Outlook
W ho says that Lancashire’s all Lowry land?
THERE.are still a fair number of benighted souls around, dwelling in such places south-of-Trent as Luton of Ching- ford or somewhere equally outlandish, who persist in cher ishing a stereotypical view of the North, and, in partic ular, of Lancashire. They may, when in their cups, admit that, yes, well
perhaps there are bits of the North that aren’t so bad — Windermere, maybe, or the Yorkshire Dales. But Lan cashire? No, despite the best efforts of writers like the late Jessica Lofthouse, Lancashire is still for them a mucky old place; a land of tripe, cowheel and clogs, a grey, rainswept landscape which combines the worst of Coronation Street and L.S. Lowry. Your learn to grit your teeth and put up with this
PAUL WILSON takes a stroll from Nelson centre along a route guaranteed to cure any Southern friend of his or her miscon ceptions about Lancashire
highly commendable, but a bit of a dead loss if you’re gasping for a pint. Not to worry, our journey will end at a pub — but it’s a
sort of nonsense after a while. But just occasionally, you think, wouldn’t it be nice to adapt the words of Ralph McTell and take one of these deluded sufferers by the hand and lead them through the streets of Nelson: you’d show them something to make them change their mind.
Creil; as stupid a piece of post-war non-architecture as you’re likely to find anywhere. Yet you can point out that, even here, if you look down Market Street, there’s old Pendle rearing his bulk above the library roof. Then lead your unconvinced companion out past the bus station and up Brunswick Street.
Start somewhere unpromising, like Nelson’s Place de
so noises. “Look at all these terraced houses! Just as I thought”. You could try telling him about the advan tages of terraces over stone-clad, quasi-detached executive dwellings: cheap, cosy, warm in winter and cool in summer, architecture on a human scale as Prince Charles might approvingly put it, except for the fact that keeping a polo pony in a back yard is not terribly convenient.
Be prepared here for our friend to start making told-you-
tories, our friend will be triumphant. “See: dark satonic mills. I always knew I was. . . . ” His jaw drops. You have reached Walverden Reservoir, cradled in its green bowl. Gently, without smugness (it’s hard, I know, but do
At the top end of Brunswick Street, amongst the fac
try), point out the great crested grebes, the pochard, and, if you’re really in luck, the old grey fisherman himself, the heron, quietly browsing amongst the sticklebacks at the water’s edge. Then take the Pendle Way up through the meadows, along an avenue of lime trees, to Southfield Methodist Chapel. Follow the track through Southfield Farm and out onto the Colne Road.
Lowryland. And there is better to come. Follow the lane steeply down, between overarching trees and riotous growths of ivy, to Catlow Bottoms. The road splashes through a ford, but we cross by the stepping stones and go through the gate on the left. Follow the track through the fields to an impressively solid footbridge, cross this, and then head half right across the next field towards the stream. Here, the water flows through a shallow tree-be decked gorge, complete with miniature waterfall: the per fect spot for a rest and a bite to eat.
By this time, our friend should have forgotten all about
across the fields, through a stand of tall sycamores, to the dam and pump house at Coldwell reservoir. Here, on the Colne-Hebden Bridge road, stands that most terrible of all beer drinking rambler’s nightmares: the pub with no beer.
From here, the Pendle Way, marked by posts, ambles
the remote venue where you could enjoy the traditional English sport of cockfighting. You could also lose your shirt in equally illegal games of crown and anchor. After the war, the building gradually fell into decay, until it was refur bished a year or two back, and life has now returned to Coldwell Inn in its new role as an educational centre. All
Once upon a time, up to 1939, the Coldwell Inn was
Outlook welcomes contributions of articles and photographs.
Here’s another item from the collection of the Craft Museum at Towneley Hall, Burnley. Can you spot what it is? The answer is on Page 19.
few miles yet, so best foot forward! The rest of our tour is on tarmac roads: but the views are so stunning that it hardly seems to matter. Follow the road northwards up the steep little hill to Clarion House, then straight across at the crossroads. In the field on the right you can see Walton Spire, which may be visited by passing through the' first gate in the wall. This curiously ugly monument was put up by one Richard Wroe-Walton of Marsden Hall in 1835.
were so fond of it that it was soon re-erected and restored to its former glory. It has to be said that Walton Spire is much more prepossessing from a distance rather than close
The whole thing was blown down in 1984, but local folk
to: but its lack of charm matters little as it preside s over a view which is positively breathtaking. A vast 360degree panorama spread around you, taking in the monuments on Earl Crag in the east, through Ickorn- shaw Moor, the wild expanse of Boulsworth, the switch back road snaking its way over to Hebden Bridge, the moors above Hurstwood, the Darwen hills, Pendle, Blacko Tower, White Moor, and a splendid array of distant Dales hills — knobbly Attermire Scar, Ingleborough and Penyghent. Head back towards Nelson along Southfield Lane, beside
on straight ahead, and you and your suitably contrite companion will reach the Shooters Arms: a pub with plenty of beer, this time.
side drinking in both beer and the view alternatively. Not many pubs with a prospect like that in Chingford now, are there ? □
the top edge of the golf course. What a setting! You can kee;) St. Andrews or Royal Lytham: if I were ever daft enough to take up golf, its Nelson where I’d want to play. Probabaly spend more time admiring the view than watch ing the ball though. When the road branches off down to Nelson, carry
SPRING AND SUMMER /■r STOCK NOW IK
m m m m . If you’ve chosen the right sort of day, you can sit out
«
Page 1 |
Page 2 |
Page 3 |
Page 4 |
Page 5 |
Page 6 |
Page 7 |
Page 8 |
Page 9 |
Page 10 |
Page 11 |
Page 12 |
Page 13 |
Page 14 |
Page 15 |
Page 16 |
Page 17 |
Page 18 |
Page 19 |
Page 20 |
Page 21 |
Page 22 |
Page 23 |
Page 24 |
Page 25 |
Page 26 |
Page 27 |
Page 28 |
Page 29 |
Page 30 |
Page 31 |
Page 32 |
Page 33 |
Page 34 |
Page 35 |
Page 36 |
Page 37 |
Page 38 |
Page 39 |
Page 40 |
Page 41 |
Page 42 |
Page 43 |
Page 44 |
Page 45 |
Page 46 |
Page 47 |
Page 48
