Category: Uncategorised (Page 1 of 15)

For many years now a photograph of Frank Henry Denton has graced the wall above my piano, both in the USA and in England. When I received news recently that the church where he held the position of organist and choir master for 34 years, and contains a stained glass window dedicated to him, was to close permanently I decided it was time the pull together my information about music in my family. With the birth of my own children, and recently grandchildren I have discovered that our musical line continues.

The first connection with music that I find in the Denton branch of my family tree is with Samuel Denton, 1843-1921. Born to Daniel and Elizabeth, nee Mabbett in Stroud, Gloucestershire, it seemed an unlikely beginning for a musical child. Daniel, my great, great, great grandfather, was listed as a mechanic, a millwright and a miller on the censuses, and met with a tragic death at the age of 64 when it was reported on his death certificate, a copy of which I hold:  ‘Mortification caused by accidental injury to his thumb in his employment. Inquest held on Aug 6th, death registered Aug 9th.’ Daniel and Elizabeth had eight children, Samuel being the fifth child. He was christened at Rodborough Tabernacle and in 2011 my daughter Rachel and I  made a trip to Gloucester to find the places that would have been familiar to Samuel.

The tabernacle, a Calvanistic methodist church,  was built in 1750 and extended in 1836-7. The village is a mile from Stroud and in 1821 had a population of 2038. Rachel and I had planned to attend a service in the chapel, Sunday  26th June, 2011. I quote from my journal “ The tabernacle took a bit of finding on the steep one lane roads but after a good tip off from a local man being walked by his dog we got there about five minutes before the service was to begin. We were immediately welcomed by a lady who, hearing of our ancestral connection with the church, shepherded us to a seat close to the front. Unfortunately the service today was to be conducted in The Little Chapel, an old stable block that had been converted into a Sunday school where so many families attended church that there wasn’t room for all the children.

It was a lovely conversion, full of the evidence of the arts and crafts movement of William Morris and his ilk. After the service we all went over to the tabernacle proper where coffee and biscuits were served. And I was invited to play the organ. The only piece of music I could find on the music stand was appropriately by Edward Elgar whose home we had visited a couple of days before.”

On the 1861 census the 18 year old Samuel appears to have been a turner – perhaps meaning a wood turner/joiner  Two years later he married Johanna Morgan Nash, a dressmaker from Leazes, an area just to the East of Stroud. Johanna’s father had a very grand sounding name, Charles William Broomsberry Nash and his occupation, appropriately was gardener. Johanna was one of 12 children. Their marriage took place at St Lawrence, the parish church in Stroud on April 21, 1863. Rev T.H. Tarlton presided.

Rachel and I visited the church in 2011. 5 months after their marriage their first child, Frank Henry was born.

By 1870 Samuel was listed in the Post Office directory as a professor of music, living at 49 Middle Street, Stroud. Where did that come from? Rachel and I visited the street but the houses appeared to have been renumbered so we couldn’t find the exact house.

Two years later he was appointed choirmaster at Stroudend church and school. The article in the Stroud  News and Gloucestershire Advertiser reads:  ‘In connection with this place of worship, a choir is formed, and hitherto has been under the gratuitous tuition of Miss Davies, whose untiring energy in the cause of both the church and school has been equalled only by that of the worthy minister himself. She has, indeed, brought out the members of the choir to a state of efficiency alike creditable to her own exertions as to themselves, and though we cannot but regret that she has relinquished her onerous pest, yet at the same time we cannot but feel initialled that the arduous duties of each an office has been taken out of her hands. We indeed, trust that her self-denying efforts may be directed in an equal degree, in some other channel perhaps more congenial to her taste and feelings, to the furtherance of God’s work. Mr. Samuel Denton has been appointed choir master, to succeed Miss Davies, and if he devotee the same painstaking energy to the choristers which his predecessor has done, success will undoubtedly crown his efforts.’ 

1876 finds Samuel listed as a professor of music and music seller in the Morris directory of Gloucestershire, working at the Exchange Building, Stroud. Then between 1877 when Oliver was born in Stroud and 1880 when Cyril was born in Broughton, Salford in Lancashire the family moved north. I’ve not been able to ascertain what prompted this move. Perhaps the growth of the industrial north would have provided more students for Samuel since in the 1881 census Samuel gives his occupation as teacher of music. Another possibility is that next door to him in Stroud lived a congregational minister, William Chapman, aged 48 who was born in Manchester. I wonder if that’s what got the Dentons to move to Lancashire. I’ve also read somewhere in my notes that one of Samuel’s brothers had already moved to the Manchester/Bolton? area.

So Samuel’s family are listed in the 1881 census as follows: “Teacher of music Samuel Denton 40, Joana M. Denton 43,  Frank Hy. Denton 17, Amy A.E. Denton 16, Harry W. Denton 14, George V. Denton 13, Janet M. Denton 11, Alice M. Denton 10, Louis H. Denton 9, Herbert V. Denton 8, Annie A. Denton 6, Oliver A. Denton 5. They are living at 22 Marlboro Road, Broughton in Salford. This area of Salford is a newly built so their house no longer exists. As a full time music teacher myself for the past 40 something years, teaching  piano, clarinet and composition privately for the majority of that time I just wonder how Samuel managed to support his large family on his income. My own daughter, Sarah, has also been a teacher of flute and piano for 20 years, and so we both know how demanding and time consuming this can be, always teaching at times when most people have finished work and school for the day. I’m fortunate to have a photo of Samuel, with his son, Frank Henry, his son Harry Norman and his son (either Frank, or Harry). 

10 years later, 1911, they have moved to 8 Grove St., Ardwick, Manchester, another location which doesn’t exist today. Samuel died in Barton upon Irwell on Nov 29, 1921, aged 78 I have the death certificate – bronchial asthma, pulmonary congestion 7 days. Executor was Frank Henry,’musician’ – total effect sixty pounds and two shillings. 

FRANK HENRY – my great grandfather Sept 20, 1863 – March 15, 1930

So, having moved north from Gloucestershire to Manchester around 1877 by the 1881 Frank Henry, at age just 17, is listed as a ‘teacher of music.’ On16th January, 1889 he married Esther Priscilla Dean at the parish church in Eccles. Esther had been born in Scotland. (1891 census) She was the daughter of Robert Dean who had been born and raised in Barton upon Irwell. An oil portrait of Robert was in the possession of my cousin Joyce and my own father’s middle name was Dean – a reference to his Dean ancestors..

Between 1856 and 1858 Robert had moved his family to Scotland, Portobello, where his daughter Esther Priscilla was born a couple of years later in 1861. They were living on Tower Street and Robert was a railway goods superintendent. Perhaps he had moved the family up to Scotland following  a promotion. I went to visit it in 2018. His address on the 1861 Scottish census is 30/2 Tower Street which implies the second floor, therefore probably a tenement block. Before my trip to Portobello I had been in contact with the Leith historical society and someone had told me that in the 1960’s Portobello underwent some street name changes and Tower Street is now Figgate Street.

The ‘Welcome to Portobello’ sign, ‘Edinburgh’s Seaside’ was adjacent to the railway bridge after which the main street retains its original cobbles.

It’s this railway that brought Robert to Portobello where he held the position of Railway Goods Superintendent, presumably a significant promotion from his previous job as station master at Patricroft.  I knew that Portobello is on the coast but I didn’t realise that Tower Street actually connects Portobello High Street to the sea front.

The tower which gives the street its name is still there, newly refurbished but all the older buildings on the street have long gone. It’s now the site of an amusement arcade. But parallel to it are little alleyways, walls and doorways, all that remains of older dwellings. A couple of older tenement blocks are also close by, but most buildings which had date stones post date 1861. On 2nd July 1867 Robert died of consumption just 36 years old in Patricroft. Perhaps he was just visiting because in the 1871 census his wife, Esther is still in Duddingston on Scottish census with 2 lodgers and her five children. 

16th Jan 1889 Esther Priscilla Dean, Robert’s 4th child married Frank Henry Denton at Eccles parish church and lived at Monton Road, Barton upon Irwell. In the 1891 he is a professor of music. Their first son Frank Vernon was born in 1891. The following year it would appear that he’s the organist at Eccles church church since  he was the organist at the funeral of the vicar,  Canon James Pelham Pitcairn. Three other children followed, Harry Norman (my grandad) Elsie and Ethel Margaret followed. In 1895 he is listed as a piano teacher in Kelly’s directory with an address of the Park, Eccles. Then in 1896 the family

moved to Bolton and that year he was appointed organist and choirmaster at s t Paul’s. In 1901 they were living at 74 Seymour Road, Astley Bridge, and Frank is a professor and music, and is listed as a teacher of music in Kelly’s directory, 1905. My father, Frank’s grandson, was strongly associated with St Paul’s. It had a dayschool which my father attended and his sister, Elsie married Ted Gage at the church. I remember being taken to the parochial hall next to the church to practice the piano and recollect my dad telling me about the amateur theatre productions there which I think he participated in.

1917 Esther Priscilla , Frank’s wife, died at their home,291 Blackburn Road. She was 56 years old.

Frank Henry died on March 14, 1930 aged 66 and buried at St Paul’s on March

18, 1930. He was living at 204 Blackburn Road. In 2017 Sarah and I tried to find his grave at St Paul’s but the upright gravestone had fallen over and lies face down. Shortly after his death a stained glass window dedicated to him was installed on 22 Nov, 1931, St. Cecelia’s day. It was unveiled by Mabel Denton – his daughter.  In 2011 I received an email from someone called Trevor who lives in Exeter. He had recently  seen an ‘opening’ booklet of his church, Blessed Sacrament in Exeter in 1932 and one of the advertisements was for Francis H. Spear, with a picture of a piece of stained glass depicting St Cecilia, the patron saint of music – showing the dedication panel to none other than Frank Henry Denton.

The panel reads ‘TO THE GLORY OF GOD in memory of Frank Henry Denton for over 34 years organist of this church; erected by past and present choristers & friends. 1934.’ Trevor had googled that name and up popped my website: hmcreativelady.com with a photo of the glass in St Paul’s. With this information I was eager to go and see this  window for myself and so, in 2015  on a visit to England with Rachel we arranged to go to St Paul’s  church. Imagine our disappointment when the dedication panel was no longer in position. It was designed by Francis H Spear who also designed the East Window at St Paul’s. Spear taught lithography and stained glass at the royal college of art. According to the Devenish collection site ‘he became one of the leading stained glass Artist-Craftsman of the 20th century. His studio/workshop was at 64 Belsize Park Gardens in London. 

In 2015 Rachel and I visited St Paul’s and, after telling of my family’s connection with the church at the coffee morning, I was invited to play the organ that my great grandad had played. I climbed the stairs as he would have done every

Sunday and I found a book of organ music with the title Ceclia, the patron saint of music, and who is featured in the stained glass window.

In 2018 Bernard Denton contacted me through Ancestry.com and in February of that year he and his wife came to see me in Hebden Bridge. His grandfather, was Frank Henry’s brother, Herbert Vernon. He shared his extensive research into the Denton family with me, along with many photos.

Contacted me through ancestry In Feb 2018 Bernard Denton, Frank Henry’s nephew, contacted through Ancestry.com and came to see me, sharing with me many family photos.

A new generation of musicians in the making

In May of this year I’d gone on a cruise around the coast of the British Isles to form an opinion of how I felt about going on a cruise by myself. The only other cruise I’d been on was to Alaska with my three daughters 20 years ago. When I was looking for another experience I decided to try a coach tour to a place I’ve been wanting to visit – Northern Ireland – and one that took in Giant’s Causeway. I’d talked to a few people who been to that area and then I found that a friend of mine also wanted to visit that part of the British Isles so we booked a tour with a local company named Moving People. 

