If you don’t ask . . .

River Petterill (8)

Whilst pondering the map, something has been puzzling me a little about the Petterill, as it meanders its way between Blencow, where we saw it last, and the hamlet of Laithes, a short distance away. I could not understand why it appeared to, not only meander, but to split off into little streams and form quite a network of waterways, before it all joined together again at Laithes. It didn’t look quite natural. Then I wondered whether it had anything to do with the Mill that was marked on the map.
 
I looked up Laithes Mill in the Census and found it was quite a sizable business. In 1851 there was a Master Miller, who employed three other Millers, so not a one-man-band then. The Mill was still operating in 1901, when the Miller described himself an employer and obviously his two sons also worked there. By 1911 one of the sons had taken over the Mill and still described himself as an employer – his brother was then the Miller at Eamont Bridge Corn Mill!
 
So, we went in search of Laithes Mill . . . and found a large and thriving Sawmill. But the building that had housed the Corn Mill, or part of it anyway, was still there and, when we asked about the Mill, the guys working there were only too pleased to tell us all they knew. We were invited inside and I met this guy who has worked at the Sawmill for 50 years and knew a lot about when it was a Corn Mill, I think he got it from his father. He was a delight. He confirmed that the river was diverted in several ways to help the working of the mill. He described how channels were cut out by hand and you can see how he mapped it out for me in the sawdust. He also showed me where the mill wheels were and where the water was flowing underneath. And lots more. 
 
Fascinating stuff and all because I asked.
 
Also
I did manage to get down to the river in Laithes and, as you can see in the extra picture, it was flowing very deep and fast. You can certainly tell just how much rain we have had in recent days. The water is brown, as there so many tributaries emptying into the Petterill the water they have brought down from the hills.

And we met a lady who was walking along the lane with a child in a pushchair and a dog. She commented on the water in the river and said that she lived in Blencow and had watched the levels rise over the last few days. We mentioned the stepping stones and she said they were now submerged. She also told us about Wild Duck Island . . . but this is now far too long.