Searching for My Yorkshire Roots 2017 & 2018

Rachel had arrived in Santa Cruz late morning after renting a car to take us to the airport. We were flying directly from San Francisco to Manchester for the first time – a new route for Virgin Atlantic. A small baby screamed for what seemed like most of the 10½ hour flight. I felt sorry for one dad who stood up for most of that time with the baby in his arms trying to calm it. I didn’t get any sleep at all, as per usual when I fly, but Sarah seemed to manage a few hours of shut eye.

Arriving at Manchester airport I again enlisted the help of the information desk clerk to change my sim card in my phone but I discovered that my Lloyds bank card was not being accepted by the cash machines. This wasn’t good news. Eventually I ‘discovered’ a brand new second card that the bank had sent to me earlier this year which I’d filed away in my England pouch and completely forgotten about.

The car rental company gave us a brand new Skoda Rapid with 4 miles on the clock! Yikes, that was scary. To get from the airport to Edgworth we immediately had to get on to the M60 which Sarah managed to negotiate expertly. We stopped at Morrison’s in Harwood for food. We then drove up to Affetside, noticed that the No 3 Bungalow sign has disappeared, and then tafter a wrong turn took a quick trip to Hawkshaw where I’ve stayed a couple of time. Therefore Sarah had negotiated a big motorway and a single track road between high stone walls all within the first day of driving on the wrong side!

June 13^th

I’m sitting at a table in the café of All Souls Church, Astley Bridge. 5 tables are in use and at the front of what was once a church the Halliwell historical society have set up a Heritage Center Picture Gallery. The wonderful model of Doffcocker that Andrew showed to Rachel and me two years ago now has pride of place downstairs, but Andrew has moved on. Amy is still here and she was eager to chat with us. She recounted the story of how he had abseiled down the tower in a wedding dress and had almost ended up a disaster since a piece of her clothing got caught in the gear and no help could be given. But she managed to extricate herself and live to tell the tale. Sarah and I went up the bell tower after much searching of keys by the front desk clerk. It was quite scary. The belfry has been redecorated - another disaster. Apparently one of the bell ringers offered to refurbish the belfry while Amy was away and when she returned the beautiful paneled walls had been painted bright green and the Victorian stenciling had been painted over. There’s a lego model of the tower now.

We were woken this morning by escaping sheep, and Ethel’s husband shouting “Panic” as he jumped on his bicycle to stop the sheep who had headed out onto Broadhead road towards the Toby pub. There are two donkeys and a horse in the field opposite Clough Head farm. I had woken at 11pm, then again at 6.15 am eventually getting up at 8. Someone had knocked on the door last night.

We had dinner at The Strawbury Duck in Entwistle, an excellent meat pie, chips and peas and half a Lakeland beer. I wouldn’t have recognized the bar area from when Rachel and I were there in 2011, but when I looked back at the photos from that year little has changed. By the time we reached the Strawbury Duck we had already tried the Black Bull and the Rose and Crown but neither serves food on a Monday evening. Not quite a case of ‘no room at the inn’ just ‘no grub in the pub!’

Sitting in the newly refurbished Pack Horse in Affetside we’ve decided they’ve ruined the main bar. They’ve taken all the brassware off the ceiling and moved the famous skull into a glass cabinet. It used to just sit on a shelf behind the bar. The snug remains the same with my mum still looking content as she clears the snow in the winter of 1954.

Next stop was the big Asda in Astley Bridge. I ended up buying some PJ pants, Sarah bought a pineapple top since pineapple is her theme on this trip. I’ve no idea why. We also bought dates for 70p – a bargain – and some bottled water for the car – not easy to find in the stores here. You never see anyone drinking bottled water. One aisle was devoted to ‘A taste of America’ with oddly coloured macaroni and cheese. Some of the desserts were incredible, such as a star cheesecake.

A wrong turn led us to Firwood Fold. One of the cottages here was the birthplace of Samuel Crompton, inventor of the spinning mule which revolutionized the cotton industry and was responsible for much of the industrial revolution both locally and world wide. The fold is a small group of houses, surrounded, yet out of sight and sound from a modern estate. One of the houses was for sale. It was built in 1585 and is the oldest inhabited home in Bolton. The asking price is £299,000. We followed the kingfisher trail to a pond with fishermen and two swans silently gliding by in the calm oasis. All around was incredible birdsong. A lady leaned out of her upstairs window to check on us, and then, when we appeared to be non-threatening she chatted with us.

