Gretna Green and Gussets

The magical power that is Google Maps had hinted that there might be a good stealth camping place just outside of Gretna, on the banks of the River Esk. That’s where we headed in The Stealth Campervan, because The Lovely John had driven all the way up from Scunthorpe, and it was getting late.

Turned out to be a perfect little spot. Right on the Esk estuary, miles away from anywhere, only the occasional dogwalker and we even had time for a stroll along the banks before settling down for the night.

We always position the van so that we get a view from the back doors. Saturday morning, early, this was the view:

Early morning River Esk. Yes, it’s cows.

I thought the river was deep, and you know those mornings when you wake up and can’t quite believe what you are seeing – well, this was one of those mornings.

Cattle – having an early morning paddle in the middle of the River Esk, heading out to sea.

They took a slow leisurely walk for a mile or so, then circled back, tiny dots on the other side of the bank (the side that is England, not the side that is Scotland, which we were on).

Yes, we were in Scotland. Gretna, to be precise, and there’s only one thing to do when it’s Saturday morning in Gretna Green…

…Laugh at the tacky tourism. Lordy Lordy, what a place Gretna Green is. Busloads of Chinese tourists (who knew it was such a popular tourist destination with the Chinese?), and The Original Smithies, and The Original Anvils – lots of them. Being a true professional, I let Naked Actionman get in on the scene:

Just hanging round, waiting for love. Trying too hard perhaps?

Not one person batted an eyelid at me laying on the floor getting this shot. Love, as they say, is blind. And batshit crazy.

The Lovely John and I were approached by a very nice Chinese lady who had an official Gretna Green lanyard. She was taking photographs of couples for ‘National Kissing Day‘ or something like that, and would we mind being photographed having a kiss at one of the Gretna Green photo places. My ‘just say yes’ philosophy kicked in and we said yes, and duly stood under the horseshoe love arch and puckered up, as the very nice Chinese lady took several shots of us. She even crouched on the round to get a good angle of us and the horseshoe love arch.

Here’s a salutary lesson for any photographers wearing short skirts who are crouching down getting arty angles with their camera: you, photographer, can get everything in, the couple, the kiss, the horseshoe love arch, but we can see right up your skirt. You could kneel, you could stand further back you could just go for a close up with your viewfinder, but when you crouch, legs wide part, and you’re wearing stripey knickers, we are going to notice your gusset. Notice? Madam, you were all but winking at us.

It may have been a deliberate ploy to get people to grin, and I did want to mention it to her, but she was off looking for another couple before I could have my quiet word.

‘Thank you so much’, she said, as she left us.

‘No, thank YOU’, said The Lovely John.

I couldn’t help it, I had my tourist head on, and we had the Stealth Campervan at our disposal, so we headed up the A75 to Dumfries and an afternoon of unabashed Rabbielove. I love Robbie Burns, and Dumfries is to Burns what Liverpool is to the Beatles. Like you can’t move for references to Burns. Like his face is on everything. Like you can’t move for tea towels and tam o shanters and tartan.

Dumfries is a gorgeous town, we did the Robert Burns walk round, and yes, I love The Rabster, but after a couple of hours, I’d had enough Aye fond kisses and Best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men to last til next January 25th.

Three of my favourite men all trying to look cool

The Lovely John wanted to throw Actionman in the River Nith, but luckily I saw this sign.

We called into a pop up shop – I can’t remember what drew us in, but the shop was Pensioners for Independance. Their tactic seemed to be: draw them in and ask them if they think Scotland should be an independent country. And when I say ‘ask’, read as ‘demand to know’.

Me, I just said ‘yes’ straight away, don’t know whether it was fear, conviction, or witnessing the withering looks and scathing remarks that followed a woman who said ‘absolutely not’. The Lovely John, never one to shy away from words, answered, ‘I don’t care, I’m happy right now.’

This seemed to melt the stoic, granite hearts of the two pensioners/potential inquisitioners and they ended up sending us away with armfuls of buns, fudge, a cd and a top tip on where to head to stay for the night.

I’l give you the top tip, if you’re ever in Scotland and want a night of wild camping, after a Rabbie Burns overload. Go up the A76, turn off for Wanlock Head, and it’s magnificent. Mountain pass, with a small river running through, and you can camp there. Lots of people do. It’s like party valley.

