High Street

We bravely tackled breakfast and were introduced to Chris's twin grand daughters who were all of three years old and intent on killing each other. The previous day we had bought the makings of a packed lunch for today's assault. I call it an assault because High Street is 3889ft of vertical assent [give or take a few feet]. It is steep too. Deepdale Hall was just across the valley from the start of the assent from the valley bottom to Boredale Hause, which I swear is the hardest part of the climb, then to Angle Tarn, The Knott and Rampsgill Head. These torturous delights we had tackled the previous year on the coast to coast. But what was new was the Straits of Riggindale, the summit of High Street and Thornthwaite Crag. We had intended to descend from Thornthwaite Crag into the valley of Hayeswater and stroll back to Deepdale. With a lot of huffing and puffing we got onto the High Street plateau but could not see more than twenty feet in front of us due to the cloud. This is what we should have seen.

We found the wall which we should have followed to find the trig point that marked the summit. Instead we followed the well worn path which led us to the massive stone pile that marks Thornthwaite Crag. As we could not see the path to navigate accurately we sat in the lee of the cairn at Thornthwaite Crag and had our butties in the hope that the clouds would lift so that we might find our way to the lip of Hayeswater valley and our path off the mountain. We were getting cold [it is only August after all] so decided to retrace our steps. This was a wise move but it gave us a long walk back. We had walked seven miles to get to Thornthwaite Crag via High Street but it was only a little over three miles from Thornthwaite Crag to Deepdale via Hayeswater. About ninety minutes after making our way down the weather started to lift but we where committed to retracing our steps.



The path you can see which seems to lead off the end of the wall on the left is the path across the Straits of Riggindale to the summit which is set well back from the edge of the corrie. The clouds are still covering Thornthwaite Crag but I bet it would have been thin enough to find the way.

The weather having cleared we were treated to Angle Tarn being utterly still reflecting a near mirror image of Angletarm Pikes with St Sunday's Crag in the distance.

H was knackered after the fourteen mile hike but Deepdale had lots of hot water and a deep bath which H took full advantage of. We did not make the full journey round but it was a stiff walk and I achieved a personal ambition to tick off High Street. This goal is offset by the fact High Street is so called because it was the roman road from Penrith to Ravenglass. There is section of the High Street plateau called the Racecourse because the farmers from Patterdale and Mardale, which are either side the High Street divide, used to meet for markets, fairs and racedays on the flat, albeit very lofty field halfway between the two communities.

The assault - postponed

The first days was a wash out so the attempt on High Street was postponed. I decided we should drive over the other side of the fells and see what there was to see in the south west corner of the area. Normally we drove past this area in a our treks to Cockermouth or the hills proper. We went to Ravenglass first. Ravenglass is a port used by the Romans to export lead and iron ore from the Cumbrian hills. A very long time later [1875] a narrow gauge railway was built to run from the port to the foot of the hills inland at Boot. The locals call the railway "lal ratty" [Little rattler] but posh folk called the Ravenglass and Eskdale railway. It is run by volunteers. It takes you up the valley to Eskdale. A pretty run although we did not take the trip this time. We had a walk round the village of Ravenglass instead. As a Roman settlement H was excited to see a bit a roman remains. As it happens they have some large parts of walls from the Bath room. The West Coast railway chopped off a good corner of the fort site so the fort site is just a partial earthwork. Incidentally there is a full size railway station serving the Cumbrian coast so you can get off the full size train and get on the lal ratty by walking across the bridge.

Ravenglass is at the top of a protected estuary. The tide was out when we were there. It has a desolate beauty. The main street is wide and lined with well built house whose name illustrate their former uses, The Old Custom House, the Post Office etc. They are all Regency period which must have been the towns heyday. If you walk down the main street you can walk straight onto the foreshore and into the sea. It is no wonder the houses and well built, the houses on the right of the main street have no back gardens just small yards which back straight onto the foreshore.
















We sat on a bench overlooking the view and had our packed lunch. Ravenglass is so remote the adjacent dunes are used for test firing ordnance. There are big notice boards just outside the town saying not to pick anything up and to watch out for firing days indicated by the red flags. No flags when we were there just the Oyster Catchers, the rain and us.

