Styal

STYAL AND ENVIRONS

Distance: 9.7 miles

Difficulty: Easy

Weather: Sunny

Walkers: Colin Davison, George Dearsley, George Whaites, Lawrie Fairman, Julian Ross, Mickey Barrett, John Laverick, Malcolm Halley

B Walkers: Ken Sparrow, Tony Job, Geoff  Spurrell

Apologies: Alan Hart (boozy trip to Wakefield), Tom Cunliffe( boozy trip to Wakefield), Peter Beal (man flu), Jock Rooney (Isle of Man), Phil Welsh (employment)

Leader: Fairman   Diarist: Dearsley

Starting Point: The Ship Inn, Styal

Starting Time: 9.34 am. Finishing Time: 2.20pm

Having suggested a walk around the Cheshire plains, Mr Hart subsequently declared he had a prior engagement, namely escorting some Cockneys around Yorkshire drinking dens with Mr Cunliffe.

The duo missed an enjoyable ambulation in bright sunshine.

We welcomed yet another new Wanderer, retired businessman Malcolm Halley and we hope to see him on future Wednesdays.

Our loins suitably girded, we set off from the Ship Inn at 9.34am, walking away from the pub and turning left towards Northcliffe Chapel.

This is a Unitarian Chapel, coincidentally the branch of religion under which your diarist’s fiancée had been brought up and so under which he was married.

I undertook no great study of the Unitarian doctrines before the ceremony but did observe that the cleric before whom I swore my marriage vows had himself been married four times.

Food for thought, indeed.

The Styal Chapel has existed since 1823, funded entirely by benefactor and local mill-owning  tycoon Samuel Greg and built for the princely sum of £307 18s.

Despite his welcome beneficence, the tightwad was too mean to put in any heating.

Greg founded Quarry Bank Mill, a cotton mill, in 1784. By 1832 it had become the largest spinning and weaving business in the UK, employing more than 300 people.

His descendants would inter-marry with most important merchants and manufacturers of the time, including the Lyles (of Tate & Lyle) and the Rathbones (Liverpool merchants).

In such a rural location Belfast-born Greg felt obliged to provide housing for his (slaves) sorry workers, and as a result the village grew considerably. The next step was to establish institutions to meet the educational, social and religious needs of the villagers.

On 22 August 1822 locals were invited to lay a brick for the foundation of the new Chapel, which officially opened the following year.

The original Chapel was a simple building, somewhat on the lines of a typical nonconformist meeting house of the previous century. It was rectangular in shape as were the wooden windows. There was no chancel and the building ended where the present step into the chancel is today. The original doorway, which can be clearly seen from the outside, was at the end facing the village green. There was a flat roof, a small belfry and no porch.

Samuel Greg (who was a Unitarian himself and later married a Unitarian by the way) built the Chapel for the Baptists, as there was a strong Baptist cause in the neighbourhood.

One notable feature remains from the Chapel's initial use by the Baptists of the village. Under the floor, almost underneath the pulpit, is a full size baptismal tank. John Hewitt of Styal recorded how his father would work with other village lads each Saturday night to carry buckets of water from the nearest pump at Oak Farm. It has not been used for nearly 180 years.

Amongst the scant records  there is an amusing account of the trials and tribulations of choosing the first minister. Samuel Greg's daughters favoured Reverend Halford Jones, a minister they had heard preach at Nuneaton.  He was good looking and had a way with the ladies, (The Leslie Phillips of his day, maybe) but their father thought this would distract the congregation from the sermon.

Instead, a boring, ugly old fart called Mr Metcalfe from Bolton was invited to preach, but as soon as he stepped into the pulpit, his nose began to bleed profusely. He was forced to leave without taking the service, and the handsome Reverend Halford Jones became the first minister at Norcliffe. He was granted £80 a year and a house provided by Mr Greg.

I wonder how many other careers have turned on such a whim of bodily function?

Gradually, the Baptist movement  died out in Styal and the Methodists began to take their place.  However, Greg, as owner of the Chapel, did not want it to be used by the Methodists. In 1833, part of an old barn in the village was converted to a Methodist Chapel and it was declared that henceforth Norcliffe should be Unitarian, as it has remained to the present day.

Talking of serendipity, in 1832, Greg was attacked by a stag in the grounds of Quarry Bank Mill. The injury led to his retirement. Greg never recovered from the attack and died two years later.

Oh deer!

The Wanderers were soon entering Northern Woods and espied the River Bollin. We crossed a bridge and climbed some steps. Then immediately descended a further set of steps. The Bollin was on our right.

We passed Norcliffe Hall (see picture below)

Norcliffe Hall

Norcliffe Hall is a large house standing  to the west of the village and to the north of Styal Country Park.

It was built in 1831 for Robert Hyde Greg, the owner of Quarry Bank Mill, and one of six sons born to the aforementioned Samuel.

It was designed by the Lichfield architect Thomas Johnson and constructed in orange brick in Flemish bond brickwork with pink sandstone dressings.

It is roofed in Welsh slates, and has octagonal brick chimney stacks. The architectural style is Elizabethan. It has an irregular plan, and is in 2½ storeys with a south front of four bays. It was designated as a Grade II listed building on 6 March 1975.

During the 20th century the house was used as a care home for the elderly. As of 2007 it was being converted into residential apartments.

We went up some more steps and down some more steps. The Bollin was now on our left.

Our leader, Mr Fairman, then posed a question that might have come from the lips of Jeremy Paxman on University Challenge.

“What,” he inquired “is the difference between a nymph and a naiad.”

As every schoolboy almost certainly does not know…in Greek mythology, the naiads were a type of nymph (female spirit) who presided over fountains, wells, springs, streams, brooks and other bodies of freshwater.

