Calderdale Way Walks
An Old Man's Tale
Ripponden to Cragg Vale
(5 miles)
The bluebells have been and wilted. After weeks of icy north easterly at last a
proper summer’s day. Blue azure fading into the heat haze hanging over the mountains.
The blazing sun coddling the old bones. The downside a bunged, sniffling and dribbling
hay fever. Anti histamine was never an antidote but a touch of deadly nightshade
will often see out the season.
With your bus pass it is two free rides to Ripponden. The 508 to Halifax bus station
where piped music drifts back to the 60’s with Eric wailing the unabridged brothel
ballad of The House of the Rising Sun. Fifty years ago and it still pulls a few
strings. Everything at this age becomes a sentimental journey. Old men find it easier
to be tearful.
The Rochdale 528 bus drops you in Ripponden by Royd Lane where we recommence our
Calderdale Way. I get tired out before I reach these excursions. I’m ready for a
little nap rather than drawing on my resources. It is half term when the young are
let out to spend time with the elderly. There are George’s flags everywhere. It
is only ten days to the opening ceremony. St George the Turkish slayer of dragons.
I would like a few hammers and sickle. England to lose by a short head.
Ripponden attracts Morris Dancers from all over the world for its pagan rush bearing
festival. Last year the procession was led by the New Orleans Jazz Band. Here the
steeply sided Ryburn Valley is the site of a Roman settlement and rich in Neolithic
and Bronze Age remains. In 1772 the Ryburn burst its banks and its torrents spewed
out bodies from their resting graves and laid coffins perched in the trees.
Opposite the bus stop you walk uphill on Royd Lane for 150 metres. Turn right between
two stone gateposts which are signposted for the Calderdale Way. After 50 metres
turn left over a stile just below a bungalow where the owner could regale you with
stories of stampeding cattle. Proceed along the path over a makeshift stile. Keep
to the high wall on the right and continue across fields towards Burk’s Farm. Just
before the farm go through the gate stile and round the farm building to the walled
lane. In case of territorial dogs keep our Dazer on alert mode. After 200 metres
you will see the Calderdale Way sign. Continue up by the wall on the top side of
the meadow. As you go through a stone stile the Ryburn Valley features on your right.
Keep close to the wall on your left until you come to a stile in the corner. Turn
left and follow Calderdale Way sign up another walled lane, Cow Lane, to Soyland
Town. Tranquillity and solitude rudely interrupted by crescendo of throbbing sound
as low flying is practiced.
Above you can see the miniscule hilltop hamlet of Soyland. Once a thriving centre
of the cottage weaving industry, now a conservation area. Weaving sheds where cacophony
of deafening patterns feed the thirst for communication. Where sign language became
a liberation . Where the stench of textiles clings to your being revealing your
trade. Avaricious looms dictating the pace of work. Circumscribing your snatched
periods for toileting and smoking as you interlude away from rhythmic pounding of
the machines. The endless monotony dreams of virgin breath in rural retreats. You
have to seek solace in breathless sensual pleasures. In their hunger for life the
Luddities fought this alienation.
On entering Soyland turn right along the road with a Calderdale Way direction arrow
on a telegraph pole. Go past Making Place Hall on the left. Once an academy for
commercial skills credited with invention of Pitman.
Opposite Making Place Farm turn right through a stile marked with a Calderdale Way
sign and along a paved path. After 200 metres pass through the gate stile and turn
right down Highfield Lane. In another 200 metres go through the gate and adjacent
stile following the direction footpath sign. Keep moving here or the swarm of midges
will pierce you. Continue downhill over four stiles. Down in the valley below is
Millbank village. Proceed down steep steps to a wall stile and left into Faxen Lane
and then right towards the village of imposing stone cottages. With the old watermill
on your right turn sharp left just before the stream. There is a footpath sign in
front of the bridge. Continue along the Clough with village stream on your right.
Climb uphill for several hundreds of metres through the woods. At the top you will
come to a metalled road. Sweating profusely with heat and hill climbing. Turn right
up the road and alongside acres of mown grass. Not ideal for gasping asthmatics
prone to allergies. Careful attention is required at this point to avoid derailment.
I had to be rescued by a posh local from the upper crust who was friendly and helpful.
Keep going along this road called Gough Lane passing Gough Cottage. Ignore footpath
sign to Alma Lane on your right. At the end of Gough Lane join Lighthazles Road.
Cross the road and continue up the road opposite. There is a Calderdale Way signpost
by the side of a house. Proceed for about one mile past a number of farms. The moors
and rolling hills of Calderdale unfold as you reach the summit. My guide instructs
to turn right after Cuckold Haven farm, now re-named as Wagon farm according to
the juvenile cyclists in the farmyard. No longer a retreat for maligned husbands.
