Burnished (Rawtonstall)

A rare crisply sunny day mid-November, we aimed to ride up to Blackshaw Head and return through Rawtonstall.  Google informed us a bus was due but the bus-stop displayed only services to Eaves and Smithy Lane.  Resigned to foot-slogging, we walked up Bridge Lanes, peered over walls at unofficial allotments eyed by a robin perched on the rickety fence, and crossed near the Fox & Goose.  Soggy fallen leaves became drier towards Church Lane.  Revelling in the warm sun on our faces, a man strode up from behind, agreed it was the best sort of autumn day, enquired about our destination and helpfully described alternatives.  I assured him we lived locally so knew the area.  We exchanged names and continued companionably until reaching his house.  The postie strode downhill, greeted us and chatted to our new friend at the corner of Saville Road.  Hot and breathless from the steep ascent, we paused at intervals, forced from watching chimney smoke wreath the treetops, by a gas engineer complaining his van couldn’t round the sharp bend.  Phil reckoned the relentless two-way traffic was a result of people driving no further than the shop. 

On Rawtonstall Bank, the Cat Steps appeared newly cleaned up and signed but still dodgy.  We opted for the usual route up Green House Lane.  Going slowly to conserve energy, we admired exuberant moss and ferns and lean trees converting to gold.  Their thin shadows criss-crossed lines of gravel and tarmac.  At the top, we awaited a couple and accompanying dog to pass. “He’s a bit muddy and might jump on your legs.” They informed me. “I don’t like that!” 

Venturing onto Dark Lane, the world suddenly became quiet.  Birds flew among fair-weather clouds and settled on telegraph wires above fields dotted with brown and white sheep.  A hazy Stoodley Pike matched the pale sky.  Blues turned a murky green on the sloping hillside while copper highlights burnished nearer foliage.  Tackling the sticky ground, we side-stepped onto uneven verges when a woman riding a horse, followed by a man and child on bikes, tootled past.  Mixed transport!  Noting yet more changes at the corner of Long Hey Top, we hesitated but soon found the bench between the cypresses to rest, snack and gaze upon resplendent views.

On both sides of the valley, fifty shades of red vibrantly stretched to the vanishing point.  Phil remarked it was once possible to take panoramic photos before the trees grew taller. “We came out to see the trees; now you’re complaining of too many!” I laughed, “and they hide the sewage works.”  Down Turret Hall Road, we dodged walking groups and mountain-bikers, re-examined the miracle of the ‘electric bray’, and caught glimpses of the sinking sun between leafy greens and gleaming tones towards Oakville Road.  A Santa bag was dumped at the corner of the main road – someone had already had enough of Christmas!  Phil paused opposite Stubbings. “Pint?” “Not bothered.” “You don’t get enough entertainment.” ”This is my entertainment, no need to spend money.”  As if to underline the point, I indulged in a good run of kicking crunchy leaves on the Old High Street, thinking they made an excellent film sound effect.

Rawtonstall in Bloom

Managing to get insect spray on my hands and having to go back for a sunhat, it was a bit of a palaver before we set off on a hot may Saturday walk.  We wandered down the Cuckoo Steps, along the main road and turned up Church Lane.  To our right, wild carrots bloomed on the shady downward slope and on the left, bright yellow poppies sprung from cracks in stone walls to dance in the sunlight.  Embarking on the steep climb to Rawtonstall Bank, the poppies vied for attention with dandelion clocks and star-like garden flowers.

Although CROWS had cleared The Cat Steps somewhat and reinstalled the sign, they still looked dodgy so we continued on roadway, retreating into hedgerows as weekend traffic threatened to mow us down.  Turning up Green House Lane, we moved from stippled shade to brilliant sun, making the ascent hard-going.

Unlike the last visit in autumn, we remembered the turn at Rawtonstall Hall up to Dark Lane where we unusually discovered not a scrap of mud and plentiful May flowers.  The dandelions not yet turned to seed here, we giggled at neat lawns behind alarmed fences, with no trace of yellow.  Why move to the countryside and constantly fight nature? 

