MEMORIES OF A CHESHIRE MOOR 



1884 



A~iVAY to the north, hazy in the distance, a line of 

 trees screened the quiet village of Carrington; the 

 square tower of the church peeped above them. East- 

 ward, still further away, were the tall Lombardy poplars 

 of Ashton-on-Mersey, but between us and the trees 

 stretched a level expanse of purple ling, a grouse moor, 

 well stocked, within seven miles of the centre of Man- 

 chester. Hundreds, nay thousands, living within a radius 

 of a few miles hardly knew of its existence, and certainly 

 did not consider it worthy of a visit. To us as school- 

 boys it was paradise; the dread of the keeper's stick or 

 of a sudden drop into a bog-hole added a spice of adven- 

 ture to our visits. Merciful accident, a matter of levels, 

 carried the railway through a cutting at the edge of the 

 Moss; only the smoke of passing trains was visible, whilst 

 the scarcity of houses within sight detracted from the 

 idea of any considerable population. 



The ling was thick and rank, its ancient stems inter- 

 twisted in a maze, for little systematic burning had been 

 undertaken for many years. As we tramped through 

 masses, nearly waist-high, we flushed again and again 

 the startled grouse. We too were startled at the whir; 

 we thought of keepers and glanced round before hunting 

 for the ruddy, well-protected eggs, whilst the cock bird, 

 yards away, dropped after skimming the heather with 

 bowed wings to give his warning: " Go back, go back, go 

 back/' The straight-cut drains, 4 or 5 feet deep, were 

 often overhung and concealed by clumps of ling or bil- 



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