THE last Sunday afternoon in May brought yet more rain just to underline that this has been one of the wettest Mays in living memory.

I hope that the old rhyme which my grandmother made me learn still holds true:

"A wet and windy May

Fills the barns with corn and hay."

This might will be true if (and only if) the weather gets drier and hotter over the summer. Nature often works on averages so we may well be lucky!

The last time I was in Paythorne was a few years ago when I stood on the bridge over the Ribble on the third Sunday in November. Years ago the area used to be crowded by people watching the salmon swimming in the river. I would love to see the traditional 'salmon Sunday' revived in real earnest instead of just by a few die hards.

Paythorne, however, is seen at its best in June when the hawthorn blossom looks a real treat. Hawthorns were once known as Paythorns because farm workers sheltered under the trees whilst wanting to be paid by their lords and masters for services rendered. Hawthorn was regarded as a "holy" tree because it was associated with the crown of thorns place on the head of Jesus. Everybody knew thorn trees and many were used as traditional meeting places. Other historians believed that Pai was an ancient chieftain and hence the name Pai-thorn.

Although the sun was shining in bursts it still needed all its strength to penetrate the rain which swept across the Ribble. Anglers area a hardy breed and several were wading thigh deep within the swirling water. A kingfisher flashed beneath the arches of the bridge and were soon joined by a common sandpiper whilst a heron sailed mystically overhead.

The damp warm atmosphere concentrated the aroma of lots of ramsons which earned their local name of stinking onions. Bluebells were also common whilst I also found a much rare plant. The soapwort was once collected and when rubbed on the hands produced a lather and which was a cheap substitute for soap.

Paythorne is surrounded by a network of very pretty footpaths including the Ribble Way.

The steep path up from the bridge became a mini-stream as the rain poured down but suddenly and without warning the deluge stopped and the sun came out. Disturbed by the family walking in front of me two roe deer jumped out and sped down to the river and disappeared. I now know that the hostelry called the Buck still deserves its name.

There is a strange looking building close by the bridge which could be an old mill, and you can also see what might have been the leet. I wonder if there was a Clack Mill here. This is an early type of watermill which consisted of a small pair of stones turned by water.

The footpath (marked Ribble Way) following the East Bank of the river leads in a southerly direction to Castle Haugh which is all that now remains of a Norman Motte and Bailey now almost overgrown with vegetation.

The Motte (mound) drops straight into the river and the Bailey (fenced courtyard) would have been difficult to capture. It was, however, quite small although it is interesting to think about how Paythorne would have changed if this castle and not the one at Clitheroe had become dominant.

The village has thankfully retained its tranquillity and is one of Lancashire's hidden gems.

Getting there:

Follow the A59 through Gisburn and turn left along the A682 towards Long Preston. Look out for a restored toll house on the left. Turn left in front of this and descend into Paythorne. Cross the bridge and follow the road to the Buck Inn where there is good grub and lots of parking.