A taxi came to pick me up directly from my home which solved the problem of carting bags to the railway station in order to join the coach in Blackburn. When the taxi arrived at my home at 6.50 a.m.  it was still dark. Shirley was already in the taxi having been picked up at 6.05 a.m! We picked up someone else in Todmorden and then headed to the Hampton hotel in Blackburn where we were served tea and biscuits before we boarded our coach, a 60 seater that was very nearly full. We had been assigned seats but mine was by a window that was totally obscured by metal framework and a curtain so we looked around for a seat with a view and we were fortunate enough to get the back seat where we had a lot more room to spread out, and we kept those seats for the rest of the trip. 

We left Blackburn at 8.45 and headed north on the motorway on an overcast but dry morning and we stopped at Lockerbie at 11.15 at a former farmhouse that’s now the Sure hotel, for soup and a sandwich. We didn’t have time to walk to the Lockerbie Memorial Garden but drove past it on the way back to the motorway. It commemorates the bombing of Pan Am 103 in December 1988. 259 people were killed when the plane exploded over the town, a bomb having been detonated by two Libyan intelligence operatives. 

Soon after Lockerbie we encountered dense fog and it began to rain heavily as we drove through rolling green hills scattered with sheep. Eventually we passed through an area where I recognised several of the village and town names: Caelaverock, Threave, Newton Stewart and then Minnigaff. Suddenly I remembered staying at Minnigaff Youth Hostel with my parents and school friend Susan. I looked it up in my journal when I got home. And there it was. Yes, we’d stayed there in 1971 and I’ve even got a sketch of the Youth Hostel I made in my journal! 

We arrived at the ferry terminal at Cairnryan on Loch Ryan  just north of Stranraer at 2.30 in good time for our 3.30 ferry to Belfast only to find that it had been delayed and that meant that our evening meal would now be served at 8p.m. instead of 7. It was going to be a – l o n g day! I was surprised that we stayed on the coach to board the ship, the Stena line.

  I thought we’d have to get off the coach and walk onto the ship and pass through some sort of security inspection, but no, we didn’t. It had stopped raining by this time and so we were able to try and brave the promenade deck once we got underway but it really was so windy that it was too difficult to walk, let alone stand upright. it reminded me of a very windy beach in Iceland that I’d braved with Rachel.

We had a snack on the ship during our two hour crossing. It was only 4 p.m. but Shirley and I both said it seemed like bedtime. It felt like it was yesterday that we had set off from home! Looking out from the comfort of the lounge I spotted a large pointed island and knew immediately that it was Ailsa Craig – it was amazing to me that I could remember its name from my 1971 trip!

What I didn’t know was that it is an uninhabited island famous for its unique granite which is used to make curling stones and is also a major bird sanctuary for puffins and gannets. It’s a volcanic plug from an extinct volcano and has a lighthouse that was established in 1886 that’s still in operation today though now it’s run on solar power rather than an oil lamp which was first used  when Thomas Stevenson designed it. Interestingly he was the father of Robert Louis Stevenson whose Treasure Island I read for the first time recently. 

We docked at Belfast harbour at 6 p.m. but we immediately headed north on the freeway and I was disappointed not to have had a few of the city of Belfast. Our hotel was in Coleraine and we didn’t pass through any towns on the 90 minute drive, just fields with cows and sheep and the occasional isolated house. Presumably these were farm houses but they all looked too modern, unlike traditional farmhouses in England. It was dark by the time we arrived at The Lodge Hotel, situated on a traffic roundabout a mile from the town of Coleraine itself.

My room didn’t have much of a view – just a busy road – but it was spacious and clean. I made myself a cup of tea, freshened up a bit and then went downstairs to the dining room. We selected a table where two other members of our tour were sitting. Our tour group had this dining room to ourselves and we were given a menu with five  entrees to select from.  Dinner was good – melon chunks for starters, an excellent portion of salmon, served with mashed potatoes and garden peas. Dessert was three meringues all smothered in very sweet sauces and cream – far too sweet. I ordered a shandy and tried to think when I last ordered a shandy – probably 20+ years ago – ugh – far too sweet! We struggled to make conversation with the others on our table and we left the dining room as soon as we’d finished dinner – 9.15. I was in bed an hour later and slept well. 

Thoughts on life in the coach. Surprisingly there were three men travelling by themselves. Usually I only see women travelling alone. Our driver, Stuart,  was very efficient and understanding – it turned out he was a former policeman. There was very little conversation on the coach. Shirley and I were definitely amongst the youngest on the tour and several people had mobility issues. Having not flown I didn’t feel as if I was abroad! 

DAY 2

Breakfast was scheduled for 8.45 and departure at 9.50. The decor in the breakfast room reminded me of upstairs at Old Gate in Hebden Bridge with its colourful flowers and birds decorating the wall paper, brightly coloured chairs and lampshades.

There was a choice of hot or cold serve yourself breakfasts. It was raining as we boarded the coach for our hour’s drive to Londonderry/Derry. We took the coast road passing below some amazing cliffs with waterfalls plummeting down a vertical drop onto Downhill beach – Dunne Waterfall.

Entering into Londonderry by crossing the river Foyle the coach parked at the Foyle centre which was well decorated for Halloween.

Our tour guide met us to give us a two hour tour of Derry’s city walls, a UNESCO  site,  from where we could see the Bogside and in the distance the murals that commemorate the Troubles that devastated this area.

The walls are the most complete example of a 17th century walled city in the whole of Europe, built 1613-1618, and are only 1 mile long. At that time settlers were brought here from England and Scotland in a scheme called the Plantation of Ulster.

Protestants  were sent from the city of London’s merchant companies to settle the area which resulted in the renaming of the county to Londonderry in 1613 and the construction of these walls.

Of the many murals the one from the TV series The Derry Girls stood out. I’d never seen the programme but it’s about some teenagers in school during The Troubles. I decided to watch an episode when I got home.

We picked out a good pub, The Bentley, for us to have lunch in, showing off its Halloween decorations in style.

It was the first opportunity we’d had so far on the trip to dine with people from the town itself. We had time to walk across the Peace Bridge and see an imposing statue, unveiled in 2013. It is an 8 foot high statue of a seaman erected to commemorate both Derry’s contribution to the Battle of the Atlantic and all of the allied nations who took part in it. It is a twin of a statue that exists in Halifax, Nova Scotia. After lunch we took a quick nosey inside the City Hall before it was time to board the bus.

We saw a blue plaque on a house, once the home fo Mrs Cecil Frances Alexander (1818-1895) the lyricist of  All Things Bright and Beautiful, Once in Royal David’s City and There is a Green Hill Far Away that was supposedly inspired by the view of the surrounding hills from the centre of Derry. Another hymn writer associated with Derry was  John Newton (1725) who was born in London and made his name as a North Atlantic slave trader who narrowly escaped death by reaching the Irish shore just before a tremendous storm.

This close encounter with death led him to pray in St Columb’s cathedral and though he returned to the slave trade he eventually gave it up as a result, according to folklore, of an epiphany in the cathedral. He later became a mentor to William Wilberforce whose work led to the abolition of slavery. Newton became a clergyman in 1764 and wrote many hymns to illustrate his sermons, the most well known being Amazing Grace, referring back to his near death encounter. 

St Columba is the patron saint of Derry and I’m sorry I didn’t have time to go in the cathedral that’s named after him, especially since he founded the abbey on Iona that I visited in 2018.  

Taking our leave of Derry  Stuart, our driver, didn’t drive along the coastal route. We were back at our hotel soon after 5 and dinner was at 7 . We were obliged to sit on the same table as the previous evening since we’d submitted our order for dinner by table number. The two ladies had both dressed for dinner, unlike me. My bream was delicious, served with roast potatoes in curry butter, with cabbage and mushrooms. But in addition to this there were several pots of mashed potatoes and chips. When I looked round at the other tables these additional pots of potatoes and veg were hardly touched on any of the tables.

We were all finished by 8.30 and I thought that we might have a game of Set which I’d brought with me, courtesy of Rachel, but we decided to play it another evening so I retired to my room and watched a TV quiz show before bed at 10. 

DAY 3

When I woke up I realised I’d fallen asleep last night before I’d checked my online messages so I did that over my morning cuppa in bed and then read another chapter of The Madonna of Bolton, a fascinating book by Matt Cain who is going to give a lecture at the Hebden Bridge Literary and Scientific Society next year. The coach was due to leave at 9.30 and as I crossed the courtyard I became aware that it felt considerably colder than the previous day. 

It was only a 15 minute drive to Bush Mills, a village of 1500 people dominated by the huge presence of Old Bush Mill Distillery. But as we drove through the village a poster caught my eye. Surely it was a picture of John Steinbeck. What on earth could he have to do with this village in County Antrim? The poster on the next lamp was C.S Lewis and the next one was a US president. The plot thickened.

I quickly consulted my phone and discovered the connections, but we were immediately due to go on an hour’s guided tour, have lunch at the distillery and then leave on the coach at 2. Yes, I’d have time to head off into the village to look at the posters more closely. But first, our tour of  the world’s oldest licensed whisky distillery, founded in 1608, the license being issued by King James I. It uses water from St Columba’s Rill, a tributary of the River Bush. Unfortunately we weren’t allowed to take photos in the distillery. I learned a lot about the craft of making whisky and the various processes involved.

The buildings were rebuilt after a devastating fire in 1885. Much of the whisky produced there goes abroad, much to the USA, and the factory managed to survive the 1920 prohibition there. In 2005 it was purchased by Diageo for £200 million and in 2008 the Bank of Ireland used an illustration of the mills on its bank notes, replacing one of Queen’s university.

The tour guide was excellent and he led us around the huge complex explaining how whisky is made. The barrels are retired after 30 years. Most of the barrels are made in USA. Whisky evaporates which is why ‘old’ whisky is so much more expensive – there’s less of it!  Another complete distillery was recently constructed on the site so when one is not working the other one is. Over 100 people work there but the main buildings were not in operation today apart from the bottling unit where a conveyor belt was folding pieces of cardboard into boxes, adding the bottles of whisky and then sellotaping them closed ready for transporting to their destinations worldwide. At the end of the tour there was a whisky tasting opportunity which I forfeited (I’m not a whisky drinker) and headed off into the village to read the posters. Many of the old buildings had been abandoned and some were in ruins – just my cup of tea.

There are 80 listed buildings in the village and it is officially designated a Conservation Village. One large building, now derelict had wood panels blocking the windows and the way they had weathered looked like a wonderful work of modern art depicting woodland, or maybe mill chimneys, a sign post and a fence!

A mural of Steinbeck was painted on the gable end of a building. Steinbeck’s Ulster forebears emigrated to the US in the 19th famine. I sent a photo of the poster to my daughters who were quick to spot two spelling errors on the poster! Salinas, which is close to Santa Cruz,  had been spelled without the last S. And  ‘his’ had become ‘hs.’ C.S. Lewis was born in Belfast and had visited the ruins of Dunluce Castle as a child and it is said to have inspired his description of Cair Paravel in The Chronicles of Narnia. I was fortunate to drive past the castle ruins later that day. Perched 100ft above the Irish Sea the castle sits precariously on a volcanic crag. It is reputed to date back to the 14th century. In more recent times it was used as the Castle of Pike in Game of Thrones, which I’ve never watched. As to the American president’s connection with Bush Mills it was William McKinley who had ancestors in this area. From the bridge there was a lovely view of the river Bush and a working water wheel from the old corn mill but I needed to hurry back to the coach.

