Strategies for dealing with the collapse of the world as I know it:
Go for a hike
Take pretty pictures
Find some connection with my ancestry
Do some research
Write a blog
Today’s hike took me to Old Town, along Heights Road, passing through Midgley and then dropping down to Luddenden Foot. 5 miles
View across the Calder Valley to Stoodley Pike
I decided not to take the footpath through their field!
This building in the hilltop village of Midgeley used to be a pub called the Sportsman Inn
As a Tetley house it had the same sign the the Pack Horse pub in Affetside did when I was a little girl
1927
Arthur Moss, one time owner of the Sportsman was related to me.
Arthur was born in Garden Square, Hebden Bridge, an area in the centre of town that no longer exists. He was one of 8 children born to Joseph Moss, a fustian cutter and in time Arthur entered the same business. The family lived for a time at Buttress Bottom, a collection of ramshackled dwellings. Milltown Memories describes it thus:
Most problematical of all was Buttress Brink, where occupants had to walk through a gloomy ground floor tunnel still lit by gas lamps, climb steep steps set into an almost vertical hillside, then cross bridges spanning the gaps between hillside and property. Needless to say the homes within boasted no modern amenities such as bathrooms and toilets; the kitchens, small and cramped, had only a single cold water tap over a stone sink.
By the time Arthur was 8 the family had moved just across the street to Royd Terrace. Arthur lived there until he married Mary Ann Sutcliffe at St John’s Halifax in 1893. 1895 sees Arthur and his new family, two children, in Mytholmroyd. 1904-1908 they were at 1 Bottom Laithe, Mytholmroyd
Taken about the time Buttress Brink on the left was demolished. (1967) Royd terrace is on the right of the steep lane named the Buttress.
Relationship to me!!!
Arthur Moss 1869-1927 1st cousin 1x removed of husband of 3rd cousin 2x removed
My Saturday plans had fallen through due to “social distancing” and so a friend had suggested a walk around Hollingworth Lake. However, the weather was a bit iffy – heavy clouds and intermittent rain, so we drove around the countryside, exploring no end of country lanes that petered out into footpaths or were barred, literally, by sturdy gates: a perfect Saturday afternoon in the countryside.
One minute overcast and gloomy
Out circuitous driving took us over the Pennines from Yorkshire into Lancashire. We spent some time in the Littleborough area where she had lived for a while, exploring the tiny hamlet of Whittaker with its lovely Heather Mount cottage.
Next minute a beautiful clear light
I was surprised by the steepness of the single track lanes rising out of the valley, and several times we had to back a considerable distance in order to pass oncoming traffic. Another area new to me was Ealees. As we were driving around the Calderbrook area I suddenly recognised an ancient building on the roadside. It was built directly onto the road and was a long building adjoining a barn. It was named Handle Hall Inn, Calderbrook, although it’s now a private dwelling. Last year, as I was doing some ancestry research, I’d found an old photo of this place when it was still an inn, thanks to the Rochdale History Society Facebook page, and driving past it I’d recognised the building. We stopped so I could take a couple of photos but when I got home it took me a couple hours to find my family’s connection to the place. But what else was I to do on a Saturday night now that Match of the Day’s been cancelled for the foreseeable future.
Handle Hall Inn – now a private residence and up for sale
We stopped to have lunch at Rebecca’s, a little cafe in the centre of Littleborough. I’ve walked along the canal through the town several times, and have stopped for a drink in The Wheatsheaf once while waiting for a train but I’ve never explored the little town, population 7500. It owes its origins to being at the junction of two ancient road over the Pennines, one being a Roman Road – Blackstone Edge. I have a very early memory of a drive out with my mum and dad along Blackstone Edge on a very foggy day. When they told me it was an old Roman Road I was quite scared because I expected to see a Roman centurion appearing out of the mist from the hillside. By the end of the Middle Ages Littleborough consisted of a church, a cluster of cottages and the primary occupation was hand loom weaving and sheep farming. Merchants passed through the town on their way to markets in Halifax and Rochdale. It’s interesting that the Wrigley part of my family, my gt gt gt gt grandfather, James Wrigley, moved from Rochdale to Heptonstall between 1809 and 1811. During the industrial revolution cotton became the major industry and mills, houses for the workers and mansions for the mill owners appeared both in the town and in the surrounding hills and hamlets. In 1804 the Rochdale Canal over the Pennines was finished, necessitating a tunnel over ‘Summit.’ The first time I walked the tow path of the canal over the summit, April 2018, I thought I was going to have to walk through a tunnel! Hollingworth Lake was built to provide a steady water supply for the canal. It was one of my mum’s favourite trips out after she moved to Tottington and she took my family there on one of our visits to England. In 1841 the Manchester and Leeds railway followed a similar route to the canal, and also necessitated a long summit tunnel. There is a ruined mill on the canal bank which always attracts my attention when I walk the tow path, and a beautiful old hall, still lived in is close by.
HENRY REDMAN
Henry was baptised at Heptonstall church on Christmas day, 1836. His parents were William and Mary. Along with Henry, who was born on Aug 12, 1806, his two siblings were also baptised, Richard, who had been born on April 16, 1809 and Elizabeth, who had been born on April 27, 1816. It wasn’t particularly unusual for several siblings to be baptised on the same day, but what is unusual was for them to be so old: Henry was 30 years old.
Queen Ann Inn was once the Handle Hall Inn
If I hadn’t seen a facsimile of the actual church record on Ancestry.com I wouldn’t have believed it! In fact it would seem that henry was already married before he was baptised since his children were Elizabeth (1834-1897-, John (1838-1881) and Sarah Ann (1841-1881). William was born 1843 and Hamlet in 1847.
In the 1841 census the family are living at Back Lane Heptonstall where Henry is a reed maker. A reed, in weaving terms, is rather like a comb and is used to push the weft yarn into place once the shuttle has pulled it through the warp threads on the loom. This would tie in nicely with Heptonstall being a village of handloom weavers at this time. Also living with them is Richard Redman, aged 25, a tin plate worker, someone who made or repaired tinware.