Back at Clough Head farm at 4.30 we took a nap. The new mattress had arrived so Sarah now had her own room. At 6.15 we drove up to the Pack Horse for sticky toffee pudding (Sarah’s favourite) and Fish and chips (sp).
June 15

First order of the day was to climb to the top of Holcombe Hill. I’ve done this climb with Sarah before and with Rachel too. It really surprised me how little time it took to get to the Peel Tower from where we had a great view but the light wasn’t very good for photos.

Next was Ramsbottom where Sarah had a wander around the charity stores and I moseyed around the streets, taking a peak at the station. Bolton was out next stop since we were going to try and apply for a renewal for Sarah’s British passport. We had a fiasco at the market parking lot just like last time (when a Belgian tourist had had to show us how to operate the pay machine!) and we had to enlist an elderly gentleman’s assistance. The passport application form said that Sarah would have to send off ‘all passports.’ Obviously this wasn’t an option since she would need her current US passport to get back into the US. Perhaps it means all current UK passport but that’s not what the form states. The lady who was assisting us couldn’t help either. The new passport had to sent to an English address so I called Peter to see if Sarah could use his address. He said ‘yes’ but if asked if Sarah lived there he would say ‘no!’ Sarah got the passport photos taken at the GPO and we took the forms away with us. We then had to move the car since we only had change for one hour’s parking so we moved the car to the Octagon car park and walked into Primark and Poundland where we found an adaptor for my laptop. I would never have considered that store for that product. In fact I had no idea where to go, so I just asked 3 guys who were standing talking in the mall and they suggested Poundland! All the shops in Upper Deansgate are closed, boarded up. Eventually we saw a posting showing the proposed revamp of the whole ‘downtown’ area which will become a pedestrian precinct. On the steps of the imposing Town hall there were collections of balloons to commemorate the 22 killed in the bomb blast at the Manchester arena on May 22^nd. I enjoyed at cup of coffee at Costa Coffee on the Town Hall Square while Sarah went to look at the shops. The kids were just coming home from school, in the their various colours of their school uniforms, many boys sporting brightly striped blazers.

We headed back to the farm stopping off at Morrisons to buy naan to go with our Indian ready meal. Sarah did an excellent job on reading the instructions of how to get the oven grill to function. An evening at home provided us with time to take showers, watch Mock the Week and I took a stroll down the lane to see the ponies and donkeys.

It was much cooler today but still sunny. Yesterday it had been 77F and so muggy and was hard to do anything much. We drove the few minutes’ drive into Turton and were very pleased to see a car parked just by the front door of St. Anne’s. Might the church be open? Sure enough two ladies, Dorothy and Marlene were cleaning. Marlene uses ‘Henry,’ the vacuum cleaner and Dorothy ‘does’ the silver and brass. Marlene knows Sandra who ‘does the altar’ for the flower festival in July. This is Sandra Isherwood, the daughter of my parents’ closest friends who helped clear my mom’s house after she’d died. The church looked very well cared for and I was so pleased that Sarah was able to see the imposing interior. Dorothy even showed us the safe in the vestry with silver chalices and two silver flagons donated by Sir Humphrey Cheetham who lived at Turton Tower. I asked if I could possibly take a photo of the silver collection but understandably ‘no’ was the answer. The church now has new lighting inside and a recently refurbished ceiling. This place is obviously in a much better place financially than most of the village churches we have seen so far on our trip, though the high cost of heating was at the forefront of the conversation. It costs more to heat the church for a wedding than it does to pay for the organist. But there’s not a great deal of difference between 70 and 80 pounds!