Initially we’d been told that we’d be having lunch at the distillery but there was no cafe or restaurant and it then became clear that our tour was the first on this route.We were guinea pigs. Luckily Stuart came up with the idea of going to Bally Castle, a small seaside town close by.

He’d been there recently on vacation and said we’d be bound to find a cafe or at least somewhere to get an ice cream! It was a beautiful location, right on the beach but with lots of well mown lawns. Shirley and I quickly found a hotel , The Marine, serving lunch and as we sat down our attention was drawn to a wall in the restaurant documenting Marconi’s successful transmission of wireless telegraphy. 

In May 1898, Lloyds Insurance of London financed an experimental wireless link to test signal reception at Ballycastle from Rathlin, an island located six miles from Ballycastle. It’s Northern Ireland’s only inhabited island and is noted for its puffin colony.  In 1306, the Scottish King, Robert the Bruce, took refuge on Rathlin where he watched a spider persevering again and again to bridge a gap with its web. Eventually it succeeded. Taking heart from the spider’s efforts, he returned to Scotland and eventually regained his crown. That’s an interesting story for me since my first teaching post was at Robert The Bruce school in Bedford! Over 40 shipwrecks are dotted around its coast. I ordered the mussels from the extensive menu. It seemed appropriate to eat seafood when we could actually see the sea from our window seat. After lunch we had half an hour to explore the waterfront and the modern sculptures on the shore line and then we boarded the coach for our trip to The Giant’s Causeway, a place that’s been on my to do list for a long time, and was the main reason that I decided to take this particular coach trip. At first I was disappointed by the number of tourists both in the Visitors’ Centre and on the pathway down to the causeway itself. It was very, very windy but at least it wasn’t raining. I’d imagine that it would be a remote place, spooky even, but there were lots of people everywhere – on the various paths, climbing onto the rocks, posing for selfies on the cliffs and standing in a queue waiting for the bus that links the Visitors’ Centre with the causeway. However, I got over my initial disappointment and found myself in awe of the volcanic rock formations.

I didn’t feel confident enough to climb onto the rocks themselves – far too uneven and slippery. One challenging path led to the outcrop of rocks high on the cliff face and is called the organ with its prominent  pipes. We had been issued with headphones but I usually find that listening to a commentary is distracting so I listened to it when I returned to the Visitors’ Centre. There were lots of tourists from abroad waiting for the bus back up the hill and it was standing room only for the short trip. We’d hoped to get a hot drink back in the cafe but their internet was down so they couldn’t use their till – so they were giving out free cups of tea – yes please! 

Then was back to the coach at 5 for our 45 minute trip back to The Lodge Hotel. I went for a drink in the bar before dinner, trying out an Irish cider. We’d decided to change tables which caused the serving staff much consternation but we succeeded in the end and our new table companions were much easier to converse with. My starter was peach stuffed with cream cheese – not a combination I’ve had before but it was delicious. The vegetable pasta, on the other hand, was dreadful – a huge dish in which everything tasted of tomatoes. I finished the evening writing my journal whilst watching another episode of Ant and Dec’s Limitless Win!

DAY 4

As I crossed the courtyard for my 8.45 breakfast I was pleasantly surprised to see some sunshine peaking through the clouds. It was hour and a quarter’s drive to Glenarm through an area of County Antrim that is designated an area of outstanding natural beauty with its lovely coast and glens. I remarked again on the lack of walls which had formed such a feature of my travels through south west Ireland. Here the fields are divided by neat hedgerows, mostly beautifully trimmed. The maintenance of these hedges must be very time consuming. 

We were booked to take a tour of Glenarm Castle, home of the McDonnells, earls of Antrim and their family, though now it’s mainly used as a summer home or occasional retreat since the family live primarily in London but it wasn’t too long ago that the family entertained Charles and Camilla in the castle. Because it is still a family home it has very limited open days.

First of all we explored the walled gardens, dating from the 17th century,  which reminded me in some aspect of Monet’s garden in Giverny with its straight paths all set at right angles to each other. The ‘castle’ itself is rather an odd building. It was built on its present site by Randal MacDonnell, 1st Earl of Antrim in 1636. However only six years later, in 1642, the house was burned by a Scots Covenanter army who were attacking the royalist MacDonnells and so it remained a roofless ruin for ninety years.  In 1756 the 5th Earl of Antrim invited an engineer from Cumbria called Christopher Myers to come to Glenarm to rebuild the ruin.

Myers transformed it into a grand Palladian country house with curving colonnades ending in pavilions on either side, one of which contained a banqueting room. In 1799 Ann Catherine married Sir Harry Vane-Tempest, who decided to ‘Gothicise’ the building. The colonnades and pavilions were demolished and Gothic windows installed. In 1929 a fire gutted the main block. It is believed to have been caused by the housekeeper’s bedroom fire, which she kept going to keep the 11th Earl’s featherless parrot warm. However, in 1934 Randal, 13th Earl of Antrim, married Angela Sykes a professional sculptor, and under the guidance of the author Robert Byron she started sculpting nine planets as caryatids in the hall. She subsequently turned her attention to other rooms of the house, painting walls and cornices with her interpretations of family history and classical mythology. I thought these were absolutely grotesque, so much so that they looked ridiculous to my eyes. Our tour guide is the current family butler so this made the tour extra special.

We were able to sit at the family’s dining table where Charles and Camilla had been entertained. We weren’t able to view the bedrooms – too private. As our tour group made its way back into the garden I asked our guide if I could possibly play the piano and I was surprised that I was told I would be most welcome. It was a Steinway grand but two of the keys were sticking badly. Angela Sykes  was the daughter of  Sir Mark Sykes, 6th Baronet of Sledmere and yes – I’d played the piano at Sledmere on a visit in June 2022. Unfortunately we weren’t allowed to take photos inside the building today.

Amongst the outbuildings was a wood engraving workshop called The Dribbly Yak. As I bought a card for Rachel’s birthday featuring  a laser cut violin I chatted to the owner. He and his wife, both wood workers,  had uprooted from Belfast last year to set up the business at Glenarm. 

We had half an hour to explore the beach which was only a couple of minutes walk from the castle. I brought a few beach pebbles back with me to add to my collection. It took us a couple of hours to drive back to the Lodge Hotel and then Shirley and I played a game of Set before dinner in the Vibes bar over a glass of Irish cider. Shirley hadn’t heard of the game before, and neither had the people sitting on the adjacent table who asked us about it. Is it an American game? Dinner at 7 pm was an entree served with yet more dishes of mashed potatoes and chips and boiled veggies. We had been promised ‘entertainment’ after dinner but it was just a man selecting recorded music – hardly my idea of ‘entertainment’ but I’m probably comparing it with my cruise where there was always at least three live acts on each evening. Apparently I live singer came into the dining room later in the evening but we weren’t to know that and we’d already left by the time he took the floor. 

DAY 5

Today we were left to our own devices. Shirley and I had decided to go into Belfast by train. We were puzzled that our itinerary didn’t include a visit to the city. We walked into Coleraine but didn’t see much of it as we made our way to the railway station.

It was an hour and a half’s train ride to Belfast. Someone had told us that it was a lovely ride but it was very much a duplicate of northern England with green rolling hills dotted by sheep and cows. We arrived at the new Transit station that’s only been open a year and headed straight to the Hop On Hop Off bus stop outside the imposing City Hall, alighting at the Titanic Experience. The building itself is amazing.

Constructed between 2009 and 2012 it was completed in time to commemorate the 100th anniversary of Titanic’s maiden voyage. I’d heard people complaining that they found the £26 entrance fee overpriced. Perhaps that’s because so many museums in Britain are free but I thought it was worth every penny – and more. I’d read that the average time spent by visitors is two hours but since there was so much to see in Belfast I thought I’d try and half that time. No way! I was totally captivated by all the displays and it included a ‘buggie ride’ and a glass lift to get to the top of the gantry.

The whole presentation is very poignant with the names of all those lost being stated on huge plaques along with artefacts that were subsequently recovered, and many stories about the passengers. The actual violin played by Titanic band leader Wallace Hartley was recovered from his body and later authenticated. It was found in a leather case that was strapped to his body and retrieved by a morgue ship. The violin was returned to Hartley’s fiancée and eventually ended up in a North Yorkshire attic, where it was discovered in 2006.

I could easily have spent an hour in the gift shop alone, so eventually two and a half hours later we emerged and made our way to the SS Nomadic which had been the tender transporting people from the Cherbourg dock to the Titanic itself. It was recently restored in 2010 after being abandoned for many years.

Then back on the Hop On bus for our visit to the Falls Road and Shankill Road areas of the city. The entire route of the bus takes 90 minutes so unfortunately I wasn’t able to hop off the bus to get a closer look at the walls that are now covered in art work but from the top deck of the open top bus I was able to get a good view, despite getting extremely cold. There was an excellent guide on the bus. The Shankill Road is a predominantly Protestant  area of Belfast, historically associated with the city’s unionist and loyalist community. 

It is the counterpart to the Falls Road, which is a predominantly Catholic area, and the two communities were historically separated by peace walls, especially during the height of the Troubles. I was surprised to learn that one gate in the Shankill and Falls road is still closed at 18:00 every day.

We drove past the famous Crumlin Road Gaol which is known as Europe’s Alcatraz because of the well known political prisoners who were held there including Bobby Sands whose mural we saw. Today the prison is a museum and

visitors’ centre. I also caught a glimpse of the facade of Queen’s University which reminded me so much of my old school – Bolton School.

On our way back to the railway station we passed the imposing building of the opera house which opened in 1895. According to the Theatres Trust the “magnificent auditorium is probably the best surviving example in the United Kingdom of the oriental style applied to theatre architecture”. 

I’d love to have been able to go and have a look inside and watch a show, but time beckoned and we caught the 4.35 train back to Coleraine, walked back to the hotel and arrived there at 6.30, perfectly timed for dinner at 7pm. My salmon was delicious. I presume it is locally sourced. The entertainment tonight was ‘live’ and consisted of two men playing penny whistles. Although they were adept at playing their instruments it seemed rather odd to play every piece in unison! The music was interspersed with a few jests and jokes. We stayed for half an hour or so and then made our way back to our rooms to pack for our departure the following morning.

DAY 6

After our very early start on the first day of our tour I was surprised that we weren’t setting off for our long journey home until 9.30a.m. I had to put my suitcase outside my room before going down to breakfast so that it could be placed back on the coach. It had come to my notice that I was always the last one back on the coach – but never after our scheduled time!

So I waved bye bye to The Lodge Hotel and off we set. It was a 90 minute drive back to Cairnryan port through gentle green fields and then two hours on the ferry. This time it wasn’t quite as windy as on our initial crossing.

I had a snack on the boat since our scheduled ‘lunch’ would be 4 o’clock at Gretna Green. I don’t think I’ve been there before. I certainly didn’t recognise the sculptures in the gardens there.

Then it was only just over two hours to Blackburn. That really surprised me. I’d always thought of Scotland being 4 hours away from where I live. I anticipated chaos as we parked back at the Hampton Hotel, with everyone having to wait for their luggage to be unloaded from the coach and then finding the taxi that had been assigned to them. But no, within 5 minutes of the coach stopping I was in the taxi and being whisked back to Hebden Bridge, arriving at 8.31 where a waiting kitty was eager to welcome me back.

. . .from an article I wrote in 2011. I’ve just been informed that the church where my great grandfather was organist and choir master for 34 years is going to close permanently. This has caused me to delve into some of my research studies about him, Frank Henry Denton, and his musical background.

