When Paul and I fell in love we used to spend hours driving around the Lancashire and Yorkshire countryside – until my pelvis fractured when my recurring bowel cancer became metastatic and spread to the bone. Bumping along in his Suzuki Jeep was not the most comfortable place to be! But eventually I made a recovery and we were back on the road again. We would picnic on tuna and sweet corn sandwiches with crisps – washed down with coffee from a flask. He would often stop, grab his sketchbook and pencil and draw a row of telegraph poles, clumps of grass or a dry stone wall. He was very much a landscape artist and it was so good to see him working again – after years of neglecting his artwork.
On occasions he would drive by the Inn at Whitewell, nestled in the heart of rural Lancashire and overlooking the River Hodder. This is where he promised we would spend a few days after our wedding. Although we sometimes stopped outside he never actually took me in and it seemed he was saving it for that special occasion – an occasion that sadly was never to happen.
On summer solstice last year I was invited by two of my friends, Ina & Norman, to the Inn at Whitewell, for dinner and I have just rediscovered the photos, which I would like to share with you.