The 1851 census has the family living at, yes, Lily Hall, where Henry is still a reed maker, and now also a farmer of 7 acres. but by 1851 the Wrigleys, the Farrars and the Whithams, all ancestors of mine are no longer living at Lily Hall. In a newspaper of 1855 I found: 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).
Black Bull Heptonstall
This seems to imply that Henry gave up the Black Bull at Heptonstall and took over the White Hart in Soyland. On July 22, 1854 Henry’s daughter, Elizabeth had married George Greenwood, a painter from Heptonstall so it would appear that Henry signed the Black Bull over to his son-in-law, and he moved to Soyland. Both pubs are now private residences. The White Hart closed in the 1990s. The Black Bull closed in the 1920s though it was used as a working men’s club until 1972.
We stopped at the visitors’ centre in Littleborough and I found this book listing the licensees and Henry Redman, spelled Redmond, is there!
The next time I find Henry is as the landlord of the Handle Hall inn in Calderbrook, Littleborough, the building I recognised on my drive yesterday. Apart from Elizabeth, who is now running the Black Bull, his wife and all his children remain with him. In the listed building register it is described thus: The rebuilding of a house of 1610, with the barn added in the 1840s, they are in stone with a stone-slate roof. The house has quoins and eaves, cornice, two storeys and three bays. There are two doorways with ogee-headed lintels and hood moulds and the windows are mullioned, those in the ground floor with hood moulds. Above a door is an inscribed and dated plaque. The barn to the right has a round-arch wagon entrance and round windows. I’d contacted a Facebook page about Rochdale pubs past and present in December of last year and I’d had 18 responses, one of which gave me a link to a study that Rochdale Local Studies group had done on the pub complete with photos, a map and general information. Someone even responded that their gt gt gt grandparents had kept the pub. Henry lists his occupation as farmer and innkeeper but by 1871 he is a retired farmer living at #4, Wilderness. this presented me with an interesting problem: Where is ‘Wilderness’? Again Facebook to the rescue: Wilderness was an area of Summit Littleborough around the Royal Oak (later The Huntsman Inn) on Todmorden Rd. Henry Redman was the licensee of The Queen Anne Inn between 1858 and 1861. OK the dates aren’t quite accurate but now I know where Wilderness is.
Surely this must have been a former pub sign
Another responder also goes on to say: Just had a look on Google Earth to see if any of the terraces at Summit have Wilderness on them but no luck. So it would appear that there are some terraces near the Summit which Henry and Ann lived in but 1881 find them in Maden’s Square, right in the centre of Littleborough. No doubt life at the summit was difficult for a couple now in their mid 70’s. Henry died in 1884 and was buried at Heptonstall church on March 10th.
I couple of weeks ago during a rehearsal of my chamber music group we happened to sight read through an arrangement of Ketelbey’s ‘In a Persian Market.’ This brought back memories of my childhood when my dad used to give me music for birthday and Christmas presents. The pieces were usually ones that he had grown up with, and one of them was ‘In a Persian Market.’ I’m pretty sure I still have the sheet music he gave me. When it was first published, in 1920, in a version for piano, it was advertised as an “educational novelty”. It had an orange and back cover and at one point there are words: A chorus of beggars sings: “Baksheesh! baksheesh Allah;” passers-by sing “Empshi” (“get away”). One of our group commented on how such words are now politically incorrect and ‘you certainly couldn’t sing that now where I live.’ On further conversation I ascertained that he lives in Keighley, a town close to Haworth, which I can get to easily by bus, over t’ tops, one of my favourite bus rides in fact. ‘Is there anything in particular i should see in the town?’ I asked. ‘Well, there’s Cliffe Castle about 15 minutes walk from the bus station.’
So here I am, on a beautiful sunny day, scatterings of snow clinging to the bases of the walls on the moors for their very existence. Dropping down into Keighley I decided to explore the town if I had time on my way back but for now I walked up the hill for 15 minutes, past a large park, and saw from the neat castellated wall that I must be close to the castle. I’d checked the opening hours, and the fact that it had a cafe and housed a museum, but apart from that I didn’t know anything about the place. I headed for the cafe, housed in a large conservatory, and settled down to look around me.
Morning coffee in the conservatory
From this vantage point on the hill the grounds of the ‘castle’ were laid out with lake and fountains, winding pathways, and on the other hillside across the valley were the barren moors. At one time a series of conservatories connected this building to the main house but some have been removed. A winged dragon tops a roof of the main house while a tall turret looms over the rest of the house in a most imposing manner.
I explored the conservatories, one having a really wonderful collection of cacti and succulents, beautifully arranged, and, as aa feature I always remark upon, there are boards and comments set up to delight children – another example of the way in which British children are ‘educated’ for free. For yes, entrance to this entire complex is free!
In this case children (and adults!) are asked to find 6 hedgehogs that are hiding amongst the cacti. One of the glass houses now hosts a small collection of birds and rodents.
The main house
Then on to the main house. I was met by a helpful docent and given a map and off I went to explore. He suggested I start in a room containing a timeline. It also acted as the lunch room for visiting school parties, one of which had deposited their backpacks there as they went on tour.
Cliffe Hall was built by Christopher Netherwood between 1828 and 1833, and designed by George Webster of Kendal a gothic revivalist. The Butterfields, a textile manufacturing family, bought Cliffe Hall in 1848. Henry Isaac Butterfield transformed the building by adding towers, a ballroom and conservatories from 1875 to 1880, and renamed it Cliffe Castle in 1878. He decorated the building with the griffin motif, which he had adopted as a heraldic crest. Cliffe Castle was originally the home of Victorian millionaire and textile manufacturer, Henry Isaac Butterfield. Completed in the 1880s the building was funded by the Butterfield family’s industrial empire which included wool textile mills and a shipping business that took British goods to Europe, America and China.