Hymn composed by  John Hill’s brother, James, who was the leader of the bell ringers at All Soul’s church. My great grandfather, John Hill (1841-1897), and hiswife, Maria (1868?-1902). They owned a piano.    

Although Sarah was the only one of her generation to take up music professionally Sarah’s sister, Rachel, played violin and piano throughout her schooldays and sister Anna played trumpet and piano.

So, how should I celebrate this momentous birthday? Or, perhaps I should say how do I want to mark the day? Inevitably I thought back to my other significant birthdays – my 50th, with a big party in my home on El Curtola in Lafayette, my 60th with my girls picnicing by San Francisco Bay. But what to do this time? I’d been contemplating taking a cruise around the British coast for a while. For me it must sail out of Liverpool because of the history associated with that port over so many generations. When  I found that the 5 day cruise that I’d originally contemplated was fully booked I ended up with a ten day Ambassador cruise calling at places that I’d already visited with the exception of Honfleur in France. But then I asked myself ‘Why shouldn’t I revisit a place I’ve already been to?’ And that’s how it happened.

DAY 1 Liverpool to Guernsey

First the train to Manchester and then train to Liverpool. I’d been freaking out all week about ‘missing the boat’ quite literally so I gave myself plenty of time. I took a little stroll around Manchester cathedral to kill some time in the city and then got a train to Liverpool reaching Lime Street station through the railway cutting with its amazing rock formations in a multitude of colours. Once in Liverpool I began writing limericks to pass the time, something I haven’t done in a while. I had a snack from M&S in the station and then took a taxi to the dock on Princes Gardens. The taxi driver wanted to know all about my cruise and said he wished he was coming with me! 

Ambassador’s Ambition seemed enormous as I approached, but boarding was incredibly easy. I was issued with a boarding card which is used for everything on the ship from boarding to getting through customs, and all the payments encountered whilst on board. I purchased an Internet package which I was assured would cover all messaging but I was to discover it didn’t include sending photos, or regular messaging, or give me access to email or Facebook. My cabin, however, was delightful, sun streaming through my window as I entered.

My big rolly bag was waiting outside my cabin. I’d sent it by a courier service. After briefly unpacking and getting acquainted with my cabin – I initially thought the safe was a microwave! – I went up to the top deck, deck 11, to get ready to watch our progress from directly opposite the Liver building, along the River Mersey to the open sea.The presence  of all those millions of people who’d travelled this route before was very much with me. Even before we’d left the dock people were already spread out on the sun loungers on the spa deck, some covered in towels or blankets. There was even a woman in the hot tub reading a book! 

I’d requested the second sitting for dinner but I didn’t expect it to be quite so late – 8:15, and that was just for the first of four courses – so I sat in one of the many lounges and settled down with a bottle of cider to take in the day. All that anxiety and worry about getting to the boat on time and having the correct documentation could now be thrown overboard. As I relaxed and people-watched I noticed a couple who reminded me of my former husband and his wife, and as destiny took its course they came to sit by me. They were from the Ribble Valley. We started a conversation and lo and behold the man had been an extra on the set of the TV series The Gallows Pole just like me. We didn’t recognise each other, but what a coincidence. They’d also recently visited Heptonstall Museum where I sometimes volunteer and where I took Rachel on her visit at Christmas time. 

I’d been assigned to the second sitting of dinner at The Buckingham restaurant, table 92. There were only two other people on our table even though it was set for six, which was rather disappointing. This was  made even more so by the presence of one very opinionated lady whose topic of conversation began with why Dolly Parton is a gay icon, and another lady with mobility issues who barely said a word. I’d been very surprised by the number of people on board needing walkers, walking sticks and wheelchairs. How wonderful that they feel confident enough to take a cruise, often by themselves. It sort of puts my anxiety into perspective. So far everyone I’ve spoken to has been on multiple cruises. I haven’t found a single novice like me who has only been on one before and that was twenty years ago. Several had been on the Alaskan Inside Passage cruise that I’d taken with my daughters. The food at dinner was excellent – sea bass, my new favourite, but a disappointing Eton mess – not enough meringue. A lot of the conversations around me were concerning the drinks packages that seemingly everyone except me appeared to have purchased. I thought the packages were outrageously expensive but then I only have one drink per day. Here people were happily buying a bottle of wine each evening for just themselves. 

We didn’t finish dinner until about 10:15 and I went to check out the evening’s entertainment – the Eternal Valentines, a married couple, singing and playing keyboard and guitar. It was a short half hour set but quite pleasant. Then it was off the see a game show called State of the Nation in the Palladium theatre – most entertaining since it involved audience participation. 

DAY 2 – At sea

I braved The Borough Market for breakfast, a self service cafe which was very crowded. Having found some fruit and yoghurt I couldn’t find anywhere to sit so I sat outside, carefully trying to avoid the windy side of the ship, even though it was a beautiful sunny day with a calm sea. Then I went to explore the ship, finding a sauna, exercise room and shopping centre. I retreated to my room and began the embroidery project I’d brought with me, a cross stitch kit of an owl that I though might fit in with Anna’s colour scheme for Jude. Mid morning I attended a presentation about Guernsey and Honfleur, our first two ports. The strategy for exiting the boat was given plus a description of the shore excursions that were available. 

Then it was back to Borough Market for cheese and biscuits and a cold meat selection and then back to my room to do some more embroidery. I tried putting on the TV but the channels available were unappealing – BBC News, Sky News, Sky Sports News, and Prime movies but without a menu to check the schedule  to see what and when the movies were showing. 

I returned to the lounge to watch the Eternal Valentines again and got talking to another couple and inevitably the opening question is ‘Where are you from?’ I’d already met someone from Burnley who had worked in both Bolton and Bury, so I tried to describe Affetside’s location. She hadn’t heard of it but asked if it was near The Last Drop –  I’d only had my wedding reception there! So, confronted with this ‘new’ couple I asked where they were from. ‘Torquay’, came the response. ‘Ooo, I don’t know anything about the South of England. I’m a Northerner through and through,’ I quipped. ‘Well, my mother was born in the north of England in a place call Todmorden. Have you heard of it?’ ‘I can walk to it from my house,’ I laughed.

I’d elected to go and meet the captain at a meet and greet, so I took my leave of the Southerners and joined a short line to greet the captain while the ship’s photographer took my photo. I asked the captain where home is for him. He told me that Ambition is registered in Nassau. He himself is from Ukraine. 

After dinner with the same two ladies on Table 92 the evening’s entertainment was a Globe Trotting quiz with an excellent compere and four volunteers each representing a different country of the UK. There were some fun questions about the various countries and my favourite was a round of crazy place names where the contestants had to guess which country the places were in. The game lasted well over an hour and was lots of fun. Afterwards I popped into the evening’s show in the Palladium theatre. Though the costumes were fun – all the ladies done up to look like Mary Antoinette, and the set was an English country garden, there was no variety in the songs and after half an hour I left. It was after 11 p.m. anyway and it was time to head for my cabin, 8026. It’s been years since I’ve fallen asleep without my radio on but since I can’t get radio reception on the ship I’ve been able to prove to myself that I can actually fall asleep without it! 

DAY 3 – Guernsey

At 7:15 a.m. an almighty clunk rocked the boat – we had landed on Guernsey. I raced to open my curtains and found that my cabin was facing seaward and I could see the islands of Herm and Sark in the distance. I was wondering how to occupy myself in St Peter Port from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m. I couldn’t just wander the streets for ten hours. I had gathered that many people stay on board ship even when we land at a port but even though I’d spent five days on Guernsey in January 2019 I wanted to explore the island. Yesterday a lady had suggested a group of us get together and take the ferry to Sark but there was no way of contacting her, but I reckoned there’d be people at the dock selling various tours.

 Mulling all this over I had breakfast in the Buckingham restaurant – still busy but not as crazy as Borough Market. Then it was a trip on the tender for the 15 minute sail to St Peter Port. It was a large stride/jump onto the tender but there were lots of helping hands from the staff to assist.

 When we’d sailed past the jetty in the tender I spotted the lighthouse and castle so I headed off in that direction hoping to get a good photo of the town from the end of the jetty. Hundreds of boats were moored in the harbour and sunlight poured down on the bright blue water. I spent a couple of hours exploring  Castle Cornet which had been constructed over several hundred years. Formerly on a tidal island the castle was first built around 1200 and was taken over by the French, then the Welsh and then the English.

During the British Civil war it was held by the Parliamentarians and then the Royalists. It had also acted as a prison from earliest times until the end of World War ll, and had been a garrison for soldiers through the centuries. I found the display about the German occupation of the island very moving.  A small garden added colour to the ancient stonework and I had coffee and a Guernsey Gache, a  local toast with raisins, on the outdoor patio.

I gathered alongside a few other tourists to watch the firing of the cannon at midday. A soldier in full military uniform waited for the precise moment and then an almighty bang left everyone with buzzing ears! 

I was ready for a sit down after wandering around the castle and climbing up and down the many staircases. So I headed to the bus station to find a route around the island. I found just the right one and spent the next hour and 40 minutes on a lovely tour of the island including the Vason coast that I’d explored in my previous visit. The houses exuded affluence. It would be interesting to know how much they sell for. Their steeply angled pan-tiled roofs are very distinctive. The coastal part of the ride was beautiful. Many concrete bunkers left from WW ll still dot the coastline. 

Arriving back at the port I had an hour before it would be time to catch the tender so I thought I’d go and see the main church in the town centre. A helpful docent picked up my interest in the organ there. Apparently he has an organ stop named after him somewhere. He even opened the console and was happy for me to play the instrument but neither of us knew how to turn the massive instrument on so I suggested I play the nearby piano instead. When he took off the cover I could see that it was a Bechstein – the company which had just closed its shop down in Manchester much to my piano Meetup group’s disappointment. It had a beautiful sound and he offered to take a video of me playing it. It took him four attempts but finally he succeeded. 

I had a little wander round the town for half an hour before it was time to get the tender. I found a little cafe next to the waiting area and enjoyed an early evening refreshment as I wrote my journal before it was time to leave the island. 

Departure time for Ambition was 6 p.m. and I spent the evening sampling more of the onboard entertainment of plays, quizzes and music. I saw a beautiful golden sun peaking through the clouds over  the ocean around 8:30. Sunset was around 10 p.m.

DAY 4 – Honfleur and Giverny

I’d booked a coach tour that would take me to Monet’s garden and house at Giverny. When booking everyone was concerned about how overrun with tourists the place that Monet made his home for more than 40 years would be.  I’m glad that we had been forewarned. Apparently over 500,000 tourists visit this little village each year! Compare this to Haworth Parsonage which gets tourists from all over the world, but only 50,000 to 75,000 per year. 

We docked at Honfleur on the River Seine at 8 a.m, the anchor chains making an almighty racket. I opened the curtains expecting to see bright sunshine and a sleepy little port. Instead I found myself looking at an rain drenched enormous goods yard full of wood and cranes – no, not the feathered variety.

I had to have an early (for me) breakfast because we were to meet ashore at the coach stop by 9 a.m. for the 2 1/4 hour ride to Giverny, which included a 20 minute bathroom and snack break half way. The landscape was rolling agricultural fields and we saw nothing of the town of Honfleur as we left the riverside. 

