11 days after my last big walk and blog, it was wonderful to get back outdoors and into the superb landscape that is known as ‘Summer Wine Country’.

The scenery is simply stunning in these parts.

I knew it was going to be a fabulous day of walking.

My start gave an immediate endorsement to that conviction when I met up with Terence, outside our front door.

Terence lives 2 doors up from the holiday accommodation, where we currently reside.

He is an interesting sight to behold. ‘Cute’ and ‘fluffy’ he is not.

In a world where ‘keeping up with appearances’ has an unhealthy hold on so many, Terence the Turkey is living proof that we should never ‘judge a book by its cover’.

As intimidating as he looks, Terence, in the flesh, is actually as soft as butter and walks at the pace of a turtle.

The ‘Terences of our world’ make it a much better place in my view.

I enjoyed his ‘Good Morning’ welcome and enjoyed even more the familiar ‘holler’ of my good friend Carl, when he pulled up outside our door, some 10 minutes later.

For the first time in months (since 8th March when the schools went back) Boris had slightly eased our lockdowns and now allowed us to legitimately meet up, outside, albeit 1-1 with someone not in our household or ‘bubble’.

I knew that meeting up with my mate was going to be fab and I was going to be able at last, to educate this affable Brummie, now living in Calderdale, on the joys of life in ‘Summer Wine Country’. At the same time we could even enjoy a mutual picnic lunch in the process.

Our collective cup’s flowed over!

The cottage where we are living for a few short weeks (a holiday-let, currently acting as our temporary residence following our house sale in late February) offers a magnificent vantage point for lovely walks to all points of the local compass.

Castle Hill to the east beckoned us and Emley Moor mast whispered its welcome, but Digley and Yateholme Reservoirs, via Holme and Holmfirth were Carl’s nomination for today’s walk and so we bid farewell to Terence and headed out.

We turned west at the end of our lane to start the uphill trudge to Oldfield.

The hills roll in these parts.

It is surprisingly hard walking even for someone who has lived in the ‘gritty’ Calder Valley for 25 years and who has always been used to significant undulation.

Within half an hour I was too warm. and stripped down to just 2 thin T-shirts, though my gloves would need to stay on for several more hours. There was still a fluke in the wind that quickly chilled you if you stopped.

For very obvious reasons we didn’t stop!

We passed a a beautiful copse of trees just outside Netherthong with its meandering path calling like a siren, to explore its secret treasures.

We saw classy barn conversions a-plenty. Many sported huge oak-framed extensions and in the morning sunlight they gave a warm and welcoming salute to our toil up hill and down dale.

Horses still wrapped in their winter coats grazed with renewed interest within their increasingly lush paddocks.

After the longest winter I can ever remember, the air of this spring day felt fresh and invigorating. New growth was around us in every direction and it felt great to be alive.

The age of the snowdrop was ending and the dawn of the daffodil was upon us.

For weeks I’ve witnessed these ‘legends of Wordworth’ position themselves in readiness to burst forth in their full trumpeted glory; only for the bitter easterly winds to enforce their ongoing hibernation.

2021 has definitely been the ‘year of the everlasting snowdrop’ but today, it was clear that they were finally starting to wane.

Even now, on 17 March, we were finding fully exposed daffodils hard to find.

What a winter we have all witnessed!

What a floral representation of this year of lockdown: the toughest year that most of us have ever faced. Even the daffodils seemed scared to venture further into 2021.

Their hesitancy perhaps mirrors the emotions we all share, as the one year anniversary of this pandemic starts to dominate the national headlines.

Given we were walking consistently at an elevation where most southerners would get a nose bleed, it was perhaps understandable why those pesky daffodils continued to elude us. Today was the first truly spring-like day of 2021 and yet we are now beyond the famous ‘Ides of March’ timeline of 15 March.

At last, already well over one hour into our walk and with the growing warmth of the mid morning sunshine, we spotted our first bunch of wild daffodils in full flower.

For someone who has an ambivalence towards most things yellow (most especially clothing), there is something mesmerising about a mature clump of daffodils. Those 4 flowers looked resplendent and bore testimony to this renewed time of national hope.

Suddenly our collective future does look bright.

For once, in vaccination circles at least, ‘Britain rules the waves.’

Our own week had started off with the receipt of the Oxford vaccine on Monday morning.

It was an uneasy irony that on the day my wife and I got our first jab, most of mainland Europe decided to suspend their use of the Astra Zenica vaccine.

Their ‘concerns’ surprised me.

37 clotting incidents in over 17 million vaccinations? Those sort of odds seemed perfectly palatable to both of us. we took the jab along with 470,000 others in the UK on that Monday.

It seems that ‘Keep Calm and Keep Jabbing’ seems to be our only way out of the restricted lifestyles of Covid 19.

Vaccination is surely the only way out of this mess.

For someone who never wins jackpots, lotteries or raffles, coming in from my ‘win’ at around number 25 million in the great ‘jab race’ seemed about par for the course and provided me with a rueful moment to smile. I was happy to bare my arm, despite feeling pretty rough for the next 24 hours. A small price to pay it seems.

We continued to walk and breathe in the fantastic views.

Multitudes of black sheep grazed in a field near Upperthong with just 3 of their white brothers and sisters for company. It seemed that our need for social distancing was catching with a 5 metre gap being their norm.

