Category: Uncategorised (Page 8 of 15)

Visit to Heptonstall where we  explored the church, paid homage to Sylvia Plath, had lunch in the White Lion and walked home the long way via Slack Bottom. The day finished with a performance by Ursula Martinez and then a night cap in the White Lion

Saturday morning was spent at the Mytholmroyd Gala. I’ve been involved in a research project, funded by Manchester University, to find out if the rural areas of Calderdale are age friendly. Part of the project was to take photos depicting snippets of life in  this area that involve people over the age of 60. 4 of my photographs were selected for the exhibition which will now go on tour of the area.  The results of the research were presented at the International Festival of Public Health.

In the evening my song Lily Hall was given its first performance by a local choir which I accompany.

On Sunday as part of Halifax Minster’s Summer Festival people were invited to join the choristers and participate in the singing of choral evensong. I’d gone to this event last year and thoroughly enjoyed it. It’s an amazing experience to sit in the choir stalls and sing in this lovely building where so many of my ancestors were baptised and married. Our rehearsal was followed by tea and cake, before the actual service. These children are  choristers with amazing soprano voices. Top G? No problem! Singers of all ages gathered for tea. Unfortunately during the rehearsal the organ develped some technical problems because of the heat of the afternoon, but they were able to fix it before the service. After the service I thought I’d get a drink in the Piece hall before catching the train home, and i stumbled upon a TV recording session of The Antiques Roadshow. people had been queuing for several hours in the heat of the afternoon sun to have their precious possessions assessed by experts. of course, Fiona Bruce was on hand to meet and greet.

Monday was a trip to Manchester with 5 other ladies. First of all, just on the spur of the moment I directed them to Manchester cathedral. Before my daughters had come to visit me in May I’d requested that 2 of the marriage registers showing the marriage of my ancestors  there in the 1820’s be put on display. However, we never got to go to see them.

So today I popped in, by chance found the chief archivist, who, within 10 minutes had

located the marriage registers and put them on display in the Cathedral’s museum, wow!  Then,  breakfast at Harvey Nichols, a trip around Manchester Central Library and  the

Portico Library and finally  an elegant afternoon tea at the Midland Hotel – where Rolls met Royce, no less!

Of course, a little window shopping was involved too! Lovely day out.

The morning after my birthday Anna left to travel around Belgium with an old friend of mine from college days who now operates his own tour company, and then to visit a friend of hers in Denmark. We were heading out for the Big Sing in a rainy Piece Hall in Halifax. There was a tradition dating back 100 years that up to 1000 school children would gather in the Piece Hall and sing together at Whitsuntide. Since the reopening of the renovated Piece Hall in August 2017 many historical event have been recreated there and this was just one of many. 600 children had been taught songs which some of them had supplied the words for, and the lyrics had been set to music by members of the Calderdale Music Trust.The girls had been given the opportunity to spend a night on Nicola’s canal boat and were very excited by the prospect. She warned them about the pitfalls – being woken by cackling geese or crowing roosters but they seemed to sleep through all the commotion. We spent the next day driving around the tops, having lunch at Brosters Farm shop with an amazing view out over Halifax, and stopped for refreshments at the Wetherspoons in Brighouse which is located in a church – a Methodist church at that! But its a lovely idea, and the organ is still in place in the gallery.

Next stop was Saddleworth Moor to see the memorial to Keith Bennett who, at the age of 12, was one of victims of the Moors Murderers, Myra Hindley and Ian Brady. I recall sitting on a swing in a park in Tockholes, as a 8 year old, looking out onto the moors and wondering if the moors that I could see were the same ones on which the murderers buried their victims. I don’t ever recall being on Saddleworth Moor before, and its very beauty somehow made the crimes even more disturbing. We drove next to Lumbutts. My mum had mentioned Mankinholes Youth Hostel to me many times. I’m not sure if she had stayed there or was just intrigued by the name! We stopped at the Top Brink pub for a drink and then crossed the street to see the grave of Abraham and Mary Wrigley. Abraham was my great, great, great, great uncle. His daughter, Mary, died aged 13. One of his sons, John, emigrated to New Zealand in 1863. It seems almost incomprehensible to move from Todmorden to New Zealand at that date. A lot  the information I have about that side of my ancestry comes from a distant relative who I ‘met’ through Ancestry.com. She lives in New Zealand, and sent me some photos of the Wrigleys.

