The Tales of Lanehouse

Last night the Narrator dreamed that he returned to Trawden, in his mind's eye, he slowly walked up Church Street once more towards St. Mary's Church, standing there timeless and impassively in the very heart of the village, its ancient weathered stone, its weathervane pointing towards the scenic and beautiful rolling Lancashire Dales with its distinctive web of historic dry stone walls. Then he turned left and onto the row of Victorian terraced houses and along the street where Lanehouse b...