After the farm turn right up a walled track. There is footpath sign for the Calderdale
Way to Slate Delves and to the derelict and abandoned Flints Reservoir. Continue
to the top of the lane to a wooden stile marked with the Calderdale Way sign. This
can provide a perch for a picnic with the panorama of moorland. If you are lucky
you may be propositioned by the farmer’s wife in a Range Rover and green wellies.
Over the stile keep to the left on top of the embankment. Climb over a wooden stile
by a boundary stone. Cross the field diagonally following the path to the ruin on
the skyline. Through a wall stile and continue straight on a sandy track towards
Slate Delfs Hill. This is Flint’s wartime decoy station. A brick built bunker, a
starfish site where fires and simulated explosions were designed to deflect bombers
away from nearby conurbations. It is not recorded whether Nazi bombers were duped.
Just beyond Slate Delfs Hill you come to a junction of tracks. Turn right along
the moorland ridge with Stoodley Pike on the hill opposite on your left. This is
Waterstalls Road. Continue through several gates as you can see Ovenden Wind Farm.
A family of cyclists confirmed that we are still heading towards Cragg Vale. After
the third gate a Calderdale Way footpath sign directs you left downhill to Catherine
House Farm with its unusual chimney. A round stone chamber sitting on a square base
next to the barn. A distinctive chimney used for drying corn. A couple of Brummies
pass on their way to Hebden Bridge.
Carry on past the farm and cross the road along to Coppy Nook Lane. About 300 metres
along turn left down the track to a gate. Continue downhill and after 200 metres
bear right at the fork. Immediately before the renovated farmhouse turn sharp left
and over a wooden stile. Go through a gate stile and down hundreds of causey stones.
Turn left before the field corner, ignoring footpath signs 10 metres further along.
Proceed along the causey stones down to a sunken double walled lane. Turn right
past a farmhouse and left down to the main road to Cragg Vale. Known as Cragg this
secluded village providing a haven for off comers and home workers escaping the
rat race. The site of a royal hunting ground where boars, stags and wolves provided
pleasure in this Norman deer park. Cragg is famous for the Cragg Coiners, counterfeiters
led by King David Hartley. The Turvin gang with connivance of local publicans and
collusion of local constabulary came close to wrecking the legitimate economy. King
David was hanged in 1770 in York for his crimes. The body of his accomplice, Robert
Thomas, was hung on the gibbet on Beacon Hill above Halifax. Desecrated for over
eight years his rotting flesh served as a macabre warning. In all this time no righteous
Christian person rescued decaying Robert and rested him in his own private plot.
Church goers would have passed this way over many years. Let us pray for the destitute
who got caught.
Alongside the coiners the mills round here were no place for any decent humans.
A murderous factory system where children died of toil and harsh treatment at the
hands of millionaires amassing their wealth and fortune. The coiners reward for
challenging poverty and exchange value was a ruthless execution. Their executioners
have no obituary. Governments print money for fun. There are still groups of forgers
circulating millions of counterfeit notes. King David’s namesake and copier John
Hartley is now being punished at her Majesty’s pleasure.
For the link path to Mytholmroyd you need to cross the road and proceed sharp left.
We follow the footpath sign to St John’s Church down Church Bank. An impressive
and sombre stone monument to John the Baptist awaits you. Follow the footpath sign
and turn right alongside the Hinchcliffe Pub where you can stop to admire their
cuisine, coiners memorabilia and exotic collection of hats. It is here where you
can experience yard of ale contests. Continue through the woods, over a bridge to
a road leading to the main road into Mytholmroyd. A town proud of its coiners heritage,
a settlement of antiquity and boyhood home of poet Ted Hughes.
Regular buses shift along the valley to Halifax. From a trance of tranquillity absorbed
in a reverie of solitude, nature and historical reminisce to the intervention of
contemporary reality. Hordes of passengers wait for delayed buses. Rumours are rife
the North Bridge is closed by a road traffic accident, bungee jumper or suicide
leapers. After waiting nearly an hour and no signs of buses we decide to traipse
to the train station to pick up the Manchester to Bradford train. Trains delayed
and cancelled. Eventually hopped onto a late train. Sat at a table opposite a loud,
drunk 59 year old man celebrating his birthday. The table is sloshing and dripping
with spilt cheap cider. As I mop and soak up the wash he offers me a job as his
cleaner. I could do it and I’d be cheap. Disinhibited, he entertains the carriage.
He has come along the line from Todmorden which he defines as sheepshaggers country.
He is on his way to Bradford for his birthday where he is sure to find some big
titted women. Arriving at the Interchange he wallowed in alarming passengers with
his fearsome bellowing. It has taken 3 hours to return home on public transport.
All in a day’s journey from peaceful serenity to chaotic commute with the masses.