Grimsargh to Goosnargh and Back

"The Mad Hatter's Tea Party"

Grimsargh/Goosnargh 6 Miles.

Walkers:- Paddy, Mike, John R, John W, Martin

Before we join Alice in Wonderland we must consider our absentees. One mention of Vikings and the Anglo-Saxon excuses start.

"Sorry I can't come the Baron has asked me to dine in his posh castle of four seasons"

"Sorry I can't come. I have an upset tummy. The hedgehog stew we had last night was a bit spikey (Surely Spicey ?)

"Sorry I can't come. I have to slap some daub on mi hut walls. The wife wants a different colour of dung." etc. etc.

Ah Well ! Let's get walking.

We parked our cars on Grimsargh Green with a damp feel in the air and set off along Dixon lane towards Dixon Farm (there are two of them) Here we hesitated a little and pondered the way. A delightful farmer left his work and insisted on showing the way. He took us to the gate beyond the farm yard "Follow this track up to that "silver" gate,  he said pointing into the distance. "Then cross the field to a wooden bridge. Cross the bridge into a large field. After that you're on yer own." We thanked him profusely and Paddy congratulated him on the immaculate state of the farm and its'

equipment. Immediately on leaving the farm we encountered the remains of the railway branch line which used to serve the massive "Whittingham Lunatic Asylum"

Once over the wooden bridge (over Savick Brook ) the ground rose steeply before us before leveling out and leading us through several fields to arrive at "Harrisons Farm" This was somewhat more than just a farm with some expensive looking buildings, well manicured grounds and coded electronic gates. The gates opened out onto "Brabiner Lane" and almost directly opposite a signpost told where our path lay.

Over the stile and through the brambly hedge to be confronted by exotic beasts . They came bounding across the field and it was hard to tell if they were being aggressive or friendly.We assumed that they were  llamas but as they were hardly a familiar indigenous species we did not  really know . Alpaca or Vicuna were the other suggestions. The photo shows  John R. trying  his best as a makeshift Dr.  Dolittle but they merely hissed at him

The field next to this one contained a whole herd of the animals in various sizes and colours.  From here our walked dipped steeply down to  a small stream with another of the ubiquitous Lancashire County Council wooden bridges and up again towards "Cumeragh Lane" At this point (or was it earlier) a group of four or five Roe deer crossed our paths, This is an animal we seem to have encountered with increasing regularity on our journeyings. We joined the busy road next to Withy Trees Farm. A hill and a bend making this rather a risky spot to cross. Now we followed the road west until we came to the "North Gate" of the former "Lunatic Asylum" long since closed and presently being reconstructed as a major housing development. Refreshment time was now being demanded but John W, as a fully paid up member, led us towards the bowling green next to which was the social club offering us very civilised benches to sit at. (John's Hat blown off !)

 We sat chatting with our coffees. Admired the green and the smartly clad clubhouse and John W invited them all to admire the glorious, newly painted white handrails leading up to the clubhouse. (Guess who painted them?)

A short backtrack and then forward once more were we paused to "admire" a classically adorned garden of a house nearby, The statuary was to be seen in profusion, Good taste was not to be seen at all. It was only a short while before we found ourselves outside Chingle Hall. This small moated house was once much vaunted as the most haunted house in England. Here it was that  St. Nicholas Owen is said to have constructed one of many priest  holes for which he was responsible before being arrested. Coincidentally his feast day is March 22nd - quite close really. He was so good at his trade that it is believed some of his priest holes have still not been discovered. 

By now the damply grey weather of our start had been blown away by an increasingly fierce breeze. (John's hat blown off again !) and a beautiful blue sky took it's place (see photo.)

It was still quite early and some discussion took place as to whether we should take lunch soon or even not bother at all. The group, or some of them, thought lunchtime was, of itself, one of the joys of our outings so we looked for and found a sheltered spot with a magnificent tree and a pretty, stream filled ravine. (John's hat blown off for the third time !)

With the wind now very strong but mostly at our backs we continued our journey upwards for a while till we came to an unusually high stile then dropped down at an angle towards a flat farm bridge over a small stream. As we arrived at the bridge we realised that Martin and Mike were not with us. Martin could be seen some distance away on the horizon and appeared to be signalling us by semaphore. No sign of Mike ! We anxiously retraced our steps until we were close enough for Martin to tell us that Mike had lost his hat and was retracing his steps in order to find it. Mike eventually came trotting back towards us.  Oh dear. No Hat ! With heavy hearts we abandoned the search  (Did we search ??) and carried sadly on.

