Shirley was doing her regular volunteer shift at the "Age Concern" charity shop so after a light lunch of boiled eggs and baked beans I decided to go out for a walk west of this northern city. Sensibly, I guzzled a pint of water before driving away from home.
I parked Butch at Redmires Reservoirs and then headed out to one of my favourite places in the entire world - tiny Oaking Clough Reservoir with its curious stone building. See the top picture. I have blogged about it before. Go here and here.
When I got there, I noticed a few things. First, a rotund hiker had just arrived from the opposite direction. He was standing looking at his smartphone and we were the only two people in that landscape at that moment in time. When I came up to him, I said "Hello" which seemed to startle him and he mumbled something unintelligible. Perhaps he was slightly annoyed that I had disturbed his Facebooking or whatever it is that people do on those blasted devices.
Secondly, I noticed a family of Canada geese. They seemed alarmed by my sudden appearance - which I can well understand. They had just been chilling out by the water's edge. Not many humans ever visit Oaking Clough. Incidentally, may I say to any Canadians reading this blogpost - why can't you keep your ruddy geese in your own country? We have got enough of our own geese over here
Needless to say, I won't be phoning. But while I was there - checking out both sides of the abandoned building - and not for the first time - I revisited the idea of sleeping out there one night. Maybe I am slightly mad because I wish I could expunge that niggling notion from my mind. After all, the tiny lodge is probably haunted by the ghosts of water workers or grouse shooters. No Mr Pudding - do NOT go there!
Bog cotton
The terrain was difficult - with bogs and heather and bracken and occasionally ruined vegetation - previously burnt by agents of the grouse shooting fraternity. It was exhausting but, after longer than I anticipated, I made it to the very edge of Yorkshire and what was once the edge of the ancient kingdom of Northumbria.
In need of rest, I sat upon an ancient millstone grit boulder and looked over to Win Hill and down the valley to Hathersage as a gentle wind fitfully cooled me. There was hardly anybody else around.
After five minutes, I was up and off, treading that familiar path, passing High Neb and on to The Long Causeway that Roman soldiers walked as they traversed The North in centuries further back than the evolution of Northumbria and Mercia.
It was later than I had planned so I kept marching past Stanage Pole and along the edge of Broadshaw Plantation before dropping down to the reservoirs at Redmires which happen to be the source of our domestic water supply.
The only stile on Stanage Edge
That's what a real, honest-to-goodness, genuine, old stile looks like?? I have never seen one before. I like it. I am going to save the image and maybe use it one day for one of my stories if that's okay with you.
ReplyDeleteStiles can take many forms here on The British Isles. It never occurred to me that anybody would find a typical wooden one intriguing. Of course you may use it in one of your stories...
DeleteLord Pudding waited impatiently for Young Elsie the housemaid to appear at the stile. Then she came running up in her calico dress and apron, all hot and bothered.
"Sorry your lordship. Mrs Betts telled me I 'ad to clean the grate of the grand hall so I could not get away," she said.
Lord Pudding looked a little angry, "Time is short you young vixen. We must do the deed here on the stile and then it's straight back to the house for Lady Pudding's soiree. Now lift up that infernal dress!"
No more than five minutes later, Young Elsie hurried back to the house but Lord Pudding lay completely still on the other side of the stile with a carving knife embedded in his chest. Already a pair of magpies were eyeing up his noble carcass.
Wow, that escalated quickly.
Delete🤣🤣
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DeleteThere could be much to say about the telephone number, but I'll say no more than I am sure you aren't meant of phone, just take a photo and send it.
ReplyDeleteHow do you know that Mr Smartypants?
DeleteWhat an odd encounter with the rotund hiker. My guess is that he was a little lost for directions (you say there are no paths around there) and was trying to get his bearings with the help of Google maps on his phone.
ReplyDeleteI remember the intriguing little house and can understand that almost irresistible pull. Just going back to your former posts, I re-read the little story you made about the house with my sister and me spending the night there.
