Category: Travel / Out and About (Page 15 of 18)

10:15 p.m. in the hotel on Stornoway

I feel as if too much has happened in the last 2 days to write it down: it feels too daunting a task. When I left Hebden Bridge I’d got into a routine of spending a couple of hours each day, mostly in the evenings, sorting through photos and writing my blog but for the past few days it’s been after 10 pm before I’ve found a spare quiet minute to collect my thoughts.

Friday

Left the hotel at 7:45 where I watched everyone else tuck into plates laden with eggs, bacon, sausage, black puddings – really? Apparently McLeod and McLeod of Stornaway are famous for their black puddings. I thought my Bury was the place for back puddings? I learned that Stornaway puddings have less fat in them. In fact on the morning that we left the island the bus driver and a couple on our trip bought some to take home.

It was pouring with rain and blowing a gale as we set out to Tarbert where a narrow inlet forms the boundary between Lewis and Harris. I was grateful for the calm weather of yesterday. I learned later that in the whole month of may the boats had only been able to reach St Kilda on 5 occasions.

We drove along the Golden Road, a one track road with passing places, that derived its name from the high cost of its construction. The 12 miles takes over an hour to drive as it turns and winds past ponds and lochs, over rivers, all remnants of the flooding at the end of the last Ice Age.

Our first stop was at a church of St Clement at the extreme southern tip of Harris – Rodel. It was built in the sixteenth century by Alexander McLeod (any relation to the black puddings?) and it contains 3 wonderful tombs of knights, carved from black gneiss. Unlike the more usual white marble effigies these had a peculiar character to them, quite spooky.

One of my friends saw my photo of one of the knights and thought it was a mummy. I can see why. As an aside – It would have useful if the driver would have pointed out where the bathrooms were before we went to explore the church. I’d asked and he pointed vaguely behind the hill.

I thought he was indicating an al fresco affair and said I’d wait to the next stop – which he said was in 15 minutes time. Coming out of the church I saw the rest of the group heading en masse behind the hill. There was a real bathroom – with a visitors’ book! It’s little details like this that I think the driver should be aware of.

When we arrived in Tarbert the rain was even worse and everyone piled into one cafe that was already overflowing. I wanted some fresh air and to stretch my legs and see the town so despite the rain I took off, stopping first at the visitors’ center and then went window shopping in the small stores, mostly craft stores with lots of Harris tweed for sale. I’d never connected Harris tweed with the island of Harris before – duh! I got a tea to take

back on the bus and this caused quite a stir. It dawned on me that not one had I seen anyone eat or drink anything – not even a toffee – on the bus. In fact, no-one had even mentioned their trip to St Kilda. Bizarre. I wondered whether this was because the rest of the group are so well travelled ‘When I was in Rio last year . .  .” and “On my round the world air ticket for my 60th birthday” and  “Last time I was in St Petersburg.” Also several of the group had been to the Outer Hebrides before and it they wanted to come again it wasn’t too far.While, for me, coming from California this was a trip of a life-time.

 

Our next stop was the Blackhouse village at Gearrannan where our driver had arranged for lunch  for us and a talk about the site. We were immediately shown to the cafe which was itself in a blackhouse. These were one roomed stone buildings with walls up to 6 ft thick,

thatched, in which a family and the animals would share the space. Over the centuries windows were added in the roof – that was easier than trying to make an opening in the thick walls, and a chimney was added to direct the smoke away from the earlier central fire – which resulted in  the name ‘black house.’ The talk was given in a black house that had been furnished as it would have been around 1930. It recognized several items from my own home – a stone hot water bottle, a bedspread and pottery. The captain’s mother had been born in a renovate black house in 1947 and we passed several restored black houses that are lived in on our tour.

Over lunch – sandwiches (ah, yes, I remember these:  a transparent slice of ham and a lettuce leaf) – the conversation went from Sainsbury’s supermarkets  now acquiring their fish direct from Grimsby, to the problems of the bus driver keeping to his schedule of a 15 hour day. Still bizarre to me.