They are distinct from river gods, who embodied rivers, and the very ancient spirits that inhabited the still waters of marshes, ponds and lagoon-lakes.

Naiads could be dangerous: Hylas of the Argo's crew was lost when he was taken by naiads fascinated by his beauty.

 The naiads were also known to exhibit jealous tendencies. Theocritus' story of naiad jealousy was that of a shepherd, Daphnis, who was the lover of Nomia or Echenais; Daphnis had on several occasions been unfaithful to Nomia and as revenge she permanently blinded him. Salmacis forced the youth Hermaphroditus into a carnal embrace and, when he sought to get away, fused with him.

                                                       Are we near the airport?

However, none of this mythology bollocks answers Mr Fairman’s poser because he was basically talking biology.

In biology, a nymph is the immature form of some invertebrates, particularly insects, which undergoes gradual metamorphosis (hemimetabolism) before reaching its adult stage.

Unlike a typical larva, a nymph's overall form already resembles that of the adult. In addition, while a nymph moults it never enters a pupal stage. Instead, the final moult results in an adult insect.Nymphs undergo multiple stages of development called instars.

Are you with me?

Nymphs of aquatic insects, as in the orders Odonata (dragonflies and damselflies), Ephemeroptera (mayflies), and Plecoptera (stoneflies) are also called naiads.

Now even I am totally confused and beginning to regret even starting this observation.

I’ll quit when I’m behind.

The only other thing I can recall is Mr Fairman’s pronouncement that “naiad” is a useful word if you are compiling a crossword….or, I suppose, playing Scrabble or appearing on Countdown.

Talking of Countdown it’s worth retelling presenter Jeff Stelling’s tale about the bloke in dictionary corner who said he “had a six”…the word was “minger” (ming-er).

When Stelling told him he couldn’t have that word he replied “ok, I’ve got a five”.

The Wanderers had by now reach a road which led to the Holiday Inn (once known as the Valley Lodge, a place where men had to have a hunchback and halitosis not to pull on a Friday or Saturday night.)

We walked past the hotel onto the main road which we crossed and walked up a slight incline before taking a path to the right.

We crossed a field and Mr Barrett pointed out the rather modest home of Manchester City legend Mike Summerbee in the distance.

We stopped  for a few moments  (at 10.28am) while Mr Fairman checked his map.

We were on the right track…crossing the field and exiting via a (one-at-a-time) swing gate in the far corner.

We took a short path with conifers to our left. We passed the front of the houses (including Summerbee’s) and on the corner of the main road took a path to the right, following a sign to “Castle Mill”.

We passed some farm buildings on our right, negotiated a stile and crossed a field.

We picked up a path on our left and followed a sign to “Bollin Valley Way”.

Pie Time was declared at 10.55am and with no “Cunliffe Time” we enjoyed a full 10 minutes of feasting.

We went over a stile onto a road and turned left at Bollin House.

There were no obvious signs except one saying “private, no access” but we ventured forward anyway along the side of the prestige residence and soon saw the familiar yellow arrowhead.

This brought us to a road where we turned left and then right opposite a house with a huge Monkey Puzzle tree.

We came to a lake. But our progress appeared to be halted by a gate with more locks than a Houdini tribute act.

As your diarist had just finished climbing over the gate Mr Davison helpfully impersonated the escapologist and picked the lock, swinging the gate open.

We past Sylvie Cottage on the left and turned right onto a “bridle path to Moor Lane”. At a Y-junction we took a track on the right.

This brought us into Wilmslow and at 12.15pm to the prescribed half way hostelry, the Farmer Arms. Alas, it was shut. (Shoot the organiser).

We walked on to the Carters up the road, where at 12.23pm, we were afforded a warm welcome. Boddington’s and John Smith’s were both £2.90.

                                                                      Get Carters

The B Walkers soon joined us. They had enjoyed something of a false start, having to retrace their steps from the Ship Inn after taking a wrong path. We left the Carters at 1.11pm going to the end of the road and turning left.

At the end of that road we crossed Altrincham Road and went straight over into what looked like a cul-de-sac. However after 200 yards there was a footpath which we took.

We shouldn’t have…because the correct path was on the right so after a few strides we, too, retraced out steps and turned what was now left. This was Hawthorne Lane. We went straight on into a park where luncheon was declared at 1.35pm.

The one seat having been taken by Mr Davison and two others, Mr Halley was forced to eat his snap sitting on the grass. He may have regretted this decision minutes later when he stood up to reveal a wet patch on his nether regions which might have been mistaken for a case of incontinence.

How we chuckled at the New Boy.

We left the lunch spot at 1.44pm, following the river and crossing a bridge to exit the park after passing some public toilets. We went over a bridge (above the River Dean) and went immediately left. We were back in the woods and soon crossed “Heron’s Pool Bridge”.

A few minutes further on we came across a film crew shooting for a new Channel 4 drama series called The Mill. Our advancement was temporarily halted by an assistant (could she have been a “Key Grip” or “Best Boy”?) who said we must wait a few moments.

Mr Fairman offered his services as an extra but she was not impressed. It is doubtful whether any Geordies were employed in the cotton mills of Lancashire.

                                                     The Wanderers go back in time….

The Mill, “a powerful new drama” ,  is being filmed by Darlow Smithson and is based on the real life story of Quarry Bank Mill in Cheshire and the machinations of the Greg family. So bizarrely, our walk had come full circle in geography AND history.

The TV show will tell how Quarry Bank recruited children as young as nine as unpaid apprentices from orphanages and workhouses and how migrants from as far afield as London, Ireland, Scotland and Norfolk flocked to Quarry Bank. So maybe there was room for a Geordie after all.

