“All truly great thoughts are conceived while walking.”
Friedrich Nietzsche
Under a hazy sun, with the threat of violent thunderstorms some time later, the latest gathering of our Walking Backwards “club” congregated outside The Scruffy.
It was to be a modest ten-mile circular with the promise of relief for tired bodies several hours later. As we waited for new recruit Mike, who had naively entrusted his delivery to Mrs Williams, all talk was of the latest episode of Bradford On Duty.
Mostly proud Bradford lads done okay, this series shames us.
Several of our party were now exiles, if you can count Bingley and Menston as such. Although the scenes from the television show had been played out barely five miles across town, where we were heading was almost a million miles away.
Under Starter’s Orders
We headed down through the grounds of the beautiful Holy Trinity Church before cutting through wild fields adjacent to the Esholt sewage works and under magnificent railway arches. Several beautiful horses looked us up and down suspiciously as we crossed their paddocks.
Another debutant – Shipley Glen – was soon taking up the rear, puffing away on his illuminated vape as Gasman began another marathon non-stop conversation about living in Easingwold that would last well into the night. If we could hear him he was still alive and that was good.
It was great to see two lads from our pre-pandemic walks, Brian and Chris, both heady with excitement as the new season approached for their beloved Bradford City. Hope springs eternal at Valley Parade…again.
Woodland Beauty
Crossing the busy Harrogate Road we made our way up into Calverley Woods and then into the ancient Ravenscliffe Woods, an area of stunning natural beauty.
O’Malley had turned up with a guide dog pole and a pair of his wife’s gym shoes; it was going to be a long ten miles. Little did we know that ten was a tad optimistic. His short, white, hairless legs waddled along, a big grin fixed on his sunburnt face…freedom!
Silent Pete had also made the trip from the Bradford controlled colony of Addingham; likewise, a dapper Leapy on form as ever, sporting a natty hat, now exiled in Bingley.
Across The Border
At the burnt out shell of the old Blue Pig pub we cut back on ourselves up the old quarry road to come out overlooking Calverley, crossing to head down a farm track before Shell Lane took us into Millionaire’s Row.
After a bit of main road we crossed the cow field confident that our former stocksman, Chris the Carer, would handle any old bull. After six miles – and plenty of bull – it was time for lunch on the canal bridge; only four miles to go…
Another Age
After following the river past an enormous flood prevention engineering project we climbed into Cragg Woods to take in the beauty of properties built back in the day when Bradford was deemed the richest city in Europe.
Money had flooded this woodland retreat back in those days; could they have ever predicted what would become of what they left behind?
It was from here that things went slightly off plan. Feeling we’d not quite done enough and fearing a very early arrival at The Scruffy, I suggested more scenic woodland. Several faces eyed me with shared scepticism and no small amount of threat.
The Long And Winding Road
Although I had walked the route earlier in the week, gentlemen, I confess! This last bit was a bit ad hoc!
Keeping well out of the way of a certain pole and it’s gasping owner, fearing I may end up in one of the many redundant shit tanks, a rapid clip was made to Esholt Village.
At last a pub…which was closed down! Disaster and murder looming.
Shipley Saves The Day
Fortunately, just down the road – “****ing more steps!” said a red-faced, stick-wielding ex-football hooligan – was Esholt CC. Shipley, an ex-player, negotiated an early bar opening and we (I) were (was) saved.
Several pints later and, with O’Malley taken back to The Scruffy by Nigel his carer in a taxi, the four of us too tight to cough up for one, made the last two miles back up the hill from Esholt.
The Scruffy had never looked more welcoming.
Things I Wish They Would Show
It had been another wonderful day in great company enjoying a small selection of the bits of Bradford the BBC will never show because we are sadly defined by a small, backward and lawless element.
As ever, Gasman and I made a solemn vow to leave The Scruffy before Towngate served their last fish. As ever, we cocked that one up too.
Bradford, my beautiful Bradford, we had another great day.
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