Author: hmcreativelady (Page 12 of 48)

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Erringden Grange, on Kilnshaw Lane above Hebden Bridge, is an early 19th century listed farmhouse and barn. (Erringden thought to be of Norse origin “The valley of the high ridge”). It also has numerous adjacent fields with rectangular field patterns, as well as an old Hawthorn hedge now in need of some care and new saplings for continuity.
But what makes the fields unique in the Calder Valley are the small diamond shaped enclosures at all the wall intersections. 
There are (or were) about 50 of these enclosures shown on the OS map of 1849 and each contains planted trees of mainly Beech and Sycamore. These trees are possibly over 180 years old.

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6.2 miles

My usual modus operandi on my hikes from my front door is to catch a bus on t’ th’ tops and hike from there. But these are not normal times and so, after several days of 6-7 mile hikes I decided to go ‘up first.’ A couple of days ago I’d walked down from Jack bridge so today I started from my front door and walked up to Jack bridge. The only time I’d done the walk this way round was the first time I ever did it, in 2017, when I was in England for the summer, and I’d followed a footpath pamphlet which had little indication of the climb involved. And I have to say I was actually surprised that it took me about the same time to walk up as it does to walk down. You get a different view and I saw things that I’d not noticed before.

Eventually after about an hour I came out of the woods, passed Hudson Mill where my ancestor Sunderland had lived (see a former blog) and found myself opposite the New Delight pub, which, of course, is closed. A couple of weeks ago I used its name in a new song I wrote for the Hebden Bridge Little Theatre choir.

The rest of my hike would be along paved roads. The little zippy bus was parked on Smithy Lane at the turnaround and for a few moments I considered getting on it to go back down the hill but I was in no hurry to get home so I continued walking. In front of my was Edge Lane where I’d explored for the first time a couple of days ago. Now I could see exactly where my route had taken me, passed Spinks House. A little further along I passed an old building, The Smithy, now a private dwelling. i’d never thought of Smithy Lane as being where the blacksmith’s was once located. Up until now it had simply been a bus destination.

I passed Edge Hey Green where a row of cottage was once divided from the outdoor toilet by the road. Last year I’d made a textile panel of one of the toilet outbuildings for my ‘doors’ project.

Wooden huts for the workers were built at Whitehill Nook, just below Draper Lane in Heptonstall/Slack and it became quickly known as Dawson City, after the Klondike city. I’ve been fascinated by this story since first seeing photos of the shanty town in the White Swan in Heptonstall on my summer visits to the area. By the time of the 1901 census, when Willie Wrigley was staying at the Pack Horse, Widdop, ten of the workers’ huts were occupied. Wives and children moved here with their husbands and soon the impact was felt in the local community. The Board School, built by my ancestors, of course, could not accommodate the extra children and so a spare room in the school master’s house was brought into service for the additional thirty children that came from Dawson City. Sanitation in the new city was obviously going to be a major problem and even as early as February 1901 two cases of typhoid had been removed from the shanty town to the Fielden hospital in Todmorden. In 1903 smallpox broke out. The navies were required to keep their children off school. Smallpox victims were taken to the isolation hospital at Sourhall close to Todmorden and vaccinations were given and a field hospital was built at Dawson city being constructed rom a tent and capable of caring for 14 patients. But in October 1903 it blew down in a gale. In all there were 60 cases of smallpox in the Hebden Bridge and Todmorden area, but only one patient died. In 1909 a woman, Mrs Edgar Harwood, fell from the bridge after going ‘for a stroll to admire the view.’ She was well known in Hebden Bridge and ran a dressmaking a millinery business under the name Townsend (her maiden name I think) and Milnes.

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This area is set back from the main road and was one of the earliest major settlements in the town, dating back to the early 19th century. It was known as High street because of its elevation, not for its commercial prominence. Even on a totally dry day I find the steep cobbles between the steps very difficult to negotiate. The former mill itself is a three storey building on the main road, which I’d never noticed until today.

I posted the photo of Cuckoo Mill steps on the Hebden Bridge photo page and I was very surprised how many interesting comments it generated:

Ran up and down those steps many times as a child, remember when they filmed the movie 39 steps?

Hauled myself up those steps all through my pregnancy in 1980, kept me very fit 

I had actually forgotten them til I saw this pic

I used to hate having to walk up them steps. 😂

I wish I had a pound for every time I have run up there!

