The snow has caught up with us overnight leaving a blanket on the car but it has stopped so there is just a cold wind to contend with. As I struggle to get my boots on outside the Derby Arms, a small voice inside my head is lobbying for a day off but I know as soon as we get moving it will be fine.

We set off south following a sign for a village called Ulpha, a name with certain intergalactic overtones but turns out to be a settlement of 150 inhabitants off to the left of our route. The strangeness of the name is echoed in a nearby signpost.

We follow the road, keeping a close eye out for black ice.

A mile up the road we walk past Meathop Hall, a Grade II listed building from the 17th century. I later read that the other building of note in the village is the hospital, which was used as a sanatorium for tuberculosis patients from 1891 to 1991.

My mother was a nurse and caught what was commonly known as “consumption” or the “white death” on the wards – she then spent months in a sanatorium (I never asked where of course). As a child I didn’t realise how serious a disease it was, but reading about the regimen patients had to live under has been a revelation. Taken from Tuberculosis sanatorium regimen in the 1940s: a patient’s personal diary the rules were:

“Absolute and utter rest of mind and body—no bath, no movement except to toilet once a day, no sitting up except propped by pillows and semi-reclining, no deep breath. Lead the life of a log, in fact. Don’t try, therefore, to sew, knit, or write, except as occasional relief from reading and sleeping. Eat nourishing food and have plenty of fresh air.”

Well – thank goodness for antibiotics…….

At the end of the village, a stretch of woodland – wouldn’t it be nice? But there are many rules and planning permission is usually needed.

https://www.woodlands.co.uk/owning-a-wood/sheds

From Meathop the road follows the path of the railway line along a minor road, which despite the snow covering in the fields is now fairly clear.

Until……………….this photo is looking back on the stretch of flooded road too deep to wade, and which calls for a series of manoeuvres to avoid getting our feet wet. First it’s over the fence on our right onto the golf course, where we hop and squelch from fairway to green and back to the rough, keeping away from what appear to be small lakes. At one point we find ourselves stranded, where the only way forward is over a thin, slippery plank that has been positioned over a channel of deep water. We make it back to the road unscathed but rattled, there is nothing worse than getting your feet wet on a cold winter’s day.

We are now approaching Grange-over-Sands so we turn off left, over a railway bridge, and down onto the promenade.

In town we find a Costa for a warm up, and as we have time and energy to spare, we decide to walk on to the next stop on the railway line, hoping there might be a train back to Silverdale. Slush has now turned to rain but it’s only a couple of miles to Kents Bank. Unfortunately the next train is in an hour, and that’s a little too long to hang around in the cold so we call a taxi.

Distance: 7 miles