The music room
The completed house was a showpiece of international art and French decoration. It was the scene of many glittering social events. Butterfield family connections included the Roosevelt’s of America and members of the court of Napoleon III. By 1887, the Cliffe Castle Estate had around 300 acres. The son of Henry Isaac Butterfield (1819–1910) was Sir Frederick William Louis Butterfield (1858–1943). In 1916, Sir Frederick became Major of Keighley and held that title until 1918 when he hosted a visit to the town by King George V and Queen Mary on 29 May of that year.
In the 1950s the Castle was bought by Sir Bracewell Smith, a local man who became Lord Mayor of London. Sir Bracewell used architect Sir Albert Richardson to turn Cliffe Castle’s gardens into a grand public park and remodelled the Castle to be a free museum for the people of the district.
The 4 living rooms contained a wealth of sumptuous statues, fabrics, furniture and painting, way beyond what I had anticipated. One room was designed as a music room with a Bluthner grand piano. When I left the house the helpful docent asked if I’d be interested in coming to a music performance there. I offered to give a performance and gave him my card!
A model of the original church in Haworth – the one the Bronte family would have known
Part of the house is a museum. In recent years Cliffe Castle has undergone a major restoration. Visitors can see sparkling Victorian rooms and furniture, paintings, and decorative art. Special galleries deal with natural history, archaeology and social history, all of which can be seen on your visit along with the internationally important display of stained glass by Morris and Co.
The Airedale Gallery explores the fascinating geology of the district from the birth of Earth through to the formation of the underlying rocks that define the district and on to the shaping of the landscape during the last Ice Age. The gallery explores the Carboniferous Coal Measures and Millstone Grit that are famous for fuelling the Industrial Revolution that led to the birth of industrial towns & cities like Keighley, Bradford & Leeds. Throughout the gallery the visitor can view a myriad of ancient fossils from the familiar ammonites and ichthyosaurs of the Jurassic to the internationally important holotype of the early tetrapod Pholiderpeton scutigerum.
A new art piece of ‘stained glass’ made from photographs
Another section explores the geology of rocks and minerals where visitors can learn how to identify different minerals and rocks or just enjoy the colourful beauty of what has been described by the former head of the Geology Museum as ‘…probably the best, as regards the range and quality of its minerals and its design, outside the major national museums’. There’s a natural history section too!
I couldn’t decide which one to do!
After a couple of hours I was overloaded with information and headed back to the cafe, had lunch and then explored the grounds which were just coming into their major Spring displays with crocuses and daffodils on the banks. Getting back into the town I did a bit of wandering, finding a street of Victorian buildings glistening a warm gold in the late afternoon sunshine. The street reminded me of Harrogate – not two town normally uttered in the same breath. I also saw an imposing building with Keighley Cycling Club etched in stone, and a large building, home to Keighley library, the first public library in England. Amazing!
Rather an imposing building for a Cycling Club!
Then last night on Radio 4 I suddenly heard ‘Keighley’ and it turned out to be a documentary about this man: Asa Briggs, Baron Briggs was an English historian. He was a leading specialist on the Victorian era, and the foremost historian of broadcasting in Britain. Briggs achieved international recognition during his long and prolific career for examining various aspects of modern British history. Apparently he was one of the leaders who tried to preserve the Victorian buildings of Keighley during the 1960s when towns were stripped of their beautiful old buildings in an attempt to ‘modernise.’
Last weekend I stayed in – the whole weekend. Having been prevented from returning to my apartment because of storm Ciara I was going to take no chances with storm Dennis. As it turned out Dennis was a bit of a damp squib in the Calder Valley. Being confined to barracks doesn’t suit me well so I planned a number of activities for the following weekend.
Friday night saw me setting off into Leeds to see Opera North’s version of Britten’s Turn of the Screw. I’d searched for recommendation for good food close to the Grand Theatre and came up with Zaap – Thai Street food. It’s ages since I’ve had a good Thai meal so I was looking forward to this. So of course the first question was ‘What shall I wear?’ In the U.S. I loved top dress up for the opera. As a music critic I was able to go to the opera a lot and I always made it feel special by wearing something fun. Many times Sarah would be my Plus One and we had a great evening together.
With Rachel at Opera San Jose, California
It’s a rather different kettle of fish when I have to walk through the park to the station, wait for a train, then walk to the venue – and then everything in retrograde, usually catching the last train home. By mid afternoon flooding was again threatening Hebden Bridge so this time I set off with minimal overnight supplies, those ‘bare necessities’ in case I got stranded in Leeds. I could see some flooding on the main road – cars ploughing through huge puddles. I really did contemplate wearing my wellies – yes, to the opera! And by the time I was halfway across the park up to my ankles on the flooded footpath I was wishing I had worn them. As I booked my ticket I asked the clerk if he could guarantee that there’d be a train back late in the evening. He ‘believed so.’
Zaap
Zaap turned out to be a very popular venue. In fact there were 15 people waiting outside to get in at the door. It was packed. I gave myself til 6:20 to get a seat and then go elsewhere, but the line moved quickly and by 6:15 I had a table, right by the window, and so I had a perfect view of people being sprayed by passing cars or having their umbrellas blown inside out. The food arrived quickly and was delicious – and didn’t cost and arm and a leg. The Thai theme was all around me. Posters, writing, lanterns – and some people were eating in converted tuk-tuks. I really enjoyed myself.
Then off to find the theatre which was literally just around the corner, but I still nearly got blown over just getting there. I had an excellent seat. The orchestra were sitting below but in front of the stage which gave me a good view. The lighting and set design were excellent and the voice of the boy that played Miles was ethereal. But the lack of super-titles prevented me following the subtleties of the plot, and at the intermission I heard many people say the same thing. Even when an opera is sung in English it’s very difficult to decipher the words.
