BATH TIME BLUES

What bliss, life's most wonderful luxury, a hot bath.

Am in the bath now, a beer perched on the end, writing pad and pencil in hand, and a blank mind.

I love to write but always need a catalyst to start me off, but just lately I have dried-up.

Laid here, mind a blank, gazing at the light bulb, one of the new energy saving types, get more light from a Dale Winton smile.

Boilers going a long time, wife must be using a lot of hot water, will adjust the thermostat, it must be costing me a fortune.

The corner of the wallpaper is peeling off just above the tiles, must get that fixed.

"Who the hell painted that ceiling, there's bits missed all over".

Water getting cold.

New taps with levers on as part of an ongoing battle against my arthritis, I can turn  them on and off with my toes.

"I better get some more toilet rolls tomorrow".

Transfixed, almost hypnotised by the constant flickering of the green light on the carbon monoxide alarm, gasman who has just been to service the boiler said I don't need it, didn't ask why.

Been here almost an hour but still nothing comes to mind, getting bored and running out of beer.

"That bloody sink tap's dripping, another job for my list".

My List! nothing on it about about lazing about in the bath trying to think of something to write about.

Amazing what you see when laid horizontally:

Cobwebs in corner of room, that light shade needs dusting, and look at that! Forgot to put wallpaper on the underside of the window recess.

Whoops! A few bubbles there.

Used to have a big old-fashioned cast-iron bath, that was wonderful. Used to have swimming races in it with my grandson, more water on floor than left in bath, he loved it, but he can't remember it now he's twelve and hasn't had a bath for weeks.

I could write a poem I suppose? Nah!

Just counted 15 bottles/sprays on the cupboard shelves(the shaving cream is mine).

Will get some paste tomorrow and stick that paper down before it gets any worse.

"God it took me weeks to paper this room!"

"I put this paper up by hand,

And then I..."

What rhymes with hand?

Water cold again.

Cut to:

Elderly gentleman, laid in bath, stretches out foot and turns tap on.

Can't even write a decent script.

A bluebottle there, you don't see many nowadays and why do you never see them on the outside of a window?

That boilers still going, what on earth is she doing?

Had enough now, will get out of the bath and try and write a story about trying to write a story in the bath.

THE GASMAN COMETH

My patience is slowly running out,

Just sat here by the phone.

Been waiting here so many hours,

Just me and me alone.

He said he'd come this afternoon ,

My boiler to maintain.

But there's no sign of him at all,

It's driving me insane.

I'll have to ring old British Gas,

And tell them I'm not happy.

I'll get the plumber up the street,

Now he's a helpful chappy

Hang on, hang on,

There's a ringing on my bell,

It's him, it's him the boiler man,

Now he's here, won't give him hell.

CHURCHYARD

The sturdy tower with flag atop,

In your tracks it makes you stop.

Saint George's cross you do see there,

Fluttering proudly in the air.

The mighty Yew stands proud and tall,

It's evergreen its leaves don't fall.

It's been here for many years,

Seen many laughs and many tears.

Many graves both old and new,

Some looked after, but just a few.

Most overgrown and covered in moss,

We've lost their names, and that's our loss .

"Joan the relict of John Malone,"

I read her name, it's carved in stone.

She only lived to sixty three,

But she may outlive both you and me.

Small grassy mounds which no cross adorn,

These are the graves of children stillborn.

So different from our Polish friends,

Whose photo so many memories it lends.

A newly dug grave I do see there,

The soil piled up with lots of care.

Not long now and with sobs and sighs,

To someone we loved we'll say our goodbyes

THE FANNY GREY

The closure of the pub that had been my "home" for nigh on twenty years prompted me to publish this potted history I compiled and which was inserted within the pub menu.

"...ye bruing vessell with other wood gear, £2-10-00."

Christopher Varley of Salterforth Lane Head died in 1679 and was interned in the graveyard of St Mary-le-Gill at Barnoldswick. Shortly afterwards on 2nd May an inventory was taken of all his belongings. The extract above shows that beer has been brewed/sold on this site for at least 330 years.

The original building, shown above, was a farmhouse, the farmer, having the raw materials to hand, would brew his own beer, and in times of plenty would brew enough to supply his friends and neighbours.

This was the origin of many of our countryside pubs, which, in time, were more profitable than farming.

The Fanny Grey stands on the old packhorse route from Colne, along which would come many trains of packhorses, carrying wool to Barnoldswick for the "piece-worker" cottage weavers, or salt from the Cheshire mines, which they would take down the steep hill, "The Drag", through Salterforth(the salters ford) and on into Yorkshire. Thus a steady trade from thirsty packhorse drivers would be assured.

The earliest record I am able to find of the building as an inn is an entry in the 1822 Baines' Trade Directory, when it was called The Bay Horse and the landlord was Michael Pickles.

Some more records of the inn:

1841 Census, Lane Head, Hannah Simpson, 72, Innkeeper

1851 Census, Bowling Green House, James Barrett, Innkeeper and clogger

The large flat car park at the rear of the pub is obviously the site of bowling green.

1853 the first edition Ordnance Survey named the pub Lane Head or Fanny Grey Inn. This is the first and only record of the name Fanny Grey.

1861 Census, Lane Head, James Barrett, farmer of 14 acres and Innkeeper.

1871 Census, Lane Head Inn, James Barrett, licensed victualler.

1881 Census, Lane Head, Anne Barrett, Farmer of 16 acres.

          Ann was the widow of James Barrett, there is no mention of the inn.

