High Rise to Heptonstall

Winding our way out of Hebden Bridge, up up up, dry walling guards the road on either side and the view across the valley below is stunning. The view is so stunning its hard to keep my eye on the road. A carpet of Autumn gold, reds and russet trees lace the hillside as we wind our way up till we spy the left hand turn leading to the tiny and interesting hamlet of Heptonstall.

As we drive below the sumptuous natural umbrella of trees hanging overhead we take the turn into the rugged cobbled hillside leading to Heptonstall and the final resting place of the American poet Sylvia Plath and wife of the English poet laureate and children's writer, Ted Hughes. The street is only wide enough for one car and bumpy as hell. The street cobbles are large and lumpy, well used and well worn and a trade mark of this fascinating hamlet and a difficult hardworking life that has gone before. These cobbles are known locally as stone setts and have been restored and are in perfect keeping with the era. The population of the village is currently 1,448 but closing your eyes, you can instantly visualise and hear the carts and families that once inhabited here. You can imagine the lives and smell the smells of the past.

Leaving our car in a tiny car park at the end of a narrow opening (that didn't look wide enough for any vehicle) my girlfriend and I set off on foot in the pouring rain to explore. The village was particularly dull and dour on this dreary wet day but somehow it added to the atmosphere and made the village all the more interesting. 

Passing a teeny weeny tea room, a general store housing the local post office we wound our way up the steep cobbled street passing a couple of pubs and passing the time of day with a local pensioner staggering down the hill leaning on her walking stick and being dragged along by her scruffy scrawny dog. She was quite a character; through her jumbled words and slurring we translated that she was inviting us to join her for a drink in her "local". Politely we declined, giggling together that she was already under the influence before she had even entered the drinking house. We continued to make our way up up up, puffing and panting ~ it was extremely steep.

The tiny Yorkshire stone cottages, once weavers cottages have large first floor windows to allow as much light as possible to penetrate for the weavers who would have been working the looms. Lining either side of the street each were full of character and well cared for; pretty and ensconced with little ornate railings either side of rickety steps and delightful window boxes laden with seasonal plants and flowers. Little cobbled alley ways sprouted off on each side of us leading to other villagers homes that were delightful little menageries to stop and ponder, peruse and admire. This little street was like something out of a story book, a fairy tale or a picture postcard.

Eventually we reached the large ruined church of St Thomas a Becket which was founded in 1260 and stood austere and proud on the hillside. The ruin overlooked the Calder Valley and was exposed to the elements having been severely damaged in a storm in 1847. The new church, St Thomas Apostle had also suffered a lightening strike in 1875. There are three churchyards around the churches in Heptonstall, the oldest is closed now and all the headstones have been laid flat like a grey stone patchwork carpet. This has created a strange atmosphere and energy around the church which on this dull, dour and wet day, as dusk fell, did not make for a comfortable visit.

Taking a different route back, we meandered through the cobbled stone sett alley ways, in the eerie light, down down down stopping at the family run English tea room and enjoying a piping hot cup o Yorkshire tea (to warm the cockles and soul) accompanied by homemade scones, clotted cream and strawberry jam all served in darling mismatched antique English bone china teacups. Absolutely delightful and just the right way to end this dreary day before winding our way back down the steep dark hill to the jewel in the Yorkshire dales, Hebden Bridge and home.

12.10.15