The direction of the footpath beyond the bridge was confusing. Again we met a delightful farmer who not only spent time telling us about his cattle but actually apologised for the confusing footpath and the lack of a stile. "I will sort it  out as soon as the land dries out but the fields are too wet just at the moment." The farm was New Chingle Hall.

A brief but "Exciting" passage along the busy winding Haighton Green lane and then once again through the fields for the last leg of our walk back to Grimsargh. Another short stretch of road at Cowhill and a couple of fields and we were in Grimsargh. We finished our walk with a brief visit to "Nellie Carbis Garden" a wooded garden bequeathed to the village by the said Nellie and now maintained with support of the council and several local businesses, And so to our cars.

MAD HATTERS ? Well apart from JW's hat going astray every few minutes. would you believe that the missing beanie hat belonging to Mike made a dramatic comeback . (Think Lazarus !). As we packed our gear into car boots he discovered it in his rucksack. Where he had put it. 

 Before I finish I must add that John R, embraced the Viking theme with gusto BUT he insisted in being included in the "Wenching" squad.

A short but very pleasant ramble.

Another eclipse

The Solar Partial Eclipse - as seen from Preston Docks
09.15 am on the 20th March 2015  (photo: AD)

The Darkness descends !

Where you there? Did you see it ? For those of us who were present this was an event of astronomical proportions. We will not have this experience again until the sun is low in the sky and the autumn equinox approaches, Yes indeed the last exposition of the Vic. This heavenly body is now in occlusion and will not be seen again until the "Lignum Vita " is hidden from view and the bias of the crown has lost its potency. Perhaps as the leaves turn gold upon the trees and moles in the fields dig deeper into the subsoil we shall gather together to witness the re-emergence of this small but neatly formed satelite as it's erratic orbit brings it once more into our verdant trajectory.  -- or maybe not !

Brock & Claughton

A Tale of Bridges and Butties on Brock

Walkers :- James Vic, Anthony, Paddy, Martin, John R, John W.

7/8 miles (?)

After a tyre scorching arrival by Paddy and some confusion about parking, compounded by the arrival of the refuse truck, we eventually left Anthony's and set off. Cars discretely parked in a quiet corner of Barton Grange car park and our walk was begun. Across the busy A6 and then through several million (?) poundsworth of  Landrover vehicles parked between the A6 and the West Coast Main Line railway. Up and over the rails on a steeply stepped footbridge whilst a Virgin express train thundered beneath us.  

 Soon we were leaving the hustle and bustle of  rail and road only to have the M6 motorway cross our path. As we passed under the M6 where the river Brock was bridged, we met up with an amateur ornithologist.  He was hoping to see "Dippers" and "Kingfishers" and although he bore a remarkable resemblance to Wurzel Gummidge he was certainly no mug and showed us some of the excellent  photos he had taken of a wide variety of birds. Right on cue a dipper flew past and sat "dipping" on a rock a short distance upstream.

It was not long before we arrived at the first of the bridges in the title, passing as we did "Trout Cottage "( which was to be of interest later. )  Although it was not yet our normal coffee time the bridge offered such an appealingly attractive spot we decided to "Take Coffee" early.

It was here that the first of our "Bridge Tales" was told. John R explained how as a boy of ten he used to come here with a group of friends. As he gazed nostalgically into the swirling pool beneath the weir he pointed out the tree which grew on the spot where he and his companions dived into the deep pool and  swam across to the other side where they climbed the stepped wall up to where you see him sitting in the photo, only to cross the river and dive in again. This was a real "Blue Remembered Hills" moment.

It was with some reluctance that we left this idyllic spot - but leave it we had to. Over the road and down a narrow footpath between the river and a rather "Swish" residence. There's money about for some folks !! Once past this the open fields lay before us but before we continued we were

"WARNED" about adders.  There was some discussion as to whether we should continue with our resident "Bean Counter" (Vic) or should we take note of the wise advice and leave him behind. We decided to take him with us but keep a close eye on 'im. So...onwards to the next tale-telling bridge.

We rambled slowly on through the sun-blessed spring fields encountering several dog walkers as we made our way to "Walmsley Bridge" where we came to a halt.  Here we stood recalling our last visit to this bridge when a speeding "White Van" driver came hurtling round the corner and narrowly avoided ploughing into us. He also narrowly avoided suffering an early death at the hands of an irrate Paddy. 

The road led us gently upwards for several hundred yards before we again took to the fields. A little confusion at this point before we eventually found the stile. I say "stile" but the bits of broken wood we had to clamber over should have felt ashamed to call itself a stile. 

Although the picture shows Vic helping James, (We all needed help) it doesn't properly show the bad angle of the woodwork and the overgrown nature of the thorn hedge which tugged and pulled at our clothes and back packs.