The village was on the edge of a cliff and I went to explore, scaring some rather large sheep. It was raining cats and dogs and I was glad I’d remembered to put leggings on under my trousers so that there was the possibility of retaining one layer of dry clothing. One of the 6 remaining houses is a hostel and others are for rent.

The next stop for the day was at Cardoway Broch. The function of a Scottish broch is still very much the cause for dispute amongst archaeologists. At one time they were thought to be fortifications erected during the Roman invasion but perhaps they were the ‘manor house’ of a clan.

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This is one of the best preserved. It has a double wall, the inner one being vertical and the outer one sloping inwards so that the space between the two walls becoming increasingly narrower as you go up. People lived in here, made Harris tweed, tended their animals.

Soon we were at the final stop for the day – the Standing Stones.

We were back at the hotel by 5:30 – time for a relaxing bath before dinner. I’d just settled in, listening to my favorite bath-time music: opera arias – when the hotel phone rang. Err. Forget it. Dinner  in the hotel restaurant was planned for 7. I got there on the dot and no-one from our group was there but every table was full, for this was the big night in town. the Red Hot Chili Peppers were playing in the marquee at the Hebcelt festival, and live music was happening in the hotel restaurant from 11p.m til 1 a.m. I inquired at the front desk and told that my party was to eat at 7:30. Ah, that explains the phone call, I thought. So I headed downtown to take photos of the festival goers. The sun was out – amazing! I went all the way up to the marquee and saw the pitch city (the very wet tent village) and then I heard bagpipes. I got back to the square and sure enough here were the dozen pipers with a fair sized crowd of onlookers – part of the festival. The wind was blowing strongly, of course, which produced some unexpected photos! I ran most of the way back to the

hotel to be on time for dinner and then headed back into town for a few more sunset-type photos, though it was still bright daylight at 10:30.

 

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No wonder the brochure says of a day in St Kilda ‘not for the faint hearted.’ The day began with breakfast at 5:30then a hour coach drive except the coach driver had misplaced his keys so we had to bring out 2 emergency taxis. Then a 4 four hour boat ride on a 12 seater boat. Then a transfer into the island in a 6 person inflatable. 4 hours to explore the island. Facilities included 1 bathroom, period. No food or drink. And then the same journey in reverse except for an additional hour detour to see the birds nesting and orcas. Dinner back at hotel at 9:45. Not enough space here for the amount of exclamation marks needed. It was WONDERFUL😊

I’m not sure when I last had breakfast with a group of people at 5:30 a.m. Cereal and tea was all I could manage at that ungodly hour. At the hotel check in desk we picked up our packed lunch. I had forgotten that a ham sandwich meant one transparent slice of ham and one lettuce leaf! It came with a drink, too. A can of Pepsi. I asked to exchange it for water and was given a glass bottle of water. And I had to pay 8 pounds for this lunch in addition to the tour price – really? But as I was realizing all this our driver Ali was going around in a total panic. It turned out that he had lost the minibus keys! Out boat to St Kilda would leave whether we were on it or not, so the desk clerk was frantically trying to get us two taxis to take our group to the  harbour. Eventually, after calling several taxis we got two and piled into them.

It was close to an hour’s drive to Loch Roag on the West coast of Lewis to meet our 42 foot motor cruiser MV Lochlann. The harbour facilities consisted of a hut, a cockle shack and a bathroom. We were kitted out with waterproof jackets and pants, and then boarded the boat. I was surprised how small it was. We were joined by a younger couple for the day’s excursion. As we pulled out of the harbour I sat outside facing the rear of the boat and immediately the boat began to go up and down – a lot. I thought that was perhaps just until we picked up speed – but no, it was like that for four hours. the majority of the time we rose and plunged so fast that we were in free fall. Despite there being a bathroom on board it was impossible to get to unless we asked for the boat to stop – such was the plunging and tossing that it was totally impossible to stand up, let alone walk. We couldn’t even change seats without requesting the arm of our captain’s mate. Within an hour of this i was feeling decidedly sick and just managed to request a sick bag in time. We had been directed not to be sick in the bathroom because that would put it out of use for other passengers. Tea was served as we boarded the boat and the crew were fantastic. They are so used to people throwing up that I didn’t feel like a burden at all. Eventually they suggested I go into the cabin and I put my feet up and a blanket was thrown over me . .  and I completely slept through the first sighing of the island! Darn it!

