Searching for My Yorkshire Roots 2017 & 2018

Another very hot day was in store, according to the weather forecast and I wondered how we should spend it. I eventually suggested Saltaire, a world Heritage site I had visited in 2015 for the first time with Judith, and then I came again by myself last year to hike – my first hike alone in England. Saltaire was bustling and there was a line out the door at the pie and sandwich shop. We sat by the river Aire near the Boathouse Inn for our picnic and thankfully it was a little cooler by the river. Then we headed to Salt’s Mill which was the largest factory in the world when it was built – with 3000 workers. Titus Salt constructed a church, hospital and school for his workers. What was so radical about the was that he chose to located tit in a green area, four miles from the center of Bradford with its dense housing, poor sanitation and disease-ridden streets. We ventured into the café, the wonderful book store, the Victoria Hall which was promoting a vintage fashion shoe that Anna and Sarah would have loved. In the evening we stopped off at the Friendly Pub in Stanbury which had the best view from the beer garden ever. We got into conversation with a couple of ladies and their dogs who were the only other people enjoying the evening sun. They keep a café in Hebden Bridge. No-one there knew of the connection between Stanbury and Ellen Nussey, Charlotte Bronte’s friend so maybe I’ve got that wrong.

Sarah suggested a hike to Bridestones. It was similar to the hike I’d done with Moi last year to Whirlaw Stones. We had lunch at the Town Hall in Hebden Bridge and then drove up the hill to Heptonstall to see the old church and the new church sharing the same site. Sarah was fascinated by the grotesques. We triedn to find Sylvia Plath’s grave where we’d gone with my mom years ago but didn’t have any luck. Unfortunately the museum in the old grammar school was closed. I’d hoped to introduce Sarah to Richard, the docent who I had met there last year and we had worked together on the Heptonstall Trail booklet. We went into the White Lion, and found that David, who lives in Lily Hall is well known there. Apparently Lily Hall is now divided into three cottages. Fortunately The White Lion is David’s local and he frequents it often. “He’ll be in for Quiz Night on Thursday” we were told. I gave Justin, the bar tender, my business card to pass on to David “who would just love to know the scandal that took place in his house,” and so we asked about Quiz Night. It’s on Thursdays and it starts at 9:30, and finished at 11 pm and sandwiches are served around 10 pm. We returned back to the cottage for dinner - a microwave meal for which we had no microwave, and then just as the light faded we took a walk into town along the main road.

June 21^st.

The longest day – summer solstice. We were off to coffee morning at Christ Church Pellon Lane and a day in Halifax. Michael Cockerill who had taken me on a drive of the sights last year arrived soon after us, and another couple of ladies recognized me from last year. The vicar joined us for tea and really yummy ginger cake buns. We went to find gt gt granddad Ishmael’s grave and his father’s. Unlike last year there was no empty beer can on the grave stone! He died, aged 39, from alpaca wool poisoning – all Titus Salt’s fault! Michael again offered to chauffeur us around to the places we wanted to visit. First on our list was St Paul’s church, King Cross but it was closed. We walked around the outside of the church. Not a single gravestone was to be found. We were already back in the car when we saw someone drive up to the church and go in. We jumped out of the car and learned from the person, Christine, that the old church and gravestones are located at the other end of the street. Michael took us there. Only the spire remains and I remembered seeing this lonely spire last year. Charlotte Gledhill was buried there in 1899. Then we went on to Hopwood Lance to see the stately mansion belonging to the Crossley family who founded the Dean clough carpet factory. Charlotte had been a cook at a school on Hopwood Lce. We said our ‘Au revoirs’ to Michael and headed for Dean Clough Mill and galleries. We had our best sandwich of the trip so far, bought a tote bag and a tea towel – for twenty one pounds! And then went back into town to the Woolshops. Sarah was intent on doing some shopping. The Minster was closed. We passed the Square Chapel and got back to Thorn Bank cottage with just enough time to change before heading to the White Lion in Hebden. I had read about the Ted Hughes Society which was holding a meeting there – open to all. About 10 people showed up including two literature professors from Huddersfield University – my alma mater. The evening’s presentation was by a man who had been dealing with moving the statue of The Iron Man (a children’s book by Hughes) to Mytholmroyd. It’s 30 years since Hughes died. Also there was a playwright who will be having her play performed in the 30^th anniversary festival next year. Sheila, who was chairing the meeting, said she’d try and get us free access to Hughes’s childhood home. She also said she’d be interested in finding out more about my Searching For My Yorkshire Roots piece since they want some music performed at the festival. When I mentioned that I had set some Bronte poems to music she told me ‘You need to wash out your mouth!’ I couldn’t believe I was hearing correctly but Sarah heard it too! We had dinner in Old Gate, a fish butty for me and a kebab plate for Sarah. Home at 10:30.