Lunchtime was approaching and this is an important part of the day - ask the lads.  ( Stop laughing dear reader.  Septogenarians and
Octogenarians can still bear the title "Lads")  After a short stop at St Mary's Primary School to chat to the head and an assistant we walked just a little further to St Thomas' church. A brief look around the church and out into the sunshine again for lunch in the quiet order of the graveyard. It occurs to me that we spend rather too much time visiting graveyards. Is there a message here ? 

 Here you see us all seated on the memorial dedicated to the Fitzherbert family (Fitzherbert-Brockholes) whose graves where close by.  

But a drama was to unfold before we departed. A tale of lost butties. " I can't find mi butties." wailed John R. "Oh dear" came the response as we surreptitiously increased our munching speeds.  I LIE !   John was offered a share in everyone's lunch. "Panic over" he declared, "I've found 'em" ........... "Somebody kick 'im !"

Off again and our path led us along tracks and fields and down to the river Brock once more. We turned downstream and followed the banks of the river back to "Walmsley Bridge"  arriving from the opposite direction than  we had arrived earlier.  We now simply had to trace our steps back to the "Swimming Pool" and so down to the A6 and our cars but "A MIRACLE" occurred. "Shall we go straight back or take a detour ?" said our leader, (Anthony, if I haven't mentioned it before..) A bold decision was taken by JOHN R !!!!!!!. "Take the detour" he said NO HE DIDN'T "The first option " he actually demanded. JW took some time to recover from the shock. But this proved a good choice as it took us across a varied landscape 

and past  a delightful old barn complete with owl pellets.  A few more fields to cross and we found ourselves back at the first bridge and John R's swimming pool. Again we were wiled by its' charms and stopped here again to finish our flasks of coffee or tea. 

Do you remember the Trout Cottage we encountered earlier in this match report ?  As we passed it again A gentleman was talking at the door. "Hello Michael" Martin greeted him. It was an old friend,  Michael  Goodier, and as the ensuing conversation progressed it turned out that half our party either knew him or had social or professional contacts with him and his sister who owned the cottage.  Was she the " Old Trout "  residing in the cottage we had the temerity to ask ? She had the good grace to take this with a courteous smile.  During the conversation we also discovered that Vic had, many years previously, worked with John W's Uncle Billy Winder. It's a small world. 

 

And so back along the riverside track. Under the motorway. Over the railway. Across the A6 and back to the cars.

A good walk full of personal and general interest A day long saga starring John Russel - whom we had acquired regardless of the cost. (there was no cost so we didn't regard it !)

 Well done Anthony.

P.S. We couldn't visit Brock without some contact with the pied gentleman himself so here's a picture of his front door which we spotted as we passed by.

The Calder Vale Route

Our actual route of the Calder Vale walk

"I SPY WITH MY LITTLE EYE"

There is a decidedly furtive look about this new fellow. Could he be a "Ramblers Association" inspector or worse still a "Countryside Alliance" plant ?

           I think we should be told !!!

Nine Men's Morris (A game of Ancients.)

Calder Vale Comics ?

7.5 miles

Walkers:- Jim, James, John R, John W, Anthony, Vic, Mike, Martin, Harry.     NINE !!

Why "Calder Vale Comics" ?    Wait and see.

After a right turn at Bowgreave  we drove up Bruna Hill, down Ray Lane and after a brief glitch , parked outside the "Kenlis Arms".  Suitably attired we set off over the motorway bridge and for the first forty minutes or so stuck to the roads

 

It wasn't long before Mike shared his local knowledge with us. As we approached the top of the lane in the picture he informed us that a house just off to the right   "Sullom House" had once been owned by George Formby (comics bit coming in you see) Although it was not part of the plan we took a detour to visit it.

Here we are lined up in front of the gate of George Formby's former home.

Back up the lane and on the road again for another half mile or so until we arrived at a deserted farmhouse called "Sullom Side" At this point we finally left the road to strike out across country.  As we passed through the empty farmyard  a large heap of "something" had leaked and spread across the lane. We negotiated this with some trepidation. It looked unpleasant and we were taking no risks.

11 o'clock had now come and gone and a coffee-time spot was being eagerly sought. Restaurant was turned into Rest or Rant as demands grew for a break. The next field led us into a wood where a comfy looking bank begged to be sat upon. So we sat upon it. 