Ravenglass did not fill our day so we picked another town we had not been to, Millom.

We trundled along the coast. Found Millom, took a stroll around the town and got back in the car. Ten minutes total. Millom was a mining town. The mines closed in the early 1900's and the town has not really recovered. There is nothing of note in the town except the sign post to the next village, Haverigg. On the way out of town we saw a sign to the air museum. I thought I knew the museums around Cumbria. We followed the signs and eventually pitched up at the back an industrial estate outside Millom. The museum could have been an air frame scrap yard. It was run by a over enthusiastic ex RAF regiment bloke and a teenage girl. It was teeming down. It looked as though it probably rained a lot in this part of the estate. The industrial unit was crammed with bits of planes and aero engines from the second world war up to the 60's. German rotary engine, Merlin engines, Russian engines, early jet engines in various states of repair from redundant jet engines to engines recovered from crash site and there a quite a few crash sites round Cumbria. It was a training area in WWII. Haverigg had an airfield hence the loose association. The airfield now houses HMP Haverigg. Having escaped the clutches of our weird host who, from the volume he spoke at, must have spent quite a bit of time too close to jet engines whilst they were running.

We got off the estate and followed the signs from Haverigg proper. That too is an odd place. It seems to exist because the prison is there and airfield was there before it. We parked a small car park by the seafront. There is no prom at Haverigg just the car park, a toilet block and a little cafe. A couple of local yoofs were hanging round the car park trying to be menacing and cool at the same time but being upstaged by a family enjoying their holiday by arguing who was to sit where in the car and the little prince [the chubby grandson] kicking up a fuss because he could not have some small sweet delicacy. We went over to the cafe and sat and watched as the three generations squeezed themselves into the car. It was like watching a flock of Geese settling down to roost. The cafe was all sticky table tops and more deaf people talking really loud about nothing. We chanced a brew, weak and warm but only 60p. You get what you pay for but the floor show was free. We went for a walk to find to high spots of Haverigg. The high spots are the sand dunes and the Duddon Estuary. Very stark and beautiful. Click HERE for a satellite view of the area. It was still low tide so square mile after square mile of sand was on show. The most exiting aspect was a couple of blokes fettling a boat beached on the foreshore and all the different colours of broken glass glinting in the sand with air suffused with aroma of dog poo baking in the sun.

With a mixture of disappointment at the area beautiful had so little going for it and so little chance of opportunity and bemusement at the surrealness what we had seen, we headed back to Deepdale.

We had diner at the White Lion in Patterdale. Portion big enough to choke a horse washed down with a few pints of Guinness then early to bed in readiness for the assault on breakfast and High Street if the weather is something like.

Deepdale Hall

H should write this bit. H found the Hall which is really a working farm on Tinterweb. We stayed B&B. The son, Jimmy met us and showed us the room. it was just the job, quite and peaceful. except for the bleating sheep which was drowned out by the sound of pelting rain. The weather was not that bad, wet certainly but not of biblical proportions as it was last year.

Deepdale was built in the 1600's. It was solidly built and nestled into the valley side. Water came from their own spring, always a bonus, and eggs from their chickens. We got the know the owners over the next few days and all I can say is the Chris Brown's dad made the decision of life time to give up his civil service job and buy Deepdale and the farm back in the 50's and he had never seen a sheep in his life until buying the farm.
Note the 16th century satellite dish over the porch, very period. The window over the porch was to our room.

We chose Deepdale; partly because it was available, I had not decided to go on holiday until the week or two before the actual date and partly because it was near to High Street. Each morning we looked out the window only to find High Street invisible behind the clouds.

Breakfast was always a hearty affair. Free range eggs, local dry cured bacon and locally made sausages, as much toast, jam and marmalade as you could eat, cereals and lashings of Tea. The dining room doubled as the guests lounge. On more than one morning we flopped on the settee to let breakfast go down and have a chat with Chris. I think he liked a chat. It was better than going out in the rain.

The boy's a fool!

