Oxenhope and Glory

Oxenhope Recreation v Robin Hood Athletic, West Yorkshire League.

Today was a relatively local round trip around the far reaches of West Yorkshire and the Worth Valley.

A relatively sociable 0857 move off Sowerby, with the station friends now having put up boards detailing famous residents. Although Roger Hargreaves is probably the most well known, this man has the best name. My firstborn child will still be called Herod (be it boy or girl), but I’m warming to Chipchase as a middle name.

It took me to the 'it doesn't matter what you do with it, it still looks like a 1960s concrete hell hole' splendour of Bradford Interchange.

For some reason, the same station taxi rank was unusually empty.

A stroll across the city took me to Forster Square, with Valley Parade poking its head above the bridge in the background.

And so into Keighley.

I headed for the adjacent platform, which is home to the long standing Keighley and Worth Valley Railway, where a class 101 DMU was present for the first couple of trips of the day. The was a faithful recreation of a 20 minute queue for a ticket.

The best thing about DMUs is the windows behind the driver, so you can watch the line ahead. I sat in the second row and a young family came and sat infront of me. One of the reasons for sitting here was to get a shot of the train arriving at Oakworth, as this was the setting for the legendary film The Railway Children. However, on approach to the station, just as I was getting my camera out, the mother who was sat infront of me started breastfeeding her baby. This led to an extremely uneasy scene of me taking the photo, whilst desperately attempting to not appear to be some sort of opportunist infant feeding voyeur. Hence this picture is 90% train roof.

As it was in the film.

Next was the tunnel which was the setting for many a scene in the film. However, it was disappointing to find it was actually only about four yards long and reading up about it later, it appears they made it seem longer by putting a black sheet with a small hole in it at the far end.

And so into Haworth, my alighting point.

Haworth is famous for being the home of the Bronte sisters. I am struggling to think of anything I have less interest in than 19th century romantic poetic literature. Perhaps Latin or Fantasy Football. I therefore jumped on the bus.....

.....to Stanbury, which is on the hills just outside of Haworth. It is a small village who's main claim is that it is home to the Wuthering Heights that Kate Bush sang about and subsequently written about by Ellis Bell under his Emily Bronte pseudonym. The ruins are out there somewhere, though my temptation to walk up to them.....

.....was somewhat tempered when within minutes the weather looked like this.

However, the village of 20 or so houses, also has a fantastic ratio of two guide pubs, so I retreated firstly to Friendly, which despite the coy name, was indeed that, offering a very good Bridgehouse - Aired Ale (d'ya gettit?) and a Goose Eye - Best. The latter managing to do something that it's more prolific brewing neighbour struggles with, and hadn't turned to vinegar as soon as it left Keighley.

Next was the Wuthering Heights inn, which as the name suggests, was much more touristy, and congested with walkers with small yappy dogs ordering Lattes that take 20 minutes to make and are then made to last two hours. Anyway, these arses were battled through to get a Settle - Nine Standards and a Battle - Hop 10.

Eventually the bus back to civilisation turned up, with a bonus move via the moor top turning circle.

This was taken back to Haworth, exactly the sort of place to share anti-EU sentiments via shopping bags on railings by bus stops.

The only guide pub in the Town is the Fleece.....

.....which is in famous surroundings as this is the street the remake of the famous Hovis advert was filmed on.

There was absolutely no chance of me climbing to the top to get an exact recreation.

A contender for the worlds shittest beer garden. The fact that I chose a Gloucester - Mosaic, probably says all it needs to about the pub

Just like New York, but with slightly less iconic City of Bradford Metropolitan District Council branding.

In Swindon, it was an annoying trait that all local businesses named themselves Brunel or Great Western, meaning businesses are called Brunel Tanning Salon or Great Western Pest Control. It was refreshing to see this isn’t the case round here.

I followed the archaic directions.

......past the loco sheds.......

.....and back to the station.

My move onwards was kettle powered, which means that the railway was now being run by retired bank clerks who finally have some power in life and officiously enforce needless rules. For the love of steam.

