Post:      Although this is a short Saturday run today, I feel that Charlie is loosening up, and is much more free with his style of writing and what he says.  One of the reasons could be that he has made, or is in the process of making, a decision on the future format of his journals.  His decision, I can reveal, is that he is going to change his format, and make all his journal entries stories from this week on, more or less, and is a precursor to next years book, 1926, in which there are no diary entries at all.

Saturday, September 12                                  A Druidical Circle

 Joe and Ben came up this afternoon, but by reason of a couple of punctures which I had discovered, it got 3.30pm before we started.  The brothers Eastwood were seen, and the brothers Pearson and Bill Siddle were later spotted, and more time was wasted in reciting Odes and Stanzas to ‘Blackberry Joe’ of Nant-y-Ffrith fame.  All of us then started together via Deane and the new road to Chorley, where Joe left us.  (He does a bit of courting sometimes!).  At Horwich Ben and I left the rest who were bound as usual for Walton le Dale, and after a hard scramble reached the Bungalow on Rivington Pike.  The views therefrom were very extensive including lots of coastline that looked like a streak of silver from Mersey to Ribble.  Near the join with the Rivington road, we struck a damp, grassy track, which led us a merry dance and eventually brought us to Mytton’s Farm, where we had tea.

Then the slimy track to Belmont road, the cart-track by the reservoir and a fine moorland byway to Blackburn road, along which we rode for a few yards, deserting it in favour of a poorer but better road.  Again we joined a track that led us over the open moors, the while the setting sun lend a wealth of colour to the western sky.  Leaving all paths, we pushed our way over the turfy moors in search of a druidical circle marked by Bartholomew.  We found it, just a few old worn boulders, hardly discernible, forming a rough ring on a high ridge.  More rough walking, then we joined a path that led us down to Turton, which place was in the throes of a fair.

The road to Bolton, then via a wall and gates, into a private wood, where we got caught and were threatened with dire penalties.  We pleaded innocence and bluffed our way out, afterwards cutting for it.  Then Tonge Moor road and home.                   32 miles