Searching for My Yorkshire Roots 2017 & 2018

Back in Hebden Bridge I thought I’d take a walk to the Fox and Goose at the opposite end of town. What I really wanted, since it was such a beautiful evening was a bus ride to a hilltop pub with a nice beer garden but I didn’t know of one. I just seemed too nice an evening to sit indoors. The Fox and Goose is currently covered in scaffolding and I didn’t see anyone going in or sitting outside so perhaps it’s closed. I changed my idea and headed to Stubbing Wharf for half a Black Sheep and then ordered chips to go and walked back along the canal munching my chips. Nicola had just got back from her weekend trip to Shrewsbury and Ludlow. I FaceTimed with Rachel, Sarah and Danny.
Monday July 10^th

Ooooo! A day with nothing scheduled! Diana, David, Gerard and the Turton vicar had all sent me emails and I had piles of material to sift through so when I woke up to pouring raining today seemed like a good day to do it. Diana had managed to locate River Street. It was the former name of the underdwellings beneath Bridge Lane. Farrar Whitham had lived there in 1895 so around lunchtime I set off in search. The upper houses on the main road appear to be in really bad shape. They appear to be almost derelict with filthy windows and trash strewn along the doorsteps, so I was a little uneasy as I ventured down the narrow, steep cobbled entrance, barely 3 feet wide – the only access to this row of underdwellings. Now many are three storey single family homes. As I was poking around the back of the buildings in no time I was approach by an elderly gentleman, a resident, who was eager to share his knowledge. He even offered to give me a book about the buildings if I cared to join him at Quiz Night at the Fox and Goose just across the street. I look forward to my ‘date.’

Tuesday July 11

A day of rain found me exploring the second of Diana’s ‘leads’, this time to Fairfield which is the small community on the far side of the river from Hebden. The main road there is Palace Drive, a misnomer. The hillside was once part of a 3000 acre deer park with its origins around 1331. A fence was constructed around the perimeter which was known as a palisade which eventually got changed into ‘palace.’ (As I copy this journal onto my laptop and Google a reference to check my fact I find that Dr Nigel Smith gave a lecture to the Hebden Bridge historical society in 2009 on the deer park. Last Friday I attended his lecture at the Halifax Antiquarian Society called Patterns in the Landscape, and I spent 3 hours in his company yesterday morning since he is the archivist for the historical society. That’s exactly what I love about living here.)

An all day hike with Gary. We met at 10 a.m. at Halifax station and I arrived home ten miles later at 9 p.m. I took my raincoat along in my backpack ‘just in case’ though the forecast was for sun. This was to be more of an urban hike than our usual escapades. I’d expressed a wish to go to Shibden Hall, primarily to see the tall chimneys, since these distinctive features form a them in my photography. We took the bus to Salterhebble and walked along the canal to Skircoat. I knew of this district from my ancestry research but hadn’t visited it before. Skircoat Green pub was not yet open so we found a tea shop on what passes for the main street where we could sit outside and observe the residents. Even tiny Skircoat Green had two co-ops at the height of the co-op movement – an upper one and a lower one.

Back in Halifax we tried out another Wetherspoons, this time the Barium Top. I found it hilarious that opposite the pub was a colon cleansing shop, right above a sandwich shop. But wait, there’s more! The pub was packed so I listened in to people’s conversations and noted some down. Two ladies: “Only reason ‘e’s goin’ back was ‘cause she asked ‘im to drop ‘is pants yesterday.” Response: “Be a begga if it’s a fella this time!” Man to barista, “A fairtrade chocochino, please.” Barista, “ Do you know what it is?” Man, “No, but you ‘ave to live a bit, don’t yer?” Lady, “I’m on mi last kitchin roll so I’ve got t’ get some cheapies today.” Young lady, “Goin’ t’ pick up wedding dress tomorra. It were ‘and made.” “Were did you say ya gorrit from?” “Pickle Hall.”

After such mirth it was back to business – with a twist. We got the bus to Shibden Hall. Gary suspected it would be closed. He was right about that because we suddenly found ourselves in the midst of a Bollywood film crew. We watched as ladders were put up at windows of the ancient hall, once home of the Lister family. We were even invited to lunch with the crew! This movie is to be the fourth in a series called 20 or 21. Apparently West Yorkshire has become (well, I was going to say Mecca, but probably shouldn’t) a favourite spot for filming movies. I’ve enjoyed Happy Valley, and Last Tango in Halifax, and Sally Wainwright’s film about the Bronte family is almost ready for release. Wainwright has written a film about Ann Lister of Shibden Hall which I’m looking forward to seeing. I never did get my tall chimney shot. Shibden Hall doesn’t have any.