Cuckoo Steps – Update, April17

A couple of weeks ago I took the short cut from Heptonstall road to Market Street. An old street. High Street runs parallel to Market Street and the area, known as Bridge Lanes, was a high density housing area, demolished in the 1960’s. I have many ancestors who lived in Bridge Lanes. The old High Street now terminates in some step stone steps, flanked on both sides by high walls. The sun never penetrates this place. It’s dank, dark, and for most of the year too slippery for me to tackle. To the right is the remains of a mill chimney, now only half its original height and covered in ivy. It’s quite picturesque and in the late afternoon sunshine it made a pretty photo. I posted it onto a Hebden Bridge photos Facebook page and I was very surprised by the number of comments it generated: people reminiscing about their use of the steps many years ago. It dawned on me later that if those were Cuckoo Mill steps and presumably its chimney where was Cuckoo Mill. I took on all the local history sites but could find no reference to Cuckoo Mill. So finally I emailed the Hebden Bridge Historical Society, of which I am a member, to see if I could find an answer to my questions. As always, the answer came back swiftly:

There is not a mill called Cuckoo Steps. The area was part of Breck Mill Estate and the chimney has a flue that goes under the road and the mill buildings were on what is now the Coop  car park. Now I’d read about Breck Mill since one of my ancestor James Moss had started off his working life there first  as a bookkeeper and later as a journeyman. His obituary shows that he became an important man in the town: Death and funeral of Mr James Moss

… head of the welll-known firm of Moss Brothers, fustian manufacturers, Hebden Bridge ….

pneumonia… Ewood Court … 55 … active members of Hebden Bridge Urban District Council … leaves widow and five daughters … chairman of the English Fustian Manufacturing Company … As a boy Mr Moss attended his relative’s seminary familiarily known as “Moss’s School” at Salem and Slater Bank. His first occupation on leaving school was that of a book-keeper at Breck Corn Mill, then in the ownership of Mr James Bairstow. There he remained for several years and became the rider-out or traveller, for the firm. The time came when through declining health Mr Bairstow wished to retire from the business. Mr James Moss had won the confidence of his employer, who entrusted him with responsible posts while still comparatively young; and he was still in the twenties when the Bairstow family made him an offer in conjunction with another employee to handover the business to them and find the necessary capital  wherewith to work it. For some reason or other Mr Moss declined  the offer, and decided to join his brothers who had commenced business as fustian cutters and manufacturers at Hebble-end.

The flood of 1891 caused the problems for the flour mill, but it looks as if it survived at least until 1902 but it was all over by 1 July 1916 and a search on the papers just after this date might provide an overview of its history.

HEBDEN BRIDGE PAROCHIAL MAGAZINE March. l892  THE FLOOD OF 1891 “But by far the greatest excitement was in Stubbing Holme, which since 1866 has been covered with long rows of houses and a large Co-operative Cotton Mill. The Calder, whose channel was wholly insufficient for the volume of water, bore so furiously on the part of the Breck Mill which is built over the stream, that it may be said to have demolished it. The debris so blocked the current that great part of the water had no escape, and, turned backward, converted the Holme into one turbulant lake. Strange were the stories told by the inhabitants of the houses, about the carrying off of large stores of provisions and the like. In two instances the floor of the cottages sank some inches, producing the sensations of an earthquake and turning one woman sick. Here, as elsewhere, horses up to the middle in water,were taken off with great difficulty to higher ground. Terrible havoc was made in the Cotton Mill, the looms on the ground floor being submerged. The goods were removed with all possible activity, damage was done to an extent which, at the lowest compution we have seen £1,000 will not cover. At the Breck Flour Mill the boilers had to be removed, and iron girders will be substituted for the broken arches, damage has been sustained to the amount of £2,000. The moon being nearly at full , the whole scene was plainly visible, and is described as solemnly grand.”

By 1919 it was a clothing mill owned by Fenton Greenwood.

Find: Hebden Bridge Times 22 April 1927 OLD HEBDEN BRIDGE BY D. EASTWOOD Cuckoo lane Bairstows mill. Bridge Lanes.

Somewhere, yesterday April 16, 2020,  I read that they raised the walls at cuckoo steps to stop the boys peering over at the slaughter house. This must have been the slaughterhouse at the back of The Bull in where Joshua Gibson killed himself.

