At last it had arrived — Good Friday — the first day of the first holiday of the year, a day looked forward to with consummate eagerness by cyclists all over the country, and not in the least by the campers of the Nelson section of the C.T.C., for were we not going to Brough-under-Stainmoor in Westmorland for our Easter headquarters?! We were, and we knew that Brough was set on the edge of the wildest country in England, yes, if anything, wilder than the Lake District, because it has no ways between its mountains and the traveller must perforce either go round or go over them. As a result it is less known and less travelled than most parts of England which have not half the beauty or the wild grandeur of the Westmorland Pennines.
We met at Higherford, and about eight of us were soon speeding down Coldweather Hill. Some had already gone, and others would follow later, but the thing that mattered to us, we were off, off for three glorious days of camping. Gisburn and Long Preston soon dropped behind us, and in Settle we stopped for a constitutional and a chat with the Bradford section, who were bound for Langdale. From here we sped with a good back wind to Hawes and dinner, and it was very welcome.
After dinner our friend, "Backwind" travelled again with wus up past Hawes Junction and also when we took the turn to Kirkby Stephen, It was from this road that many of our campers, leaving their machines, walked as far as "Hell Gill," a well known spot to eyclists. From here we sped down to Mallerstang, mile after mile without turning a pedal. It is a glorious dale, rich and verdant in the lower reaches, but near the head wild and desolate except for the railway which runs to Kirkby Stephen. The mountains on both sides were still flecked with the winter snow, and the bright sunshine and shadows of late afternoon all helped to increase the impression of grim solhitude. We did not stop long in Kirkby Stephen, Brough and the camp were only five miles away, and we were once again hungry, so we pushed forward, and as we proceeded we had many glimpses of hills of black moorland all along the horizon in front of us.
Arriving in Brough we turned along a little track up the riverside until a few tents suddenly appeared, and we were "home" at last. As we were finishing tea a loud hail announced the arrival of the rest of our party supplemented by five of the Bolton section. They had had tea and we quickly pitched their tents, and then went in the gathering gloom to "buy in,". and also to explore the village, or, as I believe it, the town. By the time we had finished it was quite dark and a cold wind blowing, when suddenly someone spotted the local reading room, and we spent a cheerful hour and a half playing billiards, chess, and reading and chatting. Feeling rather tired after our first day we returned to camp and bed.
Next morning I was awakened with a hail of "Who wants eggs and milk," so adding my voice to the rest, who were still in bed, I gave my order, and the early risers brought milk and eggs for everyone. Afterwards the main crowd walked to Fix Tower, an old watch tower set high on the hills, from one side of which drops a sheer precipice. A narrow winding staircase inside the tower led to the top from which the watchers in the "good old days" scanned the bleak moors for the invading Scots.
Too other members again taking their machines went by highroads and byroads, field paths and open moorland to the famous High Cup Nick. Leaving their machines in a field, they walked up the riverside for about two miles, the hills on either side gradually closing in until at the head of the valley they came together in a sweeping semicircle. The sides of the valley rise very steeply, and finish up in crags which continue all around the top of the basin, It was vast, grand and awe inspiring - beyond the power of human pen to describe. About three parts of the way up. the valley, the explorers took to the right slope of the hillside, hoping thus to be able to get out at the head of the gill. Reaching the top they attempted to carry on just under the crags, but a short distanee convinced them that this was impossible, so they were forced to scale a nick in the rocks and climb out altogether. There was a strong wind blowing, and it needed a lot of nerve to go to the edge again and look straight down into the Cup. It was a good thousand feet deep and about quarter of a mile across, so they did it on their stomachs. They found High Cup Nick right at the head of the Gill, a nick between the crags about six foot wide. I do not know if it is possible to climb out of the basin here or not.
Regaining their cycles they went from here to Appleby, a really beautiful place, the most beautiful town seen all the tour. Back in Brough about 14 campers finished a perfect day by attending one of the occasional dances held in that town.
It was already Easter Sunday morning and the Burnley members realised to their sorrow that it was the time to pack and commence the homeward journey. The peculiar thing about good holidays is that as soon as one begins to enjoy oneself the time for returning home arrives. So, with a cheery "So-long" to the remaining campers, we turned our wheels towards Kirkby Stephen and home. At Kirkby Stephen a threat of rain became a reality, so donning our oilskins, we carried on to the Cross Keys Inn, nestling under the frowning fells of Cautley. How the wind howled oyer those wild moors, adding to their desolation.
After partaking of a satisfying lunch we dropped from the high bleak regions to the beautiful pastures of the Lune at Sedbergh. From here we followed the river down as far as the, Devil’s Bridge at Kirkby Lonsdale. This is one of the most delightful stretches of river scenery to be found anywhere; the river with its rocky bed, well wooded on its banks, and backed with the hills of the Barbondale district makes a most delightful picture.
We were now on our own touring ground, the Ingleton district, and with steady persistent riding we soon arrived at Settle, thence to Long Preston to enjoy a substantial repast. Our hunger satisfied we again took to the road, our lights stabbing the blackness of the night, revealing everything in a different aspect, adding fresh charms to the joys of cycling.
Home was drawing nearer. Already, Gisburn with its host of vehicles parked outside the garages lay behind, and before us was Coldweather Hill. Soon it will be all over and another holiday will drift into the land of happy memories. The lights of Nelson and Burnley now gleam in the valley, and soon we are amongst them and home.
TWO CAMPERS