The hours were long and hard in dangerous and unhealthy conditions which would today be likened to a sweatshop, and for many of this emerging working class, this was their first experience of rules, regulation and employers to answer to.  Hard work was rewarded but dissention was punished ruthlessly: runaway girls would have their heads shaved. Kinky.

Rooted firmly in the real history of the Mill, the characters and storylines in the drama will be based on the extraordinary Quarry Bank archive which comprises over 20,000 letters, wage books, contracts, diaries, rent books and interview transcripts.

We passed a few people in period costume and stepped onto what appeared to be a street of cobbles….incredibly they were all RUBBER!

                                                                   A load of cobble (r) s

By the way, Quarry Bank Mill is the only water powered Georgian cotton mill still operating in the UK today. Home to the most powerful working water wheel in Europe, and one of the earliest steam-powered beam engines.

We sallied on, came to a road and turned right to reach our cars at 2.20pm.

De-booted, we nipped in for a pint at the Ship, sitting in the warm sunshine outside.

Theakston’s was £2.65. The B-Walkers arrived at 2.45pm

Next week’s walk will start at 9.40am from the Knot Inn at Bosley Cloud off the A523 (the meeting point is to the right of the pub’s car park).

The half-way point will be the Coach and Horses at Timbersbrook and we will finish at the King’s Head at Gurnett. Mr Barrett will be skiing in Austria.

Happy Wandering !

Shutlingsloe

CLOUGH HOUSE, SHUTLINGSLOE, MACCLESFIELD FOREST, RIDGEGATE RESERVOIR

Distance: 9.5 miles

Difficulty: Moderate

Weather: Chilly, overcast

Walkers: George Whaites, George Dearsley, Colin Davison, Tom Cunliffe, Lawrie Fairman, Jock Rooney and Tips, Julian Ross, John Laverick, Phil Welsh and his son Alexander, Alan Hart

Apologies: Mickey Barrett (Anus camera-horribilis), Ken Sparrow (Leading a Probus walk), Pete Beal (entertaining)

B Walkers: Geoff Spurrell, Tony Job, Mike Walton

Leader: Fairman  Diarist: Dearsley

Starting Point: The car park at Clough House

Starting Time: 9.50am. Finishing Time: 2.21pm

On Tuesday and Thursday of this week we enjoyed blue skies and warm sunshine.  

Sadly Boreas, the God of the North wind and his pals, were in a foul mood on Wednesday and the Wanderers were buffeted by chill blasts on higher ground, under a generally slate-grey sky.

That said, compared to last week’s snow-fest, it was a huge improvement.

The walk set off later than planned due to the delayed arrival of your scribe and his driver Mr Cunliffe, who, failed by both map and Sat Nav and anxious to meet the deadline, decided to recreate the famous car chase from the 1968 Steve McQueen film Bullitt on country lanes about a foot wider than his Land Rover.

Meanwhile Mr Fairman was hugely surprised to come across his first wife in the car park, something very few of us, except possibly Stan Collymore, have ever done.

In past walks we have gone straight up from the car park. This time we went in the opposite direction, turning left out of the car park and after 75 yards we took a path on the right.

This began with a fairly gentle climb to a five bar gate, where we dog-legged right. The climb got steeper and as, one by one, several of the Wanderers stopped to prevent myocardial infarction Mr Davison was heard to say “not far now, we’re near the top”.

Even novice Wanderers now realised we were heading from the very top of Shutlingsloe, aka the Matterhorn of Cheshire.

And given the lack of probity in Mr Davison’s numeracy the previous week, many Wanderers decided to veer right, following Mr Fairman, on an almost horizontal path rather than the almost vertical one Mr Davison had chosen.

The wind was strong enough to make it appear as if some of the Wanderers were imitating the erratic ambulation of the comic Freddie Frinton.

See one of his classic sketches here. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pn9vPG8s4ss.

(Control and click to follow the link)

However, having negotiated the stones that lead to and from Shutlingsloe we soon found ourselves in the protection of the woods, part of the Macclesfield Forest.

At a Y-junction we took the path to the right. At the bottom of the hill we turned left onto the Gritstone Trail and skirting Ridgegate Reservoir.

At 11.02am Pie Time was declared near where we usually park our cars when starting from the reservoir.

Cunliffe Time was abandoned as we enjoyed a full 10 minutes of mastication.

We set off at 11.12am and as we faced the Leather’s Smithy pub we turned left and took a path on the left.

We went down some steps and turned right, through a gate and then left onto a path which took us past an expensive property which, it was suggested, belonged to Fran Cotton, one of the Cotton Traders and former rugby stars: Fran Cotton and Steve Smith.

We reached a road, crossed it and took some steps on the opposite side.

We passed some nicely converted farm buildings and took a path to the left.

This brought us onto a road where we turned left again.

After 70 yards we took a track to the right.

This eventually brought us, at around 12 noon,  to Smallhurst Farm.

We walked through the open  gate (where there was a rather unnecessary intercom), past the house and took a track down to a field.

Mr Welsh, having the benefit of a map, was chuntering that we appeared to be heading in the wrong direction.

If he was reading his map correctly, he said, the white building, behind us, high on the skyline, was in fact the Hanging Gate pub, our appointed destination.

Also, it was noticed that Mr Davison and Mr Rooney, who had been bringing up the rear, were nowhere to be seen.

We sallied on for a further 300 yards before our leader had an Epiphany and came to the same conclusion as Mr Welsh.

Amidst conspiratorial mutterings, the Wanderers had to sheepishly re-trace their steps and head for the horizon, reaching the hostelry at 12.14pm. Mr Davison and Mr Rooney were smug in the snug.

Here Mr Ross gave notice that he was celebrating his 52^nd birthday.