However, we drove on, waiting for the next place, and the next one until we came out the other side of the pass, and realised that we’d missed our chance. Note to self: if there’s a perfect looking place, stop, don’t wait for the next one, cos sooner or later you’ll run out.

So we challenged ourselves to find a lovely place near water, and to be honest we were sailing a bit close to the wind, thought we’d end up in a lay-by, but this is Scotland, if you miss the perfect place to stop, carry on, cos the next perfect place is near. We drove on to a place called Douglas, cos there was a lake showing on google maps and when we saw a sign for ‘Dangerous Castle’, it sealed the deal. It wasn’t a wild mountain pass, it was a beautiful peaceful land with a lake and a Dangerous Castle. Perfect.

Tomorrow, I’ll tell you about how Grace is all grown up now, and the Devil’s pulpit, and I can’t remember which road we took, the high or the low, but we got to Loch Lomond…

And you may have noticed I’m not doing much walking at the moment. Therein lies a tale to be told….

Between the Angels and the Clouds

Rosie Gange was one of the first people to invite me to share music with her, before I’d even set off. I think in our mind’s eye, we imagined that we would walk the gorgeous Glossop hills is the sunshine, stopping only to picnic and play our fiddles aloft a hilltop as the birds sang overhead.

My Lovely Rosie – we managed a little walk together, and we managed to play music together, but not at the same time. We have promised each other we’ll do some walks next year.

What we didn’t take into consideration was timing, weather, and availability. The thing I’m realising with my adventures that i can predict where I’ll be for the next two or three days, but beyond that I’m at the mercy of many different factors that can change timings and directions. And that other people have lives and agendas that really don’t circle around mine. And that when the weather is awful, and by awful i mean raining cats and dogs, there’s usually only me who is keen to walk.

Rosie had stuff to do, I arrived at a random time, and it rained.

So, I had a lovely stay with Rosie and Jamie, but i set off on my own in the rain, heading over the hills to Holmfirth, to meet Jan Ansell and her band who were rehearsing that night. I’m sorry to say, but Nakedactionman was tucked up in my rucksack.

Heading along the valley on the Longdendale Trail. It rained.

Heading up along the Woodhead Pass. Yes that’s a cloud ahead and I’m heading into it.

That’s Derbyshire, same view, when the cloud clears for three seconds

#proudfaceme. I climbed all that way through rain and clouds.

Hahahahaha that’s a frame at the summit so you can photograph the view. Hahaha

This walk was five miles along the Longenden Trail, five miles climb into the clouds to Holme Moss, and five miles descent into the Holme Valley to Holmfirth.

It was a little bit terrifying, heading up the hill realising that I was heading for the cloud bank and I wouldn’t be able to see more than ten yards ahead of me. I remembered an old man who used to tell me that when you were up in those hills it was like being between the ‘divil an’ t’ deep blue sea’. I’m not sure where the deep blue sea came from, but it felt more like walking between the angels and the clouds.

There was something about that sense of isolation and being totally and utterly alone that was calming and exciting at the same time. Yes there were cars passing infrequently, but they didn’t see me. Nobody saw me, not even the sheep.

Note to self: get something hi viz to wear.

But I was an incredibly proud old Hector when I completed the walk. I rang Jan when I got into Holmfirth and she drove down from the hills above Holmfirth on the opposite side, and picked me up.

Jan contacted me some time ago – she’d seen my posts on facebook, looked me up and realised that we both studied at Bretton Hall and even though we were years apart and never met, she felt honour-bound to offer me food and a bed and show me the music that she plays in a band with her husband, Steve (also an ex-Brettonite).

Steve and Jan live with their two children, two dogs and malevolent cat in a house in the hills high above Holmfirth – back up into the clouds again. The views were, apparently, just as spectacular as the views I didn’t see walking over the Holme Moss Pass.

I was fed and watered royally, and the band arrived for their tuesday night rehearsal.

The band, the Good Earth Collective (http://www.goodearthcollective.co.uk/) were preparing for some upcoming gigs. Most of the songs are written by Steve, and it was most enjoyable watching and listening, and they even insisted that I joined them with my fiddle.

