A June walk, and another chance to experience the British weather’s propensity to change from balmy to, if not exactly wintry, then definitely cold and grey over the course of 24 hours. This is why the sheep have better insulation than we do. Stoodley Pike appears for the nth time: it might not be a very prominent peak topographically but the monument on it proves it can be seen for many miles in every direction.
The last day of my latest break from work provided an opportunity for Clare and I to finally finish off the Calderdale Way, which we started 15 months ago. Nine legs and 50 miles later we returned to Heptonstall church and thus completed the circumnavigation of our home valley. On the way, some very fine views, even if they were of familiar places. This is one of the rare shots that just about gets away with having a telephone wire stretched across it: it’s there, if you know where to look.
From back to front: the big monument on Stoodley Pike; Heptonstall church; and the war memorial near Pecket Well, built in obvious mimicry of its bigger brother in the background. Nineteen and a half years I have lived here and until this week, had never been to this spot. Yet as with many days recently, there was a need for some leg-stretching: the guy walking his dog surely concurs.
This ersatz life continues. Walking is about the only entertainment available — at least, the only one that should be depicted on here. The monument on Stoodley Pike has featured several times on this blog (follow the tag); the houses are the northern end of Heptonstall; and last week’s snow has all gone, for now.
The monument on top of Stoodley Pike was first built to celebrate victory over Napoleon, but this version dates from 1856. Much of the graffiti on it may have been there for about this amount of time: who can tell whether the “MAN CITY” scrawled on one side is from the late 1960s Franny Lee era or has been added since the Sheikhs took it over and they became decent again? Are “R. Crowther” and “E. Mitchell” (visible here) still alive and proud?
The outdoors is good. The outdoors is healthy. And it always will be.
This day last year I was in Singapore. Horizons are rather more limited in late March 2020, for all of us I imagine. I acknowledge, however, that I am one of the lucky ones in that this landscape resides a few minutes’ walk from my house and at least here, one can be immersed in the countryside for a time each day: like this father and son, taking the air. Cooler today, though: it is inevitable that the run of good weather we have been having will end, but confinement will be harder to take once the sunshine ends.
I did not have to go very far from my house to take this picture, and nor did I have to interact with anyone in order to do so. For all sorts of reasons, it makes me sad that I have to say these things at this time, but it’s where we’re at. Yet the world is still out there, folks.
Maybe I should have cropped the birds, but I left them there in the end.
The monument atop Stoodley Pike is visible for much of the train journey from Hebden Bridge to Todmorden, but the best view of it comes at the end, as one crosses the viaduct just prior to Todmorden station. You get about five seconds to see it properly before trees, then the station buildings, obscure the view. Seeing as I experience this view every time I get a train to Manchester (as long as I’m sat on the left), in a sense I have been waiting over seven years to offer up a version of this picture on the blog: so if I remain committed to never repeating myself, let’s only show it when it seems particularly worth it. Did it make the 5:35am alarm call (and 7:45am arrival in the office) worthwhile? Er…. mildly, I guess.
Erected in 1856, this replaced an earlier version which was destroyed by lightning, and commemorated the defeat of Napoleon. It is 120 feet (37m) tall and one can climb up to the top of the pedestal for an extensive view over the surrounding area. Something of a standard landscape shot in this vicinity, but despite 24 years’ living here between them, neither Clare nor Joe had been up there before, so on this Easter Saturday we rectified that.
Being 42 