I woke up as we were coming to a halt at Village Bay, and we somewhat precariously transferred to a dinghy, then up the steps and I was there. So why had I come here? Many, many years ago my mom had brought home a book called The Life and Death of St Kilda.  How she came across the book or why we had it in the house I don’t know, but I’d been fascinated by the story of this island which had been voluntarily evacuated in 1930. I’m rereading the book now. I’m sure I never read the whole book before, but now every word and every photo in it means something to me. I’ve stood in the very footsteps of the inhabitants, and seen the 100ft sheer cliffs, the highest on the British isles, and the colonies of seabirds on the sea stacs.

We were greeted by a park ranger who told us a little of what we could do and see in or four hours but after 5 minutes we were on our own. I think I’d thought there would be trails to follow and our tour group might stick together but it was obvious that was not going to be the case. I made a bee-line for the street whose only occupants are now the sheep. Each renovated newly  roofed house was built in the 1860’s and currently houses archaeologists, volunteers and park rangers. Between each of these is the ruins of black houses where people and animals would share the same living accommodation. The post office is now the museum and shop where you can buy a postcard and stamp and have it stamped with the St Kilda’s postmark. Of course I did that and sent a postcard to myself – and it arrived home before I did. Because I had’t booked the trip until close to the time it left I’d done very little research about what there was to do once I was there but the ranger had said that in four hours it was possible to hike up to The Gap. So off I went – gourmet picnic in hand, or rather rucksack. This cannot have been me! There was no real path. i just followed the line of cleits up the mountainside. I quite from Tom Steele’s book: ‘cleits are unique to St. Kilda. They were constructed entirely out of stone and turf, usually about8- 12 ft in diameter and 4-5 ft high. Those built inside the wall surrounding the village were used mainly to store the carcasses of seabirds and were round in shape. Beyond the wall cleits were used to store practically everything that had to be kept dry like ropes, feathers and even clothing. High on the hill slopes they were used almost exclusively to dry and store lumps of turf for the fires of Village Bay.’ I read somewhere that on the island nothing grew taller than a cabbage, so it was pretty ironic that when the islanders were relocated they were given jobs in the Scottish Highlands as lumberjacks! I was so fortunate in the weather. Apparently during the whole month of May boats were only able to land on the Hirta on 5 occasions. Today it was sunny and clear, with a strong wind as I go higher and higher. I followed the line of cleit sup a very steep hillside. There was no-one else in sight. Here I was, in one of the remotest places in Britain, in fact, the remotest, and it felt so good to be exploring alone. I passed many cleits topped with live sheep but I was never fast enough to take a photo. After the first steep climb the hillside flattened for a while and then an even steeper climb was in store – something I couldn’t tell from the village. I kept looking back at the village as I was getting an increasingly bird’s eye view of the layout and the rocks surrounding the bay, and then suddenly there was a 1000ft drop in front of me. No warning. No fence. No sign. But just one further step would have meant certain death. Of course I wanted to see the cliffs and I crawled on all fours as close as I could get to get a video of the nesting birds on the cliff face but I couldn’t get close enough to see the sea directly below me. Stac Lee, like some dragon’s tooth, lay in front of me, and Stac an Armin, and the bigger Boreray as sea birds in great quantities soared and swooped above them.

To my left there was another climb to Conachair but I reckoned I probably wouldn’t have time to climb that too, so I backed away from the cliff and settled myself for my picnic with a view of Village Bay, and sheltered from the driving wind by a cleit. I brought out my hedgehog too at this time. I’d purchased it at Gibson Mill in Hardcastle Crags. Because of something that Anna did a few years ago my mom’s symbol has become the hedgehog (in the nicest possible sense) and so i took out my little stuffed hedgehog so that my mom could experience the view of St Kilda that she’d introduced to me so many years ago.