Anyway, onto the end of the line, Oxenhope.

On FA Cup final days, non-league games used to kick off early, which caused me great inconvenience as it meant a lot less drinking time. Thankfully, the FA have bowed to my petitioning and moved the final back to the much more reasonable kick off time of 1715 so the games I go to can still have a 1430 start. Yeah, it means people from Wigan and such like can’t get back from Wembley but it does mean I can get an extra pint of Small World – Secret.

A wander up the hill, out of the village, took me to today's sporting occasion. I have no idea why someone has chosen to remove the consonants and then vowels of the sign on the right, as though an impromptu round of hillside countdown has taken place.

Oxenhope Recreation 0 v Robin Hood Athletic 1, West Yorkshire League, Premier Division.

Oxenhope United was formed in 1912, playing in the Keighley and District League.  In 1953 the club joined the Craven and District League, winning the league five times in eight years, and the cup four times.  However, they then had to wait another 37 years for another title, which they won on successive occasions that saw promotion to the West Yorkshire League.

Robin Hood is a former mining area between Leeds and Wakefield. The name comes from the belief it is where Nottingham’s finest is actually from. It is worth looking at its Wikepedia just to wonder if the person who did the ‘Notable Residents’ section has ever heard of anybody who isn’t an amateur boxer.

The home side, fresh off an 11-0 loss Saturday, warm up, whilst the away side arrive.

Immediately neighbours are the village cricket team, who looked on apprehensively at the grey clouds swirling above the distant hills.

The ground is situated in a quite spectacular location.

This was actually the original pitch, but had a horrific end to end slope…

…..possibly rivalling Chard.

So a new pitch was levelled out from common land at the bottom of the site.

This gives a very good elevated view from behind the near goal.

The work tied in with Oxenhope’s centenary in 2012, and coincided with them winning the West Yorkshire Amateur division 1, the two factors meaning they could now move up to the Premier division, where they have been since, currently fourth from bottom.

Seating was a very eclectic combination of sculptured logs, or a vandal proof band stand, neither of which were occupied as they were soaking wet.

The Football Foundation – funding five bar gates since 2003.

Beyond the far goal, the moors spread out. Notice the pensioner in the bobble hat descending the hillside in a bath tub.

Perhaps the most pointless pitchside railings imaginable, three inches from a drystone wall. Those kRaZy ground graders.

You wouldn’t see this in the Premier League – part 560. Signage attached to the goal, warning of the danger of the proximity of high voltage power lines.

With no tea hut, I tucked into some Blue Wensleydale I had bought earlier.

Their kit was a very strange mix of red and blue stripes, with various white panels thrown in for good measure. Like a Sunday league Team GB.

Beyond the dugouts, in the Oxenhope boonies, the local science teacher cooks up blue crystal meth in his RV.

To walk round the pitch involves various home made ladders over dry stone walling.

But where the pitch has been levelled…..

……it results in……

…..a worms eye view of proceedings.

Half time came and, as the team talks took place on the pitch, I was in the right place to hear such local dialogue as “We're all playin own game” and “Teres plenty in tank”. Heh heh, don't northerners talk funny? 

If you are a fan of football through stone walling……

……this is your ground.

This is fucking art. Check out my composition, framed and everything.

This side also gave another view of the ferocity of the slope on the former pitch, which is still used by the third team.

Midway through the second half, the vistors scored from a corner, and this proved to be the only goal of the game.

With the game over, the opportunity was taken to head for the adjacent cricket ground...

....but almost immediately the rain got heavier….

….and the covers came on.

With the game over and the cricket showing no sign of progress, it was onto the bus stop, only to see the bus have a prang on the narrow road leading away from town. The new signature car of arsehole drivers, anything white with alloys, refused to reverse back from a tight corner, telling the driver he could get by, and instead saw his near side wing bent back.

After the merest of delays, we were back heading across the moors.

Destination was Hebden Bridge with its period station.....

....including platform signage.

And so the short hop back to Sowerby, and into the Jubilee in time to listen to the cricket being wrapped up, and back home in time to not watch the cup final.