NARROWBOAT DREAMS by Steve Haywood

NARROWBOAT DREAMS by Steve Haywood

Author:Steve Haywood
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780857653253
Publisher: Summersdale Publishers Ltd
Published: 2008-07-15T00:00:00+00:00


After a few more drinks during which the Rat, thankfully, kept its distance, I made the decision to stay for a few days in Uppermill. It would give me time to recuperate for the next leg of the journey. Besides, the place is one of what are known as the Saddleworth villages and a perfect base from which to explore Saddleworth Moor itself. For outsiders, especially those of a certain age from the South, Saddleworth Moor is still one of the most emotive place names in the country, forever associated with Myra Hindley and Ian Brady, the Moors Murderers as they came to be known. But for locals it’s still what it always had been: one of the beauty spots of Yorkshire and a feature of this part of the country. I wasn’t going to miss it.

Immediately Prune offered to be my guide. Apparently he and Heather were keen walkers and knew all the routes across the hills. I was sceptical. Prune was one of these slightly built blokes born without hips, let alone the sort of beer belly it had taken me more than fifty years’ hard work to develop. There was barely enough weight on him to hold him down in a breeze, and my fear was that up on the hills one good gust would be enough for him to finish up in Sheffield. With Heather my concern was whether she would be able to get to the hills in the first place. She was not a svelte woman. She had a frame designed more to trudge along the lowland valleys than dance ibex-like among the craggy rocks.

My reservations about them weren’t quelled the following day when we set out on an expedition together. They were wearing paper-thin trainers and light plasticky jackets as opposed to the hiking boots, walking pole and Norwegian all-weather anorak with which I’d come equipped. OK, the weather forecast hadn’t been bad but it was hardly expected to be tropical either. And this, anyhow, was the Pennines. It was bound to rain, wasn’t it?



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