The Lancashire Coast-September 2021
Whilst we’ve done a little bit of ‘Legging Round Britain’ in 2021 (in the Chichester area), this is going to be our first prolonged ‘tour’. Betty and I have decided that the Lancashire Coast (including The Wirral Peninsular and Merseyside) would be an excellent location for us to explore.
Because of the flat nature of the terrain and the significant amount of urban coast, we have elected to use our bicycles for the entire journey.
Betty is looking forward to developing her cycling muscles, which get only limited use in East Sussex, whilst I am hoping that my saddle doesn’t give my bum and crutch too much hassle! One draw-back of cycling upon largely flat terrain is that you use exactly the same muscle sets all the time. Hills may be challenging to go up, but the mix of muscles used in up, down and on the level means all of them get a bit of use and a modicum of rest.
The Lancashire Coast for us will start at Park gate, Neston, on The Wirral peninsular – to the west of Liverpool. West of Park gate is Wales, which we will save for another day. Once The Wirral has been ticked-off we will follow the coast of Merseyside until it becomes Lancashire ‘proper’. Journey’s end is expected to be Carnforth, with a small amount of Lancashire north of here, which will be added to our Lake District Coast expedition at some stage in the future.
The Lancashire Coast is likely to have a lot of similarities to the Norfolk Coast, being largely lowland and dominated by sand dunes, sandy beaches, salt marsh and mud flats. It is probably a good idea to get both of these coasts done asap, since they may have changed quite radically as climate change progresses! If they do change during our life-times, then you can be sure we will be back to investigate this, as long as the old legs are still working.
The Wirral Peninsular – Monday 13th September 2021
As we sit astride our bikes at Park gate, we gaze westward across apparently endless tracts of salt marsh, with the pale grey mass of the Clwydian Mountains in the distance. It is the kind of salt marsh that is dominated by taller plants such as cord grass, sea blight and sea aster. It looks like a vast prairie that has been here forever, but it is all relatively new.
Back in Roman times the Dee was easily navigable up to Chester. Even throughout the Middle Ages boats could move freely up and down the estuary. However, coasts are changeable things and the Dee Estuary started silting, eventually being replaced by the River Mersey and Liverpool as the principle port in the area.
Park gate itself was briefly a port, as the Dee silted-up and Chester fell out of favour. However, the silting soon made Park gate unusable for larger craft too. By the early 20th Century, salt marsh was colonising much of the Park-gate side of the estuary, especially as the main river channel was shifted artificially. Perhaps the biggest human intervention was the introduction of Cord Grass (Spartina Anglican) to the estuary in 1928. Now sea and mudflats have all but been replaced by the salt marsh.
So at 11.18 am on an overcast day in September we take a deep breath of the fresh sea air and listen to a few Canada Geese sitting in a small pool a few hundred yards away. We could wait here all day and still not see the sea, which only really comes this far when tides are very high. However, we don’t have all day, since we have 30-odd miles of cycling ahead of us. So cycle helmeted, hi-viz jacketed and with back-packs provisioned for any eventuality, we put foot to pedal and strike out north-westward along the B5135.
After 1 km the road turns inland, but we are soon able to pick up the Wirral Way, a cycle-route that follows the course of a disused railway line. We are in a cutting, with the occasional road bridge passing over out head. The ambiance is pleasant, since the cutting is well lined with overhanging trees. We are not alone, the Wirral Way being popular with both cyclists and dog-walkers, but thankfully not too many of them to steal the solitude we crave.
Eventually views of the estuary start to reappear as the disused railway line moves closer to the coast as we pass officially from Cheshire into Merseyside. At Heswall we pass the local golf club before being forced onto the road. This is our first opportunity to interpret the topography and history of the railway line. At first I can’t quite work out how the railway could have got up the hill that the road climbs. Then it becomes evident that relatively modern residential housing must have ‘stolen’ the line of the railway, whose gardens are below us, as we cycle the elevated road. The adjacent Station Road gives us a clue to its history also.