Cuckoo steps, Salem Sunday school demolished in 1962. Photo taken around 1960

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Every time I take the 901 towards Huddersfield I think to myself as the bus climbs up a very steep valley through Cragg Vale ‘wouldn’t it be interesting to walk down this road? I’d see more.’ So today i set out to do just that. Actually to be honest, I didn’t. When I put my coat on to set off my goal was to take the bus to the very top of Cragg Vale and walk from Sykes Gate to Sowerby, a hike a took a few weeks ago for the first time. But on entry into the street there was a bitingly cold wind and the blister on my toe was making itself felt, so an 8 mile hike along th’ tops didn’t seem such a good idea. I was unsure if the bus would show up but it did and it w whisked me up the road  proudly claims to be the longest continual ascent in England. 968 feet of climbing in 5.5 miles.

I knew from riding the bus that some of the roadway has no sidewalk but I did find these two happy people showing me where I should walk!

The view down the valley is superb and in this time of uncertainty I thanked my lucky stars that I live in such a beautiful place. I followed the Elphin brook for a little while and then came to a holiday let which Sarah told me about recently. I went onto the drive to take a photo of the view and a lady came out of the fairly new cottage. She is the owner and invited me in to show me one of the three adjoining cottages – very nicely appointed.

I decided on a whim to take a little detour down to the river where St John’s church and the Hinchcliffe Arms pub are located. The church has a rather odd name – St John’s in the Wilderness. I noticed a recent notice taped to the door about the current emergency, so St John’s isn’t so much in the wilderness as it would like to be.

Jimmy Saville had associations with this church and raised thousands of pound for its upkeep and he was an honourary church warden. More about his association with Cragg Vale: https://bitsofbooksblog.wordpress.com/2014/08/08/savile-and-st-johns-in-the-wilderness/

There are several documentary films about Saville, whom my mum believed she met on a cycling holiday when she was in the 20’s. Just across from the church is the Hinchcliffe Arms, obviously now closed but I used the picnic tables outside for a good place to have my picnic and consult my map. Apparently Saville used to park his camper van in the pub car park.

I decided to take a wander up a narrow lane and I soon found myself facing Cragg Hall, which I remembered visiting on a drive around the area a few months ago. Again, I was struck by the thought of what an area for me to live in where I can see these beautiful buildings and can walk back to my home.

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I’d passed the ruins of a mill on the main road and now, in the trees, I could see an old mill chimney. I’d never associated Cragg Vale with industry. I’d just though of it as an old handloom weaver’s community suspended in time.

I saw a sign pointing to the Coiners’ Barn, but it wasn’t an official sign and there was no indication of distance but I was enjoying myself so I followed the sign. Last year I’d read The Gallows Pole by Ben Myers, who lives in Hebden Bridge. It’s the story of the Cragg Vale coiners, a band of counterfeiters who produced fake gold coins in the late 18th century to supplement small incomes from weaving. It was a very very vivid book given to graphic violence in places but even more than the storyline I was fascinated by the historical references, especially about the new enclosure laws that were appearing around the same time. I immediately read all his other books!

The road I was following had been paved but obviously from the recent flooding there were a lot of dangerous potholes, even sink holes. I realised that this was the way Sarah and I had approached Stoodley Pike on our vacation here in 2017, wanting to find the shortest path up to the tower. Today the car park at the reservoir was packed and cars were parked along the lane but people were far and few between, there being so many paths and open ground.

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At the end of the dam is the imposing building of Pasture, the only farm building remaining of the 15 that once were scattered along Withins Clough. It looked inviting to walk around the reservoir. A sign showed that it’s only 2.5 Km around but:

‘I have promises to keep

And miles to go before I sleep’

Pasture Top

Photos of things I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been walking

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1. Find an area I’ve been wanting to explore for a while
2. I’ve been marking on my OS all the hikes I’ve taken over the last 2 years – in pink
3. Mark all the hikes I take in this moment of global crisis – in purple
4. Take photos of quirky things
5. Cv look-alikes in nature

Somewhere in my ancestry research I had seen mentioned Edge Lane, Colden. In fact on my OS I have ringed some buildings on Edge Lane in pencil. And whenever I’ve taken the bus to Blackshaw Head I’ve passed Edge Lane and thought ‘I should get off the bus here sometime and explore.’ So today was the day. But with over 9000 people in my family tree now I simply can’t remember the connection with Edge Lane, though I seem to recall it was a school or chapel.

I got off the bus, at Edge Lane intending to walk up for a half a mile or so, then return back to the main road and walk down Hudson Mill Road back down to Hebden. This was my first time on an Access bus, smaller than the usual zippy bus, and a reflection of the lack of customers.

