Wakefield
Actors say “rhubarb” to appear to be chatting. It’s easy to say the word quietly. Here in the national capital of this tasty perennial the stalks are – right now – growing, blushing, sweetening silently in the dark. The harvest season starts in mid-February, when shed doors are prised open and the gathering-in commences, by candlelight.
The technique of forcing was discovered in 1817, when horticulturists observed pink shoots sprouted from winter roots covered with manure. They were tastier than the summer crop. The Whitcliffe family of Leeds started forcing commercially in 1877. The result: a perfect filler for pies and crumbles at a time of the year when dessert options are scarce. In the green days before we feasted on New Zealand apples and year-round passion fruit, special trains freighted West Riding rhubarb to be sold at Covent Garden. The region once produced 90% of the world’s forced rhubarb. Today’s “rhubarb triangle” covers nine square miles between Morley, Rothwell and Wakefield – which sits in a “frost pocket”, perfect for nurturing the plant.
Away from lurid pink loveliness, things are harder and darker. Wakefield is a prison town – Cat A; a rugby league town, Super League; a former mining town (cheap coal heated the rhubarb sheds). It is familiar to many thanks to David Storey’s 1960 novel This Sporting Life. Lindsay Anderson’s film version, starring Richard Harris and Rachel Roberts, was shot on location at Westgate station and Belle Vue, AKA the DIY Kitchens Stadium. What would angry young protagonist Frank Machin have to say about that?
“I am the form and I am the hollow,” said Wakefield-born artist Barbara Hepworth. “The thrust and the contour.” Pennine landscapes, along with the human body and her travels to Greece, influenced her work. She felt alienated by the “industrial devastation”, the darkness and blackness. Storey, though, was nostalgic for the slag-filled, grafting town of his youth and in later-life visits saw only a “frightening resemblance to what used to be there”.
Wakefield is framed by the hills, but I couldn’t see them from the centre. The area surrounding the gallery displaying Hepworth’s abstract sculptures and string art pieces is being smartened up. Across the other side of town, the high wall of HMP Wakefield exerts its own force field. Between the two lies the town, clustered untidily round the gothic cathedral. It was raining heavily but the nave was filled with a wedding fair, which drained all the magic. You go to some towns and they don’t quite connect up. I shuffled inside Waterstones to find a book to decode Wakefield. I found Life Behind Bars in Monster Mansion, lots of James Herriot and a recipe book called Rhubarbaria.
Things to see and do The Hepworth Wakefield; Rhubarb festival 21 to 23 February; Yorkshire Sculpture Park; National Coal Mining Museum; Wakefield Cathedral
Carmarthen/Caerfyrddin
Cows, sheep and horses graze in Carmarthen. Wise planners haven’t filled the flood plain of the Towy (Twyi) with houses, preserving the handsome county town’s rural edgelands for future generations of herbivores.
As Moridunum, it was a Roman civitas from about AD75. Unruly members of the local Demetae tribe may have wound up as gladiator fodder at Britannia’s westernmost amphitheatre. Tortuous etymologies connect Moridunum with Carmarthen’s Welsh name. Caerfyrddin, which – so says Geoffrey of Monmouth in his History of the Kings of Britain (1136) – links to Myrddin, Merlin in Welsh. A tradition says the town is named for the mythical wizard; another says the man is named for the town. The 13th-century Black Book of Carmarthen – reputed to have originated in the local priory, and thought to be the oldest surviving complete manuscript in the Welsh language – contains three poems that allude to the legend. In one, an unnamed prophet talks to an apple tree. In another he addresses a pig. His chosen subject: the Welsh-Norman wars.