The stout fellow’s largesse meant a free pint for his fellow walkers, most of whom quaffed Hyde’s Original at £2.80. Sadly landlady Luda was not in residence, so no more stories of “leslies”, “trannies with todgers” and other tales of village life that you never hear on The Archers.

We set off again at 12.57pm. We turned right out of the pub, crossed the road and took the narrow track immediately opposite.

We passed what someone said was once George Osborne’s house on the left. (see arrow)

Osborne's former house

Luncheon  was taken from 1.20pm until 1.27pm. Cunliffe Time again.

Lunch

Resuming our walk we reached a T junction and turned left. The path brought us onto the metalled road that led us to the Crag Inn.

Nearby was a house for sale called Old Beams.  It is on with Savills for around £695,000.

http://search.savills.com/property-detail/gbwsrswis110015

Some of the Wanderers split away and took a higher path. But we were soon reunited and reached the car park at 2.21pm.

After de-booting we drove to the Stanley Arms, where we met the B Walkers.

They had travelled from Cumberland Clough to Three Shires Head, then taken a path to Clough Hall.

Incidentally, outside the Stanley Arms is a row of plastic seats taken from Manchester City’s old ground Maine Road. Maybe the landlord is a Leeds or Millwall fan.

Next week’s walk will start from the Ship Inn, Styal Road, Styal  (see picture below) at 9.35am

Ship Inn

The half way point will be the Farmers Arms at (Chapel Lane) Wilmslow.

Happy Wandering!

Chapel en le Frith

CHAPEL, DOVEHOLES,

Distance: 9 miles

Difficulty: Difficult

Weather: Chilly, snowing, windy

Walkers: Pete Beal, George Whaites, Phil Welsh, George Dearsley, Alan Hart, John Laverick, Julian Ross, Colin Davison, Jock Rooney and Tips, Tom Cunliffe, Lawrie Fairman

Apologies: Mickey Barrett (colonoscopy. Camera up backside to you)

B Walkers: Geoff Spurrell, Tony Job, Mike Walton

Leader: Davison  Diarist: Dearsley

Starting Point: The road near Chapel-en-le-Frith railway station

Starting Time: 9.42am. Finishing Time: 2.40pm

When it snows, ain't it thrilling,
Though your nose gets a chilling
We'll frolic and play, the Eskimo way,
Walking in a Colin wonderland.

This week’s diary may by a little short on ambulatory and geographic detail, given that all three pens in my pocket froze up, my notepad resembled a damp mop head and I lost the will to live about 30 minutes from the end of the walk.

Yes, as Spring approaches and the debate about global warming rages, the Wednesday Wanderers found themselves up to their cojones in… snow.

It did not help that our esteemed leader Mr Davison spent a lot of the time at the rear, barking orders to the bemused ramblers at the front.

Then, in a misguided effort to boost morale, he claimed it was “only an hour back to the cars” from the Wanted Inn, when it was actually nearer two.

Maybe Captain Lawrence Edward Grace ("Titus") Oates’ sacrifice was nothing to do with ill health and bad feet but came in disbelief after a chirpy assertion from Scott that the 'One Ton' food depot that could save the expedition was only a stone’s throw away.

It was fortunate that Mr Fairman agreed to abandon the day’s original route which he deemed “too dangerous” and said involved a path with “a 100 foot drop on one side”.

Incidentally, before I go on, I must apprise you of a cartoon I spotted which appears to feature Mr Fairman.

Lawrie?

Of course, there was little forewarning of the Nanook-style conditions to come as we set off from the station car park.

We crossed the rail line and went straight up the lane, passing Ridge Lodge.

We then passed an expensive looking gated property on the left.

At the top of the track we turned left and after about 400 yards we turned left again over a stile.

Mr Davison was soon a faller, trapping his ankle between gate post and wall.

We eventually reached a road and turned right.

After 100 yards we turned left, went through a farm and saw the vista that is Doveholes looming to our left. We reached a road and turned left.

This brought us past the railway station and down to the main road that leads out of Doveholes, arguably the town’s greatest asset.

In 2001, you may recall, the village was voted the ugliest village in Britain in a Radio 5 Live poll.

In a desperate piece of crisis news management, Ken Gibson, of the Dove Holes Community Association, said: "Although Dove Holes may not seem the prettiest of villages as you drive through, it really does have a community spirit second to none.

"The village sports two village shops, a busy rural post office, two pubs, village school and an active brass band."

 "We are proud to house the Buxton Mountain Rescue Club, where volunteers regularly give time to rescue people who have got into difficulties on the moors and hills."

No, a thumbs down from me.

We crossed the road and visited our old friend, the “Stonehenge” with no stones.

This huge Neolithic  earth and limestone monument sits behind a church, school and sports centre to the west, a small housing estate to its north, a playing field to the south and abandoned limestone quarries to the east.

That it survives at all seems a miracle especially as it was under cultivation by the 18th century, suffered quarrying in its northeast sector in the 19th century and would have been swallowed up by the quarries to its east were it not for the prompt action of some Buxton archaeologists at the turn of the 20th century.

Henge

No one really knows what the Bull Ring was used for. It may have served as an easily accessible meeting point or trade centre for the prehistoric inhabitants of the High Peak area, some of whose descendants are easily recognisable today by the way their knuckles drag along the pavement.

Maybe the stoneless henge once had stones after all.  A single standing stone (orthostat) was recorded as remaining in 1789, potentially the remnant of a stone circle. It has been suggested that stones from the henge were used as sleepers for the Peak Forest Tramway circa 1790.

Anyhow, we didn’t dawdle too long to consider the cavemen sitting around arguing about the price of flint arrowheads.

