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 ?
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 !
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