This is Abraham, who is buried at Lumbutts and his son, John who emigrated to New Zealand.

Next morning Sarah wanted to revisit Bridestones rocks which we had visited together last summer. Outcrops of millstone grit are common on the hilltops in this area and you can have a great time conjuring up faces and dragons in their weird and wonderful shapes. It was a lovely clear day but quite windy.

In the evening Sarah and I went to explore Widdop Moor and reservoir. There’s a bus out to this remote spot that just runs on summer weekends, but I’d not been on it so since we had a car it was the perfect time to go on a recce. We timed our evening drive just right for some great light. We walked across the dam and a little way along one side of the reservoir.

Next morning I bought a printer and DVD player, making use of the car to transport them home, and then we had lunch in the Loom Cafe at Dean Clough mill. We went to see the amazing lego model of what was once one of the largest mills in the world, and the largest carpet factory in the world. I think my Auntie Lil worked there. Sarah managed to find in the visitors’ book her comments from our visit last year. Then it was a clamber up the 369 steps to the top of Wainhouse Tower. It’s only open a few day each year so this was a first for me too. We all received a certificate to commemorate our visit. 

Mr Wainhouse built many houses for the people who worked in his dye works. Not content with climbing one tower we hurried on to Heptonstall where the church tower was supposed to be open for the public to view. As far I can gather this is a very rare occurrence and there were several people who’d lived in the village for 20 years and had never climber the tower. I’m not surprised! The health and safety people in the US would never, NEVER, have allowed us up. By the time we got to the top we had to climber through a window and then clamber onto the roof itself. It was wonderful – even though I’m not particularly comfortable with heights. Looking down onto the graveyard where my great, great, great, great grandparents are buried and onto the village where they lived for several generations was a wonderful experience. Our guide explained the workings of the bells and the clock too.

It just happened that David from Lily hall was taking the tour too and he invited us back to Lily Hall. Now all the girls have stepped inside the building where, in 1842,  Elizabeth Ann had a child with the young man next door, after her husband had died from ‘alpaca wool poisoning’, thereby connecting my family with the Wrigley family (some of whom emigrated to New Zealand, and others who built a lot of buildings in Hebden Bridge, including the one I’m living in).

We joined people, and doggies,  for drinks in the beer garden at The Cross to complete a wonderful day out.

Next morning we were off bright and early to catch coffee morning at St Paul’s in Astley Bridge, the church and day school  where my dad was raised. It took a little over an hour to drive there, whereas on the one time I took public transport it took me 4 hours each way! We were welcomed with open arms and spent a lovely hour looking round the church where my great grandad was organist and choir master for 35 years, and chatting to Sylvia. Of all the people I know, she ‘gets’ my move back to England. She spent 46 years in South Africa before moving back to England about 10 years ago. 

There’s a stained glass window of St Cecilia dedicated to my great grandad, but his grave marker has fallen over, and has been that way for several years, though I have photos of it before it fell over.

Just a couple of minutes’ drive took us to All Souls where my great uncle on my mum’s side of the family was a bell ringer. There’s a large photo of my great grandparents, John and Maria Hill in their history display. I wear her wedding ring.

We had lunch in their little cafe before going up to Affetside for our second visit. Just as last June when Sarah and I visited, Geoffrey Bond was mowing the grass outside the little church. He must be in his 90’s by now. When I attended the Sunday school, which doubled as my elementary school for the rest of the week, Geoffrey played the organ. I once sand a solo at the sermons. I was probably around 8 years old. We chatted to Geoffrey and just as last year the church was open. It’s very strange to stand in a place like that which I knew intimately and try and put myself back to that age. I went to school there from age 5 to 11. I remembered the cupboard where the books were kept, the view out of the window, where I stood to sing my solo! and where the headmaster sat at lunchtime. There was no break  fro the two teachers in a two roomed school!