We had a tour guide on the bus and she filled us in with facts about Monet’s life at Giverny. Apparently the entire gardens had been left derelict at some point and later reconstructed as they would have been in his day. In 1883 he began to rent this house and its orchard garden. With the help of his family, he changed its appearance from a farming plot to a flowering garden. Around the house, he sowed seeds for his favourite annuals: poppies, sunflowers, and nasturtiums. In spring he would plant daffodil bulbs, primroses, and willow herbs. By 1890 his paintings had become collectors’ items and he had enough money to purchase the house and land. Now on his private land he embarked on a much more ambitious gardening plan: he hired two full-time gardeners, which would eventually grow to six, built a large greenhouse just to propagate species and preserve bulbs, and rented a separate garden, not far away from his house, to move all the vegetable and fruits to, so he could devote his own garden solely for his flowers. His flower collection grew with a more extravagant range of species, which must have cost him a fortune: irises, peonies, delphiniums, Oriental poppies, asters, and many species of sunflowers gave colour.  He diverted water so that he could build his famous Japanese water garden with its bridges and water lilies. After he completed the development, he devoted the last 30 or so years of his life to painting almost 250 panels depicting the serene surface of his water-lily pond. The guide explained that she couldn’t guide us around the house or garden  because it would be too crowded and we wouldn’t be able to either stick together, or hear her. The couple from the Ribble Valley were on the bus and we chatted throughout the journey. Once at Giverny the guide showed us the way into and out of the garden and house and the way into the little village and back to the coach park – all very confusing. There was a grey sky above us but rain wasn’t forecast until 4 in the afternoon by which time we were scheduled to be on our way home on the coach, but I’d brought my raincoat ‘just in case.’ 

We arrived at 11.15 and were told that this was the quietest part of the day but I could already see a long line of visitors stretching from the house itself so I set about wandering in the gardens. They are so extensive that they now take 50 gardeners to care for them. How on earth did Monet manage to create this himself? The scent from the roses permeated the air and the straight rows of flowers separated by little parallel paths were beautifully cared for. My undergraduate dissertation had been about the influence of impressionist art on Debussy’s music so this was a very special place for me to visit fifty years after I first learned of it. But the place was just so busy that I didn’t get a real sense of Monet’s life here, with his two wives and eight children. The narrow walkways in the gardens were filled with slow moving elderly people and younger people stopping to take selfies every few minutes. An underpass led to the Japanese garden. But unfortunately it isn’t water lily season. It was almost impossible to take photos of the Japanese bridges, there were just too many people on them. Soon it started to rain, so I’m glad my raincoat got some use. 

Eventually I went over to the house when I could see that there were only about a dozen people in line waiting to enter but the queue inside stretched through every room. I was very surprised at how large the actual building was but what surprised me most was his collection of art works, especially Japanese prints. I asked a docent if they had been there in Monet’s time, and the answer was definitely yes, though many of them are replicas for security purposes. I asked the docent to take a photo of me in the same place that Monet was standing in one of the photos displayed on the wall. 

Exit was, naturally, through the gift shop, and though I had gathered some postcards to send to my daughters I gave up after I saw the length of the checkout line. Someone said it was an hour long! I consoled myself thinking that I’d buy some postcards in the village itself but no – none of the little gift shops carried any postcards. Perhaps the house has a monopoly on their sale. I thought I’d get a drink before returning to the coach at 2.15 and I spotted a little cafe that looked inviting. They had a range of teabags to chose from – impressive – but then lady server poured me just half a paper cup of hot water. I paid with my debit card and looked around for some milk. “Ah, that will be an extra 50 cents,” she told me. I rummaged around for my card again, made a big show of giving it to her but she just shrugged her shoulders implying that I needn’t pay for the milk. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever been charged separately for the milk to be put in a cup of tea. 

After this amusing encounter I headed back towards the coach stop passing a field of long grass peppered with flowering red poppies, at the centre of which was a haystack – all familiar presences in Monet’s paintings. The field was part of the Impressionist museum but there wasn’t time to visit it. I was relieved to find my way back to the coach park without any difficulty and off we set – in the pouring rain!

Back in Honfleur I felt tired enough to go straight back to the ship for forty winks, especially since we’d moved the clocks on an hour overnight, but I couldn’t miss going to have a look at Honfleur, so along with the couple I took the shuttle bus directly into the centre of Honfleur rather than going back to Ambition.

Satie had lived in Honfleur as had Monet and his teacher Boudin and they had both done many paintings of the town. My GPS wasn’t working on my phone and I was loathe to head off into the town without it. The last shuttle bus back to the ship was 7 p.m. and so I explored the town with the couple who had both been there before. The central dock with its ancient multi-storey buildings is iconic but in all the photos and paintings I’d seen of the houses were beautifully coloured. How different today.

They are brown and grey wooden structures and that wasn’t just because it was now raining quite hard. Some of the side streets had ancient wattle and daub buildings and we selected a lovely bar for a drink and a brief shelter from the rain. It reminded me of The First and Last Chance Saloon in Oakland with its walls and ceiling decorated with all manner of things. Flags covered the ceiling  and there was even the bear flag of California to make me feel at home. 

Heading out I suggested we went to see if the big church, St Catherine’s,  was open and it was. It’s all constructed of wood and the ceilings of the aisles look like the keels of upturned boats – and no wonder – it was constructed by fishermen. It dates from the second half of the 15th century and is the largest wooden church in France. because of its wooden structure it wasn’t strong enough to support a tower so a tower topped with a spire was built separately – and now serves as the public toilets!

Back on the streets a souvenir was purchased – in the form of Pisse de Vaches – a liqueur called yes, cow’s piss.

We got the last shuttle back and as we checked in we were told that were the last three people to return to the ship! They also mentioned that there was a spare seat at their table for the second sitting in the Buckingham restaurant so at 8.15 I made my way to their table – table 2. There were four people already seated at the six seater table and the couple weren’t there. The others looked at me as if I’d flown in from another planet but as soon as I’d told them of my invitation to the table they welcomed me. A few minutes later the couple arrived and so she had to grab the table settings from another table and we squeezed seven onto our table. She explained that they had been delayed because her partner had gone to the laundry on board to wash his red pants that had got muddy and wet during the day – and he’d only brought one other pair with him – his dress pants and he wasn’t going to wear them at tonight’s informal meal. I had a lovely curry as my main course. Again I noticed that people were tucking into their bottles of wine like there was no tomorrow. 

After dinner I went to the Palladium theatre to watch a ghost story play. Then it was off to my room around 11.15 – a tired and content  bunny. What a lot I’d packed in today!

DAY 5  – At sea

I enjoyed working on my cross stitch owl and reading Gordo, the book that Sarah had given me for Christmas, set in the farming community south of Santa Cruz. I don’t seem to be able to give myself ‘permission’ to read and embroider at home, so I welcomed this. I had a latish breakfast in Borough Market. Again, it was very busy but I had a delicious bacon butty. 

At 11 o’clock I attended a lecture by Stuart Laing, former Master of Corpus Christie College, Cambridge,  entitled ‘Heroes of Hull, Brigand of Bristol’ about the slave trade. He had been an ambassador to Oman and Kuwait. I felt that his lecture went way above the heads of the audience – mine included, and rather irrelevant to this particular cruise. It was all about the Afro-Arab slave trade. 

Later I went back to the market for a light bite and was joined by Arthur for one of the most interesting conversations I’d had so far on the trip. We were still chatting two hours later! One of the inevitable conversation starters is about former cruises and he told me all about the Hurtigruten cruise he’d taken – the post boat to the Norwegian fjords. This was a cruise that Maggie had been on and had urged me to take. Arthur had recently been widowed and when his husband died last year he’d taken the cruise rather than be a third wheel at friends’ Christmas celebrations. Despite there only being four hours of daylight he described basking in the hot tub on deck with snow falling on him, and an amazing husky ride on the frozen ice. He has lived in Spain since the mid 1970s and has had five operations on his spine so his mobility is very limited, so his husky ride was very special for him. 

In the afternoon I managed to talk to Sarah and Daphne briefly, having figured out that WhatsApp calls can be done from the ship.  

Dinner was on Table 2 again and then to The Retro Rock Rebellion at the Palladium theatre – a singing and dancing show which was well done but didn’t interest me very much and I left before it finished. 

DAY 6 – Ijmuiden, The Netherlands

I’d booked a tour called ‘Amsterdam on your own.’ Basically it was just a coach taking me to the from the port of Ijmuiden to the centre of Amsterdam, about a 45 minute ride. It left at 8.45 which meant an early start for me but since no return time had been posted I presumed that I could return to the boat at whatever time I pleased. Imagine my surprise then when the coach driver announced that we’d need to be back on the coach by 1.50 for a 2.00 departure back to Ambition. 

I woke to a view of bellowing chimneys and a huge industrial estate. One of the problems of not having Internet was that I couldn’t research places that I’d be visiting. During the trip out of the port we passed big factories and goods yards with giant car parks – all filled – but I didn’t see a single person until we reached the outskirts of Amsterdam. The coach deposited us close to the central station much of which was under wraps since it is undergoing some major reconstruction.

When I got home after the cruise I noticed that a TV series has been made – Amsterdam Central 24/7 about the 900 men and women who keep things running smoothly at the station which is undergoing its largest renovation in its history.  Our coach guide gave me directions on how to find a place where I could board a cruise along one of the canals. It had just started raining as I left Ambition and it was now blowing a gale so I didn’t fancy just wandering around the streets on my own for four hours. It wasn’t until I reached the cruise chalet that I realised that this was the same company and route that I’d taken in March, 2019. Was it really six years ago? The hour’s cruise was enjoyable despite the weather, passing the tall houses, some only one metre wide because taxes were assessed on ground space. I was fascinated by the taking in pulleys on the gables, some of which are still used for getting people’s furniture into their homes. 

Once back at the dock it was a struggle to find the terminus of the Hop On Hop Off bus but once found I was assured that it would be back at the starting point in an hour – by 1.30. However, as we drove around  the streets traffic was at a standstill in many places and I began to worry that I’d not get back to the shuttle coach in time.

I’d been told that a taxi back to Ambition would cost 100 Euros. Just before we reached the terminus  the bridge that we were about to cross suddenly took flight so that two boats could pass beneath, thus delaying the bus even more. It was precisely 2 p.m. when the bus reached the terminus. I could see my coach shuttle across the street and I just made it in time – the last one to board. 

Dinner was at Table 2 again. I had a lovely seafood starter served in a shell and then pork stuffed with dried apricot and I caught a little bit of the Game Show Around the World after dinner and then went to see comedian Gerry Graham, a 45 minute show.

One of his specialities is writing his own words to favourite song themes – very funny. A couple of his one liners were rather ‘old school’ and a lot of his material was based on TV programmes, comics and songs from the 60s and 70s that I don’t know but his presentation was flawless and quite witty.

I was back in my room by 11.15. The ship had started to rock and sway quite a lot and it was a little tricky to walk in a straight line – and I’d only had a small glass of white wine with my dinner!

DAY 7 – All at Sea for my birthday

When I returned to my cabin after breakfast today a Happy Birthday banner had been installed above my window. I opened my birthday cards that I’d brought with me. I’d already opened one from my daughters that had been there to greet me when I first stepped into my cabin, along with a plate of delicious chocolates. Somehow Rachel had organised that! Today there was a card from Ambassador cruises, a Mothers’ Day card from Wobbly Bob, and two original cards painted by Gill and Jane.

I planned to go to the play at 2 o’clock in the Palladium Theatre, but, oh my, the theatre was completely full – no spaces whatsoever, so I took a couple of strolls around the ship, wrote up my journal over a nice cider. Trace has another week of paternity leave before returning to school for two weeks before the long summer break. Belinda was there. It’s her birthday too today! When I called Sarah she was in a rush to leave  – all dressed up with her long hair down rather than pinned up as it usually is. She was just about to leave for the first meeting for the musicians of Sweeney Todd, the musical she’s playing in in the pit with Cabrillo Stage.