Soon we rejoin the disused railway and continue our progress past the spreading residential area of Heswall, whose population has gown over the last 200 years from 128 to 13,401. The railway disappeared in 1956 well before the Beeching cuts, but it makes an excellent cycle route – so no complaints this time!
It is not long however, before we are lured away from the railway line by views across the estuary at Dee Cliffs, where a cartoonish interpretative board informs us that we should be able to see huge flocks of Knots, Black tailed Godwits and Curlews. There are certainly birds aplenty to be seen from here, but without my binoculars I am pushed to identify them. By now the salt marsh is to our left as we gaze out across acres of mud flats revealed by the low tide.
From our vantage point we can see the Point of Ayr off to the extreme right, marking the most northerly extent of the Dee, on the Welsh side. Off to the left is the power station at Connah’s Quay, belching out white clouds of steam. The shore-line here is obviously periodically licked by storm tides, which create the cliffs formed in the soft local rock. Their slopes are covered in scrub, lesser knapp weed, clover and ragwort suggesting some degree of stability, at least until the next major storm event. A few boats are high and dry on the mud. I can just make out one of those dedicated fisher-folk busily digging for lugworms. In the distance the Clwydian Mountains continue with their broody silence. We decide to walk along cliff top rather than return to disused railway, but soon rejoin it to cycle on past the Caravan Club site at Thurstaston and on to Caldy and West Kirby.
By now we are surrounded by residential housing, when suddenly a ‘pocket-park’ appears off to our left. Once again we are deflected from our path by the pull of a different world – Ashton Park. Here a large duck pond, a busy crown-green bowling green and an area of woodland invite us to pause for a few minutes. Unsure of the by-laws regarding cycling in local parks I dismount, but Betty has no such reservations as she winds her way under the trees. At some stage in the past many of the trees must have fallen, but an enterprising sculptor has turned their trunks into a mix of characters including a green-man, dolphins and others.
According to our OS map, the disused railway line only has another half mile left before it gives way to the existing line from West Kirby to Birkenhead. In need of further seascapes we decide to cycle into West Kirby by way of a suburban street lined with impressive semi-detached houses probably owned by Liverpool commuters. This is definitely the better healed end of Merseyside, with nearby Heswall ranked as the 7th richest neighbourhood in the UK, back in 2011.
Then suddenly we are on Banks Road, West Kirby’s high street. This comes as something of a shock after the quiet delights of Parkgate, the Wirral Way and Ashton Park. I always find such juxtapositions exciting, when you unexpectedly find yourself back in civilisation after a period of solitude. I am reminded of narrow-boating down the River Soar in Leicestershire and stopping at a small village, only to discover a busy A road just the other side of it. This however, is a much nicer experience, with an acceptable amount of car noise, but lots of people busy popping in and out of some interesting-looking shops. Humdrum can be a surprisingly enervating experience.
Two minutes of ‘humdrumming’ is sufficient for us to recover ourselves and cycle to the sea front. Here we can look across the low-tide exposed mud flats, to Hilbre Island, where a number of people are currently walking languidly across the mud.
A sign warns the public to be aware of the tide times, such is the unpredictability of the speed of advance of the sea here. Most people wisely appear to be coming back, now that the tide is on the turn. Anyone who misses it will get wet feet, or find themselves stuck on Hilbre Island for several hours – which might be quite fun to try one day!
Hilbre Island, is actually 3 islands, none of which has any permanent residents. There is a small bird observatory which is manned on a regular basis for bird ringing etc. Apparently Wirral council had so much trouble recruiting someone to live on the islands as warden, that offered virtually no amenities, that they closed the position. Perhaps they should record Desert Island Discs there, insisting that participants spend several days listening to their choice of music etc. I suspect solitude is a great place to visit but a lousy place to live.
Salt water swimming pools are are not uncommon at seaside towns, but West Kirby have gone a stage further, having created a marine lake for a range of water sports and swimmers, where they can experience activities on the high seas, but within safe water confines. However are keeping our feet dry and will cycle on to Hoylake at the north-west tip of the Wirral.
