A dark day of remembrance

A dark windy morning on the moors.

The morning of the national day of remembrance began in the north west wet and windswept, not really a day to look forward to a bike ride, but oddly I was.

Along with the wind and rain came dark skies, a bit like the beginning of a dark novel, even at a time when some brightness should have been about, mid morning, so dark in fact the dynamo lighting on my bike was automatically switched on.

I made my way toward the moors of Rivington and Anglezarke on my bike, dressed in the unfashionable and very seldom sighted full cycling cape, if you haven't seen one of these, you aint seen nothing yet. I add this as younger cyclists these days are so street cred only very fashionable (and expensive) waterproof jackets are worn. With a strong wind behind me the cape morphed into a wind sail giving great assistance allowing easy pedalling.

Nearing Rivington Barn I passed a cycling group, front and rear light twinkling in the semi dark, by the side of the road, one a victim of a puncture. No assistance seemed to be required so I rode on by with a cheery nod in their direction.

At the barn I felt the need of the cape had expired, the rain had all but stopped so I propped the bike against a wall and changed into the waterproof I had thoughtfully added to my saddlebag, after all the return would likely be into the wind when the cape would be a detrimental drogue.

As I rummaged in the saddlebag, a proper one, not one of the under the saddle sandwich boxes, a young lady from the puncture group approached, 'have you any puncture patches?' A plaintive cry for assistance, two spare innertubes that immediately went down on installation would indicate a foreign body still stuck in the tyre. No tubes left and a patch needed. I rummaged in the side pocket of my trusty saddlebag and came up trumps with a small box of patches and glue bringing a gleam to the eye of the young lady. I handed it over, 'will you be here long?' I'm afraid not, I'll be on my way, you can keep it.

You may ask why I was so generous when I myself may have been in need of the repair kit, well for a start the saddlebag contains, along with tools spare kit, gloves a healthy supply of spare innertubes, these big Carradice bags may be heavy but so handy, I was happy to help but needed to be on my way to the remembrance service.

Off road now and nearing the site of the wartime bomber disaster, the track is an ancient one that at one time long ago led to the lead mines, at the trackside are the old industrial water causeways, at one point a sign indicates that this was 'number six slime pit'. I often wonder about this but have never taken the trouble to look further for an explanation preferring the mystery rather than the answer.

I ride as far as I can up the track then lock my bike to the fence before tackling the steep winding footpath to the monument at the spot of the wartime tragedy. It was here one fateful night in 1942 that a bomber crewed by Australian volunteers in the Royal Air Force met their fate, no survivors.

Each year, a service in their memory is held, organised by the Chorley ramblers, assisted by the Mountain rescue service, during which a moving poem by the mother of one of the young men is read by ladies, usually two, from the ramblers.

I am preceded at the top by early arrivals, Dave Bisset is already there, minus this year his usual companions, one on DIY duties the other domestically confined for the day.

High on the hillside the wind is reaching the forecast gale proportions almost blowing us off the crowded small plateau, despite the mild weather down below up here it had Dave shivering and rubbing his gloved hands.

The two minutes silence was observed via radio four followed by the 'Last Post', always a poignant moment if you are ex service. During National Service we began to recognise the nightly bugler by their individual style.

Service over Dave and I rounded the morning off at the Rivington tea room, pasty and chips for Dave, egg and bacon barm for me, the wind on the hillside had honed a healthy appetite.

 It was still only half light on the way home, and early afternoon at that, the automatic dynamo light still being switched, and so it remained the rest of the day, a day to reflect on.