Coffee or tea was partaken as well as the warming tot of 

"Martins Magic Mixture" 

The way through the woods led steeply down until we arrived at the river. Here a generous scattering of ruined buildings and mysterious constructions led to much speculation and surmises. Almost certainly water-powered mills had something to do with it all,
A short stop to admire an amazing footbridge over the deep valley (one we had crossed on previous walks) and a discussion with a pair of ramblers one of whom averred he NEVER argued with the leader (I should be so lucky !), Then a gentle rise up into the tiny village of Calder Vale. As we walked along a voice suddenly said "Look a Deer" and sure enough only a few yards up the bank a large roe deer stood staring at us before calmly walking away through the trees. In the village an incongruously large mill dominated the far bank of the river. Anthony informed us that the mill still produced arabic headgear for the Middle-East. Vic told us he had purchased one whilst holidaying in the middle-east. We look forward to being accompanied by "Vic of Arabia" on our next outing. ( a bit of dry desert sand wouldn't go amiss.) 
Once again we retraced our steps to the edge of the village where some actual steps climbed up and out of the settlement.

Leading away from the steps was a narrow and rather prickly path, (it was lined with holly and hawthorn bushes. Out into open fields once more and it became clear that we were in "Horse Country"  Ahead of us was a rather swish Racing Horse establishment but before we arrived there we were held up by John R who was holding a conversation with a greatly diminished Oliver Hardy. (Comic connections here again,)

          "HELLO MR HARDY" 

  "HELLO 
MR RUSSELL."









It was only a minute or so before we arrived at the racing stables where the starting gates for the races provided us with a little fun before Anthony (or was it Harry?) discovered a batch of Pheasant eggs in an abandoned nest at the bottom of the hedge, Although the eggs were most certainly "addled" or simply rotten, Vic insisted on taking one home. He was warned that if the egg broke in the car he would be peremptorily evicted from said vehicle !!! 

  "On your marks !"











From here we followed a straight line across a series of cold windswept fields .  "Feed us ! Feed us! " was becoming a repetitive and plaintive cry. "When we get to the church" was the response.  Once again Mike's local knowledge proved useful. "There are benches in the churchyard." he promised and indeed there were. 

 Lunch was partaken in this delightful and surprisingly "Modern" church (All Saints Barnacre 1905) before we set off on the last leg of our walk. The Leader for the day and the author of this match-report has to confess that he was feeling extremely tired by now. I can only assume that the consistently heavy ground and innumerable stiles (which seemed to increase in height as the day wore on) were responsible. 
With only a mile or so to go the walk had not yet finished with us.  GOOD and BAD were still to come. John W's oft professed dislike of horses was tested as we entered a field with horses in it. This, however, was a GOOD thing a delightful horse ( It was a Palomino Vic ) trotted across to greet us. 

And then the BAD - the "Sting in the Tail". No words just  look at the picture of our approach to the final stile ! 

 And so a final plod (You will remember someone was knackered.) back to the cars and home.......... Oh! there was one other thing.  What was Vic doing here ?

 

Hurstwood Route

The was the actual route we took on the Hurstwood Walk.

" Hippo Heaven "

                

                    " MUD ! "   

Glorious mud is the dish of the day.
A lovely melange of earth, crap and clay
There's grass fresh and green. It looks as it should
But underneath that lurks an ocean of MUD !

Each step that we take is a slip and a slide 
Whoever said "footpath" has blatantly lied.
Our deep cleated boots, don't grip, merely glide
This isn't a field. It's a swamp at full tide.-

"The next field we come to is bound to be dry"
Oh foolish old fellows. Look up at the sky
The clouds are not moving, They're not passing by.
Here comes the rain again. Rats ! - We could cry.

Let's get through that gate and see what we find
Surely it can't be as wet and unkind.
But the mud seems to smile as it waits by the gate.
And whispers "come on if you fancy your fate" 

A large glaucous lake. How deep can it be.
Over the ankle ? the calf ?.. or the knee?
Perhaps we can balance and edge down the  fence
Then climb on the gate. Can we stand the suspense ?

And so we sit straddling the top wooden bar
The mud on the other side deeper by far.
Climb down to the gloop ? or try with a leap
to straddle the slurry ?  S**t !  missed it - it's deep.

And so now our boots once gleaming and oiled.
Are dripping and evil. Much worse than just soiled.
Socks too are sodden, trousers weighed down
With a  thick stinking coating that's slimy and brown

Each boot takes an effort to drag from the mire
We stumble and strain to reach ground a bit higher
At last we break free to continue our plod 
Still carefully placing each foot on each sod
 
The next hedge we tackle is crossed by a style
No deep boggy gateway and that makes us smile
But the steps on the style are slippy with slime
left by the boots that climbed it last time.