First off we have to cycle to the station at West Kirby, where a conveniently placed cycle track picks up Wirral Way users like us and allows us to cycle alongside the railway line as far as Hoylake station. We pass two further golf courses, Hoylake Municipal and the prestigious Royal Liverpool Golf Club. This is our first taste of “The Golf Coast” as a local friend of mine laughingly refers to the coast of Lancashire. We will pass many more golf courses on our tour before the week is through.
Hoylake sea front gives us further views of Hilbre Island, now off to our left, but our eyes are drawn to a mass of wind turbines in the distance. A total of 240 white rotating windmills gleam at us from the relatively shallow waters of Liverpool Bay and other parts of the Irish Sea.
I have a Wordsworth moment, as though a mass of dancing daffodils were pressing upon my inward eye. It seems wherever we go along the UK coast these wonderful structures are popping up, intent upon reversing the excesses of mankind and perhaps one day saving our coast from future inundation by the sea.
In stark contrast some sort of drilling rig is making a loud noise next to us. Here are more mudflats. However, since we were last here several years ago, an area of pioneer salt marsh has started to develop. When last here there was nothing but golden sand, so I wonder what has caused this change.
Betty slips away for a few minutes to take a photo of our daughter-in-law’s old house, where she used to live nearby with her late mother. As I ponder the cause of the salt marsh invasion, a text appears from Betty. It is a photograph of a banner she has spotted.
The banner has obviously been put up by locals demanding that their beach be restored to its former glory.
However, the salt marsh is the direct consequence of mud accumulation, so the local marine sedimentation must be changing significantly, unless they previously scraped the beach of mud and vegetation.
Checking online information reveals that the local council has stopped its previous scraping of the beach – by some sort of machine, which would have removed any accumulating mud and salt marsh plants that might have taken root. It is a political hot potato it seems, with many locals happy to see nature take its course, whilst others want nature kept at bay so that they can have their beach back. Nothing new there then!
The strand line at the end of Trinity Road is a mishmash of material.
Salt marsh plants found on the regenerating salt marsh at Hoylake:
Sea Aster
Sea Plantain
Sea Milkwort
Cord Grass,
Button weed
Beyond the conflicts to be found on the sea shore at Hoylake, the masses of turbines gathered offshore and even more still off the Welsh coast, herald yet more change and potential conflict ahead. Added to the turbines, several large ships are anchored offshore, one assumes awaiting a berth at Liverpool Docks. Without doubt, the Wirral coast is an interesting and changing place – both for nature and humans. It will be interesting bit of coast to revisit at some stage in the future, to see how it all pans-out.
Hoylake is the base for the local RNLI lifeboat. Outside the attractive lifeboat station two crewmen are working on a hovercraft. I ask them if they still use it to rescue people on the mud flats. They both willing explain something to me, but I confess I only got the gist of it, since their scouse accents are so strong that I have trouble following their explanation. I think the hovercraft is now largely for training purposes, but I can’t be absolutely certain of the fact. I should have recorded the conversation and got it translated.
Hoylake lifeboat hovercraft
I take a peek inside the lifeboat station where the RNLI’s fastest lifeboat sits ready for launching. The boat is launched from the beach of a caterpillar track launcher and is driven by water jets instead of a propeller. Both are ideal developments for work in the shallow waters around here. Outside the lifeboat station is a bronze statue dedicated to 8 lifeboatmen who lost their lives 200 years ago.
Hoylake Lifeboat
Bronze statue dedicated to the men of the 1810 lifeboat tragedy
The ambiance around the lifeboat station is suited to us taking our lunch. The provision of benches is is a further encouragement. A sign requests that boats not be put onto the benches. This is because a large model boating lake attracts model boaters to sail them here.