The it was the hiking part of the day, all the way up to High Sunderland which has some claim to being the setting that Emily Bronte had in mind when describes Wuthering Heights. Norland Hall has been demolished but from where it stood we got fantastic views of Halifax. It were pretty good! We had an aerial view of the Square Chapel, Piece hall and Dean Clough all at once.

By the time we’d come down the steep slope back into town we were ready for some liquid refreshment so we checked out The Victorian, a micro pub that I’d read about. The Victorian is such a place. Once an Italian restaurant, it’s a handsome building on the end of Powell Street opposite Somerset House. Owned by Simon and Pang Stather who ran the legendary Puzzle Hall Inn in Sowerby Bridge, it’s a very agreeable space with scrubbed oak floors, bare brick walls, deep red leather sofas and wing chairs. They’ve been ‘bequeathed’ a library’s worth of books, so get comfortable with a novel and pint or two. – from The Yorkshire Post, 2016. I’d thought it might be too hipster, but not at all. Suitably rehydrated we went back to Wetherspoons for fish and chips and watched Andy Murray loose his match at Wimbledon.

Friday July 14^th

It rained heavily all night. Water pounded on the skylight above my bed but by the time I got up it had stopped, but it was quite chilly and oppressively overcast but I decided to stick to my plan and go weed whacking in two cemeteries. I had been able to download a plan of Heptonstall cemetery with rows and numbers and sections. As I tried to measure out the gravestones most of which are completely obscured, not by clouds, but by years of leaf fall, soil, moss, Himalayan balsam, brambles, and in some cases, entire trees. I must have looked a right gobbin digging around with broken sticks on my hand and knees getting wetter and dirtier by the minute. Of the four graves I was looking for three were flat but the upright one I managed to find quickly. How I chastised myself later that evening when if I’d have looked on the following page of the cemetery plan website I’d have seen a list of the graves in order. However, that’s water under the bridge. I found three of the four including the grave of my great, great, great, great grandparents (by illegitimacy). I really gardening shears, secaturs and brushes to do this properly – none of which I have in England. Perhaps Ann from Lily Hall might have some that I could borrow. After all, these people who lie beneath this jungle used to live in the house she currently lives in! I called her and, much as she was interested in my project, she was in Manchester but expressed a desire to come and see the fruit of my labours some time next week.

So it was off the The White Lion for a warm up. It was still a couple of minutes to openin g time and though the barmaid invited me in she hadn’t yet cleaned the coffee machine so I ordered a pot of tea instead, and soon I thawed out.

Then, to search for the address on one of my ancestral documents: Under Arch. I hadn’t been able to find this location on a current map of Heptonstall, and the barmaid was buy on the phone to the CAMRA people (Campaign for Real Ale), so I wandered around the village. All was quiet on this mid-week morning. I knew of one arch in the village displaying a date-stone of 1547 so I went under the arch and found a group of buildings but they belonged to a farm which had a name, so I presumed this wasn’t what I was looking for. So I tried the only shop in town – the post office. The post master asked who I was trying to find and I explained that I was looking for a building that was the home of my ancestors several hundred years ago, whereupon he came out from behind the counter, grabbed my hand, took me outside and pointed down the street. Sure enough he was pointing to an arch on the left hand side above which there was a house. It was only two houses away from The Old Dairy that Rachel and I had stayed in 2015. Through the arch was a fold of old buildings beautifully maintained with colourful gardens. I was more than happy when a lady came out of one of the houses to check up on me. “Ah, yull need to see Norman. ‘e’ll know. Go’ a big white moustache. ‘E’s alas wand’ri’ aroun’t’ villige,’ she informed me after I’d explained why I was wandering around outside he house. Thanking her I wandered around in search for Norman but to no avail.

So I headed down the hill to Cross Lanes cemetery in search of the resting place for some of my Wrigley ancestors. I found a tall marble column to the Wrigleys, a visible demonstration of the wealth of the family.

