24 August 2016 - Brylea Caravan Park, Lea, near Preston, Lancashire

Another fabulous day dawned here in Lancashire, the sun burning through the clouds as the day progressed, although enough clouds still hung about to offer a little shade. Another sightseeing day was planned but this time inland and entirely my call, it being the anniversary of my birth too many years ago. After dealing with an abnormally number of phone calls, emails and Facebook greetings, we headed off onto the road firstly across to Longridge, the starting spot for a scenic drive marked on our map with wide green shading. Our destination was further along that route, a road that took us across the undulating ridge above the River Ribble, Longridge Fell.

It was here at Longridge that the battle of Preston started, Cromwell halting here before taking on Monarchist forces from Scotland. Stone quarries contributed to the economy of the town and to the coming of rail access in 1840. A few cotton mills opened up but these have all long sinse closed. We were surprised how big the town was, but then it does have over 7,500 people living here. Nowadays it survives as most of these has-been industrial towns of the north do, placing themselves conveniently on tourist routes and hoping some will stop and spend money. Today we did not.

The views across the wide Ribble valley were just lovely from the road, and as we crossed the River Hodder at Hurst Green, I caught sight of such a quaint bridge no longer in use, which required later research. The Ribble valley was the inspiration of much of Tolkien’s Hobbiton shire, and this fascinating bridge, his Brandywine Bridge. Historically it is known as Cromwell’s Bridge, as well as Devil’s Bridge, dating from 1561 and it earned its historical name after Oliver Cromwell’s 8,000 strong parliamentary army crossed the bridge during his march from Skipton to intercept the Royalists at the battle mentioned above. (I accept this is a lot of explanation for something I was unable to capture on camera, for lack of stopping space, so I leave the reader to do his or her own research and be as encaptured as I was, even in that short glimpse.) There is also an element of coincidence that we, from the modern land of Tolkien, courtesy of Peter Jackson’s cinematic brilliance, were travelling through the lands of the writer’s inspiration.

The Three Fishes

But back to reality, we arrived at The Three Fishes pub at Great Mitton and parked after checking with a man poking purposefully about in the rubbish bins. He confirmed that we could leave the car there while we set off on the “Great Mitton Circular Walk”, that detailed in the Lancashire region tourist booklet picked up at Blackpool yesterday. The walk was described as being a nine kilometre walk, taking between two and three hours, flat and easy with a short climb away from the river at Mitton and Edisford Bridge, and partly along the road. 

This was perfectly correct however the rest of the instructions were rather like an obscure orienteering course, the starting point alone a mystery. We must have walked at least a kilometre in the wrong direction before deciding we were entirely on the wrong road. We met a couple of young girls walking a dog who offered rather vague alternatives, obviously never having done the walk themselves, however they were able to explain to us what a “kissing gate” was. 

A “kissing gate” is the type of pedestrian gate allowing only for slim humans to pass, firstly by entering the gateway before pushing the gate back into its original position before being able to exit the arrangement. Of course we have encountered these a hundred times before; we had never identified them with their own unique name. Such a wonderful title too; especially appropriate if you have ever tried to pass through one with your other half. 

Beside the River Ribble

Once on the correct track, clearly confirmed with the little “Ribble Way” plaques for at least the first half of the walk, we crossed grassy fields, muddy sections and paths above the river, the water having dropped from its flood levels of just a few days ago, obvious from the flattened plants along the banks. Cattle nonchalantly checked us out, a friendly farmer waved to us after having spread a tankful of sullage over the paddock we were obliged to pass through, blackberries offered themselves up for morning tea, and nettles stretched across our paths. Off to the right, Pendle Hill rose 557 metres and to the left farmlands stretched toward the Yorkshire Moors. We were so thankful we had worn jeans as opposed to the shorts we had briefly considered. 

After some time, we arrived on the outskirts of Clitheroe, where the Edisford Bridge crosses the River Ribble. Here there is a lovely river park, this morning full of families dipping their toes and fishing rods into the murky waters, half naked bodies stretched out on towels attempting to catch skin cancer, and everyone generally attempting to have a great time.

Crossing a stile

For me the highlight was the toilet block, because I had been considering my need for some time, and wondering how this could be addressed given the fact that all areas offering cover were dense with nettles. Need I say more? Just use your imagination! Anyway the good news was that the amenities block was unlocked and we made good use of it before crossing the river and returning to Great Mitton, this half of the walk firstly up a busy road, then across farms, where we passed close to a couple of farmers dealing with a makeshift pen of sheep, attending to their feet. 

We passed a few moments discussing foot rot and the weather, before leaving the workers to their task and continuing on. The ground was particularly wet and we had trouble avoiding the bog. After crossing expansive grassy fields, we entered a narrow dark path through a tunnel of nettles and blackberry. We regretted that we were not carrying a bush knife to clear the way, however carrying such a weapon about in these current times is probably not a good idea. We passed so close to a dairy shed from where the cows made their presence known, and then suddenly we emerged out on to a clear lane, that we had made our original false start. The walk had taken us less than two hours.

We shed our wet and muddy boots, changed our equally mucky trousers and entered the pub for a welcome repast. Like so many country pubs these days, it is more an upmarket restaurant than a traditional “pub”. The Three Fishes offers a wonderful menu, great service and pleasant surroundings. We dined on mushroom soup, fish pie and Lancashire Hotpot, the latter enjoyed by my meat eating husband, washed down with a glass of Pino grigio and a shandy. 

With no space for dessert or coffee, we headed off again, this time to Gawthorpe Hall at Padiham, just to the west of Burnley, travelling via the lovely little town of Whalley.

Dining in style

Padiham in its heyday was supported by cotton mills and open cast coal mining. Today it is busy with people just getting about the business of surviving the modern world, and otherwise not having much appeal.

Gawthorpe Hall was the home of the Shuttleworth family, built between 1600 and 1605, although the family had lived elsewhere on the land for over two hundred years previously. It passed through numbers of generations, more often than not the inheritor dying soon after taking possession leading the family to avoid actual residence for some one hundred years at one point. It seemed that tragedy after tragedy occurred, and the last owners or heirs died in the two last World Wars; two in the First, two in the Second, then the last male heir to survive World War II was too badly maimed to cope with life in such a complicated building. It was he who gave it to the National Trust in 1970, and his elderly aunt who occupied a corner of the property until her death in 1967.

Gawthorpe Hall

It is a wonderful Jacobean house, restored in a sympathetic Elizabethan style between 1850 and 1852 after having been leased out in the intervening years. There are connections to Charlotte Bronte; she visited the house several times and through this connection met Elizabeth Gaskell who in turn wrote her biography. There are a few little scandalous tales related to all of this, none denigrating the wonderful Ms Bronte. Let us say that she suffered her host, but made the most of the life and the people she observed in the process.

After an hour and a bit here admiring the interior and a quick whirl around the garden we were ready to head home and this we did led by our Tomtom back along the M65, M61, M6 and M55 before the last convoluted section of the local roads. Tikki touring on English roads is best left for the earlier hours of the day.

After such a day, canned soup and bread finished it well. All in all it had been an excellent day, in fact, quite a memorable birthday given the greetings from family and friends, not at all expected from this far away.