Ewes and lambs (our first of the year) munched contentedly in the fields, beyond which trees grew within a broken-down farm building, giving the impression of an organic roof.  Proceeding through the gate to Winter’s Lane, an elderly man donned in overalls mowed overgrown grass.  As he cheerily greeted us, I expressed concern at his manual labours in the heat.

At the next junction, we started to head down.  Wood anemones joined the Welsh poppies and bluebells to adorn hedges with a riot of colour.  We squeezed between 2 leylandii, to eat an overdue picnic lunch on the 2-seater memorial bench.  We would normally joke about the lovely view of the sewage works but today it was obscured by blossoming trees.  Zig-zagging down Turret Hall Road, jays squawked and small birds hidden in leafy bowers sang their hearts out.  The drainage channel devoid of water, there was no electric bray to marvel at.

I took a shortcut to avoid yet another sharp corner as Phil proceeded on tarmac.  The spread of bluebells already overwhelming, a particularly striking sea of dappled cobalt had caught his attention.  On Oakville Road, a post-box picturesquely leaned at a jaunty angle, mysterious insects lay in wait among the tall grasses and poppies turned from yellow to orange.  The previously peeling gate to the railway line had a dismaying fresh lick of paint.

Crossing the main road at Stubbings Wharf, the aroma of sticky gloss emanated from the pub, undergoing redecoration.  On the towpath, a misplaced swan glided among the geese.  Daisies thrived on the canal bank.  As I paused for a closer look, a possible celeb smiled at me then pretended to check his phone as he realised I wasn’t  taking pictures of him.  He shall hereafter be known as NOT John Cooper-Clarke!

Nipping in the co-op for a couple of items, we noted barbecues were almost sold out on the first proper hot day of the year.   At the top of the steps, I waited for Phil to open the front door and charged through a swarm of midges.  Overheated, lightheaded with awful tinnitus and filthy feet, showers were in order.

Rawtonstall Fall

A rainy Saturday was superseded by a dazzlingly bright October Sunday.  The stunning early autumn colours sizzled in the light.  I commented some of the best trees could be seen out the window.  Nevertheless, we went out to explore others.  Using the erstwhile High Street as a shortcut to the Fox & Goose, we continued on the main road, inordinately busy with walkers and motorists.  We turned up Church Lane, veering left at the apex.  Previously approached from the top, we were unsure of the best way into Rawtonstall Wood.  A sign for Rawtonstall Bank told us we had reached the edge.   Noting the tiny Cat Steps were even more overgrown, a discarded sign further up discouraged their use. 

We took the next option into the woodland before it got stupidly steep.  Deep greens surrounded us on the gentler slope of Green House Lane.  At the top, The Hall was obscured by an assortment of vehicles and builder’s materials.  We almost walked into the next garden and back-tracked to find a yellow arrow signifying the public path.  A carved stone indicated the wall dated back to 1816.  Dark Lane, always muddy where springs sprung from adjacent meadows, looked foreboding.  I found a stick to help navigate the worst patches and bravely continued.  On drier ground, sheep looked obligingly picturesque, grazing against a backdrop of green hills with Stoodley Pike on the skyline.

Heading back down, a chicken coop formerly used as a landmark had been replaced by sheds making us hesitant until we came to a familiar stone arch, also date-stamped.  We rested on the memorial bench opposite.

Squeezed between a couple of ornamental evergreens, it was barely big enough for two.  As we enjoyed views across the valley, we exchanged cheery greetings with a woman we knew passing by with her daughter.  “She’s grown.” Said Phil.  “That’s because we haven’t seen them for ages.”

We wended down Turret Hall Road, where zingy oranges capped deciduous emeralds.  An uphill cyclist informed us that the colours would be “even better in a couple of weeks.”  Well, the grass is always greener, as they say!   On reaching Oakville Road, we returned to Burnley Road where a late middle-aged couple asked us the location of the Fox & Goose.  It was just as well, seeing as they were going the wrong way.

Crossing at Stubbings, we took the towpath for the home stretch.  A woman stopped to enquire if I was ‘the lady’ who wrote the walking articles in Valley Life.  “It’s really good!” she enthused.  So far, positive feedback had come from friends and acquaintances.  Praise from a total stranger made my day!