Steve Ansell talking about ‘Rust’:

‘Rust was written at a time when my dad died, Jan was ill, and my friend in the band Carl was ill, going through cancer treatments, and he still came to rehearsals, still turned up and played. Music takes you somewhere else to a place you can cope with anything.‘

‘Southern Rain – I’ve written this song as a sort of composite of images of love songs.’

https://youtu.be/2I22x9wUcGU

I’m on my adventure, but for most people life goes on as normal, so Steve was up early in the morning off to work, Jan did the school run, and offered to take me down into the valley, as soon as she’d made me eggy bread for breakfast. Nomnomnom.

The one thing (and there are many things) that I love about my adventure is how lovely, hospitable and interesting people are.

Jan even made a little coat for Naked Actionman.

Fashion Designer Jan Ansell with her latest creation. Us Brettonites can turn our hand to anything.

Jan decided that we should have a memory lane trip around our old Bretton places – she lived in Denby Dale as a student; I lived in Skelmanthorpe, or ‘Shat’ as it is called locally, and we had a wonderful journey pointing out places where things used to be, where people used to live, where misdemeanours once occurred and this continued all the way to Wakefield. I thought I was getting a lift to Holmfirth, but we were having way too much fun to stop.

I had arranged to meet a woman called Lesley in Wakefield who was interviewing artists for her podcast, on the theme of a sense of home and how belonging affects your art.

I’ll tell you all about it in my next blog. And also my stay with some other ex-Bretton Hall students, this time they were old mates of mine, and the magical night at the Polka Hop, and the trip to Yorkshire Sculpture Park, where Bretton Hall used to be.

And some amazing art and some totally over the top art explanations

Naked Actionman modelling his new coat in the Hepworth Gallery, Wakefield.

But for now, if you’ll forgive me, it’s actually Friday 28th, The Lovely John is meeting me for the weekend, and I’m not planning on doing any blogging, cos he’s only with me for about 30 hours, so you’ll have to wait til next Monday to find out what I got up to last Wednesday. It’s going to be a heatwave this weekend, so enjoy, walk away from the computer and get the Barbecue lit.

Glossop, Manchester, Music collectors, and sightseeing

I arranged to go and see two old friends in Glossop. It’s twenty miles from Dungworth, but The Lovely John was still here with the Stealth Campervan, so a lift was procured before he headed home.

Got dropped off in Glossop and spent a couple of hours riding the refillable cup of tea at Weatherspoons and catching up on my blogging before heading up the hill to the pub where I met Jamie Knowles and his lovely wife Rosie Gange. They must have mentioned about my journey, because I was hailed as a minor celebrity and bought a drink and asked many questions.

I hadn’t seen Jamie and Rosie for years – last time I saw them, I bought a gorgeous fiddle from Jamie – (he collects and sells (mainly) fiddles). We couldn’t remember how long ago it was, but I had played at The Globe with Celtarabia nine years ago, so it was some time after that.

Jamie used to play Irish music in bands around Manchester in the 1970’s, until it was pointed out that any of the Irish bands could come over and wipe the floor with them. He was encouraged to find English tunes from North West England, and a life long passion evolved, becoming a collector of tunes and manuscripts, bringing (amongst others) the collection of Joseph Kershaw to the public attention.

‘Kershaw’s manuscript collection was edited by Manchester musician Jamie Knowles, and published as ‘The Joseph Kershaw Manuscript – The Music of a 19th Century Saddleworth Fiddle Player’ (In With A Chance Publishing, 1993).

‘Little is known about nineteenth-century fiddle player Joseph Kershaw’s life, except that he lived in Slackcote, Saddleworth, then a remote district in the Pennines, east of Manchester. But from around 1820 Kershaw kept a fiddle music notebook (now in the Vaughan Williams Memorial Library at Cecil Sharp House, London), containing some seventy-seven tunes. Of particular interest is Kershaw’s inclusion of a pair of 3/2 hornpipes, ‘Berwick Jockey’ and ‘Chip and Rant’, fine examples of a dance form previously thought to have been extinct by that time, as well as cut-time hornpipes like the one in the present collection, now known as ‘Kershaw’s Hornpipe’. ‘

Jamie and Rosie play all kinds of folk music, but I do particularly love their ‘local’ tunes. Here’s a couple of tunes that Jamie wrote as part of a string quartet.