Today we had our latest start of the strip. We didn’t get out of the house til 12:45 but we’d been catching up on some necessary stuff and made an appointment to see the place where I might stay after Sarah goes back home. Nicola’s place was quite lovely. It is just past the station, sandwiched between the canal and the river. I’ll have my own living room, bedroom and bathroom but I will have to move into a small bedroom when she hosts the BanddB customers who have already booked for a couple of nights here and there. But for thirty pounds per night (off the BandB site) it seems a really good deal. Then off to the Information Office which was being guarded by a very persistent Muscovy duck. I purchased some fuzzy sheep earrings. I didn’t manage to get any good information about the quickest way to hike to Stoodley Pike, so we decided to follow Jean’s recommendation and go via Cragg Vale and Withins Reservoir. The weather was just like the day I’d hiked to Top Withins last year. We passed an old farm which was half occupied and half in ruins. In places the path was very steep and we had to use our rusty map-reading skills. I could hardly believe it when I we got to the top. I’d bought a postcard of Stoodley Pike last summer and it’s been displayed on my fridge ever since asking me every day ‘When are you coming to visit?’ It only took us about an hour but it was very, very windy. We sheltered at the base of the monument and as we tried to eat our picnic my salad took flight! Despite the roaring gale there were lots of other people out for a hike, some in shorts and tank tops – and we were bundled up as if we were attempting Everest! I braved the totally enclosed stairs to arrive at the viewing platform. To say it was pitch dark would be true. I had to summon up all my courage to put my feet where I presumed the next stair would be. But we were rewarded with spectacular views in all directions. As we looked down on Hebden the sun broke through. I’ve always thought it very attractive the way the English personify their weather: ‘a disappointing day,’ ‘it’s trying to rain.’ On the way down in full sunshine we passed some amazing walls and several sheep pens. And lots of cows too, which made Sarah quite fearful.

Back at the car and in dire need of a pot of tea we ended up at Luddenden Foot where we partook of refreshments in the Lord Nelson hostelry. This place’s claim to fame is that it was the hangout of Branwell Bronte and like many of the pubs this one had lots of books, many about Branwell. As Sarah wrote her journal in this place of historic writings a man came and chatted to us about when the hippies took over Hebden Bridge. Back home for dinner I tried to take 40 winks but didn’t get to sleep. We were due to go to Quiz night at the White Lion in Heptonstall, hopefully to meet David, one of the current residents of Lily Hall. In a strong Scottish accent David greeted us with “This is better than Black Dyke” which had been our planned evening event. Later commented that he was just like dad. He was going to Stornoway in the Outer Hebrides the following day to see his son. He’d also been to St. Kilda – amazing! Also there to meet us and do the quiz were another couple from Lily Hall, David, a rugby-playing retired police chief and his wife. They all invited us to visit them in Lily Hall while we are in town. Sarah seemed to be enjoying her conversation with these folks and when the quiz started she answered a lot more questions than I did. Rounds of drinks were being bought and at half time ham sandwiches were served. The pub was packed, not a spare seat to be had. We left at 11:15 and it felt rather dark and spooky walking back to the car which was parked at the top of the street. It was our latest night out and our most physically strenuous day.

