Quite possibly, my favourite place in all the world is Ribblehead. Pretty well no one lives there. There is a pub, a staffed railway signal box a brisk walk away and quite the most magnificent structure in all the world. Forget the Great Wall of China, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Hell, even the Forth Railway Bridge doesn’t come close. Ribblehead has its viaduct, 24 huge arches of it, built between 1870 and 1874. I have stolen a picture taken today of the viaduct, taken from the Station Master’s House where, a few years ago, we stayed with friends. Being there literally takes my breath away. Today, with the arrival of late autumn snow, there is nowhere I’d rather be.
That there is nowhere I’d rather be is some statement, given that I am a fair weather person. Growing up in a house that was freezing cold, seemingly for most of the year, made me that way. Yet, when disembarking from the train at Ribblehead Station and seeing that awesome structure in the middle distance the temperature of the day is the last thing on my mind, if it is in my mind at all.
This Wikipedia page tells the story better than I ever could. It was built by 2300 men, of whom over 100 died from construction-related accidents, fighting, or from outbreaks of smallpox. In relatively nearby Chapel-Le-Dale, the church has a memorial to those men. Next time I visit the viaduct, I will definitely pay a visit. When building took place, the men, often with their families, lived adjacent to the bridge in temporary camps, named Batty Wife Hole, Sebastopol, and Belgravia. Little remains of those camps but it is impossible to walk through the area without thinking of the people who lived there and built the viaduct.
The area is bleak, yet utterly beautiful. The viaduct is open to the elements from all angles and if the wind blows from the east, as it did the first time we visited, it cuts through you, regardless of what winter wear you are employing. The drizzle quickly soaks you to the bone. Unlike our modern cities and towns, this is how life was in the olden days. Everywhere.
The bridge is but a short walk from the railway station and when you reach it, one’s sense of awe become even deeper. How did men, given the tools and equipment of the time, build such a beautiful structure in this barren land? The 24 arches, on a rising gradient from Ribblehead station to Blea Moor tunnel, are to me more of work of art. Despite my inability to concentrate for any sustained period, I could spend the day, maybe a much longer period, just walking the viaduct and beyond. With a flickering mobile phone signal, it feels like I am in a different world, a different time.
Naturally, the whole place comes alive when a train arrives, either from the small towns and villages from Settle or those from Carlisle. Normally, it will be a ‘sprinter’ type unit, a few coaches long, stopping at all the little stations along the way, but if you are lucky, a freight train may rattle by or, on an occasional weekend of engineering work on the west and east coast mainlines, you may catch the sight of a big express train passing through. Even in my dotage, I still feel the excitement of a passing train just about anywhere. On Ribblehead Viaduct, excitement is a word that doesn’t do justice to the way I feel.
You really should go there. Most parts of the Settle and Carlisle line are unspoilt, there are hotels, B&Bs, Airbnbs and numerous sites for RVs and caravans, notably the one in the car park of the The Station Inn pub.
For the moment, Ribblehead is my favourite place on Earth. While there are quite a few other places I need to visit before I shuffle off my mortal coil, I’ll definitely be back, preferably on a cold winter’s day, something I never say about anywhere on the planet.