Edge Lane follows a contour line and so there’s little up and down hill which made it easy to walk. Though the paved section finished quite early it remained a real bridleway, clearly marked and mostly between well maintained walls. On both sides occasional farms were scattered but these were greatly outnumbered by fields of sheep. Several farmers were using the good weather day to repair fences, rebuild walls and some were on quad bikes, delivering food to the sheep.

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For a mile or so four people on horses were a little way in front of me which gave me confidence to continue straight ahead. I did meet a couple of hikers and I chatted to check my route. At one time a couple of bicycles were slowed down by the horses in front.

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Again, like yesterday I found that people were far more friendly than usual. It’s not uncommon for me to walk along the canal and pass 20 or so people who don’t even smile or say hello. I wonder if it’s the fact that everyone is currently having to adjust to the new restrictions – ‘we’re all in this together’ kind of attitude.

I saw a couple of footpath signs pointing to Gorple reservoir and asked a couple of walkers if the track ahead was well trodden and easy to find. I was assured that it was, so I kept on going. I wasn’t going to go off on any barely visible paths but I’d stick to a clearly marked one. At one point I passed a ruined farm that’s undergoing major restoration. It’s name New Edge Farm made me smile. If that was new Edge farm I wondered what Old edge farm must look like!

Suddenly i crested the ridge and there before me was not one reservoir but 4, Gorple being the closest. In all directions I could only see one building and after consulting my map I realised that the building was the Pack Horse, Widdop. Of course, like all the pubs in England now it is closed. Voted the most scenic pub in Britain for 2004, this converted and whitewashed 17th century laithe farmhouse is known locally as ‘The Ridge’. Set in a beautiful and remote location close to the Pennine Way, it stands at a height of 298 metres above sea level, affording spectacular moorland views. I’d been there twice before in sept 2018 when I was researching Willie Wrigley, my colourful second cousin three times removed! I wrote a blog about him: http://blog.hmcreativelady.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=7462&action=edit

On the night of the census, March 31, 1901 Willie, an architect, spent the night in this remote inn. I was beyond surprised to see this in from this vantage point. I sat down for a few minutes to consult my map and during that time I saw smoke beginning to appear from the moorland above the inn. There was no point heading over to the inn since it was closed but this would make a great walk when things get back to normal.

As I retraced my steps back along Edge Lane to Jack Bridge I took photos of ‘cv’ reminders in nature. I even met a lady with a crazy hat that reminded me of cv cells! I followed the main road to The New Delight, also closed, and headed off down Hudson Mill Road. I’ve hiked this road maybe 6 times during the last two years. It takes about an hour to get home from there.

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I’ve written about that walk and my ancestors who lived there in another blog: http://blog.hmcreativelady.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=7569&action=edit

I joined the canal back in Hebden and popped into the Coop to buy some more fresh food. although some shelves were empty I was still able to buy fresh fruit and veg. When I turned on the telly later there were accounts of people waiting in queues of up to 50 people to get into supermarkets.

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I was the only person on the platform at Hebden Bridge station, something I don’t ever remember seeing before. The train to Leeds was virtually empty with only 2 other people in my compartment. It’s only an 8 minute ride to Sowerby Bridge and again the weather was bright and sunny. My initial idea was to walk from Brighouse to Sowerby but that felt a little too far this morning so I changed it to a 7 miler.

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I was amazed how many people were walking along the towpath. I’ve never seen so many, mostly with their dogs. In particular there were many men. These two, who were running a dog walking service were happy to pose for a photo.

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The canal passes close to the village of Copley and I decided to go and take another look. I think I’ve been there 3 times before. the last time was in May last year and I took a photo of the church door which I then used as inspiration for a textile project. It wasn’t until I was doing some online research for this post that I discovered that the Copley Conservation area use the very same photo for their cover photo.

Copley was a built as a model village by Colonel Edward Ackroyd in the Calder Valley to the south of Halifax. He also built Ackroyden where All Souls church is. He bought a disused mill on the banks of the River Calder in 1844,  demolished it and built a larger mill that was completed in 1847. To house his workforce Akroyd built a “model industrial settlement” of 112 back-to-back houses in three terraces with shops at the end. The first houses, described by Pevsner, as built in a “picturesque Pennine Vernacular” style were completed in 1849. They have two bedrooms and had “privies” in the front gardens. Rents proved to be high and the next two terraces were built more cheaply. Another row of through houses, one room deep, was built in 1865 after the back-to-backs were criticised in an article in The Builder.^[

To attract and retain a workforce outside the urban area of Halifax, Akroyd provided not only houses but built a school, library and reading room, a co-operative store, the parish church, a recreation ground and cricket club and promoted the savings bank, burial and clothing clubs, allotment gardens and the horticultural and floral society.^[ The school was built in 1849 and a year later a library. Akroyd also paid for much of the cost of St Stephen’s Church which was built between 1861 and 1865 on the opposite side of the river to the designs of W. H. Crossland. Copley predated Saltaire which Titus Salt built for his workers. The architect was Crossland, a pupil of George Gilbert Scott.

