Category: Travel / Out and About (Page 9 of 18)

Yesterday I took a look out of the window and it was sunny! Ooo. The compulsion to get out into the countryside made me leap out of bed – well, with as much dexterity and speed as this aging body can handle. But then the question arose. Where could I go? It had been raining almost constantly since Thanksgiving and so footpaths through fields were more suitable for a slalom kayaking course than a pleasant walk. Then, out of the blue (sky, that is) came the answer – I think there’s a tarred footpath all the way round Hollingworth Lake. It’s a reservoir situated in beautiful rolling countryside just outside Littleborough. Sarah and I had ended up there, quite by accident, and had found a wonderful little café, The Olive and Pickle.  (I later found out that the son of Peter, the churchwarden from Sowerby Bridge was a chef there!) So, I could walk round the lake and combine it with coffee or lunch, depending on the o’clock. It was also one of my mum’s favourite excursions. Perhaps I can even find a photo of her there in one of my holiday diaries. I also recollected, vaguely, that the place had cropped up in doing some ancestor hunting – the name Pickthall came to mind. I discovered that there is a railway station only 10 minutes walk away from the lake, so off I trotted to the railway station and booked a return off peak ticket to Smithy Bridge – with a pass. In the summer I’d gone to the lake but walked from Littleborough not realizing that it was closer to the Smithy Bridge station.

Elevenses at The Olive and Pickle

There was a little frost on the road to the station and the platform had been generously gritted to prevent people with their heads glued to tiny screen from obliviously slipping into the path of an oncoming train. Snow covered ‘the tops’ as the train passed over, or rather, through, the Pennines and into Lancashire. I was the only person to leave the train at the tiny station of Smithy Bridge after a half hour ride. Amazingly, the sun was also out in Lancashire. Ten minutes later the Lake came into view, as did The Olive and Pickle. The temptation was too much. So much for a walk and then lunch. It looked as if it had to be coffee, then a walk, but at least the weather looked as if it would stay good. Why is it that the weather takes on a persona in this country? Even the forecasters on the TV and radio say things like, ‘I’m afraid it’s going to be frosty again today’ and ‘Another gloomy day in store in the North West’? It makes the weather far more personal, and I like that. The Olive and Pickle was crowded but I managed to find a table for ‘just one.’ It’s a place where retired people in little groups dress up to go for lunch and new mums treat themselves to a well earned break from the daily routine of chores, feeds and naptimes. I’d planned on beginning to read my Christmas present from Anna, Eat Pray Love, and as I opened it the waitress came over to me. “Great book” she said, “I loved the movie, and my friend read the book.” Within the first three section(that’s how long it took to consume my coffee and a scone) I’d found so many comments that I could identify with, that I just wanted to copy down word for word and claim that I’d written them.

With the sun still sparkling off the water I went to feed the ducks. I tried to feed a swan too but when I ran out of food it hissed at me in a very threatening manner – whoops! I soon had to resort to donning my sunglasses which makes me look, or perhaps I should say feel, very American. Sunglasses are just not worn here in the winter. There were loads of people walking along the water front, sampling the fish and chips. At the Wine

Brrrrr – the hardy ones

Bar, many of the outside tables were occupied. I mea, the sun was shining, so obviously you have to sit outside. Never mind that the temperature is 2 degrees above freezing and that the ice crystals surrounding the snow drops hasn’t yet thawed and its lunchtime.

First snowdrops of the season

Walking around the reservoir made me think of the hundreds of times I walked round Lafayette Reservoir, and all the people I’d walked that with over the years I lived in Walnut Creek. I stopped many times to take photos, often with some art project in mind. It’s about 3 miles in total and as I came back to a little track close to the ‘Beach’ I suddenly felt as if I’d been in that spot before. When I got home I looked it up in my travel diaries. Indeed! In May 1998 I had returned to England for a week when my dad died, and this is what I wrote: May 4^th 1998 Bank Holiday Monday in England signifies lack of public transportation. Mum and I had tentatively planned to visit Hollingworth Lake and when a bus did finally appear in Tottington that was going all the way to Rochdale we thought our luck was in. However, there were no buses to the lake from there so we resorted to finding a taxi – something that my mum would never have dreamed of doing. As we neared the lake we saw that all the parking spaces were filled and the place was packed with hoards of holiday makers in T shirts and shorts, freezing in the cold wind blowing off the water. The sky was black and foreboding as children licked their ice creams

From my 1998 journal

and people in ubiquitous anoraks sat outside the pub, enjoying the fresh air whilst desperately trying to warm up their frozen hands by cuddling their mugs of hot tea. We elected to eat our pork pie inside the café where we had taken the girls on their last trip out with my dad. A pot of tea cost £1.95. I can see why so many people take thermos flasks. Instead of walking along the lakeside we opted for the less populated walk to Littleborough. I hadn’t done this before but I knew it was one of my mum and dad’s favourite walks.