Back down at the village I visited he school house and the church. I’d seen several photos of both when they were in use and it was wonderful to stand in the very spot in which those photos were taken.  The brand of religion was very, very strict and this contributed to a high degree of life to be so untenable on the island after probably two thousand years of habitation. I was determined to find the cemetery. I came across one of our tour group who gave me the wrong direction which had me climbing back up the hillside, and then another wrong direction from someone else. By the time I found the oval wall which surrounds the few graves I was running out of time and I had to hurry back quickly to be on time for the boat. I wondered how many people get lost, or miss the boat!

Back on the boat at 4:15 (via the dinghy again) we went around the east of Hirta and I got a fantastic view from the sea of The Gap. Then we got close to the sea stacks and our crew suggested we went out on deck to get the best glimpse of the seabirds. Now I’m by no means a birder, but something very strange happened. As we got very close in between the stacs I became completely overtaken by some strange emotion and found myself wanting to cry. It was just so amazing. I can’t ever recall feeling that way before. The stacs were one mass of nesting birds. Now I dont know a fulmar from a puffin but whatever they were these birds were the life source of the St Kildan, providing food, oil, feathers to pay their rent to the owner of the island, MacLeod of Dunvegan Castle on the isle of Skye. As we idled the boat began to lurch violently. We could see 4 other boats and the captains ere in walkie talkie contact describing where the orcas were. People got very excited, and I certainly didn’t want to say that I can sometime walk out of my house and see orcas passing along Santa Cruz bay. We did see a few flipper flying. This detour added an hour to our 4 hour trip back to Loch Roag (during which I was sick again) and then we had an hour’s minibus journey (Ali had located his missing keys) . Supper at the hotel was at 9:25. I managed about 3 spoonfuls of soup.  (The end of an amazing day which I didn’t manage to write up in my journal until Aug 20th, 2016).

6:25 p.m. I’m sitting in the Royal Oak, Pateley Bridge and I’ve just devoured what was probably my favorite meal of the trip so far – black pudding and bacon salad in sweet chilli, washed down by a pint of London bitter. I’m still trying to decide if I want rice pudding with jam and shortbread for dessert. Rice pudding with shortbread??? After my first day ‘in’ (well, I did walk down to the Post Office for a warm cornish pastie and vanilla slice for lunch) I’ve come for 2 hours to Pateley Bridge where Judith has a committee meeting from 6-8. I started the day by beating myself up for not zooming around Harrogate for the day but i reasoned with myself like this: I’ve been on the road for 33 days ( a lifetime record, I believe) and I’ve been out doing stuff most of the day for each of those 33 days. Tomorrow I leave on a 5 day trip which is billed by the Brightwater Travel as ‘to the ends of the earth,’ and ‘not for the faint-hearted.’ If I was at home and just about to leave on any 5 day trip I would be psyching myself up, planning and  packing so that’s what I decided to do. I even got out my embroidery for the first time on the trip.

I wandered along the River Nidd exploring the quaint town which I’d visited with Judith last year to see a band play in the park’s bandstand in the pouring rain. I asked a local who was walking his dog where was the best pub in town to eat regular pub grub with locals and he directed me to The Royal Oak. So that’s where I am. even this early on a Monday nigh i got the only unreserved table. Apart from the fact that there as many dogs as people, not to mention several babies in high chairs it’s quite lovely. Even the guys propping up the bar moved over as I tried to see which bitters were on tap.

Above my table the TV is showing a relaxed Andy Murray after his Wimbledon win yesterday, and then, of course, Emmerdale. I just can’t seem to get away from it. I spent the time waiting for my food by reading the Birstwith Horticultural Show programme. The ctegories are absolutely hilarious: ‘A stem of rhubarb-longest one wins.’ ‘Welly wanging.’ ‘Prettiest bitch’ – and right next to it ‘Best tricks.’ ‘A pot plant: flowering or foliage.’Reminiscences of my mum’s winning entries for ‘3 duck eggs, any color’ and ‘Victoria sponge’ come flooding back. I still have her prize winning certificates.

