As I crossed the Pennines above Littleborough this morning the mist hung in the air like the steam from a pot of lapsang souchong tea. There was the aroma of smoke in the air and when I dropped down Blackstone Edge I could see the moors alight below me.
Now, this is the season for swailing the moors, burning off the old dry, dead grass to encourage new growth. However, with no human being in attendance I suspected that it was a discarded cigarette that had caused the fire. One particular corner was well alight with nobody about with flails to put it out.
Which took me back to the last two years, around Easter time, when I had seen three black men, in gleaming white robes, walking down the very same road above the moors. It was around Easter and I know a wooden cross is erected in the hills here, so was it a Christian sect performing their Easter rites, or druids? I have never found out, but the combination of shadowy figures in flowing white robes and uncontained fire is a great start for a story!
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