I grew up in Lydiate, famous for having the oldest inn in Lancashire named after a Scottish piper who somehow stayed behind in the Jacobite rebellions to marry the landlord’s daughter. Behind it stands the ruins of an old abbey, ruined in the Reformation and rumoured to have a secret underground passage to nearby Lydiate Old Hall. You can just about make out the chimneys from the crumbled Tudor mansion from the main road.
My childhood with my three younger sisters was idyllic. We played out for endless hours with our mates in the 1970s as there weren’t many cars around. Yet I couldn’t wait to get away and became a journalist, writing facts about others and hearing their incredible lives. Yet Lydiate is always where my heart is rooted.