Patrick barkham

The northern reaches of the M6 may boast the best motorway services in Britain in the shape of Tebay’s farm shop but there’s even better refreshment available. Every year or so, when I have to take that road across the border between Lancashire and Cumbria, I always divert 15 minutes west to visit Arnside Knott.

It was a shock as invigorating as plunging into the silver waters of Morecambe Bay to leave the 70mph world and enter the twisting peace of ancient lanes. As the world rushed to the more glamorous Lake District, the community of Arnside resembled a little island, populated almost exclusively by older citizens.

Before planning controls, grand Victorian villas were built to gaze west over the grand expanse of Morecambe Bay or north towards the fairytale peak of Helvellyn. Most have been converted into sheltered housing, and the streets were peppered with those signs depicting a stooped and stick-wielding old couple, as if everyone over seventy was destined to topple into the road like a skittle. As I followed signs to ‘the Knott’, the road became smaller as it twisted up, halting beneath a wood stunted by the wind.

It was a short, lung-bursting scramble over limestone rubble to the top of the Knott, a rocky outcrop that jutted into Morecambe Bay like the prow of a ship. In midsummer, I divert here to enjoy the butterflies. A semi-circle of limestone around the bay is a hotspot for rare butterflies, one of the last strongholds for the endangered high brown fritillary and most southerly site for the Scotch Argus.

But Arnside is equally wonderful in winter. The beech, oak and yew, that gain a foothold on its slopes, were sculpted by the wind, trailing limbs in the lee of the westerlies almost as long as the trees were tall. It is a place defined by wind and yet I usually encounter great stillness. In such conditions, the Knott is better than a concert hall at curating tiny sounds. A car changed gear on a lane far below, a cow mooed on a green plain, and a fox cursed. A train looked no bigger than a toy as it crossed the viaduct over Milnthorpe Sands, its horn sounding, bur-booh, as it disappeared. Closer to, the last oak leaves clinging to the branches gave a soft rattle and holidaying children pretended sticks were semi-automatic weapons.

I walked over to the second of the Knott’s two hummocky outcrops, where grew a stunted oak, the perfect climbing tree for beginners. Beyond stretched the bay, all whorls of purple-grey sand and slivers of silver water. Looking towards yellow-bottomed clouds on the western horizon, it seemed impossible that the moon would ever pull the sea back to land. To the south-west, the two large blocks of Heysham nuclear power station seemed mere cottages in the vastness.

The Knott was old but, in the fading light, this bay appeared more like a pre-modern plain, a great delta, devoid of humans, awaiting dinosaurs. The sea was simply the oldest thing of all.

After one winter walk on Arnside, I called into one of the retirement homes to ask residents why they decided to live overlooking the sea. One woman said it reminded her of childhood holidays at Fleetwood, and spoke of the solace she got from this small hillock overlooking a watery plain. The sea, she said, was a wonderful ‘peacemaker’.

I pondered her wisdom as I rejoined the fast-paced society of the M6.

*Arnside Knott is a National Trust nature reserve, above Arnside – use postcode LA5 0BP or walk half a mile from Arnside railway station. The Knott is steep but the ascent is short. At the top of the first ‘summit’, go through the gate in the stone wall to access its second. OS Map: Explorer OL7 – English Lakes SE; grid reference SD 449773

The Oldie