Escape

I have broken the surly bonds of Lancashire, my prison these six months or whatever, and now I stand at the border of God's Own Country, Yorkshire's  Broad Acres there spread out in front of me. I am 13 miles from home, as the road twists.

This is the bit Lancashire stole from us, on paper if not in fact, Oldham rules, perhaps, but the Denshaw sign carries the White Rose. 

Work that one out!

A few minutes later I was in Marsden, at one end of the Standedge Tunnels. This is very much 'my' sort of Yorkshire, with my parents both coming from nearby, though they had moved to Bradford by the time I was born. It evokes memories of visits to my grandparents, in the long long ago. Steep-sided valleys, canal, railway, and stone houses.