Digley Reservoir, our first target destination, continued to defiantly elude us. It remained cleverly hidden beneath the steep sloping ridge of the A635 Greenfield Road that winds its way from Holmfirth towards the industrial sprawl that is Oldham, some way (thankfully) to the west.

Stone stiles of all descriptions heralded yet another dramatic viewpoint. On every turn we were treated to a new new canvas of fields and stiles, rolling hills and heather clad ridges.

I have yet to get bored in this wonderful playground and I could sense that my friend was loving it just as much.

We chatted incessantly. There was never an awkward silence. After all we had almost half a year of news to catch up on!

A final steep descent brought Digley Reservoir into view.

I’ve driven past this reservoir on multiple occasions, en route to the Woodhead Pass and the many camps sites dotted across Derbyshire.

This time I would stop to take Digley in! Our chosen route meant that we would need to walk round it following the Kirklees Way.

Digley was a beautiful sight. As the midday sun started to generate some real warmth, the reservoir would now remain a bright beacon of blue for the next 3 hours of our walk.

Every walker we saw had a cheery demeanour. They like us had a clearly identifiable and spring-enthused ‘pep in their step’ on this most sunny of Wednesdays.

It had now warmed up.

Calamity nearly struck when one of my favourite gloves went missing. A five minute retrace of our steps failed to reconnect me. I was bereft. Why do I always seem to lose my favourite gear?

five minutes later the mystery was happily solved as I found the missing glove safely zipped in my coat pocket. What a doughnut!

The amazing stone work of the water outlet on the reservoir, paid a gushing tribute to those skilled stonemasons of yesteryear. Those arches and curves bedazzled: what a skill to design and construct them.

The flowing water had a dreamlike quality as it poured down the outlet. I was tempted to vault the wall and follow that ‘slow flow’ down river.

After the steep terrain we had covered it was bliss to follow the flatter path that now circled the reservoir. In shaded spots, shadowy trees stood silently silhouetted: brooding in the flood water that lapped their trunks.

Once we had crossed the lower dam wall of the reservoir, we picked up the gently ascending path that, within a mile, would take us into the pretty hamlet of Holme; the most southerly village in this part of West Yorkshire.

Just over the top at Holme Moss, lies the popular Peak District of Derbyshire.

As we climbed I looked back and saw that in just those 15 minutes of gentle climbing, the colour of the waters had deepened to a sapphire blue, a colour that would not have seemed out of place in the warmer climes of the south of France.

We enjoyed a first picnic lunch of 2021 by the dam wall that separates Ramsden and Brownhill reservoirs.

The first pink blossom of spring had broken from the bare branches of a waterside tree. It was a heartening sight.

Digley continued to sparkle in the distance as we started to turn and contour on the paths high above Holmfirth.

We passed another horse still wrapped up for the winter, but now clearly sweating in the spring sunshine.

As to the daffodils?

They continued to elude us on those heights above Holmbridge, Hinchcliffe Mill and Burnlee. But even in the absence of those golden icons of spring, it was clear to us both that the ‘times they are a-changing’.

Sometimes words, written and spoken, are unnecessary. The landscape around us can speak far more eloquently than you or I can ever do.

Suffice to say that the tapestry of fields surrounding us and as far as the eye could see, was truly bewitching.

Our path started to dip down towards Holmfirth.

The sounds of children playing in the last afternoon break-time of their school day drifted across the valley.

As our angle of descent steepened so our human contact increased.

It was lovely to see families walking home from school, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon. People were smiling and talking and ……

at peace.

Not a mask was in evidence within those family clusters. It was a joyful moment as it visually hinted at a near future were we can all dream to be allowed to throw those hated face-coverings into our own Covid-inspired ‘Room 101’.

Homfirth bustled with the ‘home from school’ brigade.

It was a remarkable contrast, no doubt influenced by the specific timing of our appearance.

Only 11 days ago Holmfirth had resembled a ghost town, albeit at an hour earlier than on this occasion.

I guess for an hour at circa 3.45pm on each school day, the previous normality of this town’s vibrancy, pre-March 2020, comes back to haunt it.

We past the Monumental Almshouses that were opened in 1856 for the ‘elderly poor of good moral character’ from this and six other local townships.

Those times were undeniably hard, but those houses stand as a reassuring testimony to man’s ability to ride through the tough times into a better future.

And then, at last, we saw the daffodils!

It was a truly uplifting sight!

The best sight of all, Terence apart, had been reserved for the last half mile of our walk.

As we followed the dismantled railway line that provides a much more attractive alternative to the roadside trudge along the A6024 we finally spied our missing ‘friends’.

A whole ‘host of golden daffodils’ were basking in the sun.

Those daffodils beguiled us both.

They lifted our spirits.

Their silent words spoke of a returning world.

My spirits sang as I watched them silently dance in the afternoon breeze and I gave thanks for hope and friends and ………Terence!

And for simple returning pleasures, like just walking with a mate.

I was glad!

Thanks for the read. I hope you enjoyed it?

I also hope that you, your family and friends, share an increasing optimism that we are now creeping out of this wretched pandemic.

Just a few weeks more!

Martin x

PS For those who worry for the future of Terence. He does have a longterm future.

His days will hopefully far outlast this Christmas and any beyond it. The farmer gave me that reassurance yesterday!

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud 

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

William Wordsworth