We set off for Morecombe via the "A" roads. We got detoured in Preston for roadworks, saw the University, the Prison and the famous Preston Northend football ground and that was Preston. When we got to Morecombe it was quite busy even thought it was bracing. We parked up on the prom and had a walk. H wanted to see the memorial to Eric Morcombe. I wanted a cup of tea. We found the memorial. It is right on the front. Everyone who went there was happy. Even the miserable old gits dragged on holiday by the family and the teenage girls who were far to cool to on holiday with the family broke into a smile. The area has all Eric and Ern's catch phases and a roll call of the celebs that went on their shows.

Click HERE for a link to more info on Eric. It is definitely worth a visit but the town will only keep you occupied for a few hours perhaps a whole day if the weather was nice so you could play on the beach.

Tea and a sarny was next on the agenda. I figured that since we were in Morcombe we should have potted shrimp, a local delicacy. The shrimp for the potted shrimp are caught in the bay, cooked, peeled, put in little pots and covered with melted butter which contains the spice Mace. They taste better once they have left to mature for a few months but could we find a vendor? No chance. Southend embraces it's cockles and whelks, Bury it's Black puddings but not Morecombe it's potted shrimp. We found on odd place on the front. A tiny cafe which only seat twelve people but with a tiny deli in the back room. The ownes are local celebs in the foody set. Hid away on the menu was potted shrimp - result. When the salad came it was half full of fruit. Nice but odd, like everything else. They made their own Bread which was warm when it was served as was the shrimp which made the butter ooze all shrimpy flavoured in the bread, very nice.


After mopping the melted butter off my chin and paying the surly waiter we took another tour of the prom. At the far end is a recently renovated 1930's art deco hotel. Judging by the cars in the car park it is a posh place to stay. Morecombe is trying for another revival. The pier where the ferries used to dock has also been done up but there is three hundred yard stretch between the Pier and hotel end of the prom and the Eric bit of the prom which has not been dressed. Perhaps they will get the cash they need to complete the job.

We looked across the bays to see the hills of Cumbria. Morecombe could not hold us any longer but we still had time on our hands. We took a leisurely drive though the lakes on the back roads to avoid the excesses of Bowness and Windermere and pitched up at Deepdale Hall at five inthe afternoon.

Liverpool

We saw Lucy off as planned on the Saturday. Then up at a reasonable hour on Sunday, a comfortable breakfast then off the Liverpool via Manchester. I had stuff to drop off with Mum and Dad, veg from the lottie, some more of H's Blackcurrant jam and Redcurrant jelly. H's scrounged Dad's over trousers for walking part of our holiday. It is only August after all.

We stopped in Manchester just for a cup of tea and a sarny before heading off to Liverpool. We went straight to Crosby to see the statues via the East Lancs Road. It was a sunny and very breezy day. The men in "real life" look quite strange. As the day wore on and the day trippers dispersed they made an eerie sight. Crosby beach is an odd place. The busy River Mersey and offshore wind farms to the front, the desolate expanse of the Ainsdale dunes to the north, the cranes and docks of Seaforth container port to the south and behind the odd mix of Victorian seaside villas, smart eateries on Crosby's main street and just beyond the poverty of Liverpool. Maybe not the grinding poverty of the 1880's but still a different culture and less comfort then the rest of us enjoy.














We found the Hotel after a minor detour. Cheap and cheerful and in case you were wondering, yes we got a room with a view of the Dock and at no extra cost a view of Birkenhead. We could see a bright blue arched bridge in the distance. H and I wondered if it was the bridge over the West Float where Liverpool Victoria had their boat house. The hotel had a large scale map of the area and it was indeed the West Float where we used to race. Liverpool Victoria Boat House would not be out of place of the Thames or the Isis instead it is backed onto by a scrap yard and derelict warehouses [when last we saw it].

In evening we took a stroll round Victoria Dock. It has been developed a lot since I used to go there. We sat on the benches looking out across the Mersey to Birkenhead. The tide was was just coming the high water slack and there were several ships making their way up stream to their berths. We watched all the nationalities wandering about but then we started to think about filling our bellies. We looked round and to our surprise a Pizza Express. No second thoughts. We even knew what we would have. Dough balls and a Capricciosa pizza which is prosciutto cotto ham, anchovies, fresh strips of red pepper, capers and olives, topped with a free range boiled egg and washed down with a Perroni beer. Having taken time over dinner we strolled back to the hotel.