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We began the day by hacking a path through the overgrown path. Well, Judith did the hacking.  It wasn’t quite the Wasatch Mountains of Eastern Nevada, but Judith went armed with a big stick and gardening shears to clear a way through the shoulder  high brambles and nettles. We walked along the River Nidd, over stiles, past bunnies, through a field full of very inquisitive cattle and past beautiful farmhouses. Over the ancient packhorse bridge where the monks of Fountains Abbey would have walked we spotted a farmer bailing hay.

After lunch, a great cheese and tomato toastie, we sat back and watched the Wimbledon men’s finals. Judith even brought out strawberries and cream halfway through the match.  She was down at Wimbledon earlier in the week with her god-daughter but unfortunately rain stopped much of the play during their visit. Andy Murray was the winner, in 3 sets.

It had been a mixed bag of weather  in Birstwith during the game – very heavy rain one minute and bright sunshine the next, so I suggested we take a Sunday afternoon drive to watch the clouds. We were out for an hour and saw lots of very big puddles on the hill roads – and a rainbow. The landscape reminded me of the Cotswolds – very pretty, but maybe not much going on. I got some lovely sky photos though.

After tea I watched the UEFA cup final which went to extra time, Portugal beating France 1-0. Ronaldo was injured in the first 15 minutes and had to leave the game, heart broken. It was a devastating defeat though, for the home team.

1. For the past month I’ve traveled everywhere by train or bus
2. I’d forgotten what it feels like to put on a pair of newly washed jeans, stiff with spending thee days drying on a radiator
3. I haven’t seen an Asda
4. Weather forecast in a nutshell –  It’ll probably rain
5. Walks marked as flat should be marked major steep gradients. Hands and knees will be required
6. I haven’t seen a motorway

1:30. I’ve just finished my cheese and tomato toastie and am tucking into a rice krispie treat and my second cup of Yorkshire tea at the Seventy Two cafe in Todmorden having just completed a three hour guided hike with super guide from Calderdale council  Moy and fellow hiker Tony. This time we hiked up the other side of the valley to Whirlaw Stones. We could see the packhorse trail that we’d taken exactly three weeks ago. The weather forecast today for Halifax was for no rain, but even as I peeked through the window at 8:30 this morning the cobbles on the towpath were distinctly wet and the clouds, many of them big and black, were moving at a fast pace.

I set off at 9 a.m. and two bus rides later I was at the Todmorden sports center where we all met and then it was up, up, up, 1000ft. We only passed one isolated farm just below the summit which appeared to be  a long way from any paved road. Tony was somewhat of an expert on the prehistory of the hilltops and though Moy hadn’t planned to climb the final pinnacle of Whirlaw Stones Tony was keen to do so. As we reached the top the rain came down in earnest, blown to a 45 degree angle by  a howling gale and we headed cross country to shelter for a few minutes under the stoney outcrop. It’s possible that this was once part of a stone quarry. When buildings began to be constructed of stone rather than the less durable wood the stone was quarried locally. Whirlaw Stones is very similar to Bridestones and Moy told is the story of the marriages that took place there.

“Holy of holies – a hill-top chapel

Actually a crown of outcrop rock-

Earth’s heart-stuff laid bare.

Crowding congregation of skies.

Tense congregation of hills.

You do nothing casual here.”

from Bridestones by Ted Hughes

Moy described the impact the windmills are having on the bird population.

After the downpour we took the old causeway along the hill just below the ridge. Imagine laying these stones! They’ve been smoothed and worn away by the countless wagons that were pulled along by horses over 100s of years. The very steep down section, as always for me, was much harder than the upward climb.