Leeds Grand theatre
At the end of the evening I took a cab back to the station and with less than one minute to spare jumped on the train and was back in my apartment exactly an hour after the show finished.
Saturday.
Another train to Leeds – this time early (well, early for me) on Saturday morning to a Meetup group event at the lovely Tiled Cafe in Leeds Art Gallery. This was a conversation meetup for introverts, where someone generated random conversation questions on an App. Seven people showed up and we spent two hours discussing about a dozen questions. Quite a novel way to spend a Saturday morning.
Leeds art gallery and Town Hall
I’d passed The Light on my way to the gallery and decided to explore it on my way back to the station. I couldn’t tell from the outside if it was an office block or a shopping mall. It turned out to be a multi-use venue constructed of glass joining two older buildings. It houses restaurants, coffee bars, a great bagel place (a rarity in England ) and some medical offices! I grabbed a bagel and ate my lunch on the train going back to Hebden.
Inside The Light
By 5 o’clock I was back on a train, this time going to Halifax where I was to meet a friend and go to the theatre. We had dinner in Salterhebble first and then drove over to Dean Clough mill, once the largest carpet factory in the world but which now houses restaurants, a theatre, art galleries, apartments and offices. It’s huge – almost like a town to itself. Although it’s fairly central in Halifax we were thrown into confusion by the road to it being closed to traffic. The Diversion sign said ‘Use Shroggs Road.’ That’s all very well if you know where Shroggs Road is! We didn’t but Google maps came to our rescue and we made it to the theatre with three minutes to spare.
The Viaduct Theatre is in the cellar of one of the factory buildings, with exposed stone walls, from which, even in the summer time, water slowly oozes. Blankets are provided for the audience. The play was Quality Street by J. M Barrie and I was fascinated to see this play that I’d never heard of being performed in Halifax, the home of Quality street toffees. A couple of years ago I’d taken a walking tour with David Glover to see the modest home of Mr and Mrs Mackintosh who invented the business. My great aunt, who had worked at Dean Clough factory always brought a tin of Quality Street toffees with her when we met at Christmas but I didn”t know that they were made in Halifax – and still are, right across from the station. Each character was dressed in an outfit the colour of one of the toffee flavours. There were some great hand puppets standing in for children and it was very funny.
Sunday
Someone in my chamber music group was chatting about things to do in Keighley and I mentioned that I wanted to see a cross stitch exhibition in Towneley Hall in Burnley. I’d figured out that it would be fairly easy to get to by public transport but then someone else joined the conversation suggested we go together by car. I’d been keeping my fingers crossed that bad weather wouldn’t prevent us from going and Sunday morning dawned sunny with blue sky, something I haven’t seen in weeks. But minutes later it was raining cats and dogs – and that was the order of the day.
Townleley Hall
First snowdrops
We set off at 12.30 and it only took 35 minutes , driving through Portsmouth, to the park in which the hall is situated. I’d vague memories of coming here with my mother-in-law and our children when we were on a holiday in England years ago. The hall dates from the 17th century and it is famous for its textile collection. The special exhibition I wanted to see was about cross stitch. I’ve been working on several cross stitch panels myself recently so I thought I might glean some new ideas from the show.
The cross stitch panels were highly creative and some of the descriptions were somewhat disparaging about the more traditional designs of pretty landscapes and animals. I’ve done my fair share of those, the last one being kits that I’d purchased in Oban in 2018. But soon after I’d finished those I happened to see some cross stitch fabric for sale by the metre in Huddersfield market.
I had the idea that I could paint my own design on the fabric and then stitch it. I tried this method but the paint bled too randomly, so then I drew my own design on graph paper and then made that. I’ve completed about 20 panels this way but I’m not yet sure how/if to combine them.
Croos stitch!
Beside the living rooms of the hall, the formals dining room, kitchens, grand living room there were all sorts of random items that had been collected by enterprising Victorian explorers and donated to the hall – including taxidermy animals, my favourite being a cat, curled up and asleep, and an Egpytian mummy case. The wealthy owners of the hall often sponsored archaeological digs and were given items that had been discovered.
War memorial at Towneley Hall
After a pause for tea and scones, in the quintessential tea room, I took a brisk walk around the parkland with its views towards Pendle Hill. When I got home I found the holiday journal report of my family’s previous visit to the hall – in 1996.
Burnley’s oldest tree – 400 years
Pendel Hill
The highlight of the evening was Episode one of the new series of Last Tango in Halifax. I was rather disappointed to see that the character played by Sarah Lancashire is no longer the headmistress of the same school as in the last series, because the school scenes were all filmed in my all high school – Bolton School.
Morning view
Monday
Woke up to snow for the first time this year. By the looks of it there was a snow covering of several inches but it was now raining hard so I though the snow would have gone by the time I left at 10 ‘clock. But that was not to be and I found my way trudging through a very slippery mixture of snow and water. Even in the centre of Bradford there were great chunks of snow in the streets that had fallen from the roofs of buildings and bus shelters.
I was heading for a Heritage Tour of St George’s Hall, and if I had not already booked and paid I probably wouldn’t have ventured out. As it was 8 people showed up for the 90 minute tour and it was definitely well worth braving the weather. our guide was excellent and she brought the history fo this, the first civic building to be built in Bradford to life. Conceived in 1849 by Samuel Smith who wanted to help provide a better life for the worsted textile workers who spend their Saturday evenings getting drunk in the town he raise 16,000 pounds to build a place of entertainment. The classes were still segregated, each class of person having their own entrances and staircases. The well dressed families arrives it coaches on the elaborate one way system and sat, of course, in the ‘dress’ circle. The lower classes weren’t even provided with a bathroom. Over the next 150 or so years the building saw many changes, including a 10 million pound restoration recently. The Halle orchestra was one of the early groups that performed, and still does. It stood derelict for many years, major stagnant sewage problems beneath the building, but then it was turned into a cinema with a couple of man going out into the streets of Bradford to record everyday life with the hopes that the people in those early movies would come to watch themselves on the big screen. Subsequently it became a major venue for rock bands on tour. A couple of people on our tour had seen Queen there, a docent had met David Bowie after his performance and another man had watched Keith Emerson run up to the organ at the back of the stage and play the Bach Toccata and Fugue. Sadly the organ hasn’t been working since 2009 and would cost an astronomical amount to return to playing condition. It was fun to see the signed posters of many famous people who have performed there – including Charles Dickens who read from A Christmas Carol – with no mic. Sir Charles Halle said that the hall had the best acoustics in the whole of Europe.