Instead, we took a track to the right and went down a tricky narrow path to the Tramway, where Pie Time was declared at 10.54am.

Since Mr Cunliffe’s walk the other week Pie Time has become the reverse of Fergie Time, like an egg timer with parallel sides. Barely had the Wanderers snapped the lids from their Tuppaware than an imaginary whistle had blown and we were off again at 11.03am. I intend to call this Cunliffe Time.

Someone said we should take the bull by the horns or the bull by the fetlock as the Tesco meat purchaser says. In any event, there was substantial confusion as an advanced party of Wanderers turned left, only to be recalled by a hitherto pre-occupied leader Davison and instructed to go straight over.

Repairs for Mr Hart

The Peak Forest Tramway, by the way,  was originally planned to be about four-miles long, running from Chapel Milton to the limestone quarries at Dove Holes but the Peak Forest Canal Company, acting on the advice of Benjamin Outram and Thomas Brown, their consulting and resident engineers respectively, decided to terminate the canal at the village of Bugsworth.

This was as far forward as the Peak Forest Canal could be cut without the need for a second flight of locks. Authorisation for this change in design was given on the 8 July 1795 and, as built, the tramway from Bugsworth to Dove Holes was about 6 miles long.

At first, the tramway was single track, with passing places, and the gauge was 4 feet 2 inches. The Tramway was the first to be built by Outram that fully complied with his famous paper, 'Minutes to be observed in the Construction of Railways', first published in February 1801 in the periodical, Recreations in Agriculture. This periodical was almost entirely written by Dr James Anderson, a Scottish economist (also described as a lawyer, scientist, agriculturalist and writer) whose daughter, Margaret, just happened to marry Benjamin Outram on the 4 June 1800. Do I detect some graft here?

                                                   Mr Beal shows how it should be done

                                         An old boar meets a friend. Mr Hart is on the right.

We went through a farm and pretty soon saw the Wanted Inn in the distance.

We reached the hostelry at 12 noon. Unicorn was £2.90 and Double Hop £3.

Here Mr Laverick confessed he was celebrating his 60^th birthday and like the Yeoman he is ordered a pint for all the Wanderers. What a jolly good fellow.

We have written before about the pub. But there’s more. The earliest reference to Sparrowpit is found in 1618 as "Sparrow Pit House" (which relates to the Wanted Inn).

On a map of 1640, the Sparrowpit yatte appears. This related to the "Sparrowspit Gate", which was the old road which continues to Peak Forest outside the Wanted Inn, which was built as a farmstead in 1618 by the Earl of Devonshire of Chatsworth House (1552-1625) who was the son of Bess of Hardwick, and appointed as Earl during that year. The tenants were the Vernon family, who had resided in the district for generations. It must have been a welcome sight for the travellers bound for the area, with its unpredictable weather.

The building stands on an ancient saltway route which began in Cheshire and ended in Sheffield. The sight of the long line of packhorses with bells on their necks to warn people must have been delightful .

In 1700 the farmstead also became an Inn, and was known as the "Three Tuns". The earliest coach road developed from the various packhorse ways linking villages, the first part to have been turnpiked from the west, from Manchester to Chapel-en-le-Frith in 1724; In 1749 this was extended eastwards, through Sparrowpit, to Peak Forest, which is when it became a prominent Inn, but the linking turnpike from Sparrowpit to Sheffield was not promoted and authorised until 1758.

In 1762 tolls on the turnpike included;  Packhorse carrying malt, salt, flour, corn or grain - 1/2 d
Packhorse carrying other goods - 1d

The salt ways from Chapel-en-le-Frith continued over Peaslows to Sparrowpit and down Winnats into Castleton. Winnats is supposedly haunted by the ghosts of two runaway lovers, Clara and Allan.

On their way to Peak Forest and marriage in 1758, they stopped at a Castleton Inn to refresh themselves, and check their route. Their talk was overheard by five miners who noted the couple's obvious wealth, and slipped out quietly to wait for them up Winnats.

Allan and Clara were murdered with a pick, their bodies thrown down a cavity and the riderless horses galloped into Sparrowpit, outside the Inn. The killers were never caught, and when the whining wind is lashing, you can hear Allan and Clara begging for mercy.

In 1820, the turnpike up Winnats was deprived of its main function, or so they thought, by the new road up Mam Tor, but we all know what happened to that! The Inn was still known as "The Three Tuns" in 1835, and what a sight it must have been, as "Yoho" was shouted, at the arrival of the stage coach on route, in Sparrowpit at midday, by the driver on its way to Nottingham.

Nearby to the Wanted Inn is Slack Hall, where one of the fields is known as Bedigo's. It was here on 13th June 1836 that a prize fight took place of some magnitude between Bendigo and Bill Looney (real name Charlie Langan).

The fight drew people from all over the country, and one can imagine the gossip that took place in the Wanted Inn after the performance.

 It was £100 a side and the fight took 144 minutes, and 99 rounds. In the 99th round, Looney "came in as blind as a bat". Nevertheless, he "rushed in with his right, when Bendigo mustered all his remaining strength, gave him another fall".

 Bendigo won all three events - first blood, first knock down, and the battle.

Afterwards, he still walked about a 1/4 of a mile to his carriage. No hot baths and rubs downs by the physio in those days.

In 1839 the name of the Inn was changed to The Devonshire Arms. It was owned by the Duke, who was also Lord of the Manor, and Joseph Vernon became Inn Keeper. In 1847, Samuel Vernon became mine-host here, he was also a quarryman, and in 1851 lived there with his wife Ann and four children.

In 1888 an immense snow storm covered the Inn, and anyone wishing to get inside had to go through a tunnel two to three yards in length. A similar occurrence happened in 1920. A picture of of one of these incidents is on the pub wall.