The rest of the walk is a "Groundhog" repeat
We're covered in mud from our necks to our feet.
Even our faces have got the odd splat.
Why there's even a splodge on the top of my hat


But when we arrive at the place we began.
Our boots taken off and we've wiped off the "Tan"
What's all the thinking and what's all the talk
"What a brilliant day. So when's our next walk ?"

HURSTWOOD RAMBLE

"Wuthering Sights"

A circular walk from Hurstwood - 6+ Miles

Walkers :- Anthony (leader) John R, Martin, Harry, John W, Vic and New Boy James (Jim)

"T' other side of Burnley.  Do we have passports, emergency rations and an interpreter ? " 

"Don't be ridiculous. Just don't ask how the Clarets are doing and we'll be OK."

After weaving a tortuous path through the by-roads of East Lancashire we finally arrived at the car park just beyond the hamlet of Hurstwood. The car park which was of a linear nature was already crowded. (with whom ?). But we eventually found a couple of spots and soon left the cars and dropped down into the hamlet, learning as we did that a day nursery was responsible for the plethora of cars in the park. 

We were immediately struck by the old, fascinating and often beautiful buildings we were to encounter on our walk.

The first one we encountered appeared to tell  us in latin that it belonged to Agnes, the wife of one of the Towneleys  the local  big landowners. We also spotted the first of several houses/cottages who's window configuration indicated that handloom weaving had taken place there.



Our route led us gently up and away from this delightful habitation as we followed the road for
about a third of a mile before striking out across the fields.

As we crossed the fields we spotted a line of upright "Flagstones" These are very ancient field boundaries and are I think referred to as "Vaccaries"    Think french - "Vache" and we have enclosure for cows or "Cattle".




The fields led us to a narrow path with a small stream running along one side and houses on the other. This opened out into the middle of Worsthorne. Here again we were struck by the magnificence of  both the civic and everyday vernacular architecture.  Coffee time. A small village green offered us space and even more importantly benches to park our behinds on. One of the benches was already occupied by a man in a dayglo jacket who was taking a break from street sweeping. We soon started to chat with him and discovered he was an ex-miner. He regaled us with tales and information about the local coal and tin mines.  

 Our ex-miner talking to Vic - Who else ?













Taking the Gorple Road away from the mills in the valleys and up to the fresh air of the moors. Surely a historic activity.

Leaving Worsthorne behind us we followed the arrow straight Gorple Road as it steadily climbed way from the grime of the mill towns in the valleys and up onto the moors. About half way up and just across the track from a sprawling farmstead was a half buried brick structure which by the look of it had to have military connections but what   Again it was Vic who elicited the information from a gentleman who bore more than a passing resemblance to one of Benny Hills characters.  It was a  decoy, signal station    designed to attract German bombers away from the towns below.  I'll bet the farmer was thrilled by that idea. 

Now on top of the moors we could see below us the first of the two reservoirs we were to pass on our journey. A sharp dog-leg turn in the track and with some initial hesitation Anthony agreed that this was probably the way we must go. Once we were alongside the water we searched for a sheltered spot to take lunch. Once more we were assailed by a biting wind coming at us from water (Last week's seaside walk !)  We "hunkered down" (don't you just hate Americanisms) behind the folds of Victorian spoil heaps and ate our butties.

Lunch finished we followed the banks of the reservoir for a couple of hundred yards before climbing a further rise only to fall down again to the second reservoir.

Beyond the reservoir our path led damply over the moors and down into steep-sided valleys in one of which a rather dramatic rams skull attracted Harry's attention (eventually Vic decided to take it home. Martin provided a plastic bag to contain this somewhat gruesome article.)

 

The end of our journey was now approaching and indeed could soon be seen in the distance across the valley.

Sadly I have to report that our infallible weatherman (see left) failed us for once.  "Ninety percent chance of rain." he said. The impact of this deviation from the norm  was so traumatic that I am now expecting the Pope to announce the ordination of women priests and married clergy.

A steady plod and we found ourselves at the bird sanctuary where we had initially sought to park at the start of our day. Here we briefly lost our way. This you will recognise as a compulsory part of our walking day plans.  A short backtrack and a clear path led us steeply down and then back up to enter Hurstwood next to yet another delightful building.

And so back home. James our second apprentice of the year announced that he had enjoyed his first Meanderthal outing and looks set to be a valuable addition to the gang with a ready wit and a fund of knowledge.

"HASTA  LA PROXIMA"   (just showing off mi newly acquired Spanish skills - They're limited.)

So that's what they are!

Great for a 'calorie-controlled' diet!

Made in Italy - Packed in Poland - Sold in Britain!  Talk about 'food miles'!

Thanks Martin