The Witching Hour

It's my mum's fault I'm interested in the Pendle witches. Pendle is a place she loved and as children, she would always solve our colds and sniffles with a herbal tissane boiled up on the stove. At Uni, I even ended up living in Pendle College although the only herbal tissanes I consumed there were pints in the S.U!

The females on my maternal side (and I wholeheartedly include myself in this) would definitely been burnt at the stake for witchcraft. Don't get me wrong, we don't make spells and turn people into frogs, we don't call down curses onto people who have annoyed us and threaten them with our witchy power but we do all have a healthy regard for herbal remedies and alternative therapies. Added to that, the fact that I have strange sixth sense thing (that of course never works when you need it to) have seen several weird and unaccounted sights, and have some ghostly pictures that I took in Australia and you can see that they would have been shoving me onto the fire with gusto!

So now I've totally freaked you out, I'm going to take you on a journey into the backwaters of Lancashire, through wind and snow to a place called Pendle Hill. It was a mighty cold day with a threat of snow in the air when I called for my mate. As I am going to spend some time making amusing comments at his expense lets call him Warlock for the purposes of this blog. So I arrive at Warlock's and as ever, he's not ready and to be honest it doesn't look as if he'll ever be ready for a hike up Pendle Hill which is our objective today. As ever, he is very smartly turned out but his chosen walking wardrobe consists of jeans, smart jacket and steel toe cap boots. He's a highly intelligent, Creative type so of course thinking about mundane things like being warm and dry on top of a hill don't always feature highly! Having persuaded him to at least bring a waterproof we finally set off.

Two minutes into the journey sees the snow flying at the windscreen like a witch on a broomstick. Must try harder on the weather spell I think as we head through Preston and out on the A59. Now people who know me, know that I have many skills and getting lost and being useless with directions is top of the skill list. It's been many years since I last ventured out this way and Warlock has never been so as my sixth sense has deserted me in my hour of need once more, we head off blindly in the general direction of Pendle Hill.

Once off the A59, the roads are very narrow and very bendy. "Surely this is a one way street" gasps Warlock in horror! As we round the bend and come face to face with another car it dawns on him that no, it is infact meant for two way traffic! Having negotiated the roads, we found ourselves in the tiny hamlet of Newchurch. The famous shop 'Witches Galore' is here. If you are after cauldrons, witches hats, posters, books, pentangles then this is the place for you. Thankfully, the owners stop short of dressing in costume although one of them did appear from nowhere like Mr Ben on one of his adventures - spooky! Having purchased a couple of books and a fine cup of tea we decided to explore the hamlet. Clearly this wouldn't take long...

A quick glance in the churchyard showed us an evil eye in the side of the church to ward away witches and a selection of gravestones one of which is supposed to belong to Alice Nutter, witch. Despite our best efforts, we couldn't see the witch gravestone so decided it was time to leave before we found ourselves trapped in a place that could well be like Brigadoon!

One mile of curving tarmac took us to Barley, the start of the walk up the hill. Now I can walk and walk, and walk. I love it! Get me out in the fresh air and as long as I am warm and have food I can walk for hours. Warlock I could see was less enthusiastic. However, he is a sportsman and although he no longer plays regularly he still has the sportsmans ethic - give them a challenge and they have to complete it. "I don't mind" I say innocently "But we can go to the top if you like" And of course, the gauntlet having been flung, well placed gently on the floor is scooped up and we're off up the path to the top of the hill.

The sun has come out, there is snow on the top of the peak, it is gorgeous! The path is clear and we're good to go. Now I like to think I'm reasonably fit but I was about to be proved somewhat wrong. Let me tell you, don't bother with an expensive gym membership just hike up Pendle Hill every day. It will do more for your fitness levels than any spin class or Legs, Bums and Tums. Warlock was struggling too but tried to hide it by stopping for frequent photo opportunities. Plus his less than suitable footwear must have added half a stone and made the challenge even more difficult.

Finally, after what seemed like hours we reached the summit. And with flag in hand we marched to the stone and became the first people to reach this spot! Well apart from the group who were clearly on Duke of Edinburgh training and who were over the moon to be on top of a hill in the snow when they could have been swigging cider in the local park.

Having glanced over the view and taken a couple of photos a huge cloud full of snow was starting to make its presence felt. Right, it's time to go. Warlock didn't need telling twice and set off down the path as if his life depended on it - maybe the thought of a pint in the local was the incentive. Either way, we both made it down in record time, the fact that we were virtually skiing over the treacherous, snow covered steps had nothing to do with it. Amazingly, neither of us fell over although Warlock's boots did protest on a couple of occasions and threatened to throw him to the ground amongst the sheep poo and mud.

"So how are your boots holding up?" I ask Warlock.
"Yeah not too bad considering they're not walking boots" he replies
"You want to get yourself to Millets and get yourself a pair" I tell him helpfully
"Oh I won't be doing this again!" he assures me with a fixed glare

Right, pub it is then! But disappointment awaits poor Warlock there too. There is a funeral party/wake/gathering in there. We are both filthy and tired and bedraggled and really don't feel they'll want us in their pub. And to be fair, who can blame them?

So it's back to the car and back through the tiny roads and somehow we've ended up in Yorkshire! Sixth sense working well again I see!! As usual, I'm chatting ten to the dozen even though poor Warlock is clearly trying to listen to Buffalo Springfield and forget the horror that he has just been put through. "The witches were tried at Lancaster Castle" I tell him (ever the font of useful info) "We can go if you like"

The response was unprintable.......