Sep 27
Whalley to Dronfield
A good night but lots of noise from the road outside from an early hour. All roads do seem to lead to (or through) Whalley. Breakfast was suitably unhealthy and the coffee lousy - my only real complaint about the hotel. Everything else was very good and excellent value.
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I checked out and marched through the village, looking at more of the shops and buying a paper. At the station, it was chilly but still dry so I waited for fifteen minutes, reading the information about the memorial for Queen Mary's Military Hospital. Very impressive. The protective covering rather interfered with the colours.
The train arrived on schedule and, by the time we reached the next stop, it was raining quite hard. It was a short journey to Blackburn, where I waited another fifteen minutes on a wet and windswept platform for my train.
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It arrived on schedule but, not having a window seat, I read the paper rather than staring at the view and trying to take photos.
We pulled into Leeds, more or less on time, and I fought my way through the crowds to the left luggage office, where a very grumpy man took my bag and promised to give it back to me if I gave him £9. Daylight robbery but that’s the way of the world.
The station was moderately chaotic with lots of building work in progress but I was soon outside in the wind and the drizzle.
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I walked a short distance to the HSBC, where I bought some cash and then crossed the road to a Caffe Nero for a coffee and a bag of nuts. Without any plans for the next four hours, I sat in the warm and wrote my diary.
The rain was almost staying away as I emerged into the bustling shopping streets. When I first moved here in 1970, it was one of the first pedestrian precincts in the country. I found a good busker on a corner where I seem to remember finding another one years before. They must breed them here.
There were, of course, lots of shops. I visited a few but found nothing that I wanted until I came across a record shop – HMV – which was having a closing down sale. Too good an opportunity to miss so I bought some CDs.
A pilgrimage to The Headrow, to my old local, was a disappointment. I’m sure that when I was last in this part of the city it was being converted into a bookies and the conversion was now so complete that there was no sign of the old pub. Times have changed.
There has been a lot of interesting new building. The John Lewis car park has a fascinating façade, made even stranger by my inadvertent re-setting of the camera controls, and the Playhouse, moved from its position in the University in my day, was similarly endowed.
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The market used to be huge and sold everything. It has now shrunk but still sells plenty. I explored the food stalls and found a plethora of exotic food but no decent sandwiches. I finally settled on a small café where I ordered a corned beef salad. This turned out to be large and full of the vegetables that I have been lacking since I left home.
While I was eating, a torrential downpour caused the main market roof to start leaking, which caused some excitement when a waterfall descended upon a lady who was sitting on the bench along from me. It soon stopped, however, and some sunshine appeared briefly.
I took lots of photos of the beautiful ironwork and also of the first Marks & Spencer stall. I probably knew that it had started here but had forgotten. I’ve done well in spotting their memorials on this holiday, with this one following the band stand in Southport.
Right: Excellent ironwork |
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Once I left the building, it was obvious that it had been raining heavily. I wandered through a few more streets in gathering gloom and drizzle before entering the City Art Gallery. As I did, the downpour started again.
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I found some excellent paintings, including one by Cookham’s favourite artist, and also a load of rubbish. There was even one of Damien Hirst’s pickled sheep. There were lots of sculpture on display, most of which left me cold. |
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I lingered in the enclosed portico while the heavy rain lessened, then made my way back to the station for a coffee. Outside, it was windy and miserable.
My bag was waiting for me and the man behind the counter was very friendly, quite unlike his colleague this morning! I passed through the crowds on the platforms and climbed the stairs both up and down to Platform 17. The train was almost full and it departed on time.
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The train continued filling up and then losing people again so that, by the time we reached Sheffield we were almost full but with a completely different assortment of people. When we left again, there wasn’t a seat to be had. We lost a few minutes on the short distance between there and Dronfield so that we arrived about six minutes late.
Tina collected me and another adventure was over.