We tried in vain to find the grave of the Hills, my ancestors but so much of the cemetery is overgrown. We walked down the steps towards the Sunday school where I used to play piano for the services but the Sunday school is now a luxurious home. We wandered around the village for a while but couldn’t find the village stocks that I remembered. We did, however, find an old school building dating from 1700. The Cheetham Arms is still doing a good trade, as is the football ground which is the oldest ground in continuous use. Ready for some sustenance we drove for a couple of minutes into Edgworth to what used to be Barlow’s Institute, where my parents held their wedding reception. We had seen a board outside advertising tea and coffee – ‘The Barlow.’ The café is in the old reading room complete with a restored painting of George and the Dragon over the fireplace. There was really nice curtain and chair fabric that’s been used to upholster the pew-like seats which were originally designed of the edges of the billiards room. From the institute, which was once visited by Gandhi, we took a little ‘walk in the woods’ passing the waterfall. The stream was confined by walls for every inch of its path and was divided into two at one part to served the calico mill where James Hill worked. As we got clear of the woods I realized that we were close to Brandwood Fold where Sandra lives and so we decided on the spur of the moment to take a chance and see if she was home. There she was, busily weeding her extensive garden in the heat of the day. We chatted for ten minutes, saying hello to the kitty who is almost identical to Tilly. We saw the barn where presumably my mom’s furniture remains and caught a glimpse of Jim on his rounds on his tractor.

Sarah was hungry by this time and so, on Sandra’s recommendation, we stopped in at the White Horse. There were only a couple of people in and I wondered how much it must cost to pay the wages of the staff for a mid-week lunchtime. Sarah ordered the steak pie and I had fish and chips. Both were huge portions. Next stop was Mt Pleasant, a small terrace of former weavers’ cottages just set back off the road opposite the Black Bull. I could easily live there, feeling close to other houses and people. One cottage was for sale. I just looked it up 165,000.

Next stop was Ramsbottom where Sarah wanted to browse the charity shops. We ended up buying a pink polka dot dress for Anna! After buying food for tea we drove through Bury to take a photo of The Peel Monument from a different angle across the valley and then continued to Affetside. We walked down the fields from the school and when we got to the middle gate we were astounded to see that the road down the 3^rd Bungalow has been paved. We knocked on the door and were welcomed in and immediately offered a glass of wine. Margaret gave us a little tour of the house but nothing has changed since 2015. We went to see the livestock. One of the goats had a great ‘goatee’ and there were baby chickens too.

Just before we reached the car I saw an elderly man mowing the grass behind the Sunday School. ‘Geoffrey! Geoffrey Bond?’ I called out. He turned around. Oh, my. What a blast from the past. He was the organist at Affetside church when I was a child. When I sang in the church choir I would be sitting next to the organ console and could watch him. I was fascinated by his pedal-work! Fifty years on he’d played the organ for my mom’s funeral at Four Lane Ends, and now, here he was mowing the grass at the church. I remember that he’d been married to Janet but they’d got divorced, which was an uncommon event in those distant days. Somehow I recall my mom and Janet confiding in each other, perhaps about ‘men trouble.’ A few years ago, I think at my mom’s funeral, someone told me that Geoffrey had spent some time ‘wearing women’s clothes.’ I could recall his mother, which house she lived at in the village and where Geoffrey and Janet lived on the way to the Bull’s Head. I think their place is now a B and B.

On what I presumed would be a pointless attempt to open the school door I almost passed out with shock when the door opened and I found myself in my old school room where I’d had my lessons from age 5 til 11. The school had two classrooms and the ‘big kids’ used the room which miraculously became the church on Sundays when all the desks were removed and chairs arranged in rows instead. I’d only been in this room once since I left it at age 11, when I happened to visit my mom on the day of a church open day. Nothing had changed. It looked well cared for, shiny even. The choir stalls were there, the altar, the plates, the offertory and the plaques commemorating fallen service men.

We had pastie, salad and fruit for tea - and Two Hoots Beers. Which reminds me of one of Gary’s jokes. Which owl is the most common in Yorkshire? A teet-owl. Get it? We watched ‘The Perfect Crime’ and went to bed at 10 pm. I still find it very hard to go to bed in the light, but I had my best night’s sleep so far.