Where magic lies, speculation follows. Gerald of Wales tells us the Roman castle was still standing in the 12th century. Carmarthen was a regional administrative centre and Wales’s biggest port, though it’s miles from the sea. Cue English hostility and centuries of skirmishes. The castle was captured and destroyed by Llywelyn the Great in 1215. William Marshal, earl of Pembroke, recovered control in 1223 and rebuilt it; the present massive stone defences probably hail from then. The castle required another refurb after being sacked by Owain Glyndwr in 1405. Henry VII’s father, Edmund Tudor (a family of Welsh origin), was imprisoned and died there from the bubonic plague during the Wars of the Roses. The patriotic powerplay survives in the nearby Landsker line – the division between anglophone and Welsh-speaking Wales.
Stroll down St Catherine’s Walk and King Street, the shopping drags, and you aren’t aware you’re in a place of such momentous historical importance. Carmarthen is understated. It talks quietly, often in Welsh. Tourists driving towards Pembrokeshire and rural retreats bypass it. Dylan Thomas pilgrims aim directly for Laugharne. Pendine-bound beach bums don’t notice it. Even on the Wales Coast Path, Carmarthen seems to hide at the top of three deep estuaries shaped like a jester’s cap – or is it a wizard’s hat?
Things to see and do Oriel Myrddin Gallery (currently closed for redevelopment); Carmarthenshire County Museum in Abergwili; The National Botanic Garden of Wales; western Brecon Beacons/Bannau Brycheiniog
Colne
Streets are steeper in memory. Colne is like a childhood dream, with the vaulting angles of an Italian hilltop village, making the climber pause to look back and around, and catch breath. Chimneys used to compete with the hills but there are wide open spaces where textile mills have been flattened. Primet Foundry, listed, is a rare survivor and an impressive example of a combined loom manufactory, foundry and textile mill.
Wallace Henry Hartley, bandmaster on the Titanic, was born here in 1878. His birthplace was 92 Greenfield Hill; a later family home at 90 Albert Road has a blue plaque. He learned violin and, eventually, fiddled his way to a job at the White Star Line. One of several conflicting legends initiated by people who were rescued – and couldn’t have known – is that Hartley led the band in playing Nearer, My God, to Thee as the ship sank. Hartley had reportedly said he would like the hymn for his funeral. His body was found two weeks after the sinking, his violin case strapped to his back. A funeral was held at the Bethel Independent Methodist Church – where he had sung in the choir led by his father. Thousands attended. He’s buried at Keighley Road cemetery and a monument stands off Albert Road. Inevitably, the local Wetherspoons is named after him. Hartley’s violin was sold at auction in 2013 for $1.7m – still the highest sum paid for Titanic memorabilia.
As well as salty sublime, Colne does cobblestoned ridiculous. The scenes featuring the song Every Sperm Is Sacred in Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life were shot at the corner of Bankfield Street and Hargreaves Street. If you like stonework, the band English Teacher’s The World’s Biggest Paving Slab honours a larger-than-average paving stone outside Colne town hall laid in the 1890s – when, of course, they built things to last. The promo video references the Python film somewhat tangentially and the local witches, and features Colne streets and shops – including Cemetery Chippy – as well as The Atom, a panopticon above nearby Wycoller village.
Colne is where industrial Lancashire runs out of steam, and not only because of the demolitions and service sector modern reality. Look on a map and you will see how the grey turns to green. If you walk directly north you’ll not hit an urban area until Edinburgh. The Pennine Way wiggles through nearby, just outside Earby. Colne people also enjoy views of Pendle Hill’s Big End. Skipton is close, too, reached on low roads through the Aire Gap or via the mile-long narrowboat portal of the Foulridge Tunnel on the Leeds and Liverpool canal.
Colne will make you want to get out – not to the North Atlantic but to the local wilds. Pastor Thomas Arthur Leonard, who resided on Keighley Road, is your man. A champion of active leisure for working people, he created a pioneering social-cum-educational guild that added a fourth to the Three Rs – rambling – and has been called the “godfather of the adventure holiday”.
Things to see and do Clarion House; Two Toms Trail; Pendle Hill; Colne Town Centre Heritage Trail