I headed back under the immense Copley viaduct which carries the railway line to Brighouse and beyond. These two gentlemen walking along the towpath looked equipped for climbing the high peaks of England

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Continuing my photos of corona virus related items:

I ended my journey at Sowerby Bridge railway station which, besides being where Branwell Bronte worked, sports the (now closed) Jubilee Tea Rooms which has the distinction of being the only pub I’ve ever been thrown out of! I haver a fridge magnet to commemorate the occasion.

So, what to read?

Every so often I’ll read a novel, become engrossed by it, and then read other books by the same author: recent examples being Benjamen Myers and Sebastien Faulks whose books I picked up at random, usually in free book swaps. But I don’t read a lot of fiction. Last week I was reading Ranulph Fiennes autobiography in preparation for going to see him but who knows whether this event will take place now.

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Last week I was browsing in a second hand book store in Todmorden and my eye alighted on a book by Terry Jones of Monty Python fame. But next to it was a book – How to be a failure and succeed. It was the author’s name that attracted my attention – Sir Ernest Hall and I realised that it had been written by the father of someone I know who I’d met in a creative writing class in Hebden Bridge. I’d been invited to spent Christmas Eve with her family in a wonderful old hall dating from the 17th century. In one room was a grand piano. The book shop was closed and when I went again the following week although the shop was open the window display had changed.

It’s one of those wonderful old book stores where the assistant sits on a stool surrounded by battered boxes overflowing with books. I explained my mission, talked briefly about ‘the virus’ and its impact on small businesses, and was told that if they could locate it they’d call me. On the very day I finished the Fiennes book Sir Ernest Hall’s book arrived in the post. Quickly scanning the chapters I learned he grew up in the same town as me, Bolton, that his father worked in the same cotton mill as my mum and her dad, Swan Lane Mill, that his father had the same job in that mill as my grandad!

Then Ernest went on to study piano at the Northern College of Music in Manchester. I couldn’t believe the parallels between his life and mine and I called his daughter to share the story, and she called him to tell him! Over the following few days as I read about the similarities of his school experiences to mine I became absorbed in the book. He’d mention districts and streets that I knew well as a child.

Coming from a tiny village school in Affetside where there were 30 children in the entire school, divided into two classrooms and entering a large school with over 750 students when I was 11 was so overwhelming for me that i never came to terms with it. Coupled with the fact that for me to get to school each day I had to walk through three fields, usually full of cows, (in my wellies which I then changed for my ‘school shoes’, leaving my wellies in the porch of an obliging lady who lived next to the bus stop) then catch two buses, while many of the girls arrived at school in elegant cars, often driven by nannies.

I’m looking forward to continuing with the book

It had been almost a year since I’d been on The Long Causeway, a road running along the top of the ridge from Blackshaw Head. I’d taken my daughters there and we’d had a grand old time exploring Bridestones, outcrops of millstone grit rocks and boulders which are ½ a mile long. Amongst these rocky outcrops are a number of odd-shaped formations that have been caused by weather-related erosion over thousands, if not millions of years.  One huge boulder in particular, known as ‘The Great Bridestone’ is fantastically shaped at its base, looking like an up-turned bottle, as if it might topple over at any moment. There are a number of myths and legends associated with The Bridestones, many of these going back to the mists of time. More recently, perhaps, there are a number of local traditions that have become connected to the place and its many, strange-shaped rocks and boulders. However, today I wasn’t going to explore the stones, which necessitates a diversion from the road.

Again, it was another sunny day, and a couple of times on the hike I felt positively warm! Starting from Blackshaw Head Bridestones can be see in the far distance, it it looked a mighty long way. There were great views over the Calder Valley to Stoodley pike and there were a few newborn lambs enjoying the sunshine too. At one point I decided to take a cart track, clearly marked on my map but it soon petered out into a narrow footpath heading steeply down so I backtracked, something which I don’t like doing, and kept to the road. Very few cars passed, a few bicycles, no other walkers, but someone on a pony came along and then galloped off into a field.