I woke to find eight ducklings at my door. They had been born in the garden nd the mom had jumped down a step, the ducklings followed but then they couldn’t get back up the step so Ethel had adopted them – and, as far as they were concerned, she was their mother. I pulled my back as I stood up from petting the kitty – not a good start to a day. On the way to Bolton we stopped off at Turton Towers. There was an ornate bridge over a railway track and Sarah was very surprised when a train came along. She had presumed it was a disused railway line because that is usually the case where we live. Turton Towers was the home of Humphrey Chetham in the 1600’s but was built in 1420 and is a Grade 1 listed building. It’s 6 pounds to take a tour but we were heading somewhere else so we just admired it from the outside. Some of it is constructed in stone, other parts are half timbered and the bizarre grotesques and carving under the eaves are magnificent.

In Bolton we tried to park at Marketplace but ended up taking the exit ramp before we’d actually parked! In Bradshawgate Sarah turned the wrong way into a street and with her quick reactions we narrowly avoided a catastrophe. The Market Hall has retained its original wrought iron and glass roof but now sports an 8plex cinema, shops, a mini-golf, and a piano (which I, of course, played). The ‘vault’ has upscale restaurants. We, however, got a take away from Gregg’s and people watched. There were lots of young mothers with push chairs and a 5 day old baby was out shopping with her mum.

So, here I am, on my own for the first time on this trip. I’m sitting at Costa Coffee on Albert Square, a place that Rachel’s quite familiar with. Sarah’s on a shopping spree at Primark and Superdrug. The weather is overcast, grey but it’s too warm to wear a jacket. A pigeon is pecking insistently at a butterfly biscuit that a toddler has dropped. “Ee, luv, d’ya want choclut ont’ top?” comes from over my left shoulder. School girls wearing uniforms with the shortest possible skirts are on their way home from school, walking through the center of town. There’s a wide variety of ethnicity and associated clothing in the shoppers. “Yer watchin’ Russia versus Switzerland tomorra on ITV ay 3:30? Think it’s a friendly. Could be a qualifier,” comes from behind me. An elderly refined-looking gentleman in a white shirt, pin-striped suit and dove grey tie is clad in a knee length black woolen coat with three shiny lapel pins. A solicitor? He’s joined by his daughter and grandchild. A man’s cigarette smoke is wafting my way, permeating my pot of tea with its pungent odour. The pigeon returns, this time with a feathered friend, exciting the toddler who gives chase. “I watched t’ World Cup in 1966 i’ black ‘nd white.” “It’s ridiculous these short skirts they’re wearin.’” The town hall clock sings its Westminster chimes followed by four deep clangs urging the shoppers to complete their purchases because it’s almost closing time. Sarah returns from her shopping trip and we head to Boots for some heating pads for my back and some allergy medication for Sarah. She’s come out in a rash, possibly from the unfamiliar shampoo.

On the way home we stop off in the Black Bull for a drink before heading home to eat leftovers. I’d hoped that on a Friday night there’d be a good vibe, bustling and noisy, but there were only a few customers. A big tree with fairy lights adorned the bar, and for a pound you could add a tag to a branch in honour of father’s day. Sarah’s contribution – “Whose socks are these?” Back at the farm I wrote my journal and went to bed at 10 pm leaving Sarah to stay up and do some more packing for tomorrow we were heading to Yorkshire.
June 18

Sarah woke me up with a cup of tea. When was the last time that happened? We packed, paid Ethel, gave her the free phone that we’d been given when I topped up my EE card (!) Our first stop was Crowthorn School where we were going to try and line up the present day view with an old photo we had found. As we were trying to do this a guy came up and asked if we could give him a ride. When he heard our accents he got super excited. Listen to the audio I recorded. We stopped back at Asda so that Sarah could buy the pineapple shirt that she’d seen. Apparently she’d chosen pineapples to be the symbol of this trip, but I’ve no idea why. Then off to Bolton School, my high school that was the scene of the filming of the school scenes in Last tango in Halifax. I showed Sarah where I used to spend a lot of my lunchtimes, and after school, too, swinging from a tree. The tree and the wall from which I’d jump are still there but so overgrown that I can see that that particular activity has died a death a long time ago. We passed the Macron Stadium and came to lots and lots of traffic. We were fortunate since they were to close the road in 20 minutes completely for the Horwich Cycling Festival. There were lots of road bikes and motorcyclists dressed in their carapace armour. I’d thought that by coming out of Bolton this way I’d pass the cemetery where my mum and and her parents are buried but we didn’t, and I didn’t pursue it.

