Several months ago when planning my trip I’d come across a book by Jean Illingworth describing her childhood in the small village of Sowerby, a mile above Sowerby Bridge. Today we had arranged to meet and she was to give me a personal guided tour of the town. Since so many of my ancestors were married and baptized in Sowerby Bridge they probably knew Sowerby. They may have lived there.
The wash house in Jean’s old back yard was originally the village’s slaughter house. We saw the iron rings embedded in the flag floor to tether the animals, and some of the red paint on the walls was visible – to disguise the blood spatters! Sowerby
Jean, who worked in the media library at the Halifax Courier was waiting for me at St Peter’s church after my train and bus journey and immediately we were off, she as eager to share her knowledge as I was to learn about the small town. She’d brought old photos of the center of the town so I could see the destruction of the old buildings in order to make room for 1950s and 1960s ugly buildings. Where the side streets remained intact the place felt very much like Heptonstall. In fact the relative location of Heptonstall to Hebden Bridge is identical to that of Sowerby and Sowerby Bridge. St Peter’s church is the third to stand on that site and it was built by a Halifax stonemason called John Wilson and based on Holy Trinity Church in Leeds — opened in Jan 1763 – tower added in 1781. It certainly is unusual architecture for a small northern church. A brand new house totally out of character has recently been built on the main street. Jean is known by everyone in the center of the village and we were able to take a peek into stunning gardens, the village wash house, slaughter house, even a two seater toilet! Jean’s book received accolades from 2 local residents: MP Austin Mitchell (lives at Long Field, Dean Lane) and Sir Ernest Hall who was responsible for the redevelopment of Dean Clough Mills in Halifax. We went to see their homes.
“Congratulations on doing such an important job!”
Sir Ernest Hall
“Brings Sowerby to life, and I love the photos”
Austin Mitchell, MP
Jean and the house in which she was born. Her father delivered her at the fireplace
A council estate was built, shops created and many of the original building subsequently lost their views of the hills. Jean showed me where she was born, where she currently lives and her schools. Here is the rare Georgian house, Field House, that belonged to the Stansfeld family. Sir Ernest Hall bought the Field House estate in the mid 1980’s but now lives in Lanzarote.
-
- “Congratulations on doing such an important job!” Sir Ernest Hall “Brings Sowerby to life, and I love the photos” Austin Mitchell, MP
Returning to Sowerby Bridge by bus because I didn’t have the time to walk back down as I would have wished but I got a very nice ham, cranberry and brie sandwich and tea and went to sit by the canal. And then it was time for meeting #2.
Marion Barraclough had come to my attention on Ancestry.com. Her husband is a Barraclough and we were both tracing the same line of Barracloughs, so she drove over from Burnley with her daughter and grandson and we arranged to meet in the Innovation
Cafe. She’d told me that she’d be instantly recognizable because she has purple hair. It speaks realms that the first woman I approached with purple hair wasn’t Marion! She’d brought some family photos and some paper from her research that she’s been working on for around ten years. She married a Barraclough, and had a son and daughter, and then divorce him and married his brother. They had a son and a daughter too, and they’ve been married for over 20 years. One of her grandsons is just about to go to college in Guilford as a . . . music major (guitar). She also has twin granddaughters. It transpired that her mother’s family were Waddingtons (same as mine but her family came from Briarfield!). We had a lovely time, and if my Nutton and Barraclough families intersect as I think they do, Marion’s daughter and grandson would be my blood relatives, though distant.
In the evening the Proms were dedicated to David Bowie and had a wonderful anthology of new arrangements of his songs – quite magical.
We had a lot of rain on the drive back and the mist was covering the hilltops but by the time we reached Hebden Bridge the sun was shining and I got some of the best shots of the center of the town with the late afternoon light after the heavy rain. We looked in several estate agents’ windows and then we walked along the canal to Stubbin Wharf and had dinner. We’d had a 12 hour day chatting constantly after not spending time with each other for more than ten years.
So a day without plans . . . From my room I could see an imposing old hall across the valley, a little higher than my building so, around 11 a.m. 9a lazy morning writing up my blog) I headed up New Road which climbed steeply until I came to the hall. Despite the intermittent downpours there was an amazing view from this elevated position and I could just seen the window of my room peeking out between the trees. Still wanting to walk some more I walked the entirety of Palace Road where newer brick houses and a few new 
stone houses delineate the extent of the town til 1900. I spent the afternoon trying to make an imovie of my day trip to St Kilda (which, incidentally, is still the only day that I haven’t written about). Around 5 p.m. I headed out for some air and to stretch my legs which is why at 5:20 you find me sitting outside the Innovation cafe, the last customer before it closed. I firmed up my appointment with Jean Illingworth who is going to give me a personal tour of Sowerby on friday morning. She also has a friend, Maggie, a features editor who wants to meet with me. . . .
On the way back to my house I found myself going to check out the Trades Club. When I was living a’t’mill I shied away from this place. It looked a bit dodgy from the outside. Chris said she’d been banned from it, but I was eager to find something to do this evening, and one of the bands was a Beatles cover band, so I thought I’d compare them to the Sun Kings in the Bay area. So I opened the grubby door, mounted the unclean steps and was overwhelmed by a strange smell . . .oh, that’s right. This place serves Himalayan food for 4 pounds each evening. I bought a ticket from the box office and took a look at the band doing a sound check. Moon Duo, the headliner is from San Francisco!