As for ghosts, I don't think you need to fear them. If they should appear, they would be merely curious about a human being staying at their place so many years later, and you could engage in conversation about times past and present.
But what if they were the ghosts of sheep? I am afraid I do not know the meaning of sheep language, only their familiar sounds.
DeleteI find stiles are occasionally stylish;) but difficult to get dogs over or under or round which are hard for both dog and owner in those funny gate stiles. In fact. getting into my subject, climbing over large metal gates with barbed wire on the top is brutal.
ReplyDeleteI am always very careful climbing over stiles. Some are very rickety and others are rather precipitous.
DeleteMore of us should take long walks.
ReplyDeleteI wish Donald JOHN Trump would take a long walk off a short pier.
DeletePerhaps you startled the geese because they were on their phones, too???
ReplyDeleteI did not see any in their back pockets.
DeleteDid you find further inspiration for your poem?
ReplyDeleteEvery visit up there brings something new Janice.
DeleteQuite the walk! Good one!
ReplyDeleteI am curious- does Mrs. P. wish you would get a phone so that you could text and tell her you're running late and so forth? I would be imagining every sort of thing if my husband was not able to let me know that he's okay and safe when he's on one of his trips, either hunting or fishing.
How did people carry on before these damnable phones? Millennia passed by without the frigging things. My wife is used to me not having one.
DeleteNot a great argument, Mr. P. Millennia passed by without running water too.
DeleteI have never had a phone so why should I create an argument or a defence about it? It is perfectly natural for me not to have one. As it happens, we used to get water from streams or springs or wells and many, many people in the world still do that. What is your "argument" for having a smartphone Mary?
DeleteGreat walk and description of it. There is so much history in your area.
ReplyDeleteI always appreciate your kind support Brother Red.
DeleteI am not a fan of Canadian geese myself. We have tons of them here by any type of body of water. They are quite fowl. (pun intended)
ReplyDeleteI wonder how they taste.
DeleteI always enjoy your descriptions of the landscape they make it easy to imagine being there. Slava ukraine
ReplyDeleteKind of you to say so Asep. Thanks.
DeleteSo is "clough" pronounced "clow" or "clue"? just wondering.
ReplyDeleteMy youngest son will be in Manchester this week and said he will go to a soccer match there. I told him, "it's football!" :)
Ellen. It is the closed season for football in England just now so your son will be struggling to find a game but please suggest to him that he could visit our National Football Museum which is in Manchester. Link:-
Deletehttps://nationalfootballmuseum.com/?gad_source=1&gad_campaignid=10892272484&gbraid=0AAAAADXpW6DgCtHL9I9fjHq7vMKrKfWDZ&gclid=Cj0KCQjwr4jSBhCSARIsAOX1E-LzufPsBc20dodmV1n1QzHd3whaywTjoCRu5huONgKbnF57M-1aiggaAjjNEALw_wcB
"clough" is pronounced exactly like "rough".
DeleteMaybe he is watching a World Cup game at a local pub?
DeleteThat is a very peculiar message. I wouldn't respond either! I also wouldn't sleep out there by myself. Maybe if Shirley will go with you...? :)
ReplyDeleteThere's no way Shirley would join me Steve!
DeleteSuch beautiful terrain for taking a yomp. Cool word. I've not heard that one.
ReplyDeleteIt should be the name of a new chocolate bar.
DeleteThe Canada Geese & Bog Cotton won my heart.
ReplyDeleteThe Stanage Edge Stile is a portal to the enchanted realm.
I'm curious about the ghosts of Oaking Clough.
You don't want to spend the night in that lonely bothy ?
Why fear the dead ? You don't believe in Jesus. It's all wishful thinking.
Ed McBain went to a therapist three times a week, for nine years.
He said he feared death. He was neurotic. Troubled. Awake in the night.
ED McBAIN. IN THE PSYCHIATRIST'S CHAIR. BBC SOUNDS.
There are no ghosts Professor Haggerty. I would happily sleep on my mother's grave or in a church belfry filled with bats.
DeleteThere are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio /
DeleteThan are dreamt of in our philosophy.