Saturday July 15^th

To Steep Lane chapel to hear brass band with Jean and Katrina

Sunday July 16^th

Attended St James’s church, Hebden Bridge.Lunch of delicious cauliflower cheese at Rendezvous café. An evening drink at Shoulder of Mutton

Monday July 17^th

Had my first lunch of the entire trip ‘in.’ Made bacon and mushroom and ate it on the front patio. I went to knit and natter with Sibyl in charge. She took me to see the renovation inside Hope Chapel. Still covered in scaffolding inside. Watched Law and Order UK. Found a scandal in my Wrigley family tree. Willie Wrigley, the esteemed architect had absconded with the family fortune and set up house with a woman in Southport, leaving his wife in poverty, according to a newspaper report. Took an evening walk to Mytholmroyd. Coloured hair. FaceTimed Anna.
Tuesday July 18^th

I took the 9:30 train to York, arriving at 11:00 where I met Judith. The weather promised to be sunny, so much so that I treated myself to an iced coffee. The place was heaving, and I don’t use that word lightly, with tourists. There were lots of school groups. Judith’s probably been so many times before that she wasn’t interested in sight seeing but it was lovely to catch up over an outdoor lunch. I tried a roast beef and Yorkshire pudding wrap, simply because I couldn’t imagine what it would look like. It was delicious and served with Rosemary potatoes. It was served in a tiny alley, barely 6 ft wide and fortunately out of direct sunlight. Finishing lunch we wandered aimlessly around taking in the sounds – lots of buskers – and sights – including several homeless people begging for change. There’s an Ancestor shop that will draw up a coat of arms for me. Judith left at 2:45 and I spent the rest of the afternoon in the vicinity of the Minster and the Shambles doing all the touristy things. I found a shady beer garden at the White Swan where I ordered sticky toffee pudding and I had my first cold beer of the trip. It was amusing to listen to American guys trying to explain cricket to each other as they watched a match on TV. The plaque above me in the garden commemorated the day in 1781 when the White Swan exhibited the world’s tallest man!

Next was evensong in the Minster at 5:15, sung by young choristers in the quire. I left before the end to race back to the station and jump on the 6:30 train. I was back at th’ mill by 7:45. So easy!

Gary called in the evening very excited to have been to see a concert in the square Chapel given by the students of the Calderdale Music Trust. Little did I suspect that my first job offer when I moved to Yorkshire seven months later would be with this prestigious music school!

Thunderstorms were in the forecast for today but I met Gary in Halifax at 10 a.m. as planned. After a brief guided tour of some of the architectural features of the town centre we got the bus up to Wainstalls. We passed Mt Tabor and got off at an isolated bus stop in the middle of nowhere. Fortunately Gary knows his way around very well and we hiked along t’ tops where the former farms and weavers’ cottages are now up-market retreats with beautiful koi ponds and manicured gardens. We crossed the river and climbed up to Jerusalem Farm, a place I remember my mum talking about. When I’d hiked up here myself it had been the one day I’d left my phone at home so I don’t have any photos of that excursion. We passed the bales of hay in their distinctive pink wrappings – Zayles not bales! Down to the Lord Nelson for dinner – phallic sausage supreme – and then to Mytholmroyd where we stopped for some liquid refreshment and then back to Hebden Bridge where Gary popped in a for a few minutes to see my AirB&B. A good day out and 11.2 miles of hiking. Just as I was going to bed there was a terrific thunderstorm and I thanked my lucky stars that Gary had ordered the weather to stay fine until we were both safely home.

I had an appointment with Diana Monahan, secretary of the Hebden Bridge Historical Society at their headquarters in the former Birchcliffe Chapel at 2 p.m. Twice a month they have experts on hand for three hours to help people with their local ancestry queries. Their local knowledge was incredible. Barbara Atak, the president, knew so much about the Wrigleys. There is a book listing all the payments for the building work that the Wrigley family did over many generations. Diana will send me an excel spread sheet, but the original is currently in the possession of Richard Redman, a descendant of the family who still lives locally. (Seven months later I chatted with him on the phone about the book. He knows he has it but has been too busy recently to locate it. He’s in his 80’s!)

After three hours in which I managed to get back one, or possibly three generation back in my Whitham ancestry, I stopped off at Sauce for tea and scone with cream and jam before getting the bus up to Heptonstall.

I’d arranged to meet Ann in the cemetery. James Farrar Whitham’s grave had already got covered over again but Ann had brought with her serious gardening implements including, very thoughtfully, two sets of rubber gloves. We managed to find and clear my great, great great grandad’s grave, James Wrigley, who is my sole connection with this whole Wrigley clan. Thoroughly covered in brambles and mud we paused for a moment and a passerby offered to take a photo of what I anticipated would be a very special moment – my great, great, great grandad’s grave, the lady who currently lives in his house, and me. But wait, the photo never appeared on my phone. I guess the passerby had pressed the wrong button on my phone. But neither did the photo that I took immediately afterwards of me, the grave and the tower of Heptonstall church in the sunshine – very odd. As we were leaving the site, however, Ann drew my attention to a little ball of prickles in the bushes – a hedgehog – and that photo did work.