June 23^rd

For the first time when we left in the morning it was raining quite hard. We had arranged to meet Jackie at All Souls, Halifax. She had shown me around the church, which has been closed for years, last year. She has the key and took us inside the church which was built by money from the Ackroyd family. The organ pipes which used to be installed had recently been returned and were lying on the floor. They were beautifully painted. In the cemetery across the street we found, with the help of Jackie’s plan, the graves of my great auntie Lily and her husband Bart. Her brother Ishmael was also there. There was lots of trash around the entrance to this graveyard in Haley Hill. We left Jackie and parked in the town centre where we enjoyed a scone with cream and jam for the first time. It turned out to be a great little coffee shop called Coffee Cali, which is a sister to my favorite take-out coffee store in Hebden Bridge. Following in Ackroyd’s footsteps we went to Bankfield Museum which had been the home of the Ackroyd family. There was a world War 1 exhibition and a display about McVitie’s biscuits and MacIntosh’s toffees which are both made in Halifax. Sarah was fascinated by the map exhibition. Bacon butties and cheese sandwiches made our lunch which we are ‘English picnic’ style in the car. I’d forgotten that a cheese sandwich in England involves grated cheese. Enough cheese fell off the sandwich to make a cheese salad. While Sarah went off to explore the charity shops in Halifax I wandered around cranky because my feet were hot. I can’t stand having hot feet. Today I’d worn my boots for the first time. She dropped me off at thorn Bank but by the time she’d got to the charity shops in Hebden Bridge they had closed. We spent our first evening in. We FaceTimed Anna who sat in her car to chat to us since she was at work. As we chatted she thought she heard gunshots. It wouldn’t be the first time since she works in that sort of neighbourhood. I discovered that the Brightwater holiday I had planned was fully booked. Must think of an alternative plan.
June 24

Sarah came up with the idea of going out for coffee on the town square and watch people gathering for the annual week-long Arts Festival. We saw Chris, my Airb&b host last year. She still has her posters and placards in support of Palestine liberation. We got chatting to two couples who want to travel on the Ghan train through Australia like I did in 1983. They’d been watching Michael Parkinson’s TV series. We wandered around the Saturday market – so many wonderful hand-made items. I ended up buying two red rose barrettes. Since I last I my hair cut the slightest wind blows it right into my face.

We took the bus to Haworth and as we waited at the bus stop we struck up a conversation with two elderly guys. One told us of his Viking ancestors and his relationship to William the Conqueror. The bus took tiny roads over t’tops and through Oxenhope. Old Haworth (what is now known as Bronte village) was very busy and we saw the lunchtime disco at the Black Bull. A wedding party was just exiting the parsonage and heading to the reception in the school where Charlotte was a teacher. We walked towards Penistone Hill. All the shops in the village are very upscale and touristy but they have really nice stuff – amazing shoes, art work. It was a vintage 1960’s weekend and I took photos of people bedecked in great 1960’s outfits. There was even John Lennon in bed on the main street. We had icecream and then caught the 4.30 bus back to Hebden. In the evening Sarah went to the Trades Club.
June 25

Today was the handmade parade and I was looking forward to it after seeing it last year. It just stopped raining in time for the parade to start. We sat on a wall on Valley Road along with little kids and then had lunch at the Lamp Post – a dog friendly café. The owner recognized us. She had struck up a conversation with us at the Friendly beer garden in Stanbury the previous week. We browsed around the bookshop and picked up Anna’s polkadot dress from LTD. From 4-5 I took a walk up the canal to Stubbings Wharf. Later I spent 45 minutes on the phone to try and top up my EE phone card and 15 minutes trying to book Branwell’s 200^th birthday breakfast celebration in Thornfield. The online booking page would not accept my credit card – so much for Visa cards being International!

Around 7:30 we set off together back to Stubbings Wharf pub where, surprisingly, there were very few tables in use. We sat at the same table that Keith and I had sat at last year. I uploaded the photo onto Facebook and almost immediately Keith replied ‘Isn’t that where we sat?’ We tucked in to a huge basket of fries and walked leisurely back along the canal, stopping to watch a very lynx-like cat who appeared to be last on the opposite bank, and a fluffy yellow baby duckling. We turned in for an early night after the sleeplessness of the previous night.
June 26

