Home town?

Burnley and Padiham: It didn't take long to get to Padiham, where my great grandfather and great grandmother came from. I found a church and cruised through the graveyard; nothing. I walked to another, but couldn't access the yard. I did find a memorial and took a photo – maybe the McLaney is a relative.

I walked back down the hill and got the car thinking this might be another Lincoln. But. I drove to another part and happened to glance at the street sign. Bingo! I parked and took photos of the street and the house where GG Michael lived – I think; I'll have to check with the parent as to whether he lived before or after the railway bridge since the early part of the street didn't have numbers on the houses. There was also a RC Church so I cruised around the yard. Nothing, but that's not a big thing (the yard was, though). I also saw an assault. Some pinhead stopped his car in the middle of the road, got out and started punching some woman in a car across the street. Then, he jumped back in the car and took off. The woman and her mates slowly drove off in the other direction.

It being a Sunday, there was no one around to ask about the graves - too busy. I drove up and around the street. Lo, there was another sign: Stonemoorbottom. And there can't be many names like that! Out of the car and more photos; this is where GG Rosannah lived. I always thought it was a place, not the name of the house.

Both worked in the cotton mills at the bottom of the hill. Michael died in mysterious circumstances, and I'm going to try to find out how by visiting the Public Records Office. I'm rather chuffed that I found these houses. It is these addresses that are listed on the 1887 marriage certificate, and may give me extra information to locate Michael's father, Edward and his unknown mother.

For lunch, I finally had the Sunday Roast, a mainstay of English culture. And I had it up at the Hapton Arms, a place I could easily imagine the McLaney and Lennon boys visiting for a quiet ale after a hard day's graft. It's only up the hill a bit from the houses. I duly took more photos.

I figured I had all the stuff I was going to get and headed to Burnley. It's tough to find accommodation without a map or guide book, but I finally found the Keirby Hotel. It's going to be redeveloped and no wonder. The lift squeaked and shuddered, as if it would stop or fall at any moment, but it's nice enough. The room has the first bath I've seen. I might have a nice long soak to ease the aches from walking so much and carrying the luggage.

So here I am, in Burnley, where my mother was born. It's an odd feeling. This part of the country is beautiful and I wonder what made them leave. I'm glad they did, but it must have been some reason for the family to shift to a new country on the other side of the world.

Oh, the bath? No hot water, so I had to use the kettle... a lot.