Hoylake model boating lake
Benches – but not for boats
As we cycle along the coast from Hoylake eastwards, I am pleasantly surprised that we are allowed to do so. Maps and web sites I have looked at suggest we have to go inland, on busy roads, rather than cycle the sea wall, close to the beach. We are not the only cyclists, but we all seem to be getting along fine with pedestrians. Its funny how unenlightened local government can be with regards to cyclists in such places, where numbers of both are relatively low. Hopefully this shows that attitudes are changing. Sometimes humans create problems that don’t really exist. Perhaps the covid pandemic has played a part in changing attitudes towards cycling and exercise in general, not to mention the benefits of both groups showing greater respect for the other and sharing facilities more.
Moving eastwards we can see the tide rushing in at breakneck speed from the Mersey end. Little Egrets are out on the mud flats wading in the rising tide of a creek, busily catching all manner of things in the rising waters. They are beautiful little birds and have been a common site on the south coast since the 1980s , so it’s great to see them spreading this far north. They are something of a canary in the coal mine with regards to climate change. Wildlife don’t extend their range on a whim, only moving in large numbers and breeding in new areas when the climate is showing consistent change.
Little Egrets hunt in the rising waters overlooked by an offshore wind farm
As we pass Leasowe Golf Course an impressive castle-like building catches the eye – Leasowe Hotel, formerly Leasowe Castle. This was built by the 5th Earl of Derby in 1592, as a hunting lodge and a place from which to watch the Wallasey Races that took place on the sands at low tide. Here a couple of breakwaters have been newly created, using rip-rap (large boulders probably weighing several tons each). The purpose of these is to reduce the energy of waves striking the concrete revetment, which forms a resistant skin over the soft material of the coastline beneath.
Boulder groyne/breakwater and revetment
This is the area called Mockbeggar Wharf, a name which suggests boats would at one time have tied up here, possibly to unload, but more likely whilst they awaited a suitable berth at Liverpool Docks. Mockbeggar is quaint ‘informal’ term for a place with “an appearance of wealth but is either deserted or has poor or miserly inhabitants.” I’m not sure if the wharf or the name came first, but it is definitely deserted now, except for cyclists and pedestrians.
The picnic site at Gun Park suggests there was once a gun battery here, but today it is dominated by the shifting sands that form dunes. These are covered with typical sand dune flora, whilst the sand also provides locals and visitors alike with lovely sandy beaches. At least some people are going to be happy with the current coastal sedimentation regime, although perhaps not our friends in Hoylake. One drawback here of course is that people will need to get into their cars, onto their bikes or even walk to get here and enjoy it.
At this point in our perambulation I can’t resist breaking out into song. Sorry. You see early in my teenage years I was smitten by the singing of The Spinners, a well known Liverpool folk group who regularly performed on TV. One of their stock-in-trade songs was the sea-shanty ‘Whip Jamboree’, which had the great attraction of being easy to sing and even easier to play on my guitar. It describes the progress of a ship returning to Liverpool via the Irish Sea and spotting a number of important landmarks on the way. One of these was Fort Perch Rock, where a Napoleonic fort sat upon a large rock and guarded the mouth of the River Mersey.
Fort Perch Rock
At Fort Perch Rock the rising tide is gradually forcing people to abandon their buckets, spades and blankets and seek the sanctuary of the promenade. A few hardy souls remain, brandishing metal detectors in the hope of turning up treasure, although more-likely old bottle tops and nails.
Just beyond Fort Perch Rock is a sign indicating New Brighton Pier a short distance further along. This landmark appears in another famous Liverpool Song – ‘Seth Davey’. Apparently the legendary Seth Davey performed with three puppets and a plank for local children, although the song tells us that he gave “a much better show than you ever did see down the Pavvy (Pavilion Theatre) at New Brighton Pier”. The pier was demolished in 1977 but the Pavilion Theatre built in 1913 lives on as the Floral Pavilion. In front of the ‘Pavvie’ the Black Mermaid combs her hair whilst the modern container port of Liverpool looks on from across the Mersey.