I woke well before my alarm clock sounded for today we had tickets for Branwell Bronte’s 200^th birthday breakfast in the very room where he and his sisters Charlotte, Emily and Anne were born. It was a beautiful drive on t’ tops through Midgley and Mixenden and Sarah seemed very comfortable driving on these winding narrow roads. My family had visited the Bronte birthplace in Thornton years ago when it was occupied by a present day crime writer, Barbara Whitehead. Though it was her private house at that time she invited us in to see the fireplace beside which the children would have been born. About a year ago the building became Emily’s Café but when we arrived at 10 a.m. for what I thought would have been a major event the door was locked and there was no sign that we had arrived at the right venue. We tried another door and this one opened and we had to ask someone if this was the right place! We were shown into a small room overflowing with guests – no wonder we had to book in advance. It was all SO British. The tables were laid out with tea and coffee pots and people just sat looking at each other until the guest speaker was introduced. Ann Dinsdale has been the museum curator at the Haworth parsonage for 27 years and is considered to be one of the foremost experts on the family. She gave a very personal account of her connection with Branwell and told of the way in which the museum acquires, or fails to acquire, Bronte artifacts. I remembered one of my student families, the Goldwassers, bidding on a Bronte letter once. Ann mentioned The Infernal World of Branwell Bronte, a book by Daphne du Maurier, a book which I’ve had on my shelf at home but never read. We chatted with the museum’s outreach person who lives in Heptonstall. She had visited Lone Pine and Death Valley recently, places that Sarah and I love to visit. I shared with her the incident at the Ted Hughes Elmet meeting the previous week when I had been told in no uncertain terms to “wash your mouth out” after simply mentioning the Bronte family!

After the meeting Sarah wanted to drive more on t’tops and I suggested we headed for Brighouse. Sarah wanted her eyebrows trimming and though Bradford was close by I thought Brighouse might be easier to negotiate and find a salon. Brighouse also had a Wetherspoons that I’d visited the previous year, in a former Methodist church (!) complete with circular balcony and intact organ. It provided Sarah with her first baked potato of the trip and me with a much sought after entrée-sized salad, Caesar with chicken and bacon – yummy. I couldn’t resist sampling the Wobbly Bob Phoenix ale, which turned out to be a tad to sweet for my taste, but it certainly takes the biscuit for its cute name. While Sarah took the barmaid’s advice on which salon to go to I tucked in to a second half a Wobbly Bob and wrote up the most detailed day of my journal so far. In fact, I was having such a good time that I ordered and apple crumble and custard after another customer assured me that ‘they go light on the cinnamon.’ I had lots of time to look around and see who was populating this place, and it was mostly single men staring into their beer glasses – a phenomenon that we were to remark on many times when visiting pubs at lunchtime. We had a rare evening in sorting photos on an action-packed day.
June 27^th

We had planned to go to by train to Sowerby Bridge but it was raining so hard that we decided to drive there instead. The usual vicar, Angela Dick, was not going to take the service and a locum was taking her place. Mr Pickles dominated the conversation over tea and biscuits but her was a wealth of information when her took me and Sarah around the church, telling us about the mouseman and moving the baptismal windows to different places depending on where the font of located. It was still raining when we left and the outdoor market looked decidedly forlorn. We walked along the canal to Gabriel’s café, in the old lock-keeper’s cottage, and I had my first baked potato of the trip. The butter was spread far too thickly on the tuna mayo sandwich – again!

We had an appointment at 2 p.m. to meet with Jean Illingworth at Sowerby church. Ken, the churchwarden and his dog, and his “lady friend” opened the magnificent building for us. The interior walls of the church are covered in stunning plasterwork which is reputed to be the best Georgian plasterwork outside London. You’d never guess it from the outside, which is so austere that it could be mistaken for a prison. He switched on the lights and she gave us an impromptu organ recital which included ‘my’ Bach preludes – the g minor and the F major. I was let loose on the organ and I had the distinct impression that she was trying to teach me things about the registration – which I readily acknowledge I know very little about. She also said that she’d send me an email with various music events for the rest of the summer.

From the church we were invited back to Jean’s house for tea and biscuits on Pinfold Lane, where we met her husband, John. Jean and John are a delightful couple and their home has an amazing view across open fields and the valley. There was even a flock of Jenny wrens in the garden. The conversation focused mainly on Sarah going back to the U. S shortly.

