There wasn't a soul in sight when I pulled into Downham, driving down its steep central street with the great hump of Pendle Hill ahead of me and swinging round to cross the narrow road bridge before taking the lane leading to the cobbled car park.

Small wonder it was quiet. This was 8.30 on a Sunday morning. The world was barely at breakfast. But I had been determined to make an early start to beat the weather which had defeated us when we came to this area for an intended walking weekend the previous week.

Now, the sky above was clear and blue on a morning that had dawned to frost. But already the clouds were building towards the west.

I parked up, paid a brief visit to the unique public loos converted from a stables and byre, then wandered up through the village: back over the bridge by the village green, with ducks resting beside the beck, then up past solid stone cottages.

This village is a remnant of feudal England. It has been linked to the Assheton family of Downham Hall since 1558 (the pub is the Assheton Arms), and the present squire is Lord Clitheroe.

There are no television aerials, by order, making it an ideal film location. The most famous film to be made there was Whistle Down the Wind. But that was in black and white.

Downham was in splendid autumn shades as I walked up past the Assheton Arms and tried to find my way out of the village via fields paths to follow the route described by John Gillham in the Dalesman book Lancashire - 25 Circular Walks.

Alas, I fell at the first hurdle. I couldn't find the path described. So I resorted to road-walking for half a mile or so, rejoining Gillham's route to the north of Rimington Lane. After that, there were few problems.

The route took me down through fields, passing an attractive low-level viaduct before crossing a pretty packhorse bridge over a stream then climbing steeply before making my way across several sheep-filled fields towards the busy A59.

It was heavy going. The rains of the past couple of weeks had left a legacy of mud even on paths which apparently were little used. The earth hung on to my boots with every step.

Safely across the A59, I followed rough tracks and field paths with good views ahead of the lovely Ribble Valley, before dropping down to pass ancient earth-workings in the fields leading towards the ruins of Sawley Abbey, founded by William, 3rd Baron Percy, in 1147 and destroyed during the Dissolution.

The path ended at a stile into the extension of the car park of the Spread Eagle pub. From there my route led down the road to cross the triple-arched bridge over the Ribble and join the Ribble Way.

Apart from a brief spell on the road, this was pleasant, easy walking: via field paths to the river bank, then following the flood barrier upstream all the way to the elevated village of Chatburn.

From there, I was soon standing at the side of the A59 again, waiting for a safe gap in the late-morning traffic before dashing across the road to rejoin field paths and climb up to the lower slopes of the limestone lump of Worsaw Hill before circling it to make my way back to Downham.

One of the last fields I crossed was a huge one, filled with sheep. Some of them had great splodges of red on their backs, others hadn't. In the middle of them, taking a breather from his labours, was the ram in his raddle harness.

Thanks to the mud dragging at my boots, I was a bit weary by now. But not half as weary as he was going to be by the time he'd finished his autumn duties.

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.