We arrived at the Great Barn in Rivington. It was heaving with cars an the pacnic tables outside were overflowing with people, mainly families with young children. However, in the medieval cruck framed barn it was much quieter. One of my favourite photos of my mum was taken in here when we visited with Rachel and Sarah for the first time, and I was pregnant with Anna. At one time it was used as a storeage barn and opened as a tea shop in 1953. It was one of my mum’s favourite run’s out. Again I caused a major catastrophe when I ordered an iced coffee, but the server did her best customer relations by asking me how she should make it. It arrived, and tasted just fine, though she offered to remake it if I wasn’t totally satisfied. The turkey, cranberry and stuffing sandwich arrived but I wasn’t expecting it to be piping hot and smothered in gravy. In Chorley we sought out St. Lawrence’s church where my Waddington ancestors (my mum’s father’s side) are from but the SATNAV couldn’t find it, so we drove over to Todmorden. The outside market was just closing for the day so we pressed on to Hebden Bridge, stopping at the Coop for supplies, and taking a photo of us at Hebble End, which gave the last movement of my band piece ‘In Search of My Yorkshire Roots’ its title. We missed the turning for Thorn Bank where we were staying in an Airb&b and had to drive all the way to Mytholmroyd before we could find a place to turn round. No wonder we missed it! It’s a tiny, steep cobbled path, barely the width of a car. Jane, a friend of the owner Matt, was there to greet us and show us round. Matt is currently in China, and has a Chinese wife and much of the decoration is Chinese as are the books. There was just one room downstairs which functions as a living, eating and kitchen space, then up some very steep stairs to my bedroom and the bathroom, and then up a set of more stairs to Sarah’s room. The place has the original stone mullion windows and several of the walls are bare stone. Sarah’s wall had half an arched window, so the place felt very historical. Our place was part of a much larger building but we didn’t get to meet the other residents much though one told us that he thought it had once been a school. Just above us on the bank was a much larger, grander house – presumably the original Thorn Bank. Parking was a serious problem and only Sarah’s superior driving skills allowed us to park on the cobbles, but whenever possible we parked at one of the three free parking spots at the railway station to avoid the difficulty of parking so close to our building – literally two inches between our car and the house. The main road from Halifax to Burnley is at the end of the cobbles, and the canal tow path, the river and the railway station are just over the road, all within two minutes walk.
June 19

In the middle of breakfast we heard brass band music. I thought it must be a recording coming from the people next door it was so good but Sarah thought it sounded live, so we headed off into the park across the street and found ourselves in the middle of the brass band festival. The first band we encountered was the self same band that I had taken videos of last year and had used in the movie I’d band to accompany my band piece. We followed one of the bands as it marched into the Town Square to be adjudicated. The same man as last year was the Master of Ceremonies, introducing each band as they played a hymn and then a march. Sarah commented that in the U.S. the streets would have cordoned off for safety reasons. Here the people, and their dogs, just dodged out of the way. We bought sandwiches and sausage rolls from the bakery (where last year I’d chatted to the server and found that his auntie lives in Santa Cruz) and then we sat on a wall in the park – the only place we could find with any shade. Most people, however, were taking full advantage of the hot day and sitting in the full sun. Many guys were wandering around shirtless, especially on the canal boats, but their newly exposed skin, so unused to the strong sun, was turning lobster red. Even the places on Sarah’s feet where her sunscreen had missed had turned quite red. We wandered home along the canal to cool off and were happy that our main room was staying cool. In a little while Sarah ventured into town to look at the charity stores and I tried to catch up with journal and blog but I got frustrated when a lot of the photos were refusing to upload onto icloud. Very trying.

Around 4 o’clock we headed out on a drive on t’th’tops, trying to catch some cooler air and we eventually arrived in Ripponden, a place that I’d hiked to with Gary last year. Here, during the height of the industrial revolution the power of the river Ryburn was utilized for the mills just like in the Calder valley. We parked outside St Bartholomew’s church and the Old Bridge Inn with its cruck framed interior provided us with beer (warm) and cider (cold) before going home to make a lovely salmon and prawn salad, with Bakewell tart for desert. At 10 pm we took an evening stroll along the canal toward Mytholmroyd, disturbing twenty geese who had already settled down to roost for the night.