Today we set off to explore the nearby area on foot. Maureen and Steff had driven us about a bit to show us the picturesque way to walk to the Monk Bretton Priory, so we were able to take the footpath and small back roads. At an intersection we were discussing which way to go when a man over the road called out, offering help. He is a carer and he and his companion were going on a walk past the priory. We walked the rest of the way chatting together. This is the kind of friendliness and helpfulness, so easy not to give, that we really appreciate.
The Priory was originally the Priory of St Mary Magdalene at Lunwood, but is now known as the Monk Bretton Priory. The Cluniac monks there controlled much of the agriculture and natural resources in the area and helped Barnsley develop into a market town. Monks of the same order came over from France looking for a share of the wealth. This was unusual, since Clunaic monks generally devoted themselves to prayer and religious ceremony and sometimes their monasteries failed because of lack of manpower for more worldly pursuits. After dissolution under Henry VIII, it became a stately home, but now only ruins remain. The ruins are extensive and it is possible to see the layout of the buildings, and the detail of many walls. An underfloor drainage system can be seen, as well as a strange tunnel with a door to it. We have heard that there was a tunnel leading up to the church on the hill at Monk Bretton, but couldn’t see anything leading from the priory grounds to suggest where it might have been.
A man and woman were taking their two grandchildren around the site, talking in such a comfortable way about history and the way of life in the past, with the children really interested to explore and try to find clues. We were to see so many children out with their grandparents over our time in Barnsley and I always felt an extra pang of missing Frey and Yonah, our grandchildren.Inspired by our helpful guides on the way to the Priory, we now set off along the walking paths to see where they would take us. We had a set of walks in Barnsley on cards but, since we were never quite sure where we were on them, and they do not show detail of the surrounding areas, so they were not too much help. We called in at the Mill of the Black Monks, which is now a pub – the oldest in England. It was devastated by the floods of last summer and has just reopened. Being twenty minutes too early for it to be open, we plan to visit it some other time.
This area is so lucky to have so much green land and a system of connecting public footpaths running through it. The paths we followed led us through treed and grassy areas, across the Dearne River several times, and down to a lake. The lake was created as part of the reclamation of colliery sites, with whole woods having been planted and all the rubble cleared away. There are signs with a multitude of regulations for fishing, the most important being that no fish are to be taken from the lake since, it is small enough to be fished out in no time. Groups of fathers and sons, and teenage or younger boys, sat patiently waiting for a nibble, with their wheeled trolleys for equipment and supplies resting on the grass beside the lengthy pole extenders that seem to be basic to fishing here. The extenders were used to take the line further from the shore, rather than using the swing over the head or shoulder casting with the line running out style that was used on the busy bridge in Istanbul. A grandfather sat reading while his two grandsons played imaginative games in the woods nearby, high up in the trees. He joined us for a chat when we had lunch, while the boys climbed a tree nearby. The paths are much loved by dog walkers, and every time a dog came by, the lads would clamber down to pat it. Dog owners are a very friendly breed, always ready with a greeting and happy to stop for a few words. The toughest looking man with a bulldog proved to be the sweetest soul with the boys, and his dog had a similar nature. Despite all this adoration of dog owners, I must comment on the need to look very carefully before each step we took, despite all the efforts of the council in providing 'doggy doo' bags and disposal units.
Beyond the lake, we skirted some woods, followed some steps and a path to a bridge over the Dearne River, climbed up on another path and emerged at the Barnsley Canal. Not a working canal any more, this section is full of enormous fish lolling near the surface, which are caught from small wooden stands built at regular intervals along the banks. Today the stands were empty but on another walk here we were to see elderly fishermen, tense with the rigours of serious fishing, but in an environment most conducive to a more relaxed approach.
After some initial confusion in our phone calls to Rohan to find out where the café was so that we could visit, mainly because of a misunderstanding over where we were starting out from, we finally made it to the door of ‘Kerry’s’. The café was closed but, after knocking on the door, there was a welcoming cup of coffee and some cake for us, and we were able to look around behind the scenes.
Rohan took us to a map shop and we bought a book of maps of the district so we will be free agents now, and hopefully free agents who know where they are. We set off on the walk home but were picked up by Maureen as she drove past. Just as well because it was getting late and we both had to have showers before going off to visit Michael and his family.Michael is a Barnsley man, a fitter who has also lived in Sheffield, who met our niece, Rosie, in Tanzania. His daughters have met our niece and Michael and one of his daughters and her family have stayed in Australia with Keith’s sister, Joy, and her husband, Alan. What a small world, with emails making it so easy for Rosie to suggest that we might like to meet and then for us to make contact with Michael. He had kindly invited us to dinner tonight, and again for the coming Saturday, when some friends would be able to talk to us about Tanzania.
Maureen drove us up to Michael’s, where we were greeted by the warmest and friendliest man you could possibly imagine. Michael has visited Tanzania twice, with the second trip being to take up the position of Manager of a Dive shop which he had been offered on his first trip. We spent the evening enjoying a delicious meal and talking about travels with his well travelled family. His little grandsons were absolutely delightful, with three year old Ethan selecting an ice-cream he liked for his nearly one year old brother, Roman, just in case Roman didn’t finish it. Michelle did a great job enthusing us about going to Tanzania, and in particular said that she did not get sick (my major worry since Joy and Rosie had focused on weight and energy loss due to stomach problems).
That night we decided that it was probably the only time that everything would line up for us to be in Tanzania at the same time as Rosie and Ticha, and that this was too big an opportunity to miss. We had been corresponding almost daily with Rosie and Joy, finding out how we could be of help in the school and within the family setting. Rosie had her itinerary adjusted and settled so we looked at our dates to see what we could do. We decided to have two weeks in Ticha’s home town, Farkwa, which would allow us to do one week of our walk in France – a bit of 'trying to have our cake and eat it too.' We floated the option of staying on in the village after the others have gone, and finally fell asleep.
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