When the 10th Duke died in 1950, his second son became heir, and because of massive death duties, soon after put the Inn up for auction; however, it did not get a bid and remained "unwanted".

 In 1956 it was purchased by Mr and Mrs Jack Buswell from Whitehough, at the second auction. They redesigned and restored the house and, after much thought, renamed it.

However, it was not prize fights or the Duke’s patronage that captured Mr Ross’s attention…. but the many sex aids in the gentlemen’s toilet.

They included something unknown to your scribe called Pheromone Wipes.

As every schoolboy hopefully doesn’t know, Pheromones are chemicals that send out subconscious scent signals to the opposite sex that naturally trigger attraction.

When a person receives the chemical-hormonal signals, they automatically, instinctively respond - without even realizing what is drawing them.

The term "pheromone" was introduced by Peter Karlson and Martin Lüscher in 1959, based on the Greek word pherein (to transport) and hormone (to stimulate).

Whatever next?

Apparently, boar pheromones are sprayed into the sty, and those sows that exhibit sexual arousal are known to be currently available for breeding.

Let’s hope Mr Hart never got any on his trousers when he was admiring the specimen above!

We left the Wanted at 12.50pm, turned right and headed up the hill.

Again confusion reigned as Mr Davison was nowhere to be seen.

Maybe he had gone back for some of those wipe-thingies.

When he emerged he told us to go right, over a wall and to turn left, crossing the fields.

At 1.16pm we reached a road and stopped for lunch until 1.21.pm. More Cunliffe Time.

We went down the road. Here my pens gave up until we reached the Chapel to Buxton Road (A6).

We crossed the road and after 50 yards turned left up a narrow track.

Here we lost Jock Rooney who decided, wisely as it turned out, to stay on the road.

The Wanderers sallied on, climbing some stone steps and passing some houses before reaching a road and coming face-to-face with a snow plough.

                                                               Snowplough ahead

By now the snow was falling quite hard and the wind was getting up.

But as if we were recreating a scene from the acclaimed Turkish film Yol, which you can read about here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yol we trudged on.

Our route took us up a narrow track where the wind was blowing snow into drifts.

I’m indebted to m’learned friend Mr Davison for the atmospheric picture below, which features Mr Ross.

                                                                          Julian Ross

We reached the cars by 2.40pm, de-booted and cleared the snow off the vehicles.

Clearly fired by the taste of our Scott-like heroics, Mr Cunliffe mistakenly directed your diarist to turn right rather than left at the end of the road leading to the station and we ended up heading back into the white hell before good sense prevailed.

                                       Oh for an avalanche… (picture courtesy of Mr Welsh)

We were back in the Cock at Whaley Bridge by 3.05pm.

Here we met up with the B Walkers who had started at Disley, walked through the Torrs to the Soldier Dick and then along the canal to the Cock.

Next week’s walk will start from Clough House car park, near Wildboarclough. The half way point will be the Hanging Gate and we will have a post-walk pint in the Stanley Arms.

http://en.parkopedia.co.uk/free/clough_house_wildboarclough/parking/

Happy Wandering!

Marple Bridge

MARPLE BRIDGE, MELLOR, SHILOH ROAD

Distance: 8 miles

Difficulty: Easy

Weather: Chilly, some blue skies, intermittent sunshine.

Walkers: Pete Beal, George Whaites, Phil Welsh, George Dearsley, Colin Davison, Leslie Davison, Tom Cunliffe, Lawrie Fairman, Micky Barrett, Jock Rooney and Tips.

Apologies: Julian Ross (laying a floor), John Laverick  (ill), Alan Hart (rumoured to be in Tenerife)

B Walkers: Geoff Spurrell, Tony Job, Ken Sparrow

Non walking Drinker: John Eckersley

Leader: Welsh  Diarist: Dearsley

Starting Point: The main car park in Brabyns Park

Starting Time: 9.36am. Finishing Time: 1.51pm

This is a walk well known to our leader and your diarist, who were often accompanied by the scribe’s late lamented dog Ollie.

We welcomed yet another Wednesday Wanderers’ debutant, Mr Davison’s handsomer brother Leslie, from Bristol, who maintained the Davison family’s  reputation for calamity by smashing a full pint of ale in the Norfolk Arms.

We set off from the Brabyns car park, crossed the main road by the Midland pub and walked through Town Street, Marple Bridge, turning right at Low Lea Road.

The track rises and leads eventually to the Roman Lakes. We undertook a similar start on October 31. On that occasion Mr Davison called our attention to a hole,  which turned out to be a wheel-pit, part of the remains of a mill built by the famous entrepreneur Samuel Oldknow.

Mr Davison was minded to wander off again for a further peak into the abyss but a lack of subsequent information leads me to conclude the excavations were no further forward.

Meanwhile, the leading group of Wanderers were passing another old relic, comedian Ivor Davies.

Ivor, originally from Collyhurst, had a long career in the clubs.

He had a brief taste of fame in 1979 when the TV show The Comedians, which had made household names of Charlie Williams, Frank Carson and Jim Bowen in the early 1970s, was revived by Granada producer Johnny Hamp.

He predicted big things for his new stars Ivor, Charlie Daze, Mick Miller, Harry Scott, Roy Walker and Lee Wilson.

Walker, of course, went on to front Catchphrase. Miller has flirted with stardom. But sadly Ivor’s TV career never took off.

The final ignominy came when a signed photograph of Ivor sold for just £1 on eBay last December.

Ivor

We were now on Bottoms Mill Road and at the end we turned left and then right onto the road (Lakes Road) that passes the Roman Lakes on the left.

Gushing Weir

The water in the river to our right was a torrent after the recent snow and rain.