I was sad to take my leave of Moy. It’s surprising how you can make bonds with people with people on hikes when you’re summoning up all your available physical strength through an amazing assortment of weather and difficult underfoot terrain. To cheer

myself up I headed straight for the 72 cafe, repeating the après hike that I’d done 3 weeks ago with Gary. This time I chatted with the owner who told me about the complete refit that has been necessary after the floods. It only reopened in March. His little 3 year old, Sofie, brought the milk and serviette to my table. They are just about to go on holiday to Brisbane. He told me how much he’d enjoyed a trip to San Diego, but had found  San Francisco to be cold – the weather, that is!

 

It was only a hop, skip and a jump back to Todmorden market, the scene of last week’s wonderful morning in the deluge. I was looking for an artist’s stall that had caught my attention on my first visit three weeks ago. This time my luck was in and since there no more customers we chatted for more than 20 minutes. He paints all his own pictures which he then has printed on cards. Several David Bowie drawings had popped out at me and when he saw I was interested in one in particular he pulled out a file of Bowie memorabilia. His friend (the printer) had lost almost all his original programs, tickets and photographs in the flood. What was rescued was put on exhibition in the town hall to help raise funds to rebuild his studio. The artist has had the market stall for two and a half years. I asked him about why Todmorden hadn’t honored Keith Emerson after his recent death. I’d gone online at the time to see if there was anything happening, but couldn’t find anything. The artist had been thinking about producing something and our discussion seemed to inspire him – I could see the cogs ticking!

Arriving back in Hebden Bridge  I stopped at the station to buy my ticket for tomorrow’s trip to Harrogate, and then I was back at ‘t th’ mill. I don’t feel like packing and leaving this place. It’s been a very different experience staying in one place for four weeks, rather than moving on every few days, or, on a road trip, moving on every day.  I’ve built up a routine in my little room, know the layout of the town, where the bus stops are and where to shop for groceries. The rest of the trip feels much more of an unknown quantity, but I realize I felt this way as I arrived in Hebden Bridge almost 4 weeks ago. It’s been interesting to find out which people I know in the US have contacted me, either through Facebook messages or emails. I’ve certainly had more conversations with random people along the way that I found interesting and chatted to more people than I have in several years back at home.

Gary arrived at 9:30 – with a plan – yeah. Two places that I’d heard a lot about were Cragg Vale (with some association with Jimmy Saville, and it’s on the opposite hillside above Hebden Bridge from Heptonstall), and Ripponden (which is noted for the flower festival and the views as you get there), and lo an behold Gary had selected a hike which took in both places. We had to leave immediately to catch the bus  up and and up the hillside to

Cragg Vale and we got off at Baitings dam which we crossed. it was foggy and drizzling, the sort of rain that wets you through. We were just below  the hilltops here as we arrived at Parrock Nook . Here’s one of the most isolated churches I’ve seen. There are 4 farms visible and the vast majority of gravestones have 4 surnames – presumably the names of the families that have farmed there for several generations. The church closed permanently one year ago.

 

We hiked along footpaths some of which go through farmyards. Some have been turned into sumptuous residences surrounded by beautiful gardens. The Commons had a koi pond just like the one at 3rd Bungalow, geese and two pigs who were sleeping it off.  Others are still working farms.

We stopped to view the pig sky sporting a satellite dish and then met some rather boggy sections of the path where our boots sank totally into the stagnant water and sphagnum moss. At Arkin Royd farm I stopped to take a photo of the horseshoes outside the barn which promptly had the farmer coming out to see what we

were doing. When I told him I was interested in the horse shoes he was happy to show his collection and the clog irons too. He’s been farming there for 30 years and he had 3 tractors, highland cattle, chickens. He talked about how difficult it’s been to bale the hay because of the rain – one of the wettest Junes on record.

Further down the trail we met the postman who delivers by van. He explained his shorts by saying that bare legs dry quicker than trousers. It brought back memories of the postman driving down to 3rd Bungalow (but never in shorts as far as I can remember).

