Two Hours Forty-five Minutes from Diggle to Marsden - through Standedge Tunnel by British Waterways Tug Boat

Jan & Jan put this proposal to me: that I accompany them and their transport/hiking friends on a trip by barge/narrow boat contraption through the Standedge canal tunnel between Diggle and Marsden. We went yesterday. It cost £10 and started, obviously, at the Diggle hotel with copious draughts of Timothy Taylor's Landlord.
The western approach to the tunnel was covered over with this 'fake' entrance so the railways could build Diggle station over the canal - a station now sadly closed and demolished.
However fine views of two modes of ancient transport are shown here in splendid proximity - the railway speeding to Marsden in three minutes whilst the boat-like contraption will take nearer 3 hours: out-classed I'd say.

We prepare to leave, already more than 15 minutes late waiting for the 'Hurst party' who never turned up.
Quickly we lose natural light.

There were views of the different types of vaulting, bare rock and many adjoining passages and galleries along this tunnel. Difficult to photograph because I could not actually see how to switch over to flash, it being so dark and me having forgotten a torch. Anyway I set the old Nikon D300 onto 3,500 ISO, Danny, and it produced some kind of result. The other reason I couldn't really photograph them was because very large Yorkshire men and only slightly smaller Yorkshire women stood in the way for most of the trip.

An unused railway tunnel (one of two, going to our south or right) runs parallel to the canal and along it drove a safety vehicle the driver of which checked our progress at each connecting passage. The working railway uses a more recent tunnel a little further to our north or left (looking towards Huddersfield). The railway history can be found at Standedge Tunnel which also tells you how to pronounce it like we were taught in Oldham, Jan.
And then after what seemed an eternity we saw lamps (above) signaling 'Follow me to a neutral port' at which our captain cried, 'Increase speed and prepare to ram'.
We emerged into the sunshine of Marsden relieved that the first leg of our journey had ended without undue mishap.
Only to be confronted by the idyllic sight of rail, bus and canal in harmony with quietly smoking fisher-folk spitting lazily into the cut.
Then the return toil commenced as we ascended 650 feet in what seemed like only twice as many yards, up via Blind Jack of Knaresborough's umpteenth turnpike road; onward to Mad Joseph of Heckmondwike's passing loop; further by Fairly Respectable William of Penistone's overgrown garden path and so down again into Diggle, the hotel, Landlord ale and a pie supper for Johnny.

Ah, on that afternoon bliss it was to be alive, but not to have arthritis would be very heaven.