David Hockney sold programs at St George’s Hall for three years and would sit and draw the artists
On stage – where I saw Sandi Toksvig last month
I had lunch in cafe with its wonderful crazy roof before heading to Waterstones bookshop in ‘Little Germany.’ I needed to get back for my creative writing class. By the time I got back to Hebden Bridge all the snow had disappeared but the two possible venues for our class were both flooded so it had to be cancelled.
Another rainy day. Today heavy clouds cover the hilltops. I decide to take the bus to Todmorden. I need to return my library book and find another page turner and Hebden Bridge library is still closed from last week’s floods. I also need some more knitting wool. As I brave the waist high splashes of cars whizzing through the puddles at the bus stop I rethink my plan. I have less students today since it’s half term. Let’s play ‘see what comes.’ Some buses to Todmorden go on to Rochdale, others go to Burnley. Some just finish in Tod. I’ll go wherever the bus takes me!. The bus arrives – I’m on my way to Rochdale, over the Pennines and in to Lancashire. it’s the first time I’ve travelled along the main road since the floods and I get a perfect view of the devastation along the River Calder, where debris in the trees on the river banks show the height the river reached – at least 6 feet above the river in many places. The cricket pitch is just a muddy quagmire and so many riverside allotments are still sub merged. Houses display vast arrays of sandbags and furniture outside the front doors wait to be collected by the bin men.
The bus follows the canal to the Summit and I can see the tow path where I crossed the Pennines walking a couple of weeks ago. We drop down into Littleborough and then through the outskirts of Rochdale. It’s fascinating to know that one branch of my family moved from Rochdale to Hebden Bridge in the mid 1800s. I had no plan of what to do in Rochdale. The market closed down last year.
But as I arrived at the bus station I saw the tower of the Town Hall and recalled going to the lovely cafe there once when I was in England for a summer and thought I’d head in that direction. The severe wind made it impossible to use my umbrella but I soon arrived at the magnificent building and entered into the peace and tranquility of the clock tower cafe with its table cloths and chandeliers.
Only a couple of tables were in use when I arrived but by the time I left it was pretty full, most people having made reservations. One area of the cafe has lovely comfy sofas so after my coffee and toasted tea cake I made myself at home and worked on my current embroidery project, a cross stitch panel of some street art I saw in Paris, for half an hour.
This coming weekend I’m looking forward to going to an exhibition of cross stitching at Towneley Hall near Burnley. I browsed the leaflets on the tables and found a booklet entitled Dippy on Tour. Ah, yes. I recalled that the Natural History Museum’s world famous diplodocus dinosaur is visiting Rochdale, his only stop in North West England. Well, this is half term week so I knew that the exhibit would be full of kiddies but, what the heck, it was only 8 minutes walk away. So off I went. I found my way easily by following the hoards of children with parents in tow. Yes, the place, Number One, Riverside, was packed but I got such a great feeling to see so many families braving the weather to show their children some natural history. Dippy was truly enormous. There can’t be many spaces where he can be displayed because of his size! Around him there were dinosaur books, dinosaur colouring pages, dinosaur jigsaws. Next week a leading Lego artist will be constructing a giant lego dinosaur and the Halle orchestra are coming to play their most monsterish music. And what’s more, the whole exhibit is free!
I headed back to the bus station, paying my respects to Gracie Fields, a Rochdale native who had associations with the same church as my Rochdale family. I was fortunate to get a seat on the bus – standing room only. I got off at Todmorden, popped into the library, went to the wool shop and arrived back home in time to watch another episode of Tony Robinson’s Coast to Coast series. I hiked that in 1980 something! I must dig out those photos.
My last morning in Paris. I wasn’t sure if I was going to see Anna. I’d asked her to come over and help me cart my case down the steep stairs of the apartment block but then it had dawned on me that she’d probably had a very late night last night. On the other hand we hadn’t said our goodbyes at the station yesterday. I checked my messages. She’d sent me a video of her scooting through the streets around 1 a.m. so I was surprised and delighted to get a text saying that she was up and would come over to my apartment and go to the station with me. I’d decided to travel back home via train. I’d always wanted to take the train through the Chunnel, something that Anna had done before. She warned me that I’d have to go through a security line at the Gare du Nord so to allow for plenty of time. The train ticket that I’d booked online didn’t mention this fact! My train was at 11:43 and by 10:15 Anna was with me as we made our way to the station. We said our goodbyes. She was to spend the rest of the day with Cez. The security line was quick and efficient and I found a comfy seat and took out my embroidery. This prompted a conversation with a lady around my age waiting for the same Eurostar train. Though French she’d lived in England, Islington, for 30 ears before moving back to France two years ago. Her story was so similar to mine! She now lives close to the Bois de Boulogne.
At first I thought the train was goin g to be crowded. I had reserved a seat and I was packed in at a four seater table but as the train got underway I saw that there were many open seats and so I secured a window seat for myself for the 2 1/2 hour ride to London, St Pancras. It was a dull day with heavy low clouds as we passed through the pretty dull flat countryside on our way to the coast and Calais. The journey actually through the tunnel is only about half an hour and I listened to music for the first time on my trip: a selection of music by French composers associated with my trio: Satie, Ravel, Debussy, and the French-by-residence Chopin. I’m planning to play the c# minor Nocturne next Saturday in Manchester, my first time returning to the Meetup group in 18 months.
