The small town of Hebden Bridge turned out to be a gem. I was sorry to leave it and even considered staying over another day because the town was so pretty and well stocked with pubs shops etc, the hostel was so nice, there was the prospect of another party of PW hikers passing through next day, and my feet were now getting worse..
Ian and I pressed on up the steep hill above Hebden Bridge, past numerous small cottages and back onto open moorland. The countryside from there on was immemorable apart from the numerous reservoirs serving the industrial midlands town down below on either side and well out of site of the PW.
At one reservoir we encountered a gamekeeper in a Landrover who was happy to chat all day. He managed countless thousands of acres of grouse? shooting moorland for some Earl or Lord or other. Still working at 80 something years old he looked to be in his early sixties. He and I discussed the good sense of his high sided leather army boots – the same style I normally use and wished I’d had with me.
Once again it rained on an off most of the day with no sign of the sun.
Towards the end of the day we came to the remote ruins of Top Withins that inspired Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights. Here one path led to Haworth direct and another to Ponden along the PW. Ian had arranged to be picked up by his father who lived nearby so I continued on to Ponden, thinking it to be another small town. Ponden offered a B&B with a nettle filled field down below for tents. The toilet and shower were located in hole in the wall of another building 100 meters up the road. It was just too forlorn for my liking, with no company and no shelter other than my tent to while away the evening.It was another 5kms back into Haworth the famous and touristy ‘Bronte family’ town. By the time I reached there my feet were in a bad way. Yet again my accommodation of choice was the YHA of which I knew little.
The YHA was once again on the other side of town and up a long hill. Once it came into view I was awestruck. It looked more like a stately home or large classy 19th century hotel.
It was indeed built by a local wealthy mill owner who along with his only son died in battle in the early part of WWI - the Great War. It then passed through several hands and uses and its fortunes declined until the local community saved it by having it purchased and conserved and converted into a YHA large enough to take almost 100 guests.
I spent the early part of the evening tending my blisters, then cooking my own modest evening meal in the kitchen ‘below stairs.’
In a large sitting room I came upon a fit looking man sitting alone in the gloom reading. His story unfolded. He was retired public servant (he offered no more info but was clearly a well-educated one ). He was cycling around the area as he does for about three months of the year – just here and there that took his fancy – mostly dedicated cycle ways, although he had cycled from Land’s End to John O’Groats once. He looked to be in his late fifties. He mentioned he’d walked the PW in his early sixties. He was not a talkative fellow unless prompted. He said he had no interest in cycling abroad. We were then joined by another couple just touring the area so the conversation changed direction and learned no more from him as I would have liked.