We headed for pizza at The Cross so we changed venues and went into The White Lion where Ann, of course, knew everyone by name. She told the bartender about our grave diggings as we tucked into a well deserved, and appropriately named, pint of Midsummer Madness, beef curry and rice. The two guys sitting at the next table had a lovely white dog that they’d adopted from Thessalonika.

For Quiz night we were joined by another couple who currently live in Lily Hall who told us all about their recent week in Ludlow for their 60^th birthday. They’d even hired a chef for the week at their rented mansion. Ann didn’t stay for the Quiz and left before it had finished in order to get the bus back into Hebden, getting home at 10 p.m. Sarah didn’t pick up on FaceTime but I talked to Rachel for an hour since she was taking the day off work to clean her apartment with a view to renewing her lease.

I could hear the rain pounding on the skylight above my bed, and, pleading a stiff back, I had a lie in. I presume my back was objecting to an 11 mile hike followed by a day of grave digging.

So it was a little later than usual that I left the house, to go to Todmorden. Having coffee in the market I got into conversation with a lady who had come back to live in England after 8 years in Australia because her husband was homesick. We chatted about Alice Springs, but also lesser known places such as Coober Pedy and Broken Hill. After browsing the outdoor market I popped into ‘Stone Art’ hairdressers opposite and found that they could do me a haircut immediately. When have I ever had such opportunities to be so impulsive? Ria, a Cypriot, took charge of my hair. It’s her brother’s business and for many years he worked on the hair and makeup for ‘stars’ such as Wayne Rooney and Hugh Laurie. I enjoyed chatting to Ria who has spent many years alternating between living in Cyprus and Todmorden! She took her time and I liked the result. She suggested I come back for highlights. Maybe.

Back to th’ mill for an afternoon cat nap before finally making time to go to the railway station to obtain a senior rail pass. I’d been putting it off, of course, but surprisingly it took less than 2 minutes – and they didn’t even look at my passport to check my age. Do I look that much older than 60?

Since I was already in possession of a bus day pass I decided to go out again and I got the bus to Whitely Arches to find Green Springs where James Farrar Whitham was living in 1861. I found two rows of houses with that name, so unless there were houses on the other side of the road in 1861, his was one of the ones I was standing in front of.

On a whim I decided to walk back into Hebden and get a drink. I didn’t particularly want one, but on the other hand I felt it was too early to go home. Little did I anticipate that I’d be kept occupied for the next 7 ½ hours. The White Lion and the White Swan looked too quiet so I ordered half a Midsummer Madness and looked for somewhere to sit outside the Shoulder of Mutton. There was only one possibility and that meant sharing a table with a guy seated there. I buried my head in my journal and about half an hour later the guy suddenly stood up and said, ‘Hello, I’m Ken.” It turns out we have a common interest in genealogy. He lives in Surrey and is a high techy engineer and about a year ago ‘in a drunken stupor, in this very pub’ he bought a house boat on the canal in Hebden Bridge. So now he drives up from Surrey a couple of times a month at the weekends. He was eager to tell me that he wasn’t your typical Hebden Bridge guy. My response that there’s no such thing. After refilling his glass his phone buzzed. “I have to go and pick up someone from the station. We’re not an item. Could you save my beer – and the table?” About 15 minutes later he returned with Segi, a Danish woman doing her post doc in child psychology. She had needed a British address to get better funding for her classes and so he had let her use his. She’d just flown in from Denmark and we chatted, conversation flowing easily. After another drink he suggested we all went out for curry – Thai or Indian – it was my choice. I’d be wanting to check out the only only Thai place in town we went there, right on the canal. I found it strange to hear the Thai waitresses, dressed in traditional costumes, speaking with strong Yorkshire accents. After dinner, which Ken paid for he twisted my arm and we all went for a night cap at the Trades. Here he promptly fell asleep and Segi and I joked about just leaving him there. However, she was going to stay on his boat, and she didn’t have a key! Eventually he woke up and we all walked back along the canal. Somehow I wasn’t surprised to find that his boat mooring is directly outside my mill. I politely declined to take a second night cap on the boat. It was well after midnight and unfortunately Nicola had left her key in the lock so I had to wake her up to let me in. During the night we had a huge hailstorm and I wondered how Ken and Segi were faring.