Near the Duddon valley in Cumbria

Pip and Mary arrived from Bristol at our house this morning, on time at 7-45am!  This is very early for me, but we were nearly ready to leave, although I didn't manage to start my bowl of muesli, so it had to come with us, and sadly tipped over before I could eat it.

I was driving us all to the west coast of Cumbria, north of Barrow-in-Furness, in time for the funeral service of our dear friend Giles.  He was brought up in the local village of Silecroft and was now being buried in Whicham churchyard just two hundred yards behind the old family house.  He had been living there for the last twenty years bringing up his four children with his wife, Susie.

The journey started in heavy frost with the temperature at -3 degrees C, which produced beautiful views of the landscape as we drove north to Birmingham.  Luckily the traffic was light, as most people are still on holiday, and there were no hold-ups.  By the time we reached the exit from the M6 signposted to the Lake District we were still on time but the weather had brightened and the frost had gone.

I first did this drive with Giles back in the early 1970s, but then the route to Silecroft was a twisty turning back road with very little traffic.  Now it  has been 'improved' with dual carriageways and by-passes for the tiny villages, but nothing can remove the beauty of the scenery of the Lake District and its river valleys flowing out to Irish sea.

There were a lot of Giles' friends from far and wide, as well as local villagers at the service and when it was over and the doors of the church opened the sun shone in from the west across the sea just a mile away.  We followed the coffin out into the churchyard to where his grave was waiting, set on the bank of the small beck which tumbled noisily only a few yards away.  Set under the beech trees on a small bank the spot sits under the massive hillside called Black Coombe which dominates the local landscape and has figured though out Giles' life.  I met Robin W. again, for the first time in years, and as we walked back out of the graveyard he told me of his memories of being eight years old and coming to stay with Giles and endless summer days together climbing and playing on and beside Black Coombe.

We set off for home at about 5pm for the 250 mile journey home which also went without incident, other than that my foot that I injured in my fall last week became very swollen and painful.  But I managed the long drive and was glad of th good company and our chance to reminisce about our friend and his part in our lives.

On the way to the church, I decided to stop for a blip opportunity as I knew it might not be possible to take any pictures later. This is a view back towards the way we had come, looking south-east from near Broughton in Furness across towards the peaks of the Lake District.   The sea would be about four miles to the right of this picture. I think Scafell Pike can be see in the distance on the far left, but I am not sure.  The white building  on a ridge middle in the distance is the High Cross Inn at Broughton, scene of rather a lot of late night drinking sessions, I seem to remember.  

I'm glad I have this to remind me of this day and of my many memories of Giles and his homeland.  RIP

Helena (aka Woodpeckers) has blipped her own account of the day and a fine view too.