I breath as softly as a little bird Like the robin in the glade in Arnside Wood Quick yet calm, who for some food would dare.
The view from Arnside Knot is broad and fair The atmosphere is pure, we see trains chug The Estuary of the Kent will never bore
Further South the Lune runs like tapped tears Morecambe Bay endangers, how it floods Behind the Pennines rise, the edges fierce
Dent is sacredmmobile phones won’t dare To penetrate the music of its blood Nor bring their tones to hurt the mad March hare
Hutton Roof , cathedral, how we stared A gentle hand caressed my heart to good Meek flowers grew in the cracks as safe,as pure
How my heart expands and I am glad For mourning heals and I am no more sad I breath as softly as a little bird I tiptoe on the path the peace is shared
I wish I were on Hutton Roof again The limestone and the little open flowers The sea at Arnside like a distant gem The spaciousness, like days with far more hours
I wish I were as agile now as then I’d climb the mountains, hills,the little lanes
Windermere below still winding on The handsome Lake the old man, Coniston
I wish I were in Dent, the curious shapes The hills and their deep mystery engross The height, the little river, the mistakes The lost loved man alive, to hold me closeI
I yearn to be on Hutton Roof today The holy smell of grass, the feel of air
The north is a closely knit, indigenous, industrial society,” he said. “A homogeneous cultural group with a good record for music, theatre, literature and newspapers, not found elsewhere in this island, except perhaps in Scotland.” He added, with a wry smile, “And, of course, if you look at a map of the concentration of population in the north and a rainfall map, you will see that the north is an ideal place for television.”
Rivington Pike Tower. Photograph: Alamy
The mast is only a little higher than three older landmarks. Most walkers catch their breath at the Grade II-listed Rivington Pike Tower, built as a hunting lodge in 1733 on the site of an older beacon. Another focal point, a little further down, is the Pigeon Tower – built by William Hesketh Lever (aka Lord Leverhulme) as a birthday present to his wife, Ellen. The tower and the terraced gardens it overlooks were part of Lever’s private estate, landscaped by Thomas Mawson between 1905 and 1925.
The third landmark, the Two Lads Cairn, is a pile of stones on Crooked Edge Hill, large enough to resemble a tower from certain angles. Conflicting legends say the lads were two Saxon princes, two sons of a bishop, or two children employed at a mill.
If the summits of our more celebrated peaks have a generally middle-class atmosphere – the technical gear, the smart gizmos, the “hydration” drinks – the top of Winter Hill felt everyday, multi-generational, multi-ethnic and communal. This was especially fitting, given the hill’s role in our nation’s rambling history.Pigeon Tower, which was built by William Hesketh Lever (aka Lord Leverhulme). Photograph: Ruaux/Alamy
In August 1896, Colonel Richard Henry Ainsworth, scion of a wealthy family that had made its fortune in the bleaching trade and resident of Smithills Hall, decided to close a well-used track that crossed his land on the south-east slope of Winter Hill. His business’s reliance on the hill’s watercourses had perhaps given him a proprietorial outlook. Moreover, he regarded walkers – whether tramping to work or heading up there for a breath of clean air after a week’s slog in factory, mine or mill – as unwanted intruders on land he used for grouse-shooting. He had his gamekeepers turn people back and build a gate on Coalpit Road to show the way was closed. A melee ensued, but the colonel’s private army was no match for the great mass of demonstrators
Local people took umbrage at Ainsworth’s decision. Cobbler Joe Shufflebotham, secretary of Bolton Social Democratic Foundation, advertised a march up the disputed road, which won support from journalist and Liberal party radical Solomon Partington. On Sunday 6 September 1896, about 10,000 people joined in the march as it progressed along Halliwell Road through a densely populated working-class district, and up the hill track. A handful of police and gamekeepers were waiting for them at the new gate. A melee ensued, but the colonel’s private army was no match for the great mass of demonstrators; the gate was smashed and the procession continued. When the victorious party arrived at their destination, Belmont, on the north side of Winter Hill, they drank the hostelries dry.
The Bolton Journal reported that “the multitude far exceeded what had been anticipated … the road was literally a sea of faces and the multitude comprised thousands of persons of all ages and descriptions”. During that fervid September, there were three weekend marches and one on a Wednesday, the only day shopworkers were free to join. There was a further march on Christmas Day.
Despite the numerical success of the popular uprising, Ainsworth had writs issued against Shufflebotham, Partington and others. The marches were stopped while the case was heard in court. The colonel won, leaving the marchers to bear the costs. The tail of the trial was long: though locals were able to use the path from the 1930s, it wasn’t until 1996 that public access was formally secured.
The massed march (the walkers wouldn’t have thought of it as a “trespass”) of 1896 has never been accorded anything like the attention given to the 1932 march up Kinder Scout, led by Manchester communist Benny Rothman, which is usually credited with leading to the creation of the UK’s national parks.
