Author: hmcreativelady (Page 46 of 48)

I don’t think I’ve ever been to Brighouse before, though I’m very familiar with its name being one half of the prize-winning Brighouse and Rastrick brass band. I could get a through train to the town and then it was just a 15 minute walk to Wellborn park where the walk, put on by the Calderdale council was to start from. I arrived with lunch, water bottle, sun hat, raincoat, hiking boots, but was very surprised when I realized I needed sun tan lotion too! Luckily there was a tube at the bottom of my rucksack.

There were 16 of us on the hike which was took in part of the 22 mile circular walk around the town which was devised years ago by Peter, one of today’s hikers. We were only hiking 7 1/2 miles. There were some very steep tracks, narrow passageways with nettles up to our ears. I enjoyed the company of several of the hikers, one of whom, Don, was a wealth of knowledge on old Halifax. In the 1950’s he’d gone around taking photos of ancient buildings that were about to be demolished. Straight off the bat he mentioned Gaol Lane, where George Gledhill had lived but which has been demolished. Don remembers one up, one down houses there in which a family of six would live. He knew of Bath Street, where members of my family lived and gave me some ideas of where to find out more information about the baths after which it was named. Lunch was taken sitting on the

grass. We passed the gatehouse to Titus Salt’s estate, the mill owner who brought alpaca into the woollen trade, thus causing my great great grandfather’s death. the mansion itself was demolished due to dry rot, and is now a golf course. In Salt’s  day the estate was 700 acres. Another fascinating feature were the  2 walls built of incredibly large stones which were quarried there by Marshall’s. I felt as if I was in an Inca temple. There were remnants of the rails that were used to transport the stones. You could see the drilling marks where the powder was put to detonate the explosives to separate the blocks of stone. Later I found that the pathway is supposedly haunted.

When the walk was over interestingly the people who chose to go to get a drink at the local hostelry were the women – hmmm. They chose a Methodist church which has been converted by Wetherspoons into a large pub! The organ and gallery are still intact – quite stunning, in fact.

A trip to the Co-op for food supplies ended the day relatively early for me. I have another hike planned for tomorrow.

The day began with a series of frustrations. My phone SIM card was out of data even though I had topped it up only 2 days ago. I tried to book a ticket for Black Dyke Mills band’s performance in Halifax Minster but was told that I’d have to come to the minster to purchase a ticket, even though their website said that tickets were available by phone. My pin number for my Lloyd’s bank card has still not arrived, even though 10 days ago the bank told me it would arrive in 5 days. Still, looking on the positive side, I’ve been here for 9 days  without reality kicking in 🙂

A half hour rain journey brought me to  Bradford. I remember my mother-in-law really liking Bradford and its museums. I was there to see an organ recital at the cathedral. In the railway station 4 displays stood side-by-side featuring Bradford’s best-known sons and daughters: David Hockney, the Brontës, Titus Salt and Black Dyke Mills band. I hadn’t reckoned on the piped music in the station bathroom being brass band music!

I asked two passers-by which direction was the cathedral but neither knew – interesting. I followed my nose and found it. I doesn’t have the dominating effect that most cathedrals hold in a city center. I knew there was a buffet for 3 pounds that preceded the weekly recital but I hadn’t expect it to be so extravagant.

The young organist , 27, was Richard Brasier,  a graduate of the Royal Academy of Music in London. He has a wide reputation for producing “brilliant”, “inspiring” and “top notch” performances, and is quickly establishing himself as “one of the most dynamic young organists of his generation.” And he was amazing. He played 20th century music – Vierne, Rousseau and Durufle. Martin Waters was just putting the finishing touches to his art installation: ‘Fallen’ a poppy installation commemorating the centenary of the Bradford  Pals’ Battle of the Somme using thousands of British Legion poppies. ‘As I walked through this beautiful building the words of the old memorials echo in my thoughts, solemn and sad yet heroic and commemorated, lost but still loved.’ A table was filled with What’s on brochures. One invited anyone interested to work on a tapestry that will go on display in the cathedral. I hope I can do that. Across the street was Kalasangam, a gallery of South Asian intercultural arts. A particularly liked this interactive dance display: Can you spot me?

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I called at the Tourist information center and asked what they would recommend I see during the next hour. I helpful man directed me to the fountains (directly outside the magistrates’ court) where I spent a half hour watching the frolicking. I also checked out a large shopping mall in the city center.

In the evening the special light was bringing its warmth to the canal so I took a stroll for half an hour, timing my dinner perfectly for the Ireland v Italy UEFA soccer game. Chris got very excited during the game despite claiming she never watches it.