 

We took a little stroll down Black Lane. There wild flowers were amazing. I don’t remember them being so vibrant and prolific when I lived there. I suppose I just didn’t notice them.

I was very, very tempted to abduct the ‘Affetside’ sign laying by the old cross!

Next to Holcombe Tower, built to commemorate Holcombe’s famous son, Robert Peel, founder of the ‘bobbies’, ‘peelers’, or to the uninitiated – the police force and prime minister. As a child it used to be a long long way to the top. These days we seem to be able to get up the hill in no time at all. The views are well worth it, for this is the start of the Pennine mountain range that runs along the backbone of England.

We spent the next day at Saltaire where a former mill, processing alpaca wool, was founded by titus Salt, using the power of the River Aire. It’s now a wonderful museum (all free, of course), set of galleries, including some devoted to the works of David Hockney, cafes and shops. Salt built an entire town for his employees – schools, churches, hospitals, houses – and I believe that one of my ancestors lived in a house there, though recently I have begun to have doubts about the veracity of that particular line of research. Must add it to my ‘things to do list.’

Our final day together in England was a day of furious packing, Sarah for her return to San Francisco and Rachel and I for our 5 night get-away to Iceland. We did manage to set aside a few hours for a hike into Hardcastle Crags, where Gibson Mill’s cafe, which is totally off the grid, wasn’t able to offer us tea because it hadn’t been sunny enough to generate the necessary power. Darn it. Had to settle for a beer instead!

 

 

Anna arrived a few days before her sisters, and we were all together for my birthday.

We took a lovely walk along the tops from Pecket Well to Mytholmroyd and then back along the Rochdale canal.

 

The girls brought me lots of family photos that I’d not had room for in my boxes when I moved to England. We had fun in Stubbings Wharf looking at the old photos.

Shopping featured high on their ‘to do’ list. We went to explore Blackburn market one morning.

Another day we drove along the tops and enjoyed the views of Hebden Bridge  from Heptonstall.

 

We climbed up to Stoodley Pike from my apartment. It was very windy at the top.

For my birthday treat we went to see Sarah Millican’s stand up comedy show at the Victoria Theatre in Halifax, stopping in at the Square Chapel for a bite to eat before the performance.

On my  birthday we’d come up with a plan to go to Turton and Affetside. I was married at Turton church and so were my parents. We presumed it would be locked so you can imagine our excitement when we saw that the door was open and a few cars were in the drive. As we approached I could hear a choir singing ‘Eternal father strong to save’ which is usually sung ‘for those in peril on the sea.’ I though perhaps there was a funeral

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in progress, so we quietened down, and found ourselves in a crowded room at the back of the church, set up with tables and chairs amply garnished with tea and scones. At that moment the whole room erupted in the singing of Happy Birthday. I couldn’t believe it! The girls and I all burst into tears. We were looked at by the assembled mass as if we’d come from another planet! It soon became apparent that it was someone else’s birthday – and the tea party was a fund raiser for the National Lifeboat Institute! As soon as I explained our presence one of the churchwardens took it upon himself to show us

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round. I was invited to play the organ. The girls were coerced into singing along to All Things Bright and Beautiful, and then the marriage register was brought out from the vestry and I could actually touch my signature that I wrote on August 26th, 1978. Outside St Anne’s, Turton. I recently used the grotesque in my new quilt. I often create a quilt at a major change in my life and my move to Hebden Bridge last autumn was no exception. 

Next stop was Affetside, the tiny village, no more than a hamlet really, where I was born and lived until I went to college.

My old house now looks like this. It used to look that that (with our turquoise Land Rover – ex army – outside).

This was the view from my bedroom window – except that the trees hadn’t grown so tall when I lived there.

Next stop was to go and say hello to my mum. We’d made an appointment at the cemetery and we were shown to the grave. She’s buried with her parents.

In the evening we drove out towards Haworth to catch a wonderful sunset and were the only customers at The Friendly in Stanbury. What an amazing day!!!!