“Although the march was a massive event, it was very local, only involving people who lived within two or three miles,” says Bolton-based historian and author Paul Salveson, an expert on the Winter Hill events. “That, and the fact they lost the case, might explain why it’s not better known, though it did lead to greater awareness about rights of way in the Bolton area. The first world war led to the slaughter of many of the participants and brought the curtain down on so many working-class activities. When I met Benny [Rothman] for the Kinder Scout 50th anniversary in 1982 he had never heard of Winter Hill.”
View of landscape around Rivington Pike. Photograph: Alamy
Paul has written a book about the march and was involved in commissioning a play for the first commemoration, back in 1982. His most recent publication, Moorlands, Memories and Reflections, celebrates the countryside writing of dialect writer and radical thinker Allen Clarke, who wrote about the march and penned the stirring song about the Winter Hill protest, Will Yo’ Come O’ Sunday Mornin’?
A memorial stone to the marchers stands on Coalpit Lane. But, unless you go looking for it, you could walk for miles around without seeing any record of the historic clash. Just as most drivers ignore Winter Hill, so many walkers miss the glorious story of their recreational space.
This year – the 125th anniversary of the march – things might at last be about to change. Bolton Socialist Club, the Ramblers, the Woodland Trust, housing association charity Bolton at Home and other community organisations and unions have joined forces for a commemorative march along the original route for the weekend of 6 September. Folk singer Johnny Campbell is releasing a single for the occasion. There’s even talk of a new memorial, to be built by a local quarrying company.
“The events of 1896 showed how important the countryside was to working-class people in the north,” says Salveson. “It still is. This year’s celebration of those momentous events 125 years ago isn’t just a reminder of Britain’s biggest-ever rights of way demonstration. It’s intended to be a rallying call that the countryside is still under threat, with rights of way being eroded and inappropriate development threatening the landscape.”
• Join in the 125th anniversary events via Facebook
Now the high ups fight about some tapes
Princess Di spoke of her rage and grief
Releasing secrets is akin to rape
If we had no Brexit and some hope
The government would not be such a thief
Wasting time to fight about some tapes
What if there were tapes made by a Pope
Would it shatter all Christian belief?
Releasing secrets is a kind of rape
Why can’t we do work that brings us hope
Brings some peace and gives our hearts relief?
Instead, the high ups fight about some tapes
As individuals, we can seek for help
Or do creative acts that we believe
Releasing secrets is a kind of rape
The government’s the habitat of thieves
Into the the river Thames let them be heaved!
Now the Lords and Ladies hear Di’s tapes
Releasing secrets, does it seem like rape?
The driver of the bus lives far away His home is mobile,but not smart like our phones He lives in a small caravan, he says Yet of all the drivers he’s the one.
He always waits till I ,crippled, sit down Advised me to sit until he stops He has a smile and rarely makes a frown Though sometimes in his words some anger’s wrapped.
Alas, he unsurprisingly believes That all the money goes to foreign folk By the tabloid press he is deceived Yet due to pain, his hidden fires must smoke
The least men are the kindest to the weak Believe me,I know well what I here speak
Oh, mother, father take me back I’ve lived the pain, I ‘ve felt the rack I wanna see Jesus. Take me to that wall they built Let me see where blood’s been spilt I wanna see Jesus. Oh, take me back to where I was The enemy may well be us, Not Jesus. What did all those sermons do? Did they say he was a Jew? Oh, Jesus. Did he want the First Crusade It is his blood the priest creates Lord Jesus. I don’t like the way things are I am getting tired of war Kill Jesus. What has human wisdom done From Wittgenstein to Abraham? Cripes, Jesus! Does research improve our lives As for grants, the scholars strive? Ask Jesus. We may have chemotherapy Radiation, history. Where’s Jesus? You’d think that after all the years We’d have used up all our tears Sweet Jesus. Love your neighbour as yourself Give 10 % of all your wealth Aye, Jesus. Do what’s better, not what’s worse I see another fragrant hearse. It’s Jesus. See the plastic Crucifix See him dying with dry lips Bend your knees, confess your sins Otherwise, the Devil wins Not Jesus. We destroy the good we hate Envy writhes and with pride mates. The progeny will wreck the earth Eden’s burning as drones pass. No, Jesus.No Jesus. Know Jesus.
whelm/wɛlm/ARCHAICverbengulf, submerge, or bury.”a swimmer whelmed in a raging storm”nounan act or instance of flowing or heaping up abundantly; a surge.”the whelm of the tide”Feedback
The lithium battery shone in innocence. I nearly hit it with the hammer in dismay I’d put it in the wrong way up, I was too tense. To get it out was nothing like child’s play.
Why are those instruction books so wee? I looked on youtube, at a simpler one I nearly stuck the knife into my knee A kind of acupuncture overdone
Yes, wee is what we Irish say for small I’m not English since they voted to withdraw I could be Danish, Swedish, Dutch or nought at all. Since the Tories baked the common law.
As I wept while mending the doorbell A man called out, you’re clever, I can tell
How my heart sings 