I had a shower myself, got dressed up and then went to hear the Kit Kat Trio, a Filipino group with two girls and a guy. One of the girls plays guitar and sings, and the guy plays keyboards and sings occasionally. Then off to the Nice and Easy Trivia Game where I was soon joined by five others including a man who was very interested in my trip to Alamogordo in  New Mexico, the site of the first nuclear explosion in 1945. Our conversation had been ignited by a question about the Oppenheimer movie. Rachel had visited the site too, just as the movie was released in 2023. However, the man wouldn’t accept my answer that Spain won the Euros in 2024, insisting that we wrote the answer Italy!

Then it was time to go to dinner with Table 2. Our attention was drawn to the waiters gathering round a table at the far end of the restaurant and singing Happy Birthday, so I shared with my table that it was my birthday and told our waiter. Soon after someone from our table took a trip to the bathroom which seemed to take a long time and when she returned she’d made a little birthday card for me on behalf of all at Table 2. Another member of Table 2 is celebrating his birthday tomorrow and so he’s booked us all to go to Saffron restaurant, a small restaurant on Ambition specialising in Indian and Chinese food. As our dessert was served all the waiters gathered around our table, sang Happy Birthday and presented me with a piece of cheesecake with one lit candle – very sweet. Someone asked if this was a significant birthday – and I replied that all birthdays are significant! 

The late evening’s entertainment at the theatre was A Night in Nashville – the performers singing and dancing in extravagant cowboy costumes – very entertaining, and very well done.

DAY 8 – Orkney

I looked through the window to see that it was pouring down, foggy and blowing a gale. I could see the green fields beyond the terminal and just make out the spire of St Magnus cathedral which I recognised from my previous trip to the island in August of 2017. An early lunch was required in order to meet the tour bus at 1 p.m.

The wind was so strong that it was hard to stand up straight especially on the steep ramp down from the ship. Our tour guide for this four hour excursion, Norah, was excellent – a wealth of knowledge and she even pointed out her house, a remote farm, during our trip. She’d come to live in Orkney 15 years ago. As we drove around the island in a mixture of sunshine and heavy showers but with a consistently strong wind my attention was drawn to the ruined longhouses reminding me of the entire ruined village I’d seen on Mull on my trip there with Keith in August 2018. It was difficult to differentiate between the inland lochs and the sea.

There were lots of sheep with their young lambs and cattle with their calves. We had a photo stop at Palace beach. The colours on the island – the sky, the rocks, the fluorescent green of the fields and the varieties of blues on the water are amazing – no wonder these northern isles are a paradise for artists. Three wooden picnic tables had stone semi circular walls built to protect them from the wind. It really was difficult to even stand still.

I think this is probably the strongest wind I’ve ever encountered. But at least there was some bright sunshine for a few moments as the clouds scudded across the sky, sometimes obliterating the sun and sometimes opening for the sun’s rays to reach the earth. It was these colours that I tried to capture in my photos of the island, that – and the remoteness of the individual farms and ruins of former  buildings. 

Palace takes its name from the Earl’s Palace built around 1606 by Patrick, earl of Orkney, one of the island’s most notorious rulers. I was disappointed that our coach didn’t stop at the palace ruins. 

At Sandwick there was a chapel on a cliff with a beautifully maintained cemetery. There was no village nearby, just this isolated chapel. It is a rare survival of an unaltered Scots parish kirk of 1836 with views of the Bay of Skaill and Skara Brae. It was hard to imagine that in the mid 19th century the kirk would have been packed with 500 people – each having no more than an 18” space on each pew! I do wish Norah had told us that the chapel was open but one of the passengers did go inside and he shared his photos with me. It looked very similar to the non-conformist chapels of Calderdale in West Yorkshire. 

And then we headed to Stromness, a town that I didn’t visit on my Brightwater Adventure to the Orkneys and Shetland. We were here for just 40 minutes so I wandered around the sea front with its ancient buildings basking now in the glorious sunshine. A lot of music was issuing forth since today is the last day of the Orkney Folk Festival. There was even a small group of young girls playing the violin on the street which so reminded me of Rachel at the same age. I got a coffee to take back with  my on the bus and then we headed to the Ring of Brodgar which I’d visited before. Gone was the wooden picket fence that had surrounded the circle on my previous visit so it looked much more ancient and pristine.

Well, it is 5,000 years old. The surrounding heather of course was not in bloom but still it was the colours that impressed me most. An unexpected encounter as I walked around the stone circle was two Morris men lying prostrate close to the henge in their costumes. I asked if I could take a photo and was told no. So I just walked away and pretended to take a panoramic shot but actually took the photo that I wanted. As I walked around the circle I couldn’t stop thinking about how remote these islands are and what it must be like to live here, whether it be 5000 years ago, or today. The wind was still strong and it was obvious a storm was brewing. Overhead a huge black cloud was heading in our direction and three minutes before I arrived back at the coach the rain started. It didn’t last long but it was a huge downpour. I looked in vain for a rainbow but I was told later that evening that there had been one. 

Back on the ship Table 2 had migrated to Saffron and tonight we were joined by another man who just happened to sit opposite me. I thought I recognised his accent. “I’m from Bolton,” he told me. I joked that I’d buy him a drink if he could guess which village I am from, but when he said he knew Harwood and Tottington I withdrew my offer – all in good fun. Then he mentioned that his favourite pub in the area is the Pack Horse at Affetside, and that he was meeting a friend there this Friday, even though he now lives in Durham.

I took a video of him explaining all this to share with my daughters. Our dinner reservation was for 8 p.m. and with the starters and drinks it was 9.30 p.m. before the main course was served. I’d had enough by 10 p.m. so I made my excuses, saying that I wanted to photograph the sunset and cloud formation, so off I trotted. Sunset was at 10.04. Beautiful. 

Entertainment for the rest of the evening was ‘Live Aid – a Musicians Songbook’. revisiting the songs of the live aid concert of 1985. The show was interrupted by a message from the ship’s captain which many of us in the audience thought at first was part of the show. He informed us that we would be encountering rough weather. We were advised to hold onto the ship’s rails and bannisters as we walked and that sea sickness tablets were available free of charge. The show resumed but the ship began to lurch violently. The actors and dancers carried on regardless – they are obviously used to situations like this. The passengers on the other hand aren’t. I had cling to every rail and chair was I left the theatre at the end of the show. Just crossing the hallway to the lift was challenging. And once back safely in my cabin even getting ready for bed was difficult. I woke up many times during the night feeling the pressure of the ship swaying. The captain had also informed us that because of the turbulence we wouldn’t be able to go to Shetland the following day. We’d have a day at sea and spend the final day of our cruise docked at Douglas on the Isle of Man.

DAY 9 –  At sea

This was an unanticipated day at sea. We had been scheduled to sail north overnight and spend today on Shetland but the storm had meant that we’d had to make a detour and head to the Isle of Man.

Fortunately I’d brought some seasickness tablets with me and I’m glad that I did, though I still felt decidedly unwell all morning, and I tried to sleep it off. The outside deck was severely flooded, the mock grass carpet being under several inches of water. 

By the time we sailed past Uist the sea had become calmer and I spent the rest of the day doing my embroidery, reading and watching the amazing parade in Liverpool on SkySports TV. Liverpool FC had finished the season on top of the Premier League and a parade of open top buses holding the team were cheered on by thousands of fans with lots of red smoke and fireworks. The parade passed the Liver Building and the dock where I’d boarded Ambition. I’m glad we weren’t scheduled to dock there today. Well over 100,000 people were there. What I didn’t know at the time was that some crazy guy drove his car in to the crowd injuring many people. 

Because we had to pass between the Hebrides we were able to see land on both sides of us throughout the day, something that I’d been disappointed not to see on our other days at sea – always having docked and departed in the dark.

I decided to have an early light dinner in the Borough Market, so after dinner I went to the pub quiz on a movie theme where I joined Table 2 at 7.30. My Mohave desert answer was much appreciated – though here it was pronounced Mo – jave by many!  Another question was how many symphonies did Beethoven compose?  Our team didn’t win but at least I’d made a contribution. At the end of the evening all crew paraded through the theatre so that we could show our appreciation. There were 512 crew to 1200 passengers. 

DAY 10 – Isle of Man

I slept so much better since we were back on calm waters. We dropped anchor at 6.45 a.m. I looked out of my window, and there it was – the Isle of Man. OK, the sky wasn’t exactly blue but it wasn’t foggy or pouring with rain. But by 10 a.m. the land had become shrouded in mist and it was raining heavily – but at least Ambition wasn’t reeling around. I’d received an email from Baggex, the luggage courier service, to say that they wouldn’t be able to take my rolly bag home – darn it – I can’t even lift it. 

I have a photo of my mum, my grandma and her friend Annie Brown on a  boat on the Isle of Man and I think my boyfriend Tony went there with his mum, flying from Blackpool, but I’ve not been there before today. The excursion that I’d booked was to leave at 1.15 and we were advised to leave the ship to board the tender no later than 12.30. As I looked out towards the tender it was certainly bouncing around a lot in the water and many passengers who had not paid for an onshore excursion and just wanted to take the tender to the shore in Douglas were having second thoughts. I took another seasickness tablet, just in case, and then we were off, heading towards the promenade with its rows of tall white buildings, obviously Victorian, built as guest houses and boarding houses. It was only a 15 minute sail in the tender to the landing area and in the reception building my attention went straight to a blue piano placed there in memory of someone named Cody, so I gave it a little tinkle of Bach and Grieg as I waited for the coach. 

Our guide was knowledgable about the island’s history, of which I knew nothing. She pointed out that in the 1960s, which is when my family would have visited, tourists visited the island for its beaches, ice cream and dirty postcards. Now, it’s much more upmarket, home to millionaires and it offers great tax incentives. I had no idea that the island had its own language, and currently one elementary school only uses the Manx language in an effort to preserve it. The island was settled by the Vikings, was the place of a 25,000 person internment camp during WW ll and the home of William Hillary who founded  the RNLI. Gently rolling hills shrouded in mist was the order of the day as we drove to Castletown where we had an hour to explore on our own. The town is dominated by Castle Rushen, a medieval castle built for a Viking king.

The town is a maze of narrow streets and former fishermen’s cottages. The town and castle have been the site of numerous sieges and battles, as the Norsemen, the Scots and the English fought to control it. Robert the Bruce captured the castle three times. My first teaching post in Bedford had been at Robert the Bruce school! There’s even the remains of an extinct volcano on the island – as I type this Mt Etna, which I hiked halfway up in 2018, has just erupted. I even noticed a bus stop called Smetana’s stop which had music inscribed but I don’t know why it’s there – and neither did our guide! 

I walked around the dock and took a brief peek into the House of Keys, the island’s old parliament building.

Wandering around the main shopping streets they felt very deserted, not a person in sight and many of the shops were permanently closed – almost a ghost town feel to the place. 

Back on the coach we took the A3 north passing Foxdale, home of 13 lead mines in the 19th century and we could see some of the ruined smelting mills dotted in the fields. The mines were all compulsory closed in 1911. Gardners in the vicinity today are still not allowed to grow veggies in the soil, just in pots with good soil, because of the lead content still present in the soil. 

Then we stopped for an hour in Peel, dominated by the castle originally built by Norwegians in the 11th century under the rule of Magnus Barefoot. After the Norwegians left it became a church when a cathedral was built on the site. Excavations in the 10th century uncovered a 10th century grave containing a Norwegian necklace and a silver coin dated 1030. The colourful fisherman’s cottages that lined the streets reminded me of Tobermoray on Mull. It was a pity there wasn’t enough time to visit the castle or the museum but I did buy a toasted teacake and take a cup of tea back to the coach with me. 