The weather looked decidedly un-Easterlike, so I stocked up with heart-warming provisions!

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As I waited for the bus up to Heptonstall on Easter Sunday morning I found myself in a hail storm. Now, I WAS expecting to sing “All hail the power of Jesu’s name” at the Easter service but I didn’t expect him to be taking this literally. As I tried to send a text I found that my phone auto completes Jesu to Jedi. ohm what a gay day!

Easter Sunday in Heptonstall involves a short service at the Methodist octagonal chapel, a parade of parishoners along the steep cobbled streets to the church of St Michael’s. With temperature below freezing and a mixture of hail and sleet falling from the heavens only one brave soul was dressed in Easter togs and an Easter bonnet to crown it!

Easter Monday is the Hebden Bridge duck race. Only the bravest of souls ventured out for this event. It’s a fund raiser done by the Rotary club.

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It involves 10,000, yes, ten thousand plastic ducks being thrown over one bridge and fished out at the next bridge. The purchaser of the winning duck got a vacation for 2. Ducks are a £1 each.

A net across the river stops the ducks from wandering downstream and polluting the river. But this means that volunteers have to wade in, shovel them up into buckets and take them up the ladder.

Meanwhile the Hebden Bridge Brass Band played – and the local geese got very disoriented.

Since my regular Tuesday events weren’t taking place because of Easter week I took the opportunity to revisit Bradford Cathedral and work on one of  the tapestries that will adorn the altar when they’re completed. I did some work on them in the summer. I also checked out the new rooftop restaurant  in the South Asian Arts organisation – great place full of interesting art, photography and poetry. Last time I was there I met Delius!

A day out in Leeds to see Art – the play with Nigel Havers  (Man child) and Stephen Tompkinson (Brassed Off). Most movies and TV I watched in the US were English. I didn’t have actors I wanted to see live. In any case they’d probably in New York or LA and the tickets would be just too expensive anyway. So today I got to see two of my favourite all-time actors together. The Grand Theatre in Leeds really IS grand – a step back into Victoriana. It was built in 1878 as a backlash to the craze for music halls which let the tone of the city down! Not sure what Beethoven was doing there.

I spent three hours this morning tucked into the archives at the Hebden Bridge History Society opening boxes that once lived in Greenwood Lee, the house belonging to generations of Gibsons. I’d spent yesterday morning in Greenwood Lee, chatting to the current owner who still retains some of the Gibson papers. It’s a wonderful building, begun in the 11th century and as I walked up the drive a flock of pheasants flew in to join the peacocks who were just having their elevenses on the front lawn. It’s fascinating to go through these documents, and now doubly so, having been to the house. I found a hand-drawn map showing the position of Greenwood Lee in comparison to Gibson Mill (in Hardcastle Craggs). ‘In 1650 Greenwood Lee was twice sold. For a time it was in possession of the Sutcliffe family and in 1762 it was purchased at auction by Abraham Gibson. There was a rumour that Abraham was so drunk at the auction that he didn’t know what he was doing. Abraham ran a cotton spinning mill at Greenwood Lee and built on an extension to house the wheel before moving down the valley to work at Gibson Mill. Gibson Mill was eventually given to the National Trust in the early 1950’s along with Gibson Mill. The Trust sold Greenwood Lee off and it is now in private ownership.’ (From Power in the Landscape). Movie makers have expressed interest in using the home and the outlying buildings and land for movie sets. The house is directly above Hardcastle Craggs and Gibson Mill. In the boxes I even found a doggie pedigree. The last Abraham Gibson was an avid Airdale terrier man. The current owner knew a lady who Mr Gibson used to give a ride to when she was a little girl. He had one of the first cars in Calderdale. His detailed account books are in the archives and go right up until the week he died in 1956. His personal diaries are there too, and postcards he received from friends or perhaps relatives on holiday in Blackpool and on a steam ship. Absolutely fascinating.

I made lunch when I got home using some of the delicious produce I’d purchased at the market on Thursday, and also got a baguette from the tiny bakery that’s directly beneath my apartment – along with the fish and chip shop. Once a week I see the potatoes arrive in big sacks carried over the delivery man’s shoulders!

