoors, the only problem being the constant drop of wet blossoms into my cappuccino. Things are looking up in England. When I asked for a decaf cappuccino the barista didn’t bat an eyelid. The bookstore (with its marker at my head height showing the height of the flood waters) had a new Bill Bryson and a new Karl Pilkington book. I picked up as many brochures as possible from the Information Bureau.

Next stop was the Co-op to gather essentials such as food and shampoo.  Failing miserably to prise the top off the soup I had just bought for lunch I was reduced to eating a sausage roll and a piece of caramel shortbread. I was flagging by this time so I took a nap. Not bad considering yesterday’s 24 journey and 8 hours of jet-lag. Waking up – what to do?  I looked out of the window onto the canal: good weather for ducks. It was pouring down so  I caught the bus to Halifax which gave me a chance to sit down for half an hour and watch the scenery pass me by. Donkeys, sheep and the occasional cow peered serenely as the bus careered at a break-neck speed through winding streets lined with parked cars. I visited Halifax Minster were many of my ancestors were baptized and  married. I passed the end of Gaol Lane and Black Ledge where family members had once lived.

I took a walk down to Halifax minster, but as I suspected it was closed. My plan was to get back to HB for a quick dinner before going to the HB Picure house, 2 minutes away from ‘my’ mill but I was thwarted when the next bus bak wasn’t for 45 minutes. OK, I thought, no problem, I’ll just eat in Halifax. No way! By 5 p.m. the whole place was closed up – a veritable ghost town. so I went back t’th’mill, heated up my shepherd’s pie from the Co-op and at 8:40 headed back into town.  I ended the day sitting at The Old Gate again, simply because it was the only familiar place in town, this time sipping Old Goat cider. It was much quieter tonight. They have 40 ales and ciders on  tap so I had some cider samples and ordered their  Old Goat cider – a perfect accompaniment for writing my journal for an hour or so.