Category: Uncategorised (Page 14 of 15)

Sarah in conversation with a local:

In 1871 Harriet Vear lived here asa a domestic servant to retired paper manufacturer, Lawremce Harwood. At age 26 she married James Hill of the Hills of Turton ancestry lineage

In 1841 my great great great grandfather and his family lived in this house right above the river in Turton Bottoms.  He was a block printer in the calico works. It’s strange to realise that every Sunday when I walked to church (about 4 miles) I was actually passing the gable end of his house and didn’t know it.

My high school! A little different from the 2 roomed elementary school I attended in Affetside

Bolton School’s main gate

Very imposing

The Great Hall Barn at Rivington. According to Wikipedia it may date from the 9 – 13th century. It was used as a storeage barn and restored in 1905 by Lord Lever (who was the benefactor of Bolton School, and who bought Lewis Island in the Outer Hebrides and lived in Stornoway Castle which I visited last year). There were lots of table available inside but outside it was overflowing with people enjoying the unusually hot weather. It got  to 79 degrees – sweltering!

14th century Turton Tower

Is this a toy train?

Wonderful grotesques

The newly refurbished Market Hall – now called The Marketplace, scene of where I got separated from my parents when they went to buy furniture when I was about 5 years old

Journal writing in Albert Square, Bolton, a place that Rachel knows well!

I have a lovely photo of  my mom sitting at this very table at the Last Drop, the place where I had my wedding reception

Sarah at the Last Drop, where her grandad and grandma took her the first time they met

Sarah adding a Father’s Day greeting to the Father’s Day tree in the Black bull in Edgworth

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Playing piano in The Marketplace

St Anne’s Turton where my parents were married in 1954 and I was married in 1978

St Anne’s

The font where I was baptised

I used to play the piano for the Sunday School here. Now it’s a beautiful house

What was once Barlow’s Institute is now ‘The Barlow.’ My parents had their wedding reception here. Now there’s a newly opened cafe.

The room where my parents’ wedding reception was.

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Meat delivery to Whitehead’s Butchers in Edgworth

We just happened to come across the man who has been the organist at Affetside church since I was in the choir there as a seven year old. He also played the organ for my mum’s funeral at Four Lance Ends church. he must be the last person of his generation still living in the village

The room doubled as my elementary school room and the church. All the chairs would be taken out after the service on Sunday and replaced by desks for the upcoming school week. There were two classroom

Lovely evening light as we walk down the fields to 3rd bungalow

The newly paved road to my house – complete with the trees my dad and I planted when they were 1 inch high.

My daily walk to school – the building on the right

Sarah with her grandma digging out of the snow in 1955 in my local hostelry – The Pack Horse

Looking across the fields to the house where I was born and lived until I went to university

The village toilet

Sitting on the old cross on Roman Watling Street in Affetside

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Making new friends

Cotton grass on Holcombe Moor

Holding the Peel Tower in her hands. Robert Peel founded the police in England. They were called Bobbies, after Robert. He came from the tiny village of Holcombe and eventually became prime minister

Bolton’s tribute to the Manchester bombing  victims

In the front garden  – Clara 1, Clara 2 and Clara 3

Clough Head Farm

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Traffic outside Sarah’s house in Santa Cruz on Sunday morning

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Traffic outside Sarah’s room on Tuesday morning.

Whoops! The sheep got out and headed for the road. Farmer Houghton yells “Panic” hops on his bike to the rescue. The result? ‘Sheep may safely graze.’

Highlights of the day:

The grave of my grandparents and my dad. We found the flowers next to the grave.

With Amy , director of communications at All Souls where my great uncle was a campanologist.

In the belfry at All Souls. It’s been painted green by a volunteer using his own money. Unfortunately he’s used the wrong sort of paint and also obliterated the fine Victorian stencilling that used to adorn the walls. 

Sarah with her great grandparents in All Souls 

Dinner at the Strawbury Duck in Entwistle. When I was little the pub used to be called the Strawberry. Then a landlord with the name of Duxbury took it over and it was reborn as the Strawbury Duck! We ordered the pie of the week. It was the third pub we had driven to  to try and find dinner. It was Monday and most pubs don’t serve food on Mondays. I felt as if  it wasn’t quite a case of  no room at the inn, but rather no grub at the pub!

