Following the ten day rollercoaster of court-then-Whitby-then-
eddie777's-operation, I was hoping for the chance to catch up with useful things like sleep over the weekend. Needless to say, that was wishful thinking. Saturday's trip to Scarborough didn't go entirely according to plan. I walked in on a bit of a psychodrama chez WWINOLJ, and waking up (or
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I tend to prefer Yorkshire, because (at least when I lived there) it was very easy to get on a bus from the crappy bits and in very little time be wandering about some lovely moors (you have to like moors to think that's a good thing, but I do. so there)
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Blackpool and Preston aside, Lancashire is a beautiful county. On the way home yesterday we detoured via Pendle ("Witches") Hill, and the view from the top was amazing.
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It was probably the fact that we used to pass Pendle Hill once a month for twelve years, on the way to and from Blackpool and the duty grandparental visit, that turned me into a goth. My dad pointed it out without fail and made me believe that I could see the witches dancing on its summit. Yesterday, I was sure to tell Kitty the same thing.
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"Pen" is Celtic root meaning 'hill'.
So when Old English started to happen, Pen picked up an Anglo-Saxon suffix "-le", which means hill.
So it was called "hill hill".
Then of course Modern english came along, and "Pendle" became "Pendle Hill"....
or "Hill Hill Hill".
I'm sure someone with stronger linguistics will correct this ;)
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Seconded. When I lived there I seriously considered the option of staying for a number of years. (this from the woman who moves on average every seven months)
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