Birtle, near Paper Town (Bury)

I don't visit my hometown Papertown (Bury) very often, but when I do, it can be dark, drab and intimidating.  However, the place is surrounded by some wonderful rugged countryside, which offers relief to people who are weary of Paper Town.  One such place is Birtle which lies near the Fairfield area of the town.  One evening, me and some friends were led up to Birtle by a bright sky, and we walked up through Tricketts' Farm.

Just after Tricketts' Farm, we came across the 'Old Hanging Barn', where criminals are said to have been hung in the past (whether this is true or not, I don't really know).  However, someone once told me that they were hung on a silver birch tree outside the barn.

Whatever its story, it was sad to see the 'Old Hanging Barn' in such a state, as it is a distinct landmark 'up Birtle', and let's hope someone repairs it. 

Of course, here, we were near the quarry and its ponds, and, now, there are some beautiful grassy pathways leading into the quarry (someone has done a really good job).  My friend, Simon, is standing near the grassy entrance to the quarry in the picture immediately above.  Besides this, the heart of old Birtle village consists of St. John the Baptist (Anglican) church; the Church Inn; and the old farm/schoolhouse where Tommy Ashworth used to live.

Unfortunately, the Church Inn wasn't open during our trip, as it has some really good Real Ales on tap.  However, we walked further on, and found the 'Secret Pond' which I remember from childhood.

As can be seen, everything is leafy and mysterious round here.  Perhaps the most interesting thing for me was the thick leafy remnants of the 'Old Methodist Church'

For me, this place almost has a Druidic-type charm, as the leafy boughs have reclaimed and become naturally intertwined with the old church ruins.  It really is a magical place, and has a wonderful presence. 

Thankfully, for us, we knew the Pack Horse would be open, so we made our way past the 'Old Policemen's Lodge' for a couple of refreshing pints of lager.  I'm not really a massive lager lover, but the lager in the Pack Horse is genuinely okay (having said this, I love the lagers that taste like bitter in the Czech Republic; Poland; and Slovakia).

Good to see that the old red telephone box still survives the test of time. 

Walking away from Birtle, we could see how magical the sky was.  It was all lit up, illuminated.

Where were the planes going to?  To the States I presumed.  I'd flown over Papertown from Paris to Cincinnatti once, and, as a young boy at school, all the schoolteachers had said the planes were off to America.