Some weeks are just packed with “things” that bear no relation to each other but create a very satisfying sum of their independent parts. This week proved to be one of those weeks.
We crossed into Lancashire – stalwartly flying our Yorkshire Rose flag… and I am no longer complaining about the heat. Now I am wondering if I am about to get rust whilst being grateful I don’t have to water the roof garden.
Parbold in Lancashire was a real delight as other boaters had promised – excellent coffee shop, good and plentiful pubs, amazing butcher (Reynolds) and a pet shop which thrilled the boatdog. The walks were varied and at last involved HILLS!
We moored by what was once the village windmill, milling the imported American grain transported from Liverpool on the canal barges that then took the finished flour to multiple destinations.
Such was the success of the business a steam powered corn milling factory was also built –opposite the windmill. Ironically the steam-powered version ultimately put the windmill out of business but it has now disappeared under housing whilst the five-storey windmill with its castellated top remains and is now an art gallery. The village also boasts a railway station which allowed Steve to escape the boat last weekend!
From Parbold the canal wends its way to Burscough. A fascinating little town, and one which offers much to the boater. For us there were the delights of services (water, waste etc) plus many pubs, The Wool Boat (more about this anon), new walks to explore and access to yet more trains.
We took advantage of proximity to the seaside and spent a day at the beach this week – a long time since we walked on the sands, and for the Boatdog a joyful opportunity to run, and run and run.
We went to Crosby where she was somewhat confused by Anthony Gormley’s wonderfully weathered statues – 100 lifesized naked men spread across the beach. She didn’t bother about them being naked but couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t stroke her when she nudged their hands! Apparently the internet is awash with pictures of dogs dropping balls at their feet and waiting patiently for the statues to throw them!
The statues, all made of cast-iron stretch three kilometres along the beach and almost a kilometer out to sea. They are identical, modelled on casts of the artist’s own middle-aged body (I have to say he was pretty slender at the time. I wouldn’t dare take a cast of my naked body – which will be a huge relief to the world!). All 100 face out to sea, affected by the tides and I have yet to discover why they are entitled “Another Place” unless they are looking towards another place, or imagining another place or creating another place of the place they are in, by being. Answers please!
From Crosby we returned via Southport and its eccentricity of the British Lawnmower Museum (I kid you not), before finding our way back to Burscough and a fascinating lesson from The Wharf. Local blue plaques accompanied by information are invaluable in providing insights into the people who shaped the places we travel through. In this instance two caught my eye – plaques about two women, each remarkable in her own way.
Harriet Emma Mahood and Emma Vickers. Hattie Mahood was a suffragette, a strong supporter of the Temperance Movement and the first female deacon of the Baptist Church.
Emma Vickers was born to a family of canal workers, and famed for her commitment to maintain local dialect, dances and songs – many related to the history of the canals. Recordings of her appear in numerous places including the British Library, and she was an accomplished musician as well as a prodigious fundraiser. Many people outside of Lancashire will not have heard of her, but her impact was significant on our knowledge of her home county, and of the culture of the waterways.
Burscough is also home to the famous Martin Mere Wetland Centre – one we’re saving for another day as we got sidetracked by other delights on this visit.
Firstly we found The Wool Boat, its knit and natter in the pub afternoon (which resulted in me knitting and nattering and then having to unpick everything I’d messed up in a most enjoyable fashion!). Our cushion covers are again all stuffed as a result of me smuggling yet more wool on board for projects.
And then we were diverted by an evening supporting the local community. A lady came by the boat to say her dog was missing. It had escaped from her house whilst she wasn’t looking, and so we set off for hours of walking the towpaths and local lanes in search of Timmy. Her family, neighbours, cyclists and other boaters also volunteered in the hunt for this diminutive Yorkshire terrier who was finally tracked down to – Southport! He had been picked up on a road by a lady and when she couldn’t get a reply from any of the cottages near where she found him, she took him home. He was finally reunited with his family at 7.30 the next morning. Immense relief all round.
We then felt we could set off to tackle the Rufford Arm (which demands a future blog to itself believe me) heading for the Ribble Link, the River Douglas and our tidal crossing to the Lancaster Canal. We are booked for Sunday morning, but whether we will be able to go is another matter – winds and waves may dictate otherwise.
We are readying our anchor and getting prepared but wait and see whether we will get to cross or not… Reading the safety briefing is already proving alarming 😱
Pickingupducks 