At Rishworth we passed the famous private school that has used a lot of abandoned mill buildings for classrooms. I looked up the fees. Eight thousand pounds per term for the boarders! Passing the sites of several mills along the creek the path was very much like the one through Hardcastle Crags with the stream confined by ancient walls on either side. We arrived in Ripponden where we passed the cafe frequented by ladies who lunch – but we were heading for the fish and chip shop which we ate in the gardens opposite. Then we were off to The Bridge pub for some liquid refreshment. It’s reputedly the oldest pub in Yorkshire  (around 700 years old) constructed like the Rivington barns. A group of high

level business men were in the snug doing what pubs were originally for. Feeling rested we headed for the bus but, with now an added spring in our steps, we got off early, in Mytholmroyd and hiked back to Hebden Bridge, not along the canal as I had done, but through the meadows, even ending up in a field of horses. We suddenly came upon  Hebden Bridge station. I hadn’t recognized where I was until the  station building was directly in front of us. Gary hopped on the next train back to Halifax and I wandered back t’th’ mill. It was 5 o’clock and we’d been out for 7 hours – talk about fresh air making you tired . .  . .

8.8 miles

4:20

I’m sitting in the 700 year old Hebden Bridge Mill having tea (Yorkshire tea from Harrogate, of course) and chocolate shortbread. I’ve just hiked from my mill to the tiny village of Colden through the historic Colden Valley, a place full of evidence of man’s impact on the landscape during the industrial revolution, and the use those mills buildings, waterways, cobbled packhorse trails and stone foot tracks are being put to today. I’m now getting used to hikes that claim to be flat and are ‘suitable for any reasonable fit person.’ They are, in fact, never flat and often involve going up and down

hillsides that are so steep that they require steps. At times I found myself high above Colden Beck looking down on an almost vertical hillside where trees and ferns cling to life in places that the sun never ever reaches. I passed the two chimneys of Upper and Lower Lumb mill rising like giant monoliths to some long-forgotten god of the forest. I tried to conjure up the ghosts of the people whose clogs have worn grooves into the steps and stones on which I’m sitting. Above the mill  I passed over the dam which once held in the mill pond but now it only holds reeds. The clapper bridge was unusual in it being 2 stones wide, and lucky for me an iron rail has been added 🙂 I wasn’t too keen on the gap between the stones through which I could see the raging torrent.

“Brave dreams and their mortgaged walls are let rot in the rain.

And the nettle venoms into place

Like a cynical old woman in the food-queue.

And the sycamore, cut through at the neck,

Grows five or six head, depraved with life.

Before these chimneys can flower again

They must fall into the only future, into earth.”

(from Lumb Chimneys by Ted Hughes)

As I sit in the Innovation cafe I begin to look at the displays of historical photos and notes on the walls, and  . . . .there is Lumb mill pond in all its shimmering glory, the two mills and chimneys and the carter who moved in there after the mills were closed down. What a coincidence.

 

Coming out of the dense forest lining the valley I now found myself on ‘t tops. I’s looked up the New Delight pub, Colden’s main claim to fame, so I already knew that it was closed from 3-5 pm. I hadn’t copied down the return path directions and I didn’t much fancy the idea of trying to follow my outward direction backwards so I found a bus stop by the campsite, with a timetable, and waited 20 minutes for a zippy bus, being entertained by watching all the parents coming to pick up their children from Colden school. The bus drove along the tops with great views across to Stoodley Pike and then I suddenly recognised where I was. We were coming upon Slack Bottom, that street sign that so caught my attention the day I wandered around Heptonstall in the storm. And I STILL didn’t get a photo of the sign. It’s the first time I’ve been on the bus along the narrow cobbled street of the village but I remember well the roaring sound it made when Rachel and I stayed at The Dairy last year.

Back a’th’ mill Chris had had a successful day standing in the Town Square with her placard denouncing Blair. She was wtaching the news on the Aljazeera Channel: the weather was interesting – sunny in Delhi, raining in Kathmandu.  I settled in to watch some of the men’s quarter finals at Wimbledon and keeping my fingers crossed for Wales in the UEFA semifinals.