Back at the ferry terminal I asked someone to take a video of me playing the blue piano and then it was back to the tender which thankfully wasn’t a bouncy as earlier in the day. I was back on Ambition by 6.30 and then I hastily did my packing  because everyone had to put their suitcases outside their room by 11 p.m. Later I did the pub quiz with the same two ladies for the third night and we did quite well.

I had dinner with table 2 and then it was off to the Palladium theatre to watch Oscar Night. This group of young singer/actors are very professional, as are the backdrops and the costumes.

I was back in my cabin by 11.30. I have to vacate my cabin by 7.30 tomorrow morning. That’s awfully early for me! 

DAY 11 – Going home

I had a peek from my window just before 6 a.m. hoping to see some coastline but all I could see was are sea. I left my cabin just before 7.30 knowing I then had to hang around the ship for four hours since I’d been assigned to an 11.30 disembarkation. How better, then, to find a quiet spot in one of the lounges and write up my journal for yesterday. And, I got my first consistent WiFi connection in ten days, so I needed to catch up with all those emails and Facebook messages, especially those wishing me Happy Birthday that I hadn’t been able to acknowledge. 

Embarkation was straightforward – just a question of handing in my Ambition card. This card had been the sole way of paying for anything on the ship including the excursions. It had also acted as a passport. It was strange to think that I’d visited France and The Netherlands without having to show my passport at any time on the trip. It almost felt as if I hadn’t actually been abroad. 

Many of the passengers had pre-booked taxis and they had priority on disembarkation. When I enquired where to get a taxi from I was directed, not very well, to a spot just outside the perimeter of the port, where to my horror I saw a line of at least 30 or 40 people in front of me, with not a taxi in sight, and it was raining cats and dogs!  The ship’s people had told me that there’d be a line of taxis waiting for people leaving the ship.Not! It was 10 minutes before the first taxi arrived, by which time at least 20 people had joined the line. It was going to take hours.

So – book an Uber! My Uber arrived in 5 minutes and 15 minutes later I was on the platform, awaiting my train to Manchester. There’d been no sign of the Liverpool FC parade during my short journey to Lime Street station. My concern about dealing with my rolly bag proved to be unfounded as I found people willing to help me lift it onto and off the train. I noticed that the rhododendrons on the sides of the railway track had come into bloom whilst I’d been cruising around – and my purple headed chives in my garden had flowered.  I’d booked a taxi in Hebden Bridge, and I was home safely by 2.15 and by 2.30 I was sitting comfortably with Branwell purring in my lap. 

IN THE THICK OF THE FIGHT. HEPTONSTALL SOLDIER’S INTERESTING DESCRIPTION.

17th November, 1916, Todmorden and District News

Private Harry Taylor (King’s Royal Rifles), eldest son of Mr. and Mrs. Paul Taylor, White Lion Hotel, Heptonstall, has written the following interesting account of the recent Big Push: ‘About seven o’clock the night before the battle we marched about four miles to the top a hill close behind the fighting line. Here we were served out with bombs and some of us got a spade fastened on our backs. Just before dawn we marched off again through woods and villages which our troops had recently taken. Our guns started blazing away, howitzers behind and field-guns all around us. It was a terrible bombardment, and it made one feel proud to be a Britisher. After about hour this again started off for the last line and soon we were struggling through shell holes towards the German lines. We passed two large bodies of German prisoners, some them wounded all looking pleased to get out of it. This time big German shells were bursting all round and soon the machine guns also opened fire. We were now getting quite close to the Huns, and our men were falling before the terrible fire machine guns. One in particular on our right flank enfiladed and played havoc before it was put out of action. Still we kept on running about 20 yards, then throwing ourselves headlong into shell-holes. It was hard work and I remember I was so ‘done up ’ at one time that I was forced to walk across open ground to the next shell-hole. I had a very narrow escape, a bullet hitting the spade, which showed above my shoulders, and glancing off. A little further we came to the first line of trenches, which had been taken from the Germans that morning, and also passed two ‘caterpillars,’ one of which had been put out action by a ‘whizz-bang.’ We were in the thick of it now with a vengeance, but kept pushing on and the Germans gave themselves up in hundreds. The different regiments seemed to have all got mixed up by the time had advanced about two miles, but it was only what could be expected. The order was now passed along to dig ourselves in, and luckily I was in shell-hole at the time along with Rifle Brigade officer, three R.B. men, and corporal of my own company, so had not much digging to do. In a few hours we were firmly established in good deep trenches, all connected up. We stayed here until the early hours next morning, during which time the Germans made a few counter attacks, but we drove them back quite easily. We were all glad when the relief came up for were hungry and tired. It was a long, weary journey back to where our field kitchens were waiting for with some good hot tea that seemed to put new life into us. At present we are in nice warm barn in a little village about 40 miles behind the line for a three weeks’ rest. I and my chum had each the offer of a stripe, but we did not accept same then. We have plenty straw at the barn and have had a skin-coat and pair of fur-lined gloves issued to us. I shall probably have been confirmed by the time this letter reaches you.”

Did Harry’s account refer to his involvement in the Battle of the Somme?

Last week while enjoying refreshments at The Cross in Heptonstall I noticed a small framed photo on the ledge behind me. It showed a man pouring beer from a jug for five other men, four seated and one standing. From their clothes I’d have guessed the photo was taken around 1900. Imagine my astonishment when, on turning the frame over, there were two aging pieces of paper stuck to the back bearing the following inscription: ‘Paul Taylor, born 10th November 1867, died 17th May, 1923. he is the man holding the jug. Licensee of The White Lion, Heptonstall. Photo taken behind the White Lion next to what had been the smithy. Local people in the village all referred to Cliffe Street as ….’

Oh my, this landlord, Paul Taylor is one of my ancestors! My excitement was immense. It’s so rare to find photos of ancestors on ancestral websites and archives, let alone, by pure chance in a pub. And remember, the photo was in The Cross pub just a few doors along the main cobbled street in Heptonstall from The White Lion. I would love to know how this photo came to be in The Cross. I go there frequently and haven’t seen it before.

Once home I was eager to do more research into Paul Taylor, a name I knew from previous research. But what’s this? The dates are wrong. ‘My’ Paul Taylor, about whom I had already written a blog, tracing the origins of the Taylor family at Old Chamber and ending with the tragically early deaths of two of his children was 1829-1904. https://blog.hmcreativelady.com/2022/09/03/rambles-through-my-family-15-untimely-deaths-chapter-6-frank-taylor/

https://blog.hmcreativelady.com/?s=ellen+taylor

Surely there must be a family link between the two Paul Taylors, especially since the White Lion plays an important part in the story of the earlier Paul Taylor. It didn’t take me too long to discover that the Paul Taylor in the photo was the nephew of the earlier one. The Paul in the photo was the son of Greenwood Taylor, Paul number 1’s brother. Greenwood was a stone mason living at Old Chamber when this Paul was born. By 1891 the family had moved to Heptonstall, living in the centre of the village at New House Farm, adjacent to Dog Lane. Neither of these names appear on old maps but by posting on Facebook I discovered that Dog Lane was the old name for Church Lane since it follows the trajectory of a dog’s back leg. Greenwood now lists himself as a farmer and Paul became a fustian cutter. In 1896 Paul married Mary Hannah Robertshaw, daughter of Ann Robertshaw, at Heptonstall church and they had six children. Five years after their marriage they were living at The White Lion in Heptonstall where Paul would remain the landlord for the next twenty years until his death in 1923, when the license was transferred to his wife.

in 1903 Paul Taylor, of the White Lion, Heptonstall, was fined 5 shillings and costs on the 27th November last for being drunk in charge of a horse and cart. In July 1917 Paul won a bowling tournament at Heptonstall Bowling club, a place with special memories for me since that’s where the cast and crew of the TV series The Gallows Pole would meet to have dinner after the day’s filming. I was an extra playing a ‘Cragg Vale villager.’

The newspaper article about The Big Push was written by Paul’s son, Harry. He was just 19 when he wrote it. He’d been brought up in the hilltop village of Heptonstall, where his father was landlord of the White Lion. By the age of 14 he was a weaver in a cotton mill, a mill within walking distance of the village. Being thrust from that life into life on ‘the front’ is incomprehensible to me, but on this day of celebrating the end of the second world war I think it’s fitting to stop and think about such stories – the many millions of such stories.

2.FANNY GREENWOOD (This being chapter 2 of my ’13 Untimely Deaths’)

Willie Wrigley is James and Mally’s great grandson

It was May, 2020. The country, indeed much of the world, was in lockdown – the Coronavirus pandemic. Yet here I stood on a remote hillside with a panoramic view of the Calder Valley. Atop Erringden Moor Stoodley Pike rose like an eagle commanding a view of its territory, but it’s a black eagle, no hint of gold on its ‘phallic spike.’ ¹ The bleat of new born lambs filled the still air, a joyous sound now no longer obliterated by the overhead roars of planes on their flight to distant lands. A highland cow had introduced herself to me as I strolled along Burlees Lane, high above Hebden Bridge but her eyes warned me not to enter her field despite the public footpath sign.

It had been a steep climb up Wadsworth Lane, passing the housing estate of Dodd Naze on my left while to my right was open pasture but now I had a bird’s eye view of the Calder Valley and the small town of Mytholmroyd. Even though this town with its tongue twisting name is only 2 miles East of Hebden Bridge the valley here is much wider here with more expansive flat areas with scattered buildings , quite different from the tightly packed houses on top of each other, accessible by steep stone staircases.

I was in search of Hill House, birthplace of one of my ancestors, Charlotte Greenwood. I turned off the main road onto a small unpaved lane, Raw Lane. Ancient cottages now mostly restored and exuding affluence, their windows overlooking a dramatic landscape are dotted along its length, seemingly at random, some with their front doors opening directly onto the lane and others set back. In places Raw Lane is tree lined and at this time of year the trees heavy with leaves bowed their boughs forming an arch above me for me to walk through onto centre stage. The scent of the white hawthorn flowers was everywhere, reminding me of the hawthorn tree close to my childhood bedroom window at Affetside, and the brilliant yellow gorse flowers vied with a field of vibrant yellow buttercups for the prize of best in show. Today the verges were ablaze with colour. Foxgloves stood tall, proudly displaying their pendulous bell-like blooms and as I became aware that my jacket perfectly matched their shade of purple-pink I assured the busy bees that I was bereft of pollen.

Yet I had walked along with path in Autumn when the fog was so dense I could hardly see the roadside verges, let alone the expanse of the Calder Valley. Winters up here can be treacherous with ice and snow in abundance, and even today bins of grit lined the path reminding me of those dark days of winter when the lane lives up to its name. With map in hand I picked out Hill House to my right, perched alone on top of a smooth sided grass-green hill, devoid of trees, and justifying its name 100%.

A man was gardening at Hill House Lane Top and I chatted to him, admiring the lovely view his house had before taking the poppy lined cobbled track down towards my destination passing a beautifully landscaped garden with an ornamental pond and just as I approached the ancient stone house with its large barn across the yard a woman came into view, the current owner. I explained my quest and she was interested enough to bring out to me a framed aerial photo of the property taken about thirty years ago. It brought back memories of a similar photograph of my home at Third Bungalow, Affetside, framed and sitting in pride of place on top of my piano for many years. It had been taken from a helicopter some time in the 1970s and the pilot had landed in our field. Back at Hill House the owner pointed out a date stone above the front porch of 1678 and the initials IMG but she assured me that the building was significantly older than the stone indicated and that this was the date commemorating a rebuild.

