We're definitely not in Kansas anymore, and, Getting Settled

Hills.

That was the first thing I noticed when I stopped dozing fitfully on the flight from Chicago to Manchester and took a peek out the window at the landscape below.  There were still patchwork sections in the fields, but they seemed artfully warped and stretched over the waves of earth.  

After a tedious overnight flight, we finally landed at 7:15 a.m. and prepared ourselves for a full day ahead. Our first stop was in Preston at 9 a.m.  As Mr. C explained during the coach ride, Preston was the most polluted city in England at the time Charles Dickens was writing his novels, and Dickens wrote "Hard Times" in outrage after researching the terrible conditions.  As it turns out, Mr. C's ancestor William C. was buried in a churchyard in Preston after moving his family to the town, unaware of the filth that plagued it.  His gravestone is simply marked "Billy." 

After our short family-history stop in Preston, we made our way toward Settle.  On the way we passed Pendle Hill, which our driver, Derrick, informed us is the home of the Lancashire witches.  According to legend, the witches come out once a year on Halloween to form a procession around the hill.  

We reached Settle at 11 a.m. and took about an hour to have lunch, buy groceries and explore the town a bit before heading to our cottages to freshen up.  I also bought a couple of pastries from the Naked Man Cafe... delicious. 

Our cottages in Settle are an adorable cluster of stone buildings with little gardens and a "backyard" full of sheep -- which bleat plaintively at all hours, much to our amusement.  The weather is perfect, around 70 degrees and definitely sunglasses-worthy (a rarity in England).

At 2:30 p.m. we boarded the coach for Bolton Priory (not really an Abby, though the road signs and brochures claim otherwise).  On the way, the countryside was absolutely breathtaking.  Around every bend in the road was a new view of patchwork fields with herds of shorn sheep and black-and-white cows.  Each field was outlined 

by a low stone wall or hedge, delineating the hillside into various shades of green that were vibrant in the sunshine.

 We arrived at Bolton around 3.  Building of the priory began in 1154, and it was

 later destroyed by Henry VIII.  Within the priory is the Church of St. Mary and St. Cuthbert; the lilies painted behind the altar symbolize the church's devotion to the Madonna. 

At first I thought the windows on the west (?) wall were depicting the Stations of the Cross, but a closer look revealed they are actually a condensed history of the life of Christ. 

All around the priory are beautiful lawns with a river running through the hills, complete with stepping stones for the brave and a footbridge for the picture takers.  Guess which I was:

More photos will (hopefully) be on my Flickr account (link on right).  

After Bolton we headed back for dinner at the Anchor Inn (beef and ale pie with peas for me) followed by tea and pastry and a much-needed rest.

***A note:  The WI-FI here is incredibly spotty.  I'll be updating when and if I can.