The first of a regular new Friday series as respected outdoor writer and chronicler Alfred Todger describes his quiet enjoyment of his local hills and valleys. Welcome to OM, Alfred.
Muckthwaite - Friday 16 June
The first rays of summer sunshine have run their golden fingers
through the lush vegetation of the high moors. Hares bask in the
hollows as the warm rays soak their tired bones and mother nature,
for once, beams a happy, tousled smile in this beautiful valley.
I've been coming to this place man and boy for over 80 years and
it never fails to move me. And as I walk, memories flock unbidden
like friendly sheep from the hollows. It were there, behind the
broken down sheep pen that I first had my way with Agnes. That tuft
of grass marks the spot where we had to saw off Ollie Bradley's lower
leg after he were savaged by a badger while we were collecting
thistles to make thistle ale.
And over on Muckthwaite Crag you can still make out the classic
line of Todger's Crack, my first big lead on t'local mudstone, God's
own rock. Aye, happy days.
Back then we didn't have fancy rock boots or proper ropes, it were
thick sisal string from local shop and drawing pins for protection,
that were real climbing, not like today's pampered prima donnas.
The rock suffers you to climb, you must treat it with respect,
love it, feel it and let it enter into your soul. To treat it
otherwise is, I feel, a mortal sin.
Bedded against a handy rock, I was so lost in my reminiscences
that I didn't hear footsteps approaching and it was only when his
shadow fell across my eyes that I realised that Harry Hawking, my old
love rival, were there with me.
It seemed wrong that he should pollute this lovely, peaceful place
with its quiet beauty, so, without a word, I leapt to my feet and
stove his head in with a handy rock. I'd never liked the fella, he'd
once plied my Agnes with thistle ale and tried to have his evil way
with her.
I buried him in a nice spot with a view of a quiet burbling brook.
Without people, I mused, the world would be a truly lovely place.
Alfred Todger