After lunch in the company of the teary -eyed  British women’s curling team after their 4th place in the Winter Olympics, I tried to settle down for an afternoon at home. But the sun was streaming through my living room window, and with snow in the forecast for 5 out of the next 7 days I didn’t feel content mooching around indoors, so on the spur of the moment I put on my boots and within 5 minutes I was waiting for a bus into Halifax. Unlike yesterday it showed up on time – but this time with an Out Of service sign. Someone once remarked that they wished they lived in the town of  Out Of Service because so many buses go there. It was  bitterly cold waiting 15 minutes for the next bus and I realised that the warmth in my south facing living room had been very artificial.

I was heading for Ogden water, a reservoir and country park on the North side of Halifax. Exploring Calderdale from Halifax to Hebden Bridge over the last week, getting my bearings on the lie of the land and the proximity of one village to another had made me realise that I hadn’t been North of Halifax. I popped into the bus station information office and a man with the longest fingernails I’ve ever seen informed me that I’d missed the last bus to Ogden, but I could get within about a mile by getting the bus to Illingworth. By now it was getting a bit late in the afternoon for setting out on such an expedition but I didn’t feel like giving up and going home, so I pressed on. Once past the sprawling complex of Dean Clough Mill, once the largest carpet manufacturing mill in the world (where I’d been to see a new production of Hard Times last weekend) I found myself in new territory. The landscape here is very different and reminded me of north Yorkshire. There are no steep-sides narrow valleys with fast running streams and consequently far fewer mills were built here, since there was no water power. It’s much more agricultural with rolling gentle hills. I followed Google maps so I knew where I get off the bus and walked along the crest of Keighley Road to the reservoir.

The wind was strong, the cold actually burning my cheeks but not to worry, I knew there was a cafe at the water’s edge. But . .  .Note to the Vistors’ Centre: Will you please update your website? It states that in February the Visitors’ Centre, cafe and toilets close at 5. It was 3:50 and all the buildings were  already closed. I think I must be turning into wimp because there were lots of people walking around the water, babies in buggies, even the occasional jogger in shorts for goodness sake, and a lovely old lady who reminded me of my mum. It’s only a couple of miles around the reservoir and I found that it reminded me a lot of Entwistle reservoir in Turton. After crossing the dam I found myself in the woods, but what was this – a pile of old Christmas trees? I did a double take. OMG. Around the entire perimeter of the reservoir is a hedge made out of recycled Christmas trees. I looked in vain, hoping to see at least one Christmas ornament, but the only object I found suspended from one tree was a price tag! By the time I got around to the far side of the lake the sun was on the horizon and the light was beautiful. Taking photos was a bit

tricky because I need to take my gloves off for every photo. I’m seriously considering buying a second pair of gloves and cutting out just one finger to operate the shutter. I

took a footpath back to Keighley Road and was not looking forward to waiting for a bus, but what was that? One was coming. I jumped on and was back in town in 20 minutes.

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Desperate times call for desperate measures. I’d thawed out a little on the bus but I needed a hot drink to keep me company while I waited for the bus back to Hebden. It was 6 o’clock by now, almost dark and Halifax town centre had already closed its eyes and  gone to sleep. Only Costa Coffee was open, and even then I was their last customer of the day.

 

 

I bought a ‘Halifax Courier.’ Here are a few articles that show what’s uppermost in the minds of local people – me included!

Part of my own research into my ancestors is trying to find out just what was going on around them in their daily lives. I don’t just want to list births, marriages and deaths. As I sat in the Bridgewater Hall last night listening to Joshua Bell and the Academy of St Martin’s in the Fields play Vivaldi’s Four Seasons I found myself wondering which of my ancestors were alive when Vivaldi was. Wouldn’t it be fun to intersperse my ‘Family Books’ that I’m writing with which composers were alive when my forefathers and foremothers were. Here’s a selection of events from the Hebden Bridge almanac of 1871 that I found in the town’s archives one cold, wet afternoon last week.