I was taking this walk because of the virus and of course that was on my mind as I took some photos of things in nature that resembled the diagrams of the virus itself which pervades our news screens incessantly at the moment:

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I passed several old halls before arriving in the little community of Cross Stones. It’s dominated by a church which can be seen from Todmorden perched high above the town. I have several ancestors buried in the cemetery. There has been a church here since about 1450 and it was built as a Chapel of Ease for Heptonstall Parish to serve the townships of Stansfield and Langfield. A chapel of ease was specifically built for the convenience of those parishoners who could not easily get to the main church. It is built high up on the hills above the Todmorden valley, with wonderful views over the surrounding countryside. But it’s a very steep climb and it must have been quite a task to get a coffin up there on a snowy day in winter. It wouldn’t have been very pleasant for the mourners either, who would probably have had to walk to the graveyard. In recent times the fabric of the building became unsafe and the church was closed and converted to a private house. As I approached I saw a for sale sign – hmmm, church of sale, but no, it was the old school next door that was for sale.

A few years after 1713 a man named Pilling collected £65 from friends in London and with local help as well, he built a schoolhouse near Cross Stone Church. It was maintained by the chapelry and in 1743 the interest on the money made £3 a year, which paid for the free instruction of six poor children. The teacher was the chapelry clerk and he was paid by the parents of the 30-40 schoolchildren for instructing them in reading and writing. A William Greenwood says that he held school on Sunday mornings and up to twenty children attended. They were charged one penny a week. Quills cost half a penny, copy books two pennies, a reading easy was sixpence and “rithmetic” was one shilling and eight pence. The top room housed the school and the bottom served as the jail, whilst the far right hand end of the house was the home of the schoolmaster.

A few gravestones surround the actual church but a large graveyard is across the street and it is still in use. One of the original entrance post is still intact but the other one is prostrate but its cap has been incorporated into the wall.

Close by I came across a ceramic frog in someone’s garden and I took a photo of it for an art project I’m working on. Then just around the corner I saw the following road sign.

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6.2 miles

1. Hike, exploring new territory
2. Find a connection with my ancestors

I’d been to Baitings reservoir a couple of times before, once with a hiking buddy, once with friends Jean and John when Anna came to stay but though I’d walked across the dam I hadn’t walked around the entire reservoir. So, bus up Cragg Vale on t’th’ tops and then a walk around the dam.

It only took ab out 45 minutes to walk around the reservoir, about the same time as walking round Lafayette reservoir so I decided to walk into the little town at the foot of the valley, Ripponden. This required passing through the ‘Dam Car Park.’

There’s a new series of Last Tango in Halifax airing at the mom ent and in last week’s episode there was a scene in which sheep were being herded across the old bridge in Ripponden. Perhaps that was what reminded me of the little town and brought me to it today. Rather than follow the main road down I headed off across to the other side of the Ryburn valley and followed Blue Ball Road.

I was enjoying the lovely Spring sunshine so I decided to extend my walk to Soyland, a tiny upland village which I haven’t been to before. My reason was that one of my ancestors kept a pub there. Just as I arrived at the village a man walking his dog came into view. “Are you local?” I asked. Yes, he was and so I asked him about the pub, the White Hart. He told me that there was once a pub in the village and he remembered it. “You’ll see a big stone flag attached to the wall by the front door. That used to be the urinal!” I thanked him for this interesting snippet of information and walked on. “Oh, by the way,” he called after me. “There’s a White Hart Fold” about a mile up from Ripponden on the Rochdale road. There used to be a pub there.” Sure enough just around the bend I found what must have been an former pub with the stone slab for the urinal! But whether this wasw, or was not The White Hart that one of my ancestors used to run I have not yet been able to ascertain. “License of the White Hart, Soyland, transferred from Mr.John Bell to Mr.Henry Redman of Heptonstall. License of the Black Bull, Heptonstall, transferred from Mr.Henry Redman to Mr.George Greenwood. (Halifax Courier, 12th May 1855)” This was the same man who had been the licensee of Handle Hall Inn, Calderbrook, Littleborough which I’d visited a couple of days ago.

The road eventually became very steep as it headed into Ripponden and I made a beeline for the Bridge Pub for some much needed refreshment. It was far less busy than usual and I sat at a table well removed from others, keeping my distance.

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