1901 Census, Lane Head Inn

Kelly's Directory, Salterforth 1908, Lane Head, Robert Barrett, Inn and farmer.

Robert was the son of James and Ann.

Kelly's Directory, Salterforth 1911, Robert Barrett, farmer Lane Head.

There is no mention of the pub. Perhaps the building was now in a state of disrepair?

The new building was erected in 1914 and named The Lane Head Inn.

Kelly's Directory, Salterforth 1920, Lane Head Inn, Hugh Ellison

The Lane Head Inn reverted to the Fanny Grey in 1974 after some renovations had been done.

As for the elusive Fanny Grey, I don't think we will ever find out who or what she was. There is no record of a family called Grey. It has been suggested it was the name of a famous race horse of the times and Michael Town, landlord of The Fanny Grey for many years, relates the story that a Mr Uttley, a manufacturer from Trawden, was riding by one day on his "grey" horse when he told the landlady, Mrs Sowerbutts, that he would whitewash the building if she called it The Fanny Grey.

Researched and compiled by:

Ken Ranson

February 2008.

OUR TOWN SQUARE

I can sit for hours and gaze around,

At the folk that I can see there.

Some I know and some I don't,

That's what we see in our Town-Square

School-kids on their dinner break,

Mingling here and there.

Lots of noise and flirting,

That's what we have in our Town-Square

The smell of bacon butties ,

Comes wafting through the air.

The smell of fish and chips as well,

That's what we smell in our Town-Square

There's a tick and a tock from the Millennium clock,

And a coo-coo from the pigeons out there.

There's lots of noise from the kiddies as well,

That's what we hear in our Town-Square

Outside the cafe they're sat in the sun,

A coffee and cake without care.

Nodding and smiling to those who pass by,

That's what we have in our Town-Square

Once every year The French Market arrives,

With stalls from to sell us their ware.

Crepes and cheese and fancy bread,

That's what we have in notre Town-Square

Every now and then there is a "big do",

And who comes? The Town Crier and Mayor.

Oyez, Oyez, you have a good day,

That's what we have in our Town-Square

There's Liddles the bakers and Shambles as well,

The girls at The Cutting Room who will style your hair.

The Albert Road Chippy, Victoria's as well,

These are the shops in our Town-Square.

CAMELOT

I am, at last, after many painstaking years of research able to publish my findings on the history of Barnoldswick. What I have to reveal is probably the most important historical find since the Saxon burial mound at Sutton Hoo in 1939.

It has taken me many hours of research using maps, walking over the site and scouring hundreds of manuscripts in archives all over the North of England.

Once my findings become public the town will never be the same. We will be flooded by TV cameras, newspaper reporters, possibly Tony Robinson and the Time Team will come and will cause more disruption with their excavations than Balfour Beatty and their new water main.

I know it will take some believing but my researches tell me that Barnoldswick is the original site of CAMELOT.

Over the years many places have laid claim to being the site of Camelot, Cadbury Castle being one of them. This is a small village in Somerset some 15 miles South of Glastonbury. All that remains today is a ringed hillfort with evidence of a large castle inside the outer walls. There have been some extensive excavations of the site, and there are detailed reports of the archaeological dig available.

Here are my findings:

By the side of The Greyhound Hotel on Manchester Road there is a street called CASTLE View, now whether this was the site of the castle or you could see the castle from this spot I have not been able to find out. More work needs to be done on this aspect and, if possible, some excavation would solve the problem.

In the oldest part of the town there is a street called KING Street and down by what used to be The Fosters Arms an ARTHUR Street, this is surely more than a coincidence.

On Station Road is a cafe called Genevive. This name intrigued me for years, until the day I found amongst the records of The Duchy of Lancaster a deed from the 14th century (with ref. Lia R.) which showed the owner of a previous building on the site. The name Genevive is a corruption of the name GUINEVERE.

I worked for many years for Rolls-Royce at Bankfield Shed, and for a while actually worked building engines. I did some research into the history of Rolls-Royce at Barnoldswick, most of the engines were named after rivers, Nene, Trent etc. but the name of one early engine caught my eye, one of the earliest engines was called MERLIN, after the wizard.

When I married in 1966 I obtained a council house on Coates Estate on Avon Drive. Every morning I would walk along the road to work and then back again at night and quite a few times I had this eerie feeling surround me of something that was mystical, until one November morning, when the mist clung to the canal, this hand appeared clutching a sword and it suddenly dawned on me that Avon was a corruption of AVALON. This was the place where King Arthur was said to have been taken, when he was dieing, to be healed. There are lots of theories as to where Avalon might actually have been. Some say it was not a geographical place, but a euphemism for the otherworld.

King Arthur's father was called Uther Pendragon, it is from this that we get the old Lancashire saying "Pull the uther one, it's got bells on"

Now this is true, the wood on the left, past the quarry, as you leave Thornton is called Merlinwood

This one is surely the icing on the cake, there is a sign outside the front door of The Anchor Inn in Salterforth that reads, "THE ROUND TABLE meet here every Tuesday at 8 o'clock".

"...JUST FADE AWAY"

I've reached the age when I must slow down,

That's all I have to say.

I can't go any faster now,

Or I'll just fade away.

I really need to take my time,

To keep my age at bay,

To make the most of every hour,

Or I'll just fade away.

To sit and rest that's what I'll do,

This, the next and every day.

And count my blessings every one,

Or I'll just fade away.

The day went by I need my sleep,

And on my bed I lay.

I'll close my eyes, whisper a thanks,

And then just fade away.