With an invitation to return after lockdown was over I took my leave and she directed me to a path running behind the house enabling me to hike back into the valley a different way, following the outline of the hill which gives the house its name. I found myself crossing a beautiful meadow awash with wild flowers, clovers, cowslip and buttercups before reaching Red Acre Wood. Much work has been done to preserve the footpaths traversing this woodland sanctuary but the path remains steep, often with stairways and I had to keep my focus on my footsteps until I reached the valley floor from where I looked back and could see, high above, Hill House, perched atop its hill, birthplace of Charlotte Greenwood. In the Spring of 1894 Charlotte married Willie Wrigley, the great grandson of James and Mally, my 4^th great grandparents who had lived at Lily Hall. Willie was an architect of some renown.

I knew that Charlotte and Willie had a turbulent life together and his desertion of his wife and children resulted in a 3 month incarceration with hard labour in Wakefield gaol in 1901. But as I chatted to the current owner of Hill House that Spring morning I wasn’t aware of a tragedy that had occurred there one hundred and sixty years ago. A search later that evening produced an account in the newspaper that chilled me to the bone.

An article in the Sheffield Daily Telegraph 4th Nov 1861 reads ‘Murder and Suicide by a Mother Mytholmroyd: On Friday last, at midday, a most awful tragedy was perpetrated at Hill House, Wadsworth, Mytholmroyd, by a married woman, named Greenwood, wife of Mr. Greenwood, farmer. It appears that during the forenoon Mr. Greenwood had gone to Mytholmroyd with a week’s butter, and while away his wife cut the throat of her little daughter, about five years old, after which she cut her own throat, and ran out bleeding profusely into the house of a neighbour, (living at Hill House Lane Top where I’d chatted to the owner) named Sutcliffe, and then ran back into her own house. She still had the razor in her hand. Sutcliffe took it from her, and the mother pointed to the child in an adjoining room, with its head almost severed from its body. It would seem she had had two razors at work; one was also lying on the table, opposite the looking glass, covered with blood, along with two empty razor cases. The house presented more the appearance of a slaughter-house than human dwelling, such was the quantity of blood on the floors. The little girl’s hands were tied with a shred of cotton lining. Mrs. Greenwood has been in a desponding state of mind for some time, but not so much so as to cause much alarm. Since the above was written, it is reported that Mrs. Greenwood is dead also.” ²

I found over sixty accounts of this tragedy in various newspapers, the story being reported as far away as Ireland, Wales and Scotland but only the Hull Advertiser suggested a reason for the tragedy. “She had been depressed in spirits for some time in consequence of her husband’s ill luck in business as a farmer, and also in consequence of the helpless and idiotic state of the child brought on by the violent fits to which it had been subject for two or three years.” ³

Three and a half years after the devastating death of both his wife and child James Greenwood remarried. I mean, it’s not surprising. He had four remaining children under eight years old and he had a farm of 28 acres to look after. Following his marriage to Elizabeth Jackson at Mytholmroyd church the couple had three more children, the youngest being ‘my’ Charlotte born in 1871. James and Elizabeth continued to live at Hill House for the rest of their lives and as I picked my way carefully along the steep path through Red Acre Wood I wondered what ghosts penetrated their lives there.

Emerging from the dark density of the woodsI found myself in the centre of a bright and sunny Mytholmroyd. This small town on the River Calder lies at the junction of Cragg Brook and the River Calder and the valley floor here is much wider than the narrow cleft in which Hebden Bridge cowers, just two miles to the East. Yet its propensity to flooding is equal to that of its neighbour and TV crews covering the floods often have a particular difficulty in pronouncing the town’s name, meaning a clearing where two streams meet. After a few minutes’ walk along the towpath towpath I crossed the canal, the road and the river and arrived at the church, in search of the resting place of Fanny. It didn’t take me long in this well kept cemetery to find her grave, in which her daughter, Grace, also rests. So too is Grace’s sister, Sarah, aged 14 and Ann, aged 25. Fanny’s husband James lived to a grand old age of 72, and his second wife rests there too.

At that moment the church bell struck the hour and as I looked up at the asymmetrical church tower the outline of Hill House perched on its hill appeared to be directly the tower. Grave That morning on my way to find Charlotte’s birthplace I’d looked down with pleasure at Hill House and its commanding position and chatted happily with the owner. I know now that the place will hold different memories for me whenever I see it perched on the hill looking out to Mytholmroyd.

1 Glyn Hughes Millstone Grit p. 60

2 https://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk/viewer/BL/0000250/18611104/049/0002?browse=False

3 https://www.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk/viewer/BL/0001280/18611109/108/0005?browse=False

I was surprised to see sun when I opened the curtains this morning. I mist was hanging like a curtain over the valley, swishing this way and that – one minute obscuring Weasel Hall across the Calder Valley, and the next minute Weasel Hall was in full sunlight and Heptonstall was obscured by clouds. I couldn’t resist the opportunity to get out on’t’tops and I jumped onto the first bus up to Blackshaw Head, 600ft above me. There was another reason I wanted to go up there for today was Remembrance Day and one of my ancestors, Giles Sunderland, who lived on that exposed moor and was killed during WWl is remembered on the memorial stone in the chapel’s cemetery.

By the time the bus reached the scattered village, however, there was a lot more low dense cloud than swirling mist and sunshine, and I knew that it wasn’t the morning for stunning photography that I had anticipated.

I stayed on the bus at the turnaround and alighted at the wonderfully named Slack Bottom. I peeked into the lane leading down to Lumb Bank, now a writers’ retreat that had been purchased by Ted Hughes. It wasn’t until I attended the last zoom meeting of Hebden Bridge History Society last week that I learned that Ted’s parents lived in Slack Bottom and it was there that Sylvia Plath visited them, thus leading to eventual burial in Heptonstall Cemetery, a long way from her birthplace in Massachusetts, where, as it happens, my own children were born.

As I emerged from the lane back onto the main road a car pulled up and it wasn’t until “Heather!” came through its window that I saw that it was one of the Heptonstall residents. I’d painted a watercolour of poppies for the poppy display in Heptonstall church and the lady had been responsible for coordinating it. I’d dropped it off at The Cross a couple of evenings ago and now she was explaining to me where it could be found.

However, when I arrived at the church the door was locked, it still being quite early. However, the Tea Room was already open and I called in for a couple of their delicious cakes to take home with me.

Back down in Hebden I passed St James’s church where I’ve been in to practice the organ in readiness for the Remembrance service on Sunday. I hadn’t been in the building for two years let alone played any music there. A group of people had been putting up a display there, an enormous blanket of knitted poppies , a painted sheet of poppies and displays about the lives of local residents who had lost their lives in WWl. Three brothers were commemorated, and they were related to me. I’d already researched their story and found their memorial in the cemetery but today three balloons had been placed on the headstone. They are buried in Europe where they fell.

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If I’d have looked out of my living room window any day between 1912 and 1921 I would have found myself looking directly onto The Royal Electric Theatre. In 1921 the ‘new’ picture house opened just a few hundred yards away and this cinema is currently celebrating its 100th year – the only cinema in England to have achieved that milestone.

‘In the late 1960s, when many of the mills had closed, the Picture House nearly suffered the fate of so many town cinemas and was very close to becoming a carpet warehouse. It was saved for the town by the actions of the then Hebden Royd Urban District Council who purchased the Picture House from its private owners for the sum of about £6,000. The cinema passed into Calderdale Councils control with local government reorganisation in 1973, and CMBC oversaw a subsequent refurbishment in 1978, removing half of the seats and leaving the current 492 seats with their often praised generous legroom.’ (From the cinema’s website).

I read that there was on open day at the Picture House yesterday and so off I went. It took me exactly 2 minutes – and most of that time was spent waiting to cross the road! First order of the day was to witness a demonstration of one of the old projection devices which currently has pride of place at the back of the stalls. The current projectionist explained that there would have been 2 such contraptions originally. It actually looks like something from a sci fi movie!

Next we were treated to a 1924 silent movie of Hebden Bridge band Carnival film. The local brass band had a stellar reputation (see my blog about my ancestor Stott Gibson who played in it: http://blog.hmcreativelady.com/?s=stott+gibson

but they were in financial difficulties. Travelling to far venues for competitions was costly so a carnival was planned. Pathe film company would film the event, hopefully including many of the crowd watching the parade. The parade itself was over a mile in length, and there was a fancy dress competition at the end of the day. Money would be raised by people attending a viewing of the movie at the cinema, hoping to see themselves on camera. The venture was so successful that it was repeated the following year. Though only 12 minutes long the movie gives a wonderful insight into people’s everyday life – their sense of fun, their eagerness to dress up in crazy outfits (the spectators as well as those entering the fancy dress competition), their ‘normal’ daily clothes, transportation, and a sense of fun that was being mirrored as I watched by the Pink Pride Picnic that was taking place in the park just outside.

After the movie there was a Q and A with Ben Burrows, the composer of the music that he been written to accompany the silent film. The Treske Ensemble had recorded the music in London. A pity about the rather large spelling error on the banner behind him. Diana Monahan from the local history society had done research into the carnival and had mapped out the route that the floats had taken.

A corner of the cinema had been given over to a wonderful model of the original electric theatre and I chatted with its maker, Ray Barnes.

He had chosen that particular scale because it’s used in model railways and so he was able to purchase the figurines, but he had to repaint them with appropriate attire. The projection box was upstairs at the front of the building. People in the expensive seats – 3d – entered at the front. Those bound for the cheap seats went in through a side entrance.

It was designed by Henry Cockcroft, a Hebden Bridge architect who had been responsible for designing the trestle bridge at Blake Dean from which one of my ancestors fell (see blog about Ada Harwood: http://blog.hmcreativelady.com/2021/03/01/adas-tragic-death/

Then, to my surprise, Ray took off the roof of the model and I saw its interior, with many people enjoying a film. The men’s toilet was outside, but there was a ladies’ toilet inside the cinema and he’d even recreated this, with a woman going about her business!!! What a wonderful Lockdown project Ray had created.

You can watch the 1924 silent film for free via the Yorkshire Film Archives

https://www.yfanefa.com/record/11947

‘Nestled above the hustle and bustle of Halifax Borough Market are two secret streets that are so well hidden that you may not even know about them.’ How many times have I walked around the stalls of the market and not known that above me were two streets with houses – and even a hotel!

These streets are some of Halifax’s most unique houses that run alongside the roof of the market and also look out onto the streets of the town. They used to be home to the market workers, who could then access their stalls below from their own homes. The street of terraced houses was also home to an old Victorian hotel above the high roof of the market.

The tour was part of the Halifax cultural exhibition and the guide was a man who had lived and breathed the markets of Calderdale for over 40 years. He even lives in a house perched high above the market stalls, and accessed, as he was careful to point out, by 47 steps! Talk about living on the job! He oversees Hebden Bridge, Todmorden, Brighouse, Elland and Halifax Markets. He explained how the Halifax Market is being revamped, with ideas for evening openings and even a small live performance venue being incorporated. Under his supervision Elland market has grown from just a couple of stalls to over 20. However, it looks as if Sowerby bridge market is definitely on its last legs.

Access to the streets was by a simple door adjacent to the large original historic gates into the Victorian market. A market has been in Halifax since the 1200s when it first gained a charter. There are hopes that the houses in the sky can eventually be restored and reoccupied. Two of them currently hold small offices but the rest have been empty since the 1990s but the decor was SO 60s. The colours were utterly amazing. It was wonderful and so totally unexpected. We were able to go and explore two of the houses. One was a 5 bedroomed affair.

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