Two famous place names from Liverpool folk songs
The Black Mermaid in front of the Floral Pavilion, with Liverpool container port across the river
From here we can see across The Mersey to the modern day container port to the north of Liverpool Docks. The singers of sea shanties and songs about puppeteers would have been ‘mouths-agape’ at the sight of these ocean-going monsters. Liverpool and the Mersey are definitely a place where old and new sit side by side, stretching your attention and your imagination as you ride by. And all the time concrete and rip-rap boulders intervene to provide protection from the sea that is the life-blood of the city. The rip rap also provides an unexpected benefit in that they create rocky reefs on which sea weed and marine invertebrates can make a valuable home.
Rounding the corner and into the Mersey itself we ride along a broad expanse of promenade on the Wallasey side. Here some impressive buildings suggest that the wealthy of Liverpool would have one day resided, looking across the river to where their boats or factories were busily employing the less well-heeled. Doubtless a pall of smoke would have been visible across the water, as they gazed out of their front room windows.
The large houses and cobbled streets of the wealthy merchantmen of Liverpool
One of the most prominent building is Wallasey Town Hall, although I can’t find a sign informing tourists of this fact. Instead there is a large banner proclaiming the memorial gardens dedicated to the 96 who died at the Hillsborough Disaster – at the 1989 FA cup semifinal held at Sheffield Wednesday’s Hillsborough football ground between Liverpool and Nottingham Forest. Across the water is the living memorial to the 96 – Anfield Football Stadium, home of Liverpool FC.
Wallasey Town Hall
Anfield – home of Liverpool FC (in the foreground is the scrap yard where the new Everton FC stadium is to be built)
Impressive wind turbines tower over the container ships across the water, whilst further upstream, outside the Liver Building at Princess Wharf a cruise liner sits in a berth it has not left for the past 18 months, during the Covid 19 pandemic. Whilst container ships have continued to supply us with all we need these last couple of years, global people movement has been severely curtailed. Not many of the old and vulnerable who used to take cruises are as keen as they were, with many of the worlds’ cruise liners floating covid incubators that no-one wanted in their ports. How things can change at the drop of a hat. The well heeled don’t always get things their own way.
The Liverpool Side.
Further up the Mersey is Birkenhead and the lowest crossing point of the river – the Wallasey Tunnel. This represents the point at which we have decided the coastline gives way to river banks, during our circumnavigation of the country. We now have to get back to Parkgate at the southern end of the River Dee. In hindsight I realise that we should have started at Hooton and cycled the disused railway line to Parkgate and around the coast as far as Birkenhead. Anyone intending following our footsteps or tyre tracks would be wise to consider this option. We however, had to contend with a couple of hours of busy road traffic, including me falling off my bike twice. Ironically the latter was not the result of traffic, or of cycling too fast, but the opposite. It is easier to balance on a fast-moving cycle than a slow one, fortunately the damage done falling off a slow bicycle is generally less severe and all I got was a grazed elbow for my inadequate equilibrioception capabilities!
A brief note about the cycle track from Hooton station to Parkgate: how blissfully quite it was, with only the occasional walker or cyclist. The highlight for me was when we started descending from the higher ground as we approached Neston. Suddenly we were able to stop peddling as gravity took us pell-mell down a relatively steep incline (in train terms anyway) through a gorge-like cutting made in the dark red Permo-triassic rock of the area. The exposed rock was covered in Harts-tongue Fern, reminiscent of some sort of Victorian pleasure garden. As we whizzed down-hill I noted a low wall on my left hand side, punctuated at intervals with metal manhole covers. At the bottom of the incline I eventually caught up with the fearlessly speeding Betty who asked me what the wall was for. By then I had worked out that it was probably a large pipe involved in the transfer of sewage from the poorer east side of the Wirral to the wealthier west. I bet that would not have been a popular piece of public infrastructure to the well-heeled of Neston and Parkgate. I suspect it was quietly installed in the disused railway cutting, out of sight of any local objectors. At least the common people can now claim to have shat thousands, if not millions, of tons of their excrement on their betters.