We arrived on time at St Pancras. What a lovely railway station . Comfy chairs, clean, spacious, lots of cafes. I ordered some soup and then headed out to try and find the Hop on/hop off bus. I’d thought it would be fun to see the sites of London before heading north. It’s so long since I was in London – maybe the early 1980’s. It took me a while to find the correct bus stop and when I inquired of the driver his route it turned out that he was The Green Line, which was simply a branch of the Red Line, connecting the Red Line to st Pancras and King’s Cross. I didn’t have the time to do what I’d planned yet without it I’d have to spend a lot of time waiting at King’s Cross. I inquired at the station ticket office if I could jump on an earlier train to Leeds with my precooked ticket – but no.
But there was no alternative but to sit and wait 2 hours. I found a comfy spot, admired the architecture, drank tea and wrote my journal. When it came time to board this time the train was packed and I shared my table with a dad and his two kiddies from Wakefield. It was his daughter’s birthday and they’d gone on a birthday trip to London. As we pulled out of King’s Cross I could see the train clock. We pulled out at the correct time – to the second! When we stopped briefly win Wakefield the guard announced that we had to wait for a platform because we’d arrived a little early. “Don’t tell anyone,” he added.
In Leeds I transferred for the 40 minute ride to Hebden Bridge. As I waited on a small waiting room on the departure platform several people were fighting a loosing battle to stop rain water pouring into the waiting from from the platform.
The train was packed and in order to be sure of a seat I sat in the corridor on the pull-down seat. Once in residence I called for a taxi to meet me at the station since it was pouring down, and I was back in my apartment at 8 p.m. after a very interesting 10 hour journey and a truly wonderful, magical week with Anna.
Anna spent the following day by herself in Paris – visiting a cat cafe – before flying back to California and starting her new job.
I still have the bracelet my dad brought me back from his trip to Paris in the early 1960s
I met Anna and Cez for breakfast. They looked like twins in their similar bobble hats – a comment they told me they often receive. It was so funny because Anna and I were both wearing raincoats featuring umbrellas. They walked with me to Gare du Nord. They were planning on spending the day in Montmatre. I, however, was bound for my first full day adventure out of Paris, to visit the house of Maurice Ravel. As usual I was apprehensive about negotiating the vast expanse of the Gare du Nord, finding the right Metro line, and then transferring to a regular train. However, as usual, once the journey was underway I was fine. The train journey took an hour, rather than the 35 minutes that I had seen scheduled, but I appeared to have taken a stopping train rather than an express. Flat farmland was the order of the day and it reminded me of ‘down South.’ The village is 44 kilometers SW of Paris. I arrived at Gare de Montfort L’Amaury Mere at precisely 2:15 judging by my photo of the station.
The museum had told me that there were no buses to Ravel’s house from the station at the weekends (!) So I should take a taxi for the 3 kilometer walk. When I exited the station however, I found myself in the middle of nowhere. A few buildings were gathered around the station but no open shops. There was no-one working at the station and although there was a painted sign on the road with the word Taxi on it, there was no such conveyance occupying that spot and no phone number posted close by. I consulted my google map and set off walking but soon gave up at a heavily trafficked roundabout. My tour of the house was scheduled for 2:30. What to do? I decided to search for taxi on my Google Maps Explore feature and found a phone number listed that was only a couple of miles away. I managed to make myself understood, and 7 minutes later a taxi miraculously arrived and whisked me to Maurice Ravel’s house – with 2 minutes to spare. I asked the driver if he could pick me up later but he explained that he’d be off duty by that time but he wrote down on a piece of paper the number of his friend that I could call when I needed a taxi back. Hmm . . .
This entire building was Ravel’s house. Very narrow – and quirky
The door of the house was closed. There were no lights on inside and it felt a bit weird to ring the doorbell but I had no alternative. It was immediately answered by a lady who thankfully spoke excellent English. “Come in, come in. Are you Heather?” Whew. I’d made it.
There were only 5 people on the tour. There’s a maximum of 6 since the museum is really Ravel’s home as it was when he lived there, rather than a museum. We were issued with protective bootees because we would be walking through the rooms and halls on his carpets, not limited to peering into each room through the doorway as is so often the case, such as at the Bronte parsonage in Haworth. The two other couples were French speaking so I couldn’t chat to them but I did get the undivided attention of my guide when she gave me the English version of all that I was seeing. The rooms were tiny, mostly with dark vivid colored wall paint. Stenciling had been done by Ravel’s own hand. His Japanese room were full of Japanese prints and dainty tea cups. His music room has the desk on which he penned Bolero, the Piano Concerto, L’Enfant et Les Sortileges and his Erard piano was next to it. The guide told me that if I was interested in playing it I could apply to the town council and I could schedule a time! That’s a must for my next visit, having played John Ruskins’s and Elizabeth Gaskell’s pianos recently.
The tiny rooms were covered in little gadgets. One was an ash tray that turned into a sculpture of a snail when turned upside down. There were models of birds that opened their mouths, wind up musical toys and lots of games. His father had been an engineer and Maurice had a life long fascination with toys that moved.
I was surprised to see Schubert and Haydn above his writing desk
I had glimpsed a sign that said ‘no photography’ but I had my phone in hand and I wasn’t prevented from taking a few pictures. I’m always fascinated by the views from windows that creative people have and I took several photos of the views from the windows. The house is on a road that is just above a small village to one side and to the other it lies below a steep hill on which are the ruins of an ancient castle. Ravel had constructed a Japanese garden on the side overlooking the village with the church tower rising above.
