Day 3. Mainly Hynburn.
I managed to obtain a copy of ‘The Pilgrims’ Way from Whalley to Lichfield’ from the Holcombe Moor Heritage Group. (hmhg_chair@btinternet.com) So, it goes further than Manchester, my original destination. That should give me plenty of walking opportunities this year. The booklet gives detailed directions for the stretch to Manchester, which I am walking at present, and then just outlines suggestions for an onward journey to Lichfield. Plenty of scope for researching and planning. 
But first, let’s get to Manchester.
*
” I don’t have time for the church; I’ll start there next time” That was the last entry in my pilgrimage route as I reached Whalley and visited the Abbey. And I have little time to spare today as I am late setting off on this next section. I have relied on some previous photos to illustrate the church’s exterior and interior.
The Church of St Mary and All Saints is an active parish church in the Diocese of Blackburn. A church probably existed on the site in Anglo-Saxon times, and the current building dates from the 13th century.
C15 Whalley Abbey choir stalls.
Misericords.
C17th Church Wardens pew.
C16th St. Anton’s Cage.
C15th Perpendicular East window with C19th glass.
The south door, with C11th Norman Pillars, incorporated.
There are three well-preserved C10th to C11th Anglo-Saxon crosses in the churchyard, which must have had some significance to the travelling monks.
*
The day had started badly; I arose unrested after an interrupted night. I was in two minds about whether to set off, what with my left hand pretty useless and my dreary state. I eventually decided to give it a go. Last week’s walks with friends had bolstered my confidence. I thank them all.
I go for the 9.58 bus, only to find it has left at 9.48, the correct time. Back home, I procrastinate, but with the day and my mood brightening, I eventually decide on the 10.48 to Whalley.
Whalley and its Nab.
That viaduct.
Whalley Nab has to be climbed. I follow the ancient Monks’ trod, which JD and I had descended a few weeks ago on our Hynburn Clog walk. It is much harder in this direction. I usually walk with a pair of poles, but for now, I can only grasp one, so that will have to do. It helps steady me, but I miss the rhythm of two. I want to report on cobbles worn smooth by packhorses over the centuries, but the way is still covered in autumn leaves.
At the top, I pass the cluster of properties, all now very desirable, but how did they fair in that mini winter we endured last month? 
I realise I don’t think I have ever been to the true summit of Whalley Nab. Is it on private property?
Onwards on familiar paths, over one ancient broken clapper bridge and the next restored with concrete slabs.
The terrain is undulating! I flirt with the River Calder.
All beautiful green countryside. Unusually for walking in this area, Pendle Hill is not so prominent; it is a hazy Great Hameldon, up above Accrington, I am focused on.
I vaguely remember coming through that scout camp, but I do not know when or why. Now, I am in new fields skirting Squires Farm and suddenly into the park on the edge of Great Hardwood. 
There is a well-positioned War Memorial in the park. I can’t count the number of names lost in WW1. 
On a more personal note.
St Bartholomew’s Church has a funeral in progress, so I don’t intrude. The tower of the present building probably dates from the 15th century. Most of the rest of the church is from the 16th century. In 1880, the Lancaster architects Paley and Austin renovated the church with more additions.
Typical Lancashire terraced houses line the route into town. One terrace has been taken over by a care home association.
What can I say about Great Harwood? Years ago, I used to know a lady who lived here, and it seemed a pleasant working-class town. Now, there doesn’t seem to be a shop of any value if you don’t need your nails painted, hair cut, or your vapes replenished. There is not a cafe or convenience store in sight. Maybe I am on the wrong street. Perhaps I am being harsh; if you live there, sorry and tell me otherwise.
The first line of John Bunyon’s ‘The Pilgrims Progress’ – As I walked through the wilderness of this world,
I leave as I entered. I do love terraced housing. 
Past the cemetery, there is a rural stretch of walking on an old railway, The Great Harwood Loop. Dr. Beeching was no fan of branch lines by 1963. I found this interesting read on the history of the line and the surrounding industries. http://www.disused-stations.org.uk/features/north_lancs_loop_line/index.shtml 
The Leeds-Liverpool canal on a familiar towpath to Rishton.
When we came this way on the Canal Trod in January, the bridge cafe was closed – or was it? Today, I could see from the towpath that there was no sign of life in the cafe at street level above. I am not fussed about going up into Rishton to the friendly cafe we visited last time. I carry on, but once under the bridge, I think that the cafe may be open canalside. 
I push at an unmarked door and enter a den of iniquity. All heads are turned to the stranger. This is darkest Lancashire. Locals huddled over mugs of tea and scones in front of a roaring wood burner. I just about decipher the owner’s welcome and rather hurriedly order an instant coffee. During the time I spend in this hidden cavern, I glean a fair amount of local gossip from the ladies, possibly some of which would be helpful to the local police. The blokes are of the silent type. I take a furtive photo. 
Soon, after crossing the motorway on the Dunkenhalgh Aqueduct, I am approaching Church, a satellite of Accy. See how I have slipped into the local dialect there. 
The origins of the Parish Church of St. James, Church Kirk, can be traced back as far as the seventh century. The tower of the present church is thought to date from the 13th century. The building is a sorry sight, with services long since abandoned and notices proclaiming a conversion to upmarket accommodation—a fate of many churches. I was hoping the churches would be the highlights of my journey, but this is disappointing.
Life around here hasn’t changed much in the last century for some. 
I see my first lambs of the year, always a joyous occasion…
… and then I am immersed in industrial squalor along the canal.
The only glimmer of hope is a solitary fisherman intent on hooking the resident pike.
The last mile into Accrington, again on an old railway line, was slightly nervy with lots of hooded characters frequenting the area. One prejudges the situation. I arrive into the centre of town without being mugged. 
Tescos seems to dominate the scene, built alongside the railway line. 
St. James Church is nearby but my bus is due in a few minutes from the modern bus station for a journey through unknown surroundings to Blackburn. Another modern bus station, right in the centre of town. I have time to delve into the thriving market hall to buy some samosas for supper. The onward journey home is much more rural.
Accrington bus station.
Blackburn bus station.
Blackburn market.
I’m pleased with my eight solo miles, using only my right hand for support.