Rosie:

‘This is a tune Jame wrote called the Dove Stone. He wrote it for his mate Duggie’s wedding and went over to Norway to play it on The Wedding Hardanger – a hardanger fiddle that Duggie had made specially for the occasion. Doggie Clause lives nearby in Dobcross in Saddleworth and makes fiddles.

‘The Dovestone – you’ll see it at the end of Greenfield Dovestone and Indian Head , the Dovestone Reservoir is the chew valley.

‘The Dove Stone is the first movement of the Saddleworth Suite, which is a string quartet piece written by Jamie.

‘We’re playing it, because you’ll pass that way on your way out of Glossop.’

https://youtu.be/0sjSb52ylc0

Martha the Ghost

Jamie:

‘You can laugh as much as you like but i was there – and there was most definitely a ghost in a house i lived in in Uppermill, Saddleworth.

She was called Martha – a 10 year old girl who could be mischievious and could be naughty. I lived in the house for nine months, I didn’t leave because of the ghost – it was more of a financial thing.

I often wondered if she died in a mill accident, cos it was a mill cottage and the mill was just over the pond.

One night I heard the sound of a wet towel slapping on the wall above my head, that was Martha being playful, letting me know she was there.

Twice she kicked off when I brought a woman home. I think she got jealous. I went to make a cup of tea at three in the morning and the woman I was with said ‘something has just run across the bed while you’ve been out’.

I was with another woman another time and we both felt Martha running across the bed.

This is the second movement of my string quartet:

https://youtu.be/dMusgSNc0mw

And Here’s Jamie and Rosie playing a tune that they started to teach me and I’ve promised to learn – The Carpenter’s Morris

Jamie sources and tracks down manuscripts from collections that haven’t seen the light of day for years. He’s working on newly surfaced collections and working out how to get them published and out in general circulation.

Remember Gwilym Davies? He is the collector of tunes and songs from Gloucestershire. He gave me a contact for a woman who lives in Manchester who might be interesting to talk to. As Glossop was as near as I’m getting to Manchester, and as my daughter lives in Manchester, I decided to take a day out, travel to Manchester, see my daughter and meet Karina Knight.

And of course Naked Actionman came with me.

Broadbottom station hurhurhur

Naked soul bros. #brotherfromanothermother

When you see a glitter ball in a cafe, you just have to, don’t you?

And here’s me and my lovely daughter, Mina

Had a perfectly lovely time with Mina my daughter, walking round Manchester. Mina is taller than me, with longer legs and it was hard work keeping up with her. I could do with her on my walk keeping the pace at a reasonable level rather than my snail pace.

Left Mina to meet up with Karina Knight. Karina was brought up in the folk tradition – Her father played Irish music in a band with his brothers:

Karina:

The brothers were called the Knight Brothers, they were doing the Irish stuff -John, me dad and Andrew and Patrick, and they came up to Newcastle in the late ‘60’s.

My mother was one of six sisters and they were all singing around the folk revivial in the 60’s as the Briggans. (The Briggs Sisters). They set up the original Gosforth Folk Club in the Gosforth Hotel.

‘These are notes and books my father used to make sure he never repeated a song at a place. He had every song logged and where he sang it so that he never repeated a song twice at a venue. He died in 1982/3.

‘When he went to Whitby in 1978 he typed out a book of all the songs he knew. He knew so many songs. There was always folk music when i was a kid – soundtrack to my childhood.

‘Here’s a couple of tunes for you’:

Whistle tunes: the Flowing Tide/Sean Casey’s B.

Song: Ca’Hawkie ‘a Hawkie is a brown faced cow or coo. These are songs I got brought up on.‘

The Month of January – ‘a song about the intransigence of young men. Don’t rely on them. They’re nowt but trouble. I got it from an old recording of Aly Bain singing it.’

Karina inherited all her father’s songs and music – he was a collector and had recordings of all kinds, all stored, cross referenced and filed on cassette tapes which one day will get sorted and digitised.

Got back to Glossop in time to have a walk in the hills with Rosie, and an evening at the Monday night music session at the Commercial Inn. It used to be at the Globe, but there was a fall out somewhere a while back, and they’ve decamped up the road. I didn’t get any recordings there, but I did get a picture of the pub:

Coming up in Tuesday’s blog …Five miles along the valley, five miles up and into the clouds, and five miles downhill on the other side and it never stopped raining. West Yorkshire, I’m coming for you!