His bed was very elaborate and he was very proud of his bathroom with its deep bath. A hot water tank was an unusual item in a house in the early 1900s, as was a shower. Perfume bottles lined the shelves. He lived here alone, never married, though he made proposal of marriage to a close friend. She said she was waiting for a second asking which never came, and so he never married. He commented that he was too shy. On a trip to the U.S he met George Gershwin who asked him for a lesson but Ravel refused, saying he couldn’t teach him anything new. Ravel listened to a lot of jazz and many of his compositions show the influence of that genre.
Wooden houses in the village
The tour lasted an hour and a quarter and when I left I went to explore the little village, population about half that of Hebden Bridge, with its famous church. The church was open and I had a look round but the only shop I could find open was a bakery where I bought a croissant. I was hungry but every other shop/cafe/bar/restaurant/bistro was closed. Saturday is half day closing! I couldn’t even get a drink. I explored the deserted streets of this little village which seems to be stuck in a time warp and then set about finding a taxi back to the station. Victor Hugo stayed at a friend’s house in the village several times and wrote the “Ode aux ruines” as a memory of the town. I called the number my earlier taxi driver had given me but I couldn’t make myself understood. I talked, someone replied and then I got ‘hold’ music. At least, that’s what I thought it was. But after holding for a while nothing else happened. I tried the number again, got the same ‘live’ person and then again it went to music. Hmmm. I had no idea if a taxi was on its way or not! I waited half an hour unsure how to proceed. And then I saw lights on in a shop. It was getting dark by this time. It turned out to be a shop selling bottles of wine. I explained my dilemma and the server took control immediately and called the number. A taxi would be there to pick me up and take me to the station in half an hour. “Was he on his way from my previous call?” I asked.”No!” I decided to spend the half hour walking up to the castle built in 996 on the hill of Montfort. The town was the seat of the Montfort family from the 11C with Guillaume de Hainaut. His son Amaury Ist (1028-1053), had the ramparts built which you can still see. The lordship of Montfort-l’Amaury was created in favor of the sons of Simon IV (1165-1218). During the war of 100 years the castle was destroyed by the English! Only the donjon tower, built in the 12th century remains. A group of adults, some of the women wearing high heels, were watching their various offspring attempting to climb the ruined walls. It all looked very dangerous, especially since the steep pathways were very slippery. It reminded me of exploring the castle belonging to the Parr family (as in Henry Vlll’s wife Catherine) above Kendal last October.
Remains of the castle
I headed back down to the town square and within a few minutes my taxi arrived. I’d checked the train times and at this time of day the trains were every hour. I really didn’t want to get stuck at the station for an hour. It really was in the middle of nowhere. I got in the taxi. “Vite!” I said pleadingly, “Vite!” I realized that I didn’t have any change less than an 50 Euro note and when we had ‘vited’ it to the station I saw that the charge on the meter was 12 Euros and 80 cents. I think the driver picked up on my urgency and he threw 40 Euros back at me and urged me to ‘Allez.’ I ran under the underpass onto the far platform and in about 30 seconds the train arrived. Another Whew moment. The double decker train was just the ticket. I changed metro stations at Montparnasse, another huge station. I don’t know how people with heavy bags, or people with mobility problems manage. There are so many stairways to deal with.
Montparnasse Metro
I chose to get off at Gare l’Eau and when I came up from the underground I thought I’d landed in Africa. Dozens of street vendors, mainly selling brightly coloured sneakers, were displaying their wares directly on the sidewalks and the place was teaming with perspective customers. It had been raining on and off for most of the day but now it was raining in earnest. I wondered how Anna and Cez were getting on exploring the city in the rain. Aparently they were now going out to explore the Ober Kampf district. After half and hour back in my room and having a much anticipated cup of tea I headed out to find dinner on Blvd Saint-Denis. The rain was coming down by the bucketful just as I left my apartment and I was tempted to go to the first eatery I could find in order not to get drenched, but finding that the first two places were fast food places I gave up on that idea and found a lovely restaurant , Chez Louis where I could sit outside yet again, devour Pasta Carbonera and a pint of 1664 while watching the world go by on this, my last evening in Paris.
Enjoying the ambiance of Chez Louis
A photo of a man with an umbrella crossing the street taken from my table became my first watercolor painting that I worked on on my return from Paris. It turned out to be very apt since a week to the day since leaving Paris my town was flooded and I had to spent a night in a hotel since the water at the door of my apartment building was waist deep.
First order of the day was to take my bags over to my Airbnb and check out my new digs. It was only a 6 minute walk over there. My apartment was on the third floor and the well-worn wooden staircase inside the block reminded me of the place I stayed in Sicily. It was quite creepy, but the apartment was fine and gave me a good view of the igoings on in the apartments on the other side of the narrow street.
Anna put on a pile of laundry and we head out to the Bois de Boulogne. From the Metro station the park appeared to me basically an avenue of trees with pleasant footpaths. We were fortunate with the weather and though a bit wet underfoot we had bright sunshine. Eventually we came to an area of activities including a little railway.
My immediate idea was to take the train through the park so that we would know what there was to see.
I hadn’t done my homework! But we discovered that the train doesn’t go through the park, it just connects the activity centre in the park to the Metro station. We had lunch at a lovely cafe full of photos of inventors and a lot of their inventions were on display in glass cabinets. It was delightful. Outside a floral clock was full of purple winter pansies.
We headed over to an enormous glass and steel building. It reminded me of the Lowry centre in Salford and the museum of Rock and Pop in Seattle. The other place it reminded me of was the amazing concert hall in Los Angeles that I’d been to at a MTAC conference and with a bit of digging around we found out that it was the same architect, Frank Gehry.
The art museum opened in October 2014. More than 1million 400,000 people visited the Louis Vuitton Foundation in 2017. We didn’t go in because we wanted to see the other attractions in the park but it’s definitely on my ‘must see’ list next time I go to Paris. It’s designed like an enormous ship with billowing sails.