Today I boarded the wrong train! Luckily it wasn’t a non-stop to London, and the ticket collector (yes, they still have them) discovered my error in time for me to change trains at the next station. This just happened to be Mytholmroyd, one time home of Ted Hughes, Britain’s poet laureate and husband of Sylvia Plath. With the 40 minutes I had to wait for the next train I explored the little place that was heavily affected by the floods last Christmas. Sand bags still line the street – and ironically  the shop behind them is called White Sands travel agency. I also passed the clog factory, still in operation. I have my great aunt’s clogs displayed on my wall at home. (Click on images for captions)

Arriving in Halifax I made a bee-line for Marks and Sparks to find a take-out lunch so that I could sit in the ‘Woolshops’ and people watch, drinking my elderflower juice. Then to the library to try to find old maps with streets that my relatives lived on – Gaol, Haigh Streets. There were some great books of old maps and old paintings of Halifax at the height of the industrial revolution. The tourist information center provided me with an A-Z of street names with maps (free). I mentioned that I’d like to see All souls Church, Haley Hill but I understood that it closed down many years ago. They told me it opened on Christmas Day, and maybe Easter Sunday, but they thought that maybe Jackie has a key. Hmmm. Oh, yes. Here’s Jackie’s phone number. I gave her a call, explaining my quest. ‘Where are you now?’ she

All Saints church, Haley Hill

asked. ‘In the library,’ I told her. ‘Ok,’ came the response, ‘I’ll meet you outside in 2 minutes.’ And two minutes later I found myself in a car with Jackie and her husband. He dropped us off outside the church, a five minutes drive, she took out her key, and there we were, inside this amazing church with the tallest spire in Halifax. It was built with money given by Edward Ackroyd, a mill owner, who also built cottages and a hospital for his

Vandalism

workers. The church was very ornate, and even had a grotesque in Ackroyd’s likeness. It closed in 1979 and is now owned by the Churches Conservation trust who own All Souls in Bolton.  Jackie took me to the cemetery but it is VERY large and overgrown. It’s the resting place of James Hainsworth Leeming, who married my great great grandmother, Elizabeth Ann,  after her husband, Ishmael Nutton had died from alpaca poisoning. He had been a lodger with them before Ishmael’s death and was 12 years her junior. Then she showed me Ackroyd’s house, now the Bankfield museum (closed on Mondays) and was even happy to go with me in search of Ackroyd Court, the high rise apartment where my grandma’s sister Lily lived. I remember visiting her there when I was a little girl and seem to have some recollection of the church spire outside her window.

Back in Hebden Bridge I saw a flier at the station announcing a vigil in the Square for the murdered MP Jo Cox. Back a’th’ mill I mentioned it to Chris and she went too. A very moving tribute. The local chippy provided supper and I was fortunate because they were taking last orders as I arrived – at 6:30!!

Vigil for Jo Cox

I watched England draw 0-0 with Slovakia. That’s pretty much the first time I have done something not connected with my ‘study abroad’ since I got here. The down time was very much appreciated – though a winning goal may have made it a little sweeter.

It was after midnight by the time I’d finished writing my journal and organizing the day’s photos, so I was surprised that I woke up at 6:30a.m. I was even more surprised that I actually considered getting up and seeing what the light was like on the canal. Unfortunately there’s no window in my room so I have to get up to check on the weather each day.

Right out of Brassed Off – literally

I’d decided last night to go to a church service in Sowerby Bridge today so by 9:30 I was crossing the park to the station. I found the ‘proper’ way to the center of town from the station. There’s a little tiny footpath that climbs up to the church from the station and I could hear the simulated church bells ‘call the faithful to their prayer.’ Just as I was crossing the road outside Christ Church I bumped into two people I had met on Tuesday and I sat with them. In her introductory remarks the pastor, Angela Dick welcomed me by name, saying that I was visiting from America.  It was lovely to hear the organ that I’d played last year being played well and I found that some of the hymns that I recognized from from my high school made me tear up – with nostalgia, I guess. There were about 40 people in the congregation. At the meet and greet one lady asked if I knew Santa Clara. She’s been there 5 times to visit her sister. At the after service tea I was pounced upon, ‘Are you the person tracing your ancestry? What names do you have in your family?’ We both have Barracloughs, but that’s a VERY common name here. She promised to bring her research to the Tuesday coffee morning in case I attend.

I had to run all the way back to the station. Trains are only one per hour on Sundays. As I crossed the park I heard brass band music and came across a band obviously rehearsing, for today is the big band competition – it felt just like a scene from Brassed Off. A quick , very quick lunch at a’ th’ mill and just time to take in a couple of other bands as they marched to the Square and played their set pieces. Each band comprised people of all ages.

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I left my mill and almost bumped into a trumpet  holding, ice-cream eating gentleman who’d obviously just played in the competition. ‘You look as if you’ve just come from Brassed Off!’ I quipped. ‘I was in the movie!’ he responded.  But unfortunately I had no time for a conversation.

