Cyril Brown's Scrapbook
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Cyril Brown has been an active member of the club for many years. During that time he has built up an interesting collection of newspaper cuttings and photographs. A chance remark during a recent walk caused me to wonder if these old documents would be of interest to visitors of the website and club members.
So on this page you will find a selection of club history taken from Cyril's scrapbook.
Please double click the thumbnail picture to see an enlargement - use the back button to return
FYLDE COAST RAMBLERS
"a brilliant walking club"
Previously known as The Fylde CHA/HF Rambling and FellWalking Club.
This story was published in the Evening Gazette 31st August 1978.
"The world must never know that rambling Pam Storrie is ACTION GIRL"
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From Evening Gazette 31st August 1978.
It's 6-30 am Sunday morning. Dragging myself out of bed I open the curtain a chink, wincing as the light blinds my bleary eyes. The heavens are open and the raindrops pelting down look larger than the boots I am supposed to be going rambling in today. One section of my survival instinct tells me to get back into bed and burrow under the sheets. Another tells me it would be far less hazardous to climb Everest than to brave the news editor's wrath by returning without a story.
By 8 am your intrepid reporter is outside the Halfway House Hotel, Blackpool awaiting which will carry some fearless members of the Fylde CHA/HF Rambling and Fell Walking Club into the hills. The initials stand for affiliated holiday associations. The pick-up point is deserted. Has nobody decided to turn up? Is it the wrong day? Suddenly there is a reassuring clump of boots and a hale and hearty Scot Stuart Alexander, who has obviously not spent a debauched Saturday night drinking and dancing, hoves into view.
Gaily waiving his checklist he says "Forty-eight are expected on this trip"…mmm, I wonder. The coach arrives and regular driver George speeds onwards to collect assorted specimens of dripping humanity - all of whom seem inhumanely cheerful. Only four fail to turn up. One soul even braves the elements to stand at the bus stop and tell us he's not coming because it's too wet.
As we zoom down the motorway to our destination in the Derbyshire fells, every so often an optimistic voice pipes up: "Looks as though it's brightening." A carefully-drawn map depicting where walks will take place passes round. On this trip there are three categories of walk. "A" group will be travelling around 13 miles over hard terrain. "B" group about 11 miles over less taxing ground and "C" group some seven or eight miles across easier country. The leader of "A" group is assistant Fylde Borough Council clerk Cyril Brown. But rumours have already reached me that "Bonnington" Brown takes on the characteristics of a bionic man when walking. So I plump for middle-of-the-road "B" group, led by Cyril's wife - Joan Brown. Cheery bookings secretary Mrs June Jagger seats herself next to me for a chat about the club which was founded 65 years ago. "We have about 350 members. Their ages rang from eight going on up to 80. And they are people from all walks of life [sic]. Everything is well organised. The leaders plan the walks and then go out and do them and time them. We do think a lot about safety. If someone is not properly equipped the leaders can refuse to take them. And if a part failed to return by and appointed time the driver would contact the emergency services".
Most ramblers carry their own emergency kits containing bandages, plasters, iodine, bars of chocolate, etc. But if anyone is seriously injured they usually leave well alone and wait for the experts. Mrs Jagger knows all about the wisdom of leaving well alone if your not medically qualified. She broke her leg while out walking with another club. "They wanted to take my boot off," she adds. "But I wouldn't let them. Good job too. The doctor said the bone would have taken much longer to heal if they had".
By now we have arrived at the hamlet of Hayfield in Derbyshire. "A" and "B" groups pile out to pound up the tarmac road like an invasion army. "To the hills," someone jests. It's about 11 am when we reach the fells proper. The air is suffocatingly hot and its spitting with rain. Joan gathers us round like a mother hen with her brood, for a head count. "Er, we seem to have one more than we should," she queries. The extra is a character Jack. An ace walker who usually goes with "A" party but who recently had a nasty fall and has decided to take things easier this week.
We set off up a precipitous-looking peak, one behind another pack-mule style. Halway up I stop, breathlessly to contemplate the advantages of inventing a portable iron lung. I always wondered why walkers plodded along, not often talking to one another. Now I know - they don't have the breath for conversation.
We scale the hill, aptly named Mount Famine, because by now I'm absolutely famished. But it's only 11-45 and we surge ever onwards. The rain is now fine drizzle, the kind that makes you wetter than a downpour. The air is sultry as sweating walkers don waterproofs and remove them as the drizzle ebbs and flows.
Energetic Joan decided we can have lunch. While we munch away Jack recounts a lurid story on how to cure blisters to a woman who is working in a new pair of hiking boots. "Well, you thread this needle, with white thread 'cause thathas no dye. You stick it through and out the other end and leave the thread in. All the water drains out the blister through the thread."