Just before the Roman Bridge, we turned sharp left and climbed up a very boggy path towards Mellor golf course. This involved going right at what looked like a very recently erected small gate and over a railway footbridge. The path brings walkers to the 14^th tee.

We took a path on the right which briefly leads through a wood. But a few minutes later we were crossing the fairway and making our way past the equipment sheds and to the clubhouse itself.

We cut off the corner where the small car park is located and took the road to the right which leads to the Fox at Brookbottom. But after a couple of hundred yards we swung left through another wood and then right alongside a fairway.

This leads to a metalled road where we turned left heading up an incline towards Mellor Cross.

                                     The Wanderers, led by Mr Beal, head for the Cross.

                                                               Almost there….

                                                                      Mellor Cross

In the early 1970s, despite some local opposition, the local churches together raised a wooden cross on the highest part of Cobden Edge. Each Easter there is a march with members from all the churches and a service held at the cross.

Pie Time was declared in a hollow below the cross at 10.50am. We resumed our walk at 11.01am, going first to the local Trig Point. This the highest point in Stockport,  at 328 meters (1076 feet). The area was once a plantation, but is now a wildlife preserve above the pastures of a working dairy farm.

                                        Mr Cunliffe helpfully obscures the Trig Point.

Nearby were some stones and it was here, in 1975, that John Bu'Lock identified what he thought was a possible cairn.

As every schoolchild knows cairn is a term used for a man-made pile (or stack) of stones. It comes from the Scottish Gaelic: càrn (plural càirn).

Cairns are found all over the world in uplands, on moorland, on mountaintops, near waterways and on sea cliffs, and also in barren desert and tundra areas.

They vary in size from small stone markers to entire artificial hills, and in complexity from loose, conical rock piles to delicately balanced sculptures and elaborate feats of megalithic engineering.

Cairns may be painted or otherwise decorated, e.g. for increased visibility or for religious reasons.

In modern times, cairns are often erected as landmarks, a use they have had since ancient times.

Since prehistory, they have also been built as sepulchral monuments, or used for defensive, hunting, ceremonial, astronomical and other purposes.

Far from being a load of old Bu'Locks, the Mellor cairn – later called the Shaw Cairn - turned out to be very important.

For several years, Ruth Collier, Kath Lowe and John Clarke excavated the site with help from students of Marple Hall School.  They uncovered parts of a funerary cairn built around 4000 years ago, with more than a dozen cremation burials, some within stone cists, which were given names like Willie, Pericles, Cecil and Hector.

Experts reckoned that those associated with burials were consistent with the building of the cairn in the Late Neolithic or Early Bronze Age but the finds included around 500 flints, many dating from the Early Mesolithic Period indicating that the Cairn was built on the site of much earlier activity.

A fine example of a plano convex knife was amongst the finds along with an almost complete ceramic food vessel.

The area has another claim to fame. To the right of the cross, down a lane is a house called Three Chimneys.

It is here that Edith Nesbit, author of The Railway Children was said to visit.

The story of Edith Nesbit's Peak District connections began to unfold in 1999, when nosey  librarian Gwenda Culkin and her assistant, Barbara Matthews, were surprised to find that their microfilm reader had been booked for several days by a lady with a London telephone number.

The researcher was Laura Probert, archivist of the Nesbit Society, one of five members of the society who had travelled to various parts of the country to investigate locations that might have been used as the setting for The Railway Children.

Laura had been drawn to New Mills because she had learned from two biographies of Nesbit that the author had visited her stepsister, Saretta Deakin, living in the area with her husband, John at Three Chimneys.

This was the very name used in The Railway Children for the cottage that was home to three children and their mother during their father's wrongful imprisonment.

Although foliage obscures the view from Three Chimneys today, it would have been possible at the time of Edith's visit to see a panorama that closely resembles one described in the book: 'It was hilly country. Down below they could see the line of the railway, and the black yawning mouth of the tunnel. The station was out of sight. There was a great bridge with tall arches running across one end of the valley”.

Laura also established that Edith visited our old friend Aspenshaw Hall (see last week’s diary), where the owners - the Woodcock family - were 'dazzled, amazed and amused by their visitor’.

According to biographer Julia Briggs, 'provincial Derbyshire had never seen anyone so unconventional, so advanced.'

Later, a search through electoral forms in the Record Office at Matlock revealed that the Deakins had never resided at Three Chimneys at all, but had lived in a house called Paradise. However, almost immediately after making this disappointing discovery, the librarians were relieved to find that Three Chimneys is located next door to Paradise and so would have been well known to Edith during her visits.

Gwenda and Barbara read as many Nesbit publications as possible in order to see if the New Mills area had acted as a source of inspiration in any of her other works.

They were thrilled to discover that a short story written for the Weekly Dispatch is set in the fictitious town of Old Mills, 'where great mills and factories stare one in the face at every turn'.

Another short story called From the Dead actually names Mellor and Marple, both of which are located within a few miles of New Mills, and “Apinshaw”, clearly a corruption or misspelling of Aspenshaw.

One of the most memorable moments in the book involves Roberta waving her red-flannel petticoat to bring a train to a halt before it runs headlong into a landslide.

New Mills historian Derek Brumhead was able to tell Gwenda and Barbara that a landslip had occurred in the nearby village of Buxworth, where a newly constructed railway viaduct had been swept away.  Although this had taken place in the years before Edith's visit to Mellor, it had been well publicised in the area and would still have been talked about at that time.

There is also an incident in the novel where a boy from a canal boat throws coal at the children. The Peak Forest Canal runs through the countryside where Edith stayed and at the time of Edith's visits there was a coal store at Strines Station, which is close to Three Chimneys.