My mum – 1998 journal

They used to go to a lunchtime music recital in Rochdale and then catch a bus to the lake and walk into Littleborough. So glad I have these journals. I now have no recollection of the café with the extortionate price for a cup of tea! Ending my little outing I returned to the station. Trains were every hour and my phone didn’t get a signal to find out the time of the next train, but as luck would have it, the next train to Hebden Bridge was in two minutes. I had a fun evening trying to put one of the photos I had taken of the lake into watercolour and charcoal.

This morning I found this is my mum’s journal from July 28, 1992

Regarding the letter which appeared in the Bolton Evening News approx.. 2 weeks ago. It was in the Readers’ letter page referring to a mantle clock which a person in Stockport was holding and had had in his possession for 12 years. Apparently it was inscribed ‘presended to F. V Denton and M A Pickthorn as a wedding present from the members of the choir of St Paul’s church Astley Bridge in 1913. It is a 400 day clock. I think it has a brass face. The person who advertised it was hoping to trace the descendants of the people so as it pass it on to them. Now Frank Vernon Denton and Martha Ann Pickthorn when married lived in Rochdale and had two daughters, Vera (aged 75) and Irene, known as Rene , aged 77. Rene became Mrs Cheetham of 61 Rooley Moor Raod Rochdale. Wed July 29, 1992. I phone Jack’s cousin, Rene Cheetham. She told me that in 1929 their parents (i.e Jack’s uncle Frank) left Bolton to live in Rochdale. Vera was 12 and Rene 14. She recalled the mantle clock and that it was presented to her parents. She has no recollection of the clock in Rochdale but she will ask her sister. Rene does remember the clock going to Rochdale with the family in 1929. Incidentally they used to live near Hollingworth Lake where Jack and I visited frequently after enjoying listening to Music at Lunchtime in the Champness Hall, in Drake Street, Rochdale. She also told me that whilst living there one winter the lake was frozen over and she remembers horses and carts being driven onto the frozen lake. Her dad, Frank Vernon, died in 1942 and her mother, Martha Annie, and Vera and her husband all lived together at Lake Road. I can’t find a Lake Road, just Lake Bank, which is the road that borders the lake, on which the Olive and Pickle can be found! Yet another thing to add to my Find Out Where They Lived dossier.

Work in progress

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Entertainment at the Vegan Fair in Hebden Bridge

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Hike up to Old Town – frosty and sunny

Below:

My new reading nook

Dinner with a lovely group of women.

Life in a small town  hasn’t change much in 60 years. Yes, I know that the butcher’s meat comes from real dead animals but I don’t expect coming fave to face with a dead pig, or several,  on my way to the library!

First order of the day was to find a framing shop that could replace the glass in all my smashed pictures. I found one-in a former weaving shed that, yes, you’ve guessed it, the Wrigleys built. Then to clean up my kitchen for the arrival of my new chair and rug. I’d just finished sweeping the soil from last night’s fall of the hanging plant (sounds like a Halloween movie) when the chair arrived. it was a bit of a squeeze getting it in through the hallway but it was worth it. So now I have have comfy chair to sit on in the kitchen.Just before dark I went for a walk, just aiming to get a nice view of the town since it wasn’t raining, or fog-bound. I found myself on a steep road towards Old Town called Sandy Gate. I’d heard of it because people had been complaining that it hadn’t been gritted in the frosty weather, so I knew it would be very steep. Soon I was really high! I could see the lights across the valley at Lily Hall, both churches in Heptonstall and as I stopped to catch my breath three deer  crossed the road in front of me. It’s a magical time of day and I felt closely connected to my ancestors.

Dear deer

Looking across to Heptonstall

Looking down into Hebden

When I back into town I picked up a library book and headed for a beer in the White Lion. Imagine my surprise when I discovered from the book that a long time ago a man had been deported for seven years for stealing a ham from that very pub. Liszt had also stayed there, and a scene from Happy Valley was shot there too.

When I got home I made a phone call to a Wrigley descendent who is now in his 90’s. He has in his possession a handwritten ledger by his grandfather, John Edward Wrigley, itemizing all the buildings that the family worked on throughout several generations. It’s a electronic copy of this book that I obtained from the Hebden Bridge family history society that has given me all the names and dates of the Wrigley buildings. Now, perhaps I’ll be able to see the actual book! Check back for updates.

It took me a little less than an hour to get to Huddersfield, where I had gone to college for a year in 1972. I don’t think I’ve ever been back since I left, and now i find myself going there twice within twenty fours hours – how strange! I had to change trains in Brighouse and I was very surprised to find that it’s only 19 minutes by train from Hebden Bridge, so that amazing Wetherspoon’s (former Methodist church) is quite accessible for an evening.

Huddersfield’s famous son – former Primer minister Harold Wilson.

Station bar is called The Head of Steam – quite lovely.

My first Meetup group in England

Ten people showed up for coffee and lunch at this Chatty Meetup group for the over 50’s. I thoroughly enjoyed the conversations, ranging from recent movies, to The Pub Trail (in which this station cafe is featured) to deeper topics.

