Yuletide–Loosing the Trousers Up Freeholds Top

Me and LTD, chauffered by Mrs Pieman, visited Mrs P’s Dad in Halifax over Christmas. No walks were done till Boxing Day, apart from a bijoux bag of one Kail Hill in the gloaming of Christmas Eve on the way. Kail Hill is at Thorpe, quite near Grassington. Mrs P’s satnav had never heard of it and, it is said, that even Scottish raiders on their annual collection of other people’s cattle and daughters and lead by an Australian bloke called Bruce, entirely missed the place whilst on their way to stand outside Skipton Castle shouting naughty words at the Cliffords inside. Such was the obscure geographical location of the place. But I digress/diverse/head in the wrong direction etc.

Christmas Day was spent quite near Nottingham at a small but lively Knipe enclave which guards Junction 25 on the M1. The Christmas meal was healthy, enjoyable and substantial but the healthiness was completely wrecked by the fact that Mrs Pieman was still driving, thus releasing Yours Truly on the merlot and various fine whiskies.. We repaired to Halifax with dignity almost completely intact. I am mainly speaking of lTD’s and Mrs Pieman’s dignity here you understand. I spent much of the journey home wrapped cosily and snorily in dreamy snoozy sleepyland, as did LTD.
Boxing Day dawned darkly with heavy snow falling, so, after taking LTD on a short, cold and wet constitutional, we jointly agreed that a morning drinking hot coffee and considering bacon butties to be a much better option than waiting for a bus to Todmorden, which was the original plan. So that’s what we did. LTD had chewsticks instead of coffee.


By lunchtime, the snow was thawing and the sun was fighting it’s way through the dismalities, so we went  for a walk. We ended up at Luddenden Foot, some six miles away, after crossing Tower Hill and Warley Moor and various lanes and bridleways. The sun came out and, at a distance, it all looks quite beautiful. Close-up, there’s a lot of dereliction and litter, and, basically, crap. We did notice a large lump of cast iron in the approximate shape of an old boiler, plus quite a bit of iron slag on the edge of Warley Moor. It seems, according to this evidence, that there might have been some iron working up here in the deep and dark past. I wonder if anybody has any clues about this? At the moment, the place is moorland and rough pasture with nothing at all to indicate past industry.
We caught the bus back to King Cross in Halifax.

The next day, we went for our target Tump – one Carr and Craggs Moor, just above Todmorden. Mrs Pieman took us to Toddy in case we suddenly developed Calderdale Lassitude again.
It was much colder, and above about 250 metres, the ground was frozen hard with a thin dusting of fresh snow. We followed the Calderdale Way and then the old toll road towards Bacup, leaving the road, now overwritten by wind-farm roads,  for a plod through frozen tussocks to find the highest point.

After this, we followed the Limers Gate bridleway to Freehold Top, where my trousers fell down. Y’see, I’ve lost a few kilogrammes (despite the attentions of the various Christmas Kinpes to feed me up) and my beautiful but ancient thermal-lined Rohan kecks are getting a bit loose around the top, so , I had the dog’s lead in one hand, my kecks held up using my other hand whilst my new map case slapped me around the face in the nithering Northerly blasting from somewhere in the approximate direction of Spennymoor.
I did manage to tighten them up later, sufficient for there to be a modicum of dignity on the bus ride back to Halifax. I might have to buy some new winter pants. These are getting quite frayed around the ankles anyway. This could be due to the lower parts dragging along the ground, I suppose.

We ended the walk with a little trundle beside the Rochdale canal, which leads the baggy-trousered one and his pet dog back to Todmorden city centre without the need to consult any mappage. (If that’s a word) (Which it is now) We caught the bus back to King Cross and walked back to Castle Carter up High Road Well. I appeciate that this will mean nothing to people with no knowledge of the geography of Halifax.
The second walk was 12 miles.
The we went home up the A1(M) and found that some silly bugger had accidentally turned off the freezer. [koff]  Not me. Musta been the dog.