After a White Lion breakfast the pull out of Calderdale, though short, is tough on the legs and lungs. After the initial effort, the day’s walk is easy and pleasurable. The hills and moors are remote and hard, but are not quite so harsh, nor nearly as boggy as those already seen. The sheep are fatter and more numerous.
We begged water from a couple of Yorkshire Water employees near to the Gorple reservoir cottages. The cottages have their water bussed up from town. Despite being sat on a lake of impounded water, it can’t be drunk until treated further down the valley. Wainwright recalled the death of a reservoir keeper lost in a blizzard near here. Today, mild and occasionally sunny, it hardly seemed credible.
The area is an attractive one of moors and lakes, albeit man-made ones. A look back, after topping the hill above the Walshaw Dean reservoirs, rewards with a long view beyond Stoodley Pike and Bleaklow to the pencil thin purple hills on the far horizon.
“Is that Black Hill?”
Moments later the Dales sprang into view with Penyghent and Ingleborough unmistakable, far to the north.
A little way along the path, the remains of Top Withins, said to be the inspiration for Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights, might disappoint. Its location will not. The uninspiring ruins, even on a showery day, are a magnet for literary pilgrims and curious tourists alike.
Bitter experience dictates that this is not the place to take an unguarded pee. I have no idea what she found so funny. It was not that cold.
“Bloody tourists,” I muttered.
After walking downhill on a well made path in generally warm, if showery conditions, high above the Worth valley, we met a couple of ladies in their late forties. An overweight and very tired old black Labrador accompanied them. Nothing too surprising there; it was just that one of the ladies was in a wheelchair.
Bob, with all the tact and empathy that only a former health care professional could muster queried, “How the bloody hell did you get up here?”
The lady in the wheelchair replied, “I was pushed mainly. Funny though, of all the people we’ve met, you’re the first to mention it.”
Apparently, this was a regular "good weather" trip from Bradford. By a combination of elbow power, the occasional push and by using the chair as a walking frame on the rougher ground, they got themselves to within a whisker of Top Withins. Of the three, it was the dog looked the least likely to survive the walk back to Haworth.
All too soon, we sat at the roadside at Ponden Mill waiting for a ‘bus to Haworth. That was it, then. The trail north closed because of Foot and Mouth disease. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, the powers had decided that we were too great a risk to animal health be allowed to continue along the way.
The powers had made a big enough fist of things without my help, I thought! Regardless, we would have to wait for another day to continue northwards.
Whiling away our time waiting for a bus, on what was now a warm and dusty summer afternoon, we were being entertained by the antics of a group of Blue Tits. They were opposite, chasing insects, and each other, through the roadside bushes. Unexpectedly there was a swish of air, the smashing of twigs; surviving birds scattered in all directions, desperately seeking safety. A Sparrow Hawk flew to nearby cover, grasping its tiny victim in powerful talons. At the scene of the crime, only a feather or two remained, drifting slowly to the ground, marking a sudden and violent death.
We’d decided to stay overnight in Haworth before returning home. The short bus ride was agreeable, enlivened only by the grumbles and snorting of a decidedly grouchy driver. We must have disturbed his routine by presenting ourselves as his only passengers. Our little Ambassador for Public Transport knew we were heading for the top of the steep main street. He stopped at the station at the bottom of the hill.
“I hope his piles hurt and he gets a puncture,” Robert muttered bitterly.
We booked into a Guest House opposite Branwell Bronte’s old haunt, the Black Bull. The digs were comfortable enough, and both the food and beer at the Black Bull proved excellent. The pub is evidently on a popular Friday night circuit, which made for an interesting and lively night.
Accommodation:Mr Sisley, Apothecary Guest House, Haworth (01535 643642)
£25.00
We enjoyed adequate accommodation in this busy little town.
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