Moving on we found ourselves in a farm with sheep and goats, old looking farm buildings, including an apple press. All rather incongruous with the ritzy apartments lining the edges of the park. There was a bird house, too, with some spectacularly colored birds including a scarlet ibis. A nice feature of the birdhouse was the back wall which looked like the apartment buildings lining the park but were, in fact, cut tree trunks.
We left the park aboard the train. It was great fun doing this with Anna: something that we had done with our children when they were just little kiddie winkers. Next stop for us was the Pompidou Centre. I had it in my memory that just outside the centre was the glass pyramid but no, that’s outside the Louvre. The fountain with the treble clef that I photographed with icicles in 1984 is no longer there.
It looks as if the square in front of the centre is under construction. At the top of the Pompidou centre the walkways are covered in perspex making photography difficult. Although we’d timed our arrival to coincide with sunset the sky was too cloudy. We did peak into the very upmarket restaurant on the top floor and surreptitiously took a few quick photos of the table with their single roses, not encased in perspex. All very romantic.By the time it went dark we found ourselves outside the Hotel de Ville, Paris’s city hall, and we had a lovely dinner outside, again, right opposite the ornate floodlit building close to the Seine. Then it was time for me to return to my Airbnb and Anna went to meet Cez, arriving from Liverpool at the Gare du Nord.
There was no TV in my new place so I spent the evening watching various documentaries about Paris on my phone! One done by Griff Rhys Jones was full of interesting facts that I’ve incorporated to this blog. Here are just a few:
Hitler thought Paris was too beautiful to bomb
There are 40,000 public monuments
70% of bread is made by hand compared to 3% in England
On average there’s a bread shop every 100 metres
Lack of bread was a major cause of the French Revolution
The street and gutters are cleaned by swilling them out each morning at the touch of a switch
There’s a graffiti eradication squad for racial and sexist messages
Paris is the richest city in Europe
The indoor shopping passages which we’d admired were built to allow rich people to shop during the rain
Most office workers are given luncheon vouchers to make sure they eat properly
Paris has the highest proportion of singles in Europe.
Anna’s friend Cez was arriving tomorrow evening so I had booked myself an Airbnb close to the hotel. Its owner Gaeille came and brought me the keys to the place at 10 and as we followed her out it was already raining. We were to take the Metro to visit the Bastille Market.
Bastille market
Anemones
Which hat?
The cleanliness of the Metro stations is beyond belief. The white tiled walls are glossy and look as if they were built yesterday. We speculated as to whether they hose down each station during the night. The floor of the stations show no dust, dirt, spills, gum or anything else. The most rubbish I saw on a station platform was one ring pull from a can – in a whole week of using the Metro. The route indicators within the trains light up so so know exactly where you are in your journey. I was greatly amused that I read the station ‘Edgar Quinet’ as ‘Elgar Quintet.’ (!).
The outdoor market was vast but on this rainy morning customers were pretty scarce. Within minutes my feet were soaking wet, which was strange, since my shoes didn’t let in the water on our rainy walk last night. Anyway this prompted me to buy two pairs of socks for Euros each. It wasn’t until later that I realized one was Angora and one was Cashmere, both retaining their original price labels of 20 Euros. We chatted to a stall holder selling a new line in umbrellas, which can turn inside out. They come with lovely scarves to match. Other scarves featured hand embroidery using toro technique that I a recently learned in my textile class at home. During out morning coffee stop I donned my new socks and my feet dried out perfectly.
In the Catacombs
The afternoon was spent at the Catacombs which necessitated changing Metro trains at Chatelet which turned out to be an enormous station more like an airport. And SO many people. Directly across the street from where we exited the metro was a regular building which was the entrance to this vast underground system of tunnels filled with skeletons. You would never have suspected it. “Stop. This is death’s empire.’ Thus begins the path that leads through the remains of several million Parisians. The first bones were thrown here haphazardly into an abandoned quarry shaft.
The first bones came from the largest cemetery in the city at the time located in Les Halles district. The cemetery was closed in 1780 amidst concerns for public safety and little.by little the remains of people from various city cemeteries were deposited in the old quarries. There are signs in the passageways indicating which cemeteries the bones came from. Around 1810 the inspector general of the quarries decided to develop the area and the long bones and skulls were arranged decoratively to form a back wall behind which the other bones are piled.
These bone walls are called agues and there are corridors of them. Pillars of rock, left by the quarry men to support the ceilings are hidden by skulls and tibias. One of these in particular had became quite famous as the ‘tibia rotunda.’ One of these supporting pillars is surrounded by bones in the form of a barrel shape. On 2 April 1897 a night concert was organized there between midnight and 2 a.m.
Tibia rotunda
The information was circulated in the newspaper and the concert drew over 100 people to hear Chopin’s Funeral March and Danse Macabre by Saint-Saens among other piece. There are hate remains of about 6 million people in these corridors and the bones of Charles Peroult who created Little Red Riding Hood and Cinderella are somewhere in this labyrinth. We visited the souvenir shop with its macabre trinkets before heading up onto street level. Anna bought a book about cats. She asked the lady at the checkout if this book was here because of the word ‘cat’acombs? No, it turns out it’s because Paris was known at one time to have a lot of cats, especially in the Montmartre district – hence Le Chat Noir, supposedly the first modern cabaret but now simply a hotel. Famous patrons included Debussy, Satie, Toulouse Lautrec and Verlaine.
Lunch was next and we stopped in a cafe where the service was very slow, even for European standards. A party of student aged people to our right were from Michigan and the couple to our left were from Redwood City. The group from Michigan complained to the waitress about the slow service – typical Americans!
We were bound for the canal district with its wrought iron bridges. There was a playground that was teaming with children and their carers. This was truly a multicultural district of Paris. The area reminded me of Amsterdam with bikes leaning on bridges.
The canal district
Later, at dinner in an outdoor bistro I discovered a new beer Eidelweiss, which I enjoyed with my pizza while Anna tucked into a 1664 with her pasta. We walked down to the Seine after dark and watched the flashing lights of the Eiffel Tower.
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