PILGRIMS PROGRESS. A LOST MOORLAND CROSS.

Haslingden to Hawkshaw.

It is too complicated to relate the bus journeys involved in getting to the start and returning from the end of this section. I am now following the route described by the Holcombe Moor Heritage Group. The moors rise above the urban sprawl of Bolton, Balckburn, Bury and Burnley.

Returning to Haslingden’s St James Church, I seek out the Anglo-Saxon double cross base, which I overlooked when here before. It is next to the tower. It’s strange to have two crosses so close together. Was it a plague stone?  I’m in luck; the church is open for a service at 10 am so that I can look inside. Built to house a large congregation, its galleries once had tiered pews.

From up here,  the valley still looks Victorian, apart from the dual carriageway.

From a different time, cribbed from ms6282 somewhere.

Some dingy sets lead down to the valley where the A56 thunders through. Litter is a big problem everywhere – we are becoming a throwaway society, not in the admittedly problem of mass consumerism, but in the dumping in the street or layby of trash. I could easily get grumpy in this post,

Eventually, I find a way under the highway into an industrial complex. Where once there were ‘dark Satanic mills’, there are modern brick and metallic units, possibly Satanic. Large car parks suggest a large workforce. Outside one office was a solitary cycle, cable locked. Our obesity rates have doubled in the last 20 years but nobody wants to ditch the car for a few mile’s journey. I told you I am getting grumpy.

Across Grane Road, I pick up Cycleway 6 on the old Accrington-Bury train line. I last used it out of Accrington. Here, the surface has been relaid with a friendly walking surface. It proves popular with dog and baby walkers escaping the urban sprawl. It is accompanied by the culverted River Ogden, once the water source for the valley’s industries.

Ahead is the Helmshore Textile Museum, which is unfortunately not open today. Its chimney was sited high on the valley sides. 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Helmshore_Mills_Textile_Museum

The distinctive Musbury Heights is always in the background.

Looking at the old maps, one notices, as well as all the mills, there are fields set aside for tenter frames to stretch the wet cloth.

Onwards by the river until the bridge at Hollin Bank, the renamed Cotton House Inn.

A stroll up Sunny Bank, where once there had been mills, which is now an upmarket housing estate.

After an hour or so of walking, I take an iron gate into a steep field and out again..

I’m now onto the steep Stake Lane and swap the tarmac for cobbles.

At the fell gate is Robin Hood’s Well. Thought to have been a welcome place, after the desolate moors, for pilgrims to rest and take a drink on their way to Whalley Abbey.

All the while, if looking back, there are tremendous views of the Rossendale Valley. Too good for my phone to capture.

Now I’m on the moor proper, and what a day. Blue sky, bitter cold, but no wind. Unfortunately, I’m looking straight into the low sun, so photography is difficult, compounded by my not being able to operate my camera easily one-handed, so I’m relying on my cheap phone.  The way borders on a MOD firing range, but there are no red flags flying.

It doesn’t take long to reach the cairn and memorial stone to Ellen Strange, murdered here in 1761. It was thought that her husband, John Broadley, killed her on Holcombe Moor. He was arrested and sent for trial; however, he was later acquitted due to lack of evidence. The cairn has been there for years, but the memorial stone is a recent addition in the 70s by a local historian and theatre director, Bob Frith. It depicts a slight falling figure and the letters of E S, which can just be made out today against the low light.

Ellen was buried in Holcombe Churchyard. Over the years, various folk laws have given different versions of her death, which are examined here – https://markwrite.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2018/10/ellen-strange-booklet.pdf

It has become a place for an annual pilgrimage to remember victims of domestic violence still prevalent today.

There are yellow-topped marker posts leading across the moor on the edge of the firing zone. Today, the going is firm, with the surface partially frozen.

Pilgrims Cross is an iconic monument sitting high up on Holcombe Moor. The four sides tell the story and history of the cross, its significance and its destruction. The ancient Pilgrims Cross was standing in A.D. 1176, and probably much earlier than that. Although nothing is known about the removal of the ancient cross, the socket was destroyed by unknown vandals in 1901, and by 1902 the present stone was put in place.

From Lancashire Past blog.

Crosses such as these would have been invaluable in guiding medieval travellers in knowing how far they had travelled and navigating in poor weather, especially crucial on moorland such as here. This area would have been forested until medieval times.

There’s an error in the first inscription above, which names Whalley Abbey. This was not founded until 1296, which was after the cross was in position. However, near Whalley is its rival, Sawley Abbey, which had been in existence since 1149.

The last face, which is in poor light, reads –

IN A.D. 1176 AND IN A.D. 1225, THE PILGRIMS CROSS IS NAMED IN CHARTERS OF GIFTS OF LAND IN HOLCOMBE FOREST. IN A.D. 1662, KING CHARLES II GAVE THIS MANOR TO GENERAL MONK, DUKE OF ALBERMARLE, THROUGH WHOM IT HAS DESCENDED TO THE PRESENT LORD OF THE MANOR.

In the hazy distance can be seen Peel Tower, which I visited from the Ramsbottom side in November 2022. The way is mainly stone-flagged. But today, I decide on another summit, Bull Hill, 418m. I don’t think I have ever ascended it before, but today, I’m here; the way is clear, and there are no red flags flying. A path leads directly to the trig point which is out of view for most of the way. Well, what did you expect, it’s in the middle of nowhere.

Rather than backtrack, I took a beeline to intersect the ongoing route at Red Brook. This gives some dramatic scenery. Peel Tower over to the east, with the steep-sided Red Brook valley dropping away, like a Lancastrian High Cup Nick. My path kept high on the west flank, all new scenery to be enjoyed. The low light was becoming worse, unfortunately.

At the end of the fell, the path drops down to the ruins of Lark Hill. This C17th farm survived until the coming of the firing range at the start of the First World War. Many farms were demolished within the range.

Somebody has in the past tried to salvage some of the roof stones. but hasn’t succeeded.

By now, my phone is running out of battery, but it is easy to follow Hawkshaw Lane down to the main road, where I just miss my bus by about five minutes. Fortunately, the Red Lion is nearby to rest with a pint until hopefully the next bus in an hour.

A fine stretch of Pilgrimage with those Saxon crosses; I hope you have enjoyed it.

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