"Rule 10, rule 10," Joan cries, jumping up and down, waiving her arms. Lord, does it mean we are about to be buried by an avalanche? "It means anyone who wants to go to the loo should go," someone confides.
It's 2-30 pm and we are heading for a place called Rushup Edge. Hobble-up Hill might be more appropriate in my case. Eight-year old Alison puts us all to shame as she strides stoically onwards. The rain is coming down in torrents, it's cold and everyone is soaked to the skin. We climbed one more hill - Mantor - then set off for the welcome warmth of the coach parked at the village of Castleton. The end of the walk had - for me - taken on the qualities of a route march used to weed out weak French Foreign Legion candidates. But all this is forgotten as we strip off in the coach and get into dry clothes. A physicist called Rex asks if I mind if he takes off his trousers. While Premium Bond worker Margaret, who has been on her first "A" group walk and still looks full of energy, puts on make-up.
On the way back there's a stop at the pub and the atmosphere in the coach gets almost riotous. Jack takes down his trousers to display his multi-coloured bruises, which he says are on his back. I would estimate they are slightly lower down. The air of camaraderie between people who have pitted themselves against the elements and won, is to my mind one of the best aspects of these sort of trips.
Next morning I have one small blister. I decide against Jack's remedy.
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And finally a letter and poem from the Evening Gazette 19th. August 2000.
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From Evening Gazette letters section 19th August 2000..
I started walking with the CHA/HF Rambling and Fell Walking Club in July 1999. The coach picks me and my grandma up at 8-30 am from Wilson Square. We have a choice of A, B and C walks. The A walks are 12 miles. The B walks are nine miles and the C walks are six miles. There are leaders for each walk.
Each Sunday we go to a different location for our walking. At the moment I do the C walks but hoping to move onto the B walks which are more strenuous.
I enjoy walking very much that I thought I'd write this poem and dedicate it to the club.
"WALKING"
Every Sunday I go walking,
Everybody's on the coach talking,
We're on our way,
To start a new day.
We walk the paths and trails,
Along the English Dales,
We pop over stiles,
Then carry on with smiles.
Over brooks and rivers,
If we get wet we get the shivers.
Up and down the hillside,
Seeing lots of sights.
At the end of the walk it's night,
Everybody is ready for a pint.
Have a good day,
See you back on Colray.
Clair Drayson (age 10)
Lauderdale Avenue
Cleveleys
"Ramblers Tackle Two Strenuous Routes"
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From Evening Gazette 1st September 1973.
The last two Saturday afternoon rambles of the Fylde CHA/HF Rambling Club have been more strenuous than is usual.
The first one started two miles east of Sedburgh at the end of the Garsdale Valley, enclosed by Baugh Fell and Rise Hill. The path ascended Frostrow Fells with extensive views backwards of the smoothly rounded Howgill Fell, the crossed Long Moor at 950ft where the party caught their first glimpse of Dentdale, with the hamlet of Gawthorpe, across the valley. The descent followed a delightful stream, Blea Beck Gill and then paths alongside the River Dee, where the black and white dippers skimmed the water gracefully to Dent.
Dent retains its cobbled main streets and its air of time standing still. The path again rose steeply aside the beautifully wooded Flintergill, where the water flows over flat limestone pavements, a feature of this area. The well-used bridleway followed the side of Barbon Fell with views to the north of the fells crossed earlier in the day. Then there was a full view of Whernside before dropping to Gawthorpe and by field paths back to Dent and the coach.
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Last Saturday - the journey was only to the north of Chipping, at the foot of Parlick Pike. However the way led away immediately away from this steep face and across to Wolfen Hall and through the wooded clough of Chipping Brook. At Saddle End Farm, after a few words with the farmer about the weather prospects, the party started the ascent of Saddle Fell, continually rising but never too steeply. The blurred outline of Longridge Fell could just be made out through the cloud.
Skirting Wolf Fell the next objective was the 1,707ft cairn on Fairsnape Fell, the highest point in this area. There the going was a bit rough over the fading heather and peat hags. Then came the single file path across Holme House Fell to Fiensdale Head and the gradually descending path through the bracken to the Bleasdale Valley. Here, the farmers prediction of rain came true.
Dusk was rapidly approaching as the party passed through Clough Heads Woods and various farms of the Bleasdale estate to High Moor Farm and a short stretch of road to the waiting coach.
R. McN.
"Cyril to step down from committee work"
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From Evening Gazette 26th October 2002.