We had a comfortable night's sleep and in the morning, a good breakfast . We set off for the Lakes but seeing as we had loads of time, we could not check in until 4pm, we went via the "A" roads and decided to stop for lunch at Morecombe.

Scouse Humour

H and I are getting ready for our holidays. A day has become free so I looked for something to fill it. H has always wanted to see Anthony Gromley's installation "Another Place". I rang up a hotel in Liverpool to book a room. The hotel is in the Victoria dock area. I asked "Ian", the jolly chap who was working reservations that day, if the room would have a view [of the Dock]? "Yes Sir, all the rooms have windows" came the reply.

Click HERE for a YouTube of "Another Place"

Spot Weeding

The weather has been very accommodating, heavy showers then a day or two of a dry spell and more showers. Even at night the air temperature is 17+ degrees C and in the day in the mid to high twenties. This has caused the plants to shoot up. That suits me. The strong leafy plants tend to crowd out the weeds. It is only the Onions that suffer since they offer no shade which lets the weeds get established.

At this time of the season I just spot weed and push the hoe about where I can. Any weed that shows flowers is allowed a few days in the sun and is then yanked out. My hope is that the plant has expended a lot of energy growing put out flowers for the bees and other insects and pulling them whilst in flower means they do not set seed. If they have not set seed they can go in the compost.

I friend of mine, Alan, was after a few seedlings to replace the Sprouting Broccoli that had failed. I only had Sprouts but that was deemed an acceptable alternative. We had a tour of the plot and bagged a couple of handfuls of what ever was ripe. He went away with a big basket of fresh veg. His missus, Julia, will make something fantastic. She is a great cook. It will be all that WI training. On the way back we had to drop in at The Railway, where payment was made, in the form of a couple of pints of Guinness. I was such a pleasant evening we sat outside and talked of "cabbages and kings" and other such nonsense over our pints.

The Parsnips have been a disaster. No more than a dozen have germinated and the speed they are growing they will look like mini-veg on Christmas dinner plate. The Carrots are doing nicely. There is a green fuzz in the rows where the seedlings are growing and the weather is perfect for them. I have been round the leaders of the pumpkin and cut off the growing tips. This will force the plant to fill out the fruits. One of the pumpkins is already bigger than a football. Broad Beans are ready to crop as are some of the Peas. The climbing French Beans have some pods but they look lumpy rather than smooth. Perhaps I have left them too long on the vine. The early cabbages have been eaten by baby slugs so I will have them out shortly and plant out some of the Brussel Sprout seedlings in there place. The successional sowing cabbage has work quite well in the patch except for the cauli's They all came together and went to seed between my visits.

H has had a triumph with her first attempt at jam making. The Blackcurrant set just right and is just the right balance of sweet and acid. The Redcurrants from Gloria have made a very nice jelly. We had some with the Bacon for tea tonight. The blackcurrants came from our garden and made twenty jars of jam and enough left over to make some Cassis. Mum was clearing out under the stairs and found some part bottles of Cognac left over from parties years ago. I do not like spirits but made into Cassis it is a different matter.

We went to Manchester on Saturday to our dear friend Jill's birthday. The big four oh. It was a smashing evening. We saw folks we had not seen for a long while. They were all amazed at Miss L. Some one them had not seen Miss L since we left Manchester when she was eight. Jill's dad, Charlie, who is a lovely chap, kept referring to Miss L as his super model friend which Lucy liked a lot. There was a young chap, Adam, who sang along to a backing tape. He was fantastic. He sung songs of Dean Martin, Sinatra and Matt Munroe and swing interpretations of more modern tunes. H was all agog because he sung Gershwin's "Someone to Watch Over Me"for her. Ella Fitzgerald did the most well know version. The tune was also used in film the same name with a young Tom Berenger in the lead who is also one of H's favorites.

I have a trip to London this week and I go on holidays next weekend so there will be a lot to do. I have made a list. I only hope I can tick most of it off before I leave.