Alan Cleaver, 56, is a freelance subeditor and local author from Whitehaven, Cumbria.
On 18 June 2013, I read a book review in the Guardian. I often read the Country Diary and book reviews, and this one really grabbed my attention. The critic William Dalrymple was discussing Holloway, by Robert Macfarlane. It was only a short piece, but it sparked something – perhaps it was the stunning illustration by the Guardian’s Clifford Harper which caught my eye – and I immediately bought the book.
Holloways are a type of sunken path particular to Dorset, and the book explores them in the context of the county’s landscape. A simple concept, but as someone who has a longstanding interest in local history, I was intrigued. It got me thinking about my own surroundings on the west coast of Cumbria.
The slim tome was a delight but it struck me that the list they included of the names for similar paths around Britain – such delightful names as greenways, lichways, trods, corpse’s lanes and ghostways – didn’t include “lonnings”. Lonning is a Cumbrian word for a country lane about half a mile long of which, like most living in this part of the world beyond the Lake District, I was vaguely aware. Inspired by Holloway, I decided to explore our lonnings further – and discovered I lived just a few miles from Billy Watson’s Lonning at Harrington, near Workington.
This lonning was made famous by a 19th-century dialect ballad: “Ther’ cannot be annuder spot so private an’ so sweet/ As Billy Watson’ lonnin’ of a lownd summer neeght!”
The path is delightful, resplendent with hazel, blackites, holly, and, on my visit, a charm of goldfinches. Despite much work by Harrington History Group, no one knows who Billy Watson was. He presumably lived at the end of the lonning – but it struck me that if I were to be remembered by nothing more than the name of a romantic lonning, I could die happy.
Over the next two years I explored and mapped Cumbrian lonnings and found that, while everyone in the village knows the name of the lonning and where it is, the path has rarely been recorded on signs or maps. So my partner, Lesley, and I took on the challenge, limiting ourselves to those lonnings with a specific name.
And what wonderful names: Blue Bottle Lonning, Fat Lonning, Thin Lonning, Squeezed Gut Lonning, Dog Lonning, Johnnie Bulldog’s Lonning (Johnnie lived there – and he had a bulldog), Tatie Pot Lonning, Maggie’s Lonning, Wine Lonning, Dynamite Lonning (so-called because it’s in an area where there used to be mines), Cow Lonning – and so they kept coming.
Our map (now on Google) was recording many of these in writing probably for the first time in their history. The research involved many happy evenings and weekends visiting Cumbria’s most rural villages, easing their names from the memories of villagers. While most hikers and ramblers were setting off for Blencathra and Helvellyn, we were discovering a rich, ancient world of hidden lanes bearing almost mystical names.
It’s been a labour of love, and as much a tribute to the landscape as anything else. When we published the book, we didn’t print many, but surprisingly, it became a steady bestseller and was shortlisted for the Lakeland book of the year award in 2014, with judge Eric Robson praising the original research.
Writing this book has opened up a whole new world to Lesley and me, but, more importantly, it’s ensuring some of this country’s most ancient history is being recorded for posterity. I think it’s entirely possible that lonnings were about to breathe their last, our knowledge of them lost for ever. I like to think our book gave them another lease of life. It’s not just institutions that need preserving; these little-known, uniquely British aspects of our landscape ought to be celebrated more, especially in the modern age.