Naked Action Man gets in on the action.

I am still amazed at how near Sheffield is to the Peak District. Like just over the hill near. Like a £2 thirty minute bus ride near. Like twenty minutes in the Stealth Campervan near.

So after leaving my Firstborn to his afternoon of Nyckelharpa and Dulcimer music, myself and the Lovely John headed over the hill in the Stealth Campervan, back to the gorgeous Peak District.

We parked up in the carpark of the Ladybower Inn, and went for a walk. It was 5pm but it also was the Longest Day (21st/22nd June), so we had a good old trot along a valley to somewhere that was supposed to be having a beer festival, but it was just a few pumps of one brewery (naming no names, but I had a pint of Jaipur, thank you very much), and quickly realised that we’d need a bank loan if we were to buy any more drinks. Puh. Overpriced drinks. Puh.

Who knew Ladybower Reservoir had an ampitheatre?

Got back to the Ladybower Inn just in time to sit outside and watch the traffic snarl to a standstill due to a road accident just around the corner, out of sight. Police cars and ambulances arrived after an hour, and they didn’t leave the scene til just after 3am, by which time we’d been tucked up in bed for hours. Makes you appreciate the preciousness of life, and value every moment, cos you never know what’s just round the corner.

But you don’t want to know about road accidents and evening walks, do you? You want to know about Naked Actionman.

Saturday, we parked up at a pub, The Royal Hotel, Dungworth, as we had heard about an event there – a song folkclub, run by an organisation called Soundpost https://soundpost.org.uk/royal-traditions.

As the event wasn’t on til 8pm, we had all day to go out for a walk and enjoy the hills, valleys and reservoirs. A mile or two into the walk The Lovely John spots Naked Actionman, lying in the undergrowth, looking all forlorn. Now anyone who knows me knows that I always take pity on a muscley naked man, so I decided that he should join us in our journey.

I’m not even going to tell you about the walk. I’ll let Naked Actionman do the telling.

Here I am in the woods. They were going to leave me here up the tree, but The Woman decided to take me along with them.

The Woman has found a place for me to enjoy the walk. She’s even found me a stick to fend off any potential attackers. The Man is a little worried about my presence.

Yeah! I’m naked and I’m proud!. It’s a sunny day and life is good. Wooo.

This is a fine place to marvel at a big pipe. It really is. A big pipe and a fine place. Marvelous.

Here’s a group of walkers who wanted in on the action. Everyone wants a piece of me now, and I can’t say I blame them.

The Woman let me have some of her beer. I think she fancies me.

I felt an uncontrollable urge to climb this treacherous rock face. It must have been the beer that gave me the courage I needed. I lived to tell the tale.

Even managed to find a village green that was playing cricket. They didn’t want me to field for them.

Yeay! More beers! More Views! Sunshine! Could this day get any better?

It got better! I got Morrised by the Wath on Dearne Morris Team. Yes, that’s me in the middle

Me and The Man and The Woman. I don’t think The Man realises I’m muscling in. Heh heh heh

It’s my intense army training. If you see a difficult but interesting rock face, you gotta try and conquer that baby. Just gotta do it. Clothes or no clothes. All I need is a rope. Try and stop me…

The Lovely John, (as I believe he’s called), really wishing he never picked me up and just left me in the undergrowth

Yes, we happened upon the Wath-on-Dearne Morris troupe on our walk, and I caught them on video, which fo some reason refuses to upload. Grrrrr.

The Wath Morris were on a ‘Pretty Villages Tour’, something which they have done every year for the past 20 years. Bert Cleaver – once the Squire of the Morris Ring was with them. The team have been going for nearly 50 years – look the up on t’internet, find out where they are dancing and go see them. A fine bunch of northern Morris folk.

Tomorrow I’ll write about my evening and next morning at the Royal Hotel, Dungworth, where I watched some wonderful singers of all ages keeping the folk tradition alive…but for now, The Lovely John has gone home, and I’ve got to decide whether to keep Naked Actionman…

I don’t think she’s spotted me yet….