The road to my home on Watling Street, Affetside. The ‘Bungalow number 3’ sign has gone. (Not bad after a 19 hour journey and  zero sleep for 24 hours

http://www.santacruzsentinel.com/arts-and-entertainment/20160810/the-opening-weekend-of-marin-alsops-final-season-at-cabrillo-showcased-her-command-of-her-musical-universe

Cabrillo festival of contemporary music in Santa Cruz

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Manchester Piccadilly

The check in  line at Air Canada

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Toronto. A scheduled 4 hour lay over – plus a 2 hour delayed flight!

7 p.m. Old Gate

7 weeks to the day since I arrived so I thought it only fitting that I went full circle and had dinner where I had dinner on the night I arrived. Today I chatted with my host as I packed my bags feeling sad, and very conflicted. Over the last 4 days I’ve talked to several people, some for the first time, and some whom I’ve known for many years, about what I feel would be the differences in my life living in England as opposed to living in Santa Cruz. Of course, it’s all conjecture. Here I’m somewhat of a novelty – a Californian in town for a limited time trying to fit in as many things as possible. But that’s not real life, is it? A strange coincidence happened today, which just typifies what I see here. The journalist who showed me around Sowerby put me in touch with a friend and colleague of hers who lives in Hebden Bridge. We met for coffee for the first time – and ended up suggesting we do a house swap. When I mentioned the encounter to my host it turns out that she’s a good friend of hers. My host once moved to Spain but ended up returning to Hebden Bridge because she found it difficult to become part of the society in Spain because it’s centered so much around the family. As Colin said so aptly, ’the problem with having lived in two different cultures is that we end up wanting the best of what each has to offer.

A Sunday in Hebden Bridge has a somewhat Santa Cruzian feel

Today I bought 4 books – oh, the extravagance of the woman! One was Ted Hughes’s The Remains of Elmet and the other was Up North by Simon Armitage. Hughes’s collection of poetry has so many poems about the area that I’ve visited over the past few weeks: Lullenden, Hardcastle Crags, Top Withens, Haworth Parsonage. I spent the afternoon inserting these poems into my blog.

I took myself out for a late lunch in a lovely restaurant – Rendezvous – which I’ve never noticed before though I must have passed it many times. There I dipped into Simon’s book for the first time and found myself laughing out loud at his wit and humour as he depicts his life in a northern town. To prepare for our trip to Ted Hughes’s house yesterday I had watched a documentary , and Simon Arminitage (currently professor of poetry at Oxford) was one of the key commentators. As I watched I couldn’t understand why he was conducting his commentary from a seat in an empty theater until I realized that it was the Old Movie House in Hebden Bridge (where I’d gone the first week) because Ted Hughes did several poetry readings there. Late news: my current host had worked at the Little Theater, also where I’d gone to a show the first week, sometime as an actress and sometimes working behind the scenes.

My Caesar salad has just arrived thirty minutes after I ordered it, but the chicken and the bacon are hot off the grill, and I’ve been able to write seven pages in my notebook as I waited – though why I just found an anchovy in it remains a mystery!

Saturday

Colin arrived at 10 a.m. after spending the night in Settle after his 25 miles Three Peaks Walk the previous day. From my window I could see him on the bridge. As it was quite sunny I suggested we went to explore places connected with Ted Hughes, one time poet laureate who spent his life dealing with the aftermath of having his first two wives commit suicide. His first wife was Sylvia Plath who is buried in Heptonstall, presumable because Hughes’s parents lived in Slack, the next settlement. So a few minutes later we were in Colin’s rental car and off to Mytholmroyd to find #1 Aspinall Street, Hughes’s birthplace. There’s a simple blue plaque on the end terrace house which can now be rented as a vacation rental.

The Ted Hughes center – writers’ retreat

Then I took Colin to my favorite view of Hebden Bridge, from the playground in Heptonstall. Next we went down the very, very narrow lane to Lumb Bank, an eighteenth century dwelling with fantastic views of Stoodley Pike. I’d walked up to this lane a couple of times (it’s close to Slack Bottom!) but I hadn’t realized that this is the home of the writers’ workshop that I tried to get a place in but they were full. There were lots of private signs and no turnaround signs but we were fortunate is finding the cleaning lady out and about. “I shouldn’t do this,” she said, “but would you like to come in and look around?” Yeh! It’s beautifully maintained gardens open on views to die for. Several handwritten poems by Hughes line the dining room walls. I’d love to come back and take a creative writing seminar. Classes are limited to 16 participants so you get a lot of quality time with the two teachers.

Having been in the White Lion a couple of times on this trip we opted for a light lunch in the newly repainted Cross Keys. Though we were the only occupants both the pot of tea and the pie took a long, long time to arrive. You just have to adjust to a different time frame.

With Colin at The Cross Keys