Monday, 1:50 p.m. in the Pack Horse at Affetside waiting for my sp of fish, chips and mushy peas. OK, I had look up sp too! What a strange day. When I checked the weather forecast this morning it looked the best day of the week for a long road trip to Affetside, so off I went, totally on the spur of the moment. 3 buses each way were involved. First to Todmorden, then to Bury via Bacup (which looked extremely sad) and Rawtenstall (which looked flowery). I had a look around Bury’s famous market hall and the Mill Gate Shopping center, and then the bus to Affetside. The Pack Horse looked closed but I guess no-one enters through the front door any more because the car park is in the back, along with the wonderful dining room with floor to ceiling windows overlooking Holcombe moor. However, it was open so I used their facilities and then walked down to 3rd Bungalow from Millenium pond. There’s a new bench now at the stile dedicated to Geoff Kilburn who died last year. He was the father of my friend from the village, Kristine who I went to the 2 room school with. Geoff worked at the abattoir in Bolton and he sometimes brought offal home for my dad (on the bus, of course. I don’t think any of the villagers had cars at that time).
(It’s still puzzling me 24 hours later. I contact the current residents of 3rd Bungalow but it wasn’t them). I asked the manager but she had no information, only saying that when she took over in 2014 
there were a whole pile of photos in an upstairs room, and that at some point locals had been asked to submit memorabilia. The bar tender tried to take the frame off the wall to see if there was anything written on the back but it was so securely fastened that he couldn’t budge it. It seems a shame that there’s no name or location on the photo so that other people could make connections. Anyway, she looks exceedingly happy – and pretty – and yes, she was pregnant with me at the time of the photo. I should send them a picture I have of my dad standing on the roof of the Pack Horse that same winter.
After that very wonderful surprise I tried to take a selfie of me standing in the same position as in the Rose Queen picture (1959?). There was no-one around to ask to take my photo. 🙁 I had decided to walk down Watling Street towards the Bull’s Head since the views across the moors to Turton and Holcombe are very meaningful to me. Passing Walves reservoirs , now completely covered in yellow water lilies I kept walking, through Hawkshaw (The Wagon and Horses is closed for renovation), then on to Holcombe Brook timing it just right to get a bus back into Bury, passing through Tottington. Imagine my horror when I discovered that the only bus of the day left to get me to Todmorden ends in Bacup. I had visions of having to get back to Hebden Bridge by train. However, I did find an inquiry desk and a helpful clerk who rerouted me through Rochdale. This drive is a bit glum, passing through Heywood, a place Rachel and I had visited briefly last year to see the church where some of our ancestors were married. There are no redeeming features here, apart from the bus station which is stunning and new. From Rochdale I was able to get a bus directly to Hebden Bridge. So 7 hours of bus rides, 3 hours of pottering around my old haunts and I was too tired when I got back to plan for the following day.
I enjoyed walking around the village and felt totally comfortable there on my own. Most people I met on the way were walking their dog.
mostly families with young children but I’ve seen several people in wheelchairs too. neither category is present at Joshua Tree – or the Alabama Hills on 395 either, they’re just too remote. Dads were guiding children up onto the weathered rocks whilst moms stood by. Maybe the moms do more of the hands on child rearing in the privacy of their own homes. It was the dads too who were instructing the youngsters on how these weird and wonderful rocks came on to take their present shapes – Dancing Bears and Druid’s Writing Desks, Anvils and Camels. From this hill top you can see York Minster 34 miles away. 
There’s no sun today, just muggy clouds which means that my photos will have little contrasts. I think I’ll experiment with some black and white shots. This particular spot close to the kiosk is very busy with people holding dripping 99s, but not too far from the beaten path I found solitude and found myself thinking about Picnic at Hanging Rock.
While I was idly wandering around Judith’s work-party had been doing two hours of physical labor on repairing a footpath and she was hot and hungry. So after a quick brunch at her house and last minute packing we set out for Melbourne Road, Hebden Bridge, my new abode. We passed through Ilkley (b’owt ‘at), Keighley which I don’t remember going to before apart from the Worth Valley railway, and the outskirts of Haworth. We drove through Heptonstall but only so that i could take a photo of the Slack Bottom sign for my collection of interesting sign photos. We pressed on to Hebden Bridge where we stopped 
for refreshment in the square before trying to find my new home. I knew that there was no road access and that the house was approached by a flight of steps and i was already anxious that my two bags were too heavy for this escapade. however, pleading a fragile back I was able to commandeer the help of both Judith and my new host, Patricia, who, together hauled the bags up the 40 difficult steps and then up to my room at the top of the house. How on earth will I managed when I move out? A little voice reminds me that I am currently moving in, not out, and I should relax. My room is lovely. Not only does it have a fantastic view into the valley with lots of open sky above but it has a window . . .and it opens!
Judith was working today so after lunch I took the bus into Harrogate again (it’s 7 pounds 90p for a return – a bargain!). The previous day I’d seen that a masterclass by Sir Willard White was taking place in the Wesleyan Chapel in the center of the town so that’s where I was heading. I’d booked a ticket online anxious that it would be already sold out. As it transpired about 30 people attended, but before that I explored one of Harrogate’s main attractions – Valley Gardens, in July at the peak of its bedding plant splendour. In one bed celebrating the anniversaries of British authors the initials of Beatrix Potter, Charlotte Brontë, Roald Dahl and William Shakespeare were ‘painted’ in flowers – quite beautiful, but difficult to photograph since I didn’t have my stilts with me! It was yet another very hot day and I made a bee-line (get it?) to the tea shop and asked, with some trepidation, if they could make an iced coffee. ‘Of course,’ came the reply, ‘Do you want sugar in that?’ When it arrived it was made with half water and half milk and nowhere, I mean nowhere, was there any ice involved. I’ve had some strange iced coffees before but none that didn’t involve ice:-)
Recent Comments