In the evening I had arranged to go to the annual Winter dinner of the Halifax Concert Band. I’d attended one rehearsal before Christmas but intend joining the group next week. Around 40 band members showed up. It’ll be a good networking experience, but of course, you can’t talk to your fellow players in rehearsals. I sat beside a friendly tuba player and soon discovered that two other people on my table work at the same school as David from Lily Hall. I love these coincidences. The food was very good – everything from Italian to Mexican. I asked our waiter to take a photo of our group and he included one of the other two waiters – very nice! Wore my new jacket and tried to go ‘British” so didn’t take an umbrella despite the storm – and I didn’t get wet! It works.

The weather forecast was for rain from 10 a.m. onwards, so faced with the prospect of having a severe case of cabin fever I decided to spent the day in the newly opened archives in Halifax. Well, it couldn’t be worse than New Year’s Day. Could it? I dressed accordingly. I’ve found that all the libraries are kept at a constantly  warm temperature which means that in two layers of jumpers I overheat immediately. I just guess they have to stop the books catching cold!

Walking through the Piece Hall towards the East gate there was a placard in the walkway stating that the library would be closed today from 9.30 til 12.30 for staff training. Darn it. Well I guess I can wander around the town and look aimlessly at the shops – not something I particularly relish, but it’s ok for once. At least the rain hadn’t started. And yes, yes, that’s blue sky overhead. Well, just a few centimetres showing. So two hours, a coffee and scone later I returned to the library only to find the placard still in place. For one nasty moment I thought the library was still closed, but someone was just coming out so I thought Ah, they’ve forgotten to remove the sign. The lady coming out handed me a leaflet and said, ‘Library closed today.’ Two other customers arrived. ‘But the sign said it was closed til 12.30 today’ said the man. ‘Yes,  that’s right ‘ said the leaflet lady. ‘It’s closed all day on Wednesdays. Here’s a leaflet to show you the new opening hours. see? It says closed on Wednesdays!’ ‘Well, you need to remove the sign. It’s misleading,’ we all tried to explain to her, but she didn’t understand.

Well, now what to do?  er . .  . .hm  . .  . Go to the bus station and find out where my day rover will allow me to go for free. I arrive at the bus station information desk. A sign on the door states we are closed today until 1.30. It was 12.45. Note to self. Avoid Halifax on Wednesdays! I had toward the first bus I see. ‘Is my Day rover ticket valid on this bus?’ ‘Yes, get on.’ ‘But where is this bus going to?’ ‘Huddersfield.’ So 40 minutes later I found myself in Huddersfield. So it’s over 40 years ago that I went to college here, and I had planned to go tomorrow! Oh well. It was a nice ride, through Elland where some of my ancestors had lived. I didn’t recognise anything in the town, which didn’t surprise me. It has a swanky new bus station. When I got the bus back to Halifax it took a completely different route, all around the houses through Rastrick and Brighouse. I enjoyed my 2 hour ride to Huddersfield and back, looking at the different styles of architecture over three centuries. Back in Halifax it was almost dark. Well, it was 3.30 by now! On impulse I thought I should take a look in Poundland. I’ve always had a soft spot for the place ever since Simon Armitage was so scathing about it. There’s usually something I can find in there to treat myself without breaking the bank, and today was no exception. For the first thing I saw was a knee- length jacket. Having bought it, and three balls of wool, there was no way it was going to fit into the tiny plastic carrier bag I was supplied with. Never fear. Put it on – underneath my raincoat.Ha!

Perhaps I’ll wear it tonight when I go to see Jane – the new movie. It’s new footage of Jane Goodall but I’m really just going for the music: a brand new score by Philip Glass.

There was one thing written on my calendar for the first day of the New Year: a guided walk of the Georgian buildings of Halifax, scheduled from 2-5pm. Rain was forecast but I’d been on hikes in the summer in the pouring rain and it was ok, so off I went on the train. The centre of Halifax was like a ghost town. Everything was closed and there was no-one around. It was at least 10 degrees colder than it had been in Hebden Bridge too. As I made for the bathroom in the Piece Hall (a place that’s always nice and warm) the grand gates were just being closed, “We’re shutin’ luv!” As I circled the perimeter of the vast enclosure I had visions of being the only crazy person but as soon as I turned the corner I came face to face with over 30 people, all looking very cold. The tour guide seemed totally unfazed by  both the rapidly dropping temperature and the rather insistent  wind that was gathering and making her hand-outs take flight. “Can everyone hear me?’ she called. A few mutterings came back as an answer. “OK, then, off we go.”  ” ‘Scuse me,”  I called, “Your mike isn’t on.” “Ah, yes! It’s not been working too well recently. It’s been crackling a lot.” And that was that! “We should have started off by me taking you around the Piece hall, Halifax’s magnificent Georgian structure, but for some reason it’s closed today.” So we then stood for 20 minutes with a gathering wind passing out really interesting maps of Georgian Halifax. Then the rain started – in earnest. The sound of the rain splatters on people’s umbrellas drowned out everything our guide was saying and after an hour I gave up and went home! I pity, because I was really interested in the information she was sharing.

West gate of the Piece Hall, 1779

Hopwood Hall