                                                         Jenny Agutter, sans undergarment

We walked down Black Lane, turned right at the end and at the finish of the next track turned left, bringing us to the five ways interchange.

We went straight over into Shiloh Road, striding on until a sign on the right for the Little Mill Inn. Here we turned left. This is a bridle way that leads to a big house with its own ménage.

Here we turned left (rather than risk more mud to the right) and were soon back on the main road that leads down into Mellor and then Marple Bridge.

A few minutes later (at 11.57am) we were at the doors of the Oddfellows pub, which fortunately was not only open but boasted a roaring fire.

Bollington Best (4.2 AVB) was £3.30. Pedigree £3.20. There were no complaints from the Wanderers about the quality of the ale.

We set off at 12.46pm, going back up the hill for a few strides before turning left at the converted chapel.

We walked parallel to the main road until (after crossing two fields) we found ourselves on the road that leads to Mellor Church. Here we turned right and duly entered the church grounds, declaring luncheon at 1.08pm.

Among the gravestones was one to Thomas Brierley (see my picture below). It boasts a sundial and insignia of the Masonic Lodge, plus what appears to be Hebrew.

Thomas Brierley, it transpires, was born on July 16, 1785 at Mellor. He was also known as Tommy and some references call him Didymus - perhaps confusing him for an uncle of that name or as a common alternative to Thomas.

Tommy became a blockprinter at the mill at Strines Printworks where calico was printed and later a carter who plied his trade between Ludworth and Disley.

He was a regular attender at the local Freemason’s Lodge, which migrated from Manchester to Mellor in 1822 and met at the Devonshire Arms and several other hostelries in the locality before it eventually shifted to the Shuttle Inn (renamed the George) at Ludworth.

Returns to the Clerk of Peace between 1834 and 1841 show that the Lodge averaged about 20 members each meeting; chiefly miners and minor tradesmen.

Tommy’s connection with Freemasonry is told in this anecdote:

When the Duke of Devonshire was Provincial Grandmaster for Derbyshire, Tommy and some friends walked to Chatsworth House in a park laid out by Capability Brown where they were refused admittance as the Duke was home.

After a great deal of pertinacity, Tommy managed to get a servant to present a message, hastily written in cipher on a paper scrap. The Duke instantly came in person and showed his humble brother and his friends over the house and ordered lunch to be served to them.

So the old dodgy handshake worked wonders even back then.

Plaque

Tommy seemed to have some periods of illness and had recourse to the sick funds of the society.

A number of members complained and made unpleasant personal remarks, as apparently his illness coincided with a slack time at Strines Printworks.

Even more ominously Tommy was the Lodge’s sometime Treasurer.

Was Tommy a serial malingerer? Was he dipping into the funds?

Friends said that he was "an honourable man and this charge grieved him sore." (Other sources refer to him as one who was prone to display his membership of the masonic fraternity and to make it known that his worth was not sufficiently recognised.)

Either way, he then had a stone coffin made by Azariah Ollerenshaw, a stonemason of local repute, and for which he lay down so that the coffin could be accurately cut for his body and head for a perfect fit.

The coffin was then placed, exposed on a previously purchased grave site at St. Thomas' Church, Mellor.

The lid was carved with some Masonic symbols and underneath the words, "I am belied," referring to the accusations of feigned illness.

(He might have used Spike Milligan’s epitaph “I told you I was ill”)

It lay there for some years and became quite a tourist attraction.

However, it eventually created too much unwanted attention for the vicar, Rev. Matthew Freeman, who ordered it to be buried.

Remember Tommy was still alive at this stage.

Not to be frustrated, Tommy had a memorial headstone prepared covered with 'cipher-writings' and ornate and masonic emblems which was placed over his grave before he died.

Subsequently, when he finally died, there was talk of burying him in his stone coffin but it was found to be too heavy to remove to the house.

 Instead he was buried in a wooden coffin presumably beside the stone one.

A real coffin dodger, was Tommy.

The cipher on the headstone was presented as a mystery in books and newspaper articles right into the latter part of the 20th century.

The headstone is actually written in five pig-pen variations. The text at the head of the stone says "Thomas Brierley made his ingress July 16th 1785, His Progress was ____ Years And his Egress___".

The headstone was never completed after his death (possibly because no one was interested and his father survived him only one more year and was of advanced age).

The cipher at the foot of the gravestone says "Holiness of the Lord". The Pigpen Cipher was used by Freemasons in the 18th Century to keep their records private and surprisingly the cipher on Tommy's grave seems have a non-standard symbol for the letter "S".

It is possible the variation in the cipher is a clue to or a key to documents that he dealt with as the treasurer.

However, at the time of its placement in the graveyard the common impression was that it contained the old charge against his fellows and was purposefully written in Hebrew to defy objections to it being placed over the grave during Thomas' lifetime.

According to some, Tommy fell to his death from the church tower, but other sources disagree so this story may be an urban legend.

To add to the mystery, a bronze plaque was added to the stone in recent times with more cipher upon it, the cipher used being similar but not identical.

He is reported to have died in 1854 aged 69 years.

So, another one Lawrie has outlived.

We walked down the steep steps from the graveyard, across the field and through the farm beyond.

This brought us to Townscliffe Lane and by 1.51pm we had reached the Norfolk Arms.

Here Black Sheep was £3 as was The Broughton.

We were joined by the B Walkers who had started in Brabyns, followed the canal to Strines and meandered via the Roman Lakes to Marple Bridge.

John Eckersley soon joined the party.

Next week’s walk will start from the car park at Chapel railway Station at 9.35am. The half way point will be the Beehive and after de-booting we will convene in the Cock at Whaley Bridge.

Happy wandering!