We left Sowerby at 4:45 which gave us just a few minutes to sit down before heading into Hebden Bridge for an Arts Festival event – a conversation on the making of the England CSI series with an America, Ian ? and a British homeoffice pathologist, Dr, Mike Green. There were only about 25 people in the audience and there was little marketing of their book which was for sale. I did buy one for Rachel, which I had signed, and only one other book was sold. We returned to thorn Bank for a late dinner.
June 28^th

Two of my piano students in America are taking their National Guild exam today and I couldn’t care less, though I wish them well. It was pouring with rain which looked as if it had set in for the day. It was cold with it too. First stop was the Yorkshire Soap shop so that Sarah could buy a gift for Aunt Sandy’s 70th birthday which Sarah is going to the weekend she gets back. As we crossed Calder Holmes Park a party of school children were stomping along in the rain. Only the teacher had an umbrella, and most of the children didn’t have hoods on their jackets. We took the train to Todmorden, Sarah’s first excursion by train of this trip. At the outdoor market, which was looking rather sorry for itself, we saw very few umbrellas in use. Most people were just going round with soaking wet hair. In the indoor market the interior ceiling is covered in scaffolding as workmen repair the ceiling. It will have a grand reopening in the Autumn. We sat at my favourite coffee/tea shop and learned that the owner, Adam, is the designer of Stanley Pike. I chatted for a while to Bob Pullen, art model, and just couldn’t get away. He gave Sarah 20p for the toilet and gave me a free poster and a fridge magnet of Stoodley Pike. Stanley Pike has his own Facebook page and appears in the market once a month! Even the butcher insisted in writing down his Facebook page name for me. I bought a vanilla slice to eat later and then we popped into Lidl’s.

For lunch we went into the White Hart which is now a Wetherspoons full of single old men who stared at us. Sarah tucked into her full English breakfast that she’d been craving. What I didn’t discover until November was that the Petty session of the court used to be held in the White Hart and in 1840 James Wrigley of Lily Hall was ordered to pay week maintenance for his bastard daughter Elizabeth Ann, so now I have evidence that Sally Farrar had openly told the court that Elizabeth Ann was James’s daughter immediately at her birth.

It was too wet to walk back along the canal so we got the train back. The weather matched out mood as Sarah began packing for her journey home. Sarah was so sad about leaving England and I was anxious about how I was going to deal with being alone in England for 8 weeks. (It seems strange to be copying that sentence in November after making the decision to move to England). We had lots of clean up to do at Thorn Bank so I suggested we got it done and then wander into Hebden Bridge for a final drink. It was still raining hard and we were unsure which pub to go in but after passing a few and looking in the windows we decided on The Shoulder of Mutton where we’d gone on our first night. Then it had been packed and there had been standing room only. Now there were only a couple of tables in use and by the time we left at 10 p.m. we were the only ones left. Talk about a lack of atmosphere – and what a contract to Saturday night. Where was everybody tonight? Judging from the bar tender’s phone call the usual bartender was in hospital with a lump in his neck which turned out to be a blood clot. I FaceTimed Anna. She’d thought that there might have been a possibility that she’d come to England over the summer but it’s not going to happen. We did our final cleanup of the place before going to bed.

It was so hard to get going this morning – for both of us. First we dropped off my cases at my new place – Mayroyd Mill. Nicola was there and helped me distribute my stuff, including food items. Sarah gallantly dragged my cases up two flights of stairs, and then we checked put of Thorn Bank which had been our home for 2 weeks. We set off in the rain, mist and gloom for our ‘airport’ hotel in Stockport. I suggested we went over t’tops via Blackstone Edge, one of my parents’ favourite drives. I remember driving that way on foggy days expecting to see Roman centurions appearing out of the mist after I’d been informed that we were travelling along a Roman Road. From the top we dropped down into Rochdale and I suddenly saw a road sign to Hollinworth Lake and I urged Sarah to take it. My mum had taken us all there as a family after a lunchtime music concert in the Champness Hall in Rochdale. A class of junior school children were taking sailing lessons surrounded by inquisitive geese. We stopped in at the Olive and Pickle tea shop. There was an interesting mix of people in this popular café. A group were celebrating a family birthday and in general the place was populated by well dressed couples – quite different from Hebden Bridge. After indulging in the excellent bacon butties we started down into the big metropolis of Manchester and checked into our hotel around 4 p.m. We found an Asda within walking distance and Sarah did some last minute shopping. On the way back we got an Indian take-away. Sarah opted for the kid’s meal of chicken korma and fries with coke. We sat in front of the telly for the rest of the evening watching old favourites on ‘Dave’ including Hettie Wainthrop, Last of the Summer Wine, Waiting for God and Keeping Up Appearances. From time to time Sarah battled with her suitcase, packing, repacking and sitting on it to get it to close. Eventually she was successful and we turned in at 9:45 in preparation for an early start the next day.