Elland Junior Band

Running, again, back to the station I was just in time to register for the guided walk in the

footsteps of Lavena Saltonstall, visiting the homes of Hebden Bridge suffragettes, the clothing factories where they worked. Ending in George Square where Emmeline

3 hour guided walk in the pouring rain

Pankhurst addressed vast crowds in 1907.  Jill Liddington from Calderdale Heritage Walks who had a background in women’s history of the area and has written several books was our leader. She wasn’t very charismatic, but she had lots of information. About halfway through the 3 hour walk the rain came down in earnest, and yes, my new birthday present is truly waterproof. The trails were steep, slippery on the mossy cobblestones but most people took it in their stride. We ended with tea at the White Lion – so civilized and a chance for everyone to chat and ask questions of Jill.

Author and researcher Jill Liddington was our guide. Heptonstall church just visible on the hilltop

As I left I called in at the Shoulder of Mutton to ask about the quiz night advertised for tonight and experienced my first disappointment of the trip – quiz night had been cancelled since the floods.

Sitting in the Old Gate, exactly in the same place I’d sat one week ago on my first evening in England I though I’d try to assess how it feels to have been here for a week. Perhaps, as Brian suggests, I’m living on pure adrenalin. It’s hard fall asleep at night  because I’m thinking about what the next day will bring. Most evenings I put on an episode of Desert

A wet urban hike – hey, he looks like Chris!

Island Discs and fall asleep to that famous Radio show which, by the way, is still going. What’s happening to me? One thing’s for sure: I can’t keep up this pace. Take today for example. Out at 9:20, back 1:00-1:30, out again til 5:00 then back out again at 7:00 for dinner. And that’s the way it’s been every day. Last night was the first night I have stayed in for the evening, and I ended up still being awake after midnight sorting the day’s photos, writing my blog, making imovies of my photos and researching train times for today’s trip to Sowerby Bridge church service. Timing coincidences abound and fortuotous meetings with random people are just crazy. The people I’ve hiked with have more to say than mere chit-chat. Is this just the Yorkshire spirit or does it apply all over England, or is this a specific quality of Up North?

Met up with Moy who was leading a group hike exploring the areas of woodland and moorland above Todmorden (birthplace of Keith Emerson, of Emerson, Lake and Palmer). Only one other person showed up, but he, like Moy, was a wealth of information about the history of the landscape that opened up before us. The hike led steeply upwards where we were rewarded with the views that are one of the main things I miss about England. We passed many isolated farms that had once processed wool directly from the herd to woven cloth. We followed some of the pack horse trails on which  the finished cloth would would have been taken to the markets, or cloth halls as they are called here. I learned lots about the conservation and control of  the woodland, especially  important with the problems of flooding in the narrow, highly populated valleys. We came to Dobroyd Castle. It’s now an outward bound school for kids from all over England. We passed a group from Wolverhampton. Moy’s daughter had been there last week but Moy herself had never been inside. We knocked on the door and were told that because they are responsible for children they couldn’t let us in. I put on my best American accent and said that I’d come all the way from California and would just looooove to see inside an English castle. The door opened and we were able to step inside and look at the amazing stone carvings. Of course this ‘castle’ is a folly, being being by a Victorian wealthy mill owner, John Fielden (1822-1893) but the opulence of the decoration was amazing. The owner’s story is interesting because he married a common mill girl. But that’s another story . . .  .

Well, it’s September now so it’s probably time to tell the John Fielden story.He developed Waterside  cotton Mill in Todmorden which was possibly the largets factory in the country at the time. His family home, Dawson Weir was firmly fixed amid the mill workers’ cottages. He was a Unitarian.  He raised 7 children  within the working community. Ruth was born in 1827 and married Fielden in 1857. He built the castle for Ruth and they moved in in 1869. He arranged for a  treat for the 300 men who had built it at the Lake Hotel – Hollingworth Lake. They had a special train accompanied by brass band. The castle has 66 rooms, 17 stables and cost 71 thousand pounds to build.  In 1873 Fielden was involved in a horse riding accident  and remained crippled for the rest of his life. Ruth became an alcoholic. She died aged 50 and was buried in an unmarked grave. He married Ellen Mullinson eight months later. It was very much a society wedding. He died at the castle in 1893 at the age of 71. In 1995 a group of monks moved into the castle and remained there until 2007.

See todmordenandwalsden/quakers on rootsweb.

I asked if it is again possible to walk from Todmorden back to Hebden  along the tow path. Gary suggested we find out. Together we had lunch in a great little coffee house where I got my first cheese toastie of the trip and then we set off back to Hebden. It should have been around 4 miles but several times the towpath was closed because of the reconstruction of the canal so we had to keep detouring onto the road for a stretch. However, there was lots to see and Gary was a lively conversationalist. He’d been a printer, got made redundant in his early 50’s,found work as a janitor in a college, saw stuff on the blackboards he thought might be interesting, got a Bachelor’s degree, and a masters and then a PhD from Ruskin college Oxford!

Back a’ th’ mill  at 5  I had dinner and then went to the Hebden’s Little Theater production of Children’s Hour, precisely one minute’s walk from my mill. The subject was a lesbian relationship between 2 teachers in a girls’ boarding school – Hebden Bridge is known as the lesbian capital of England.