This week, I'm on a journey through the wilds of north-west England, from the shifting sands here at Formby Point to Todmorden in West Yorkshire.

From the Ribble Estuary, I'll make my way inland to Mitton and Clitheroe.

A canal trip will take me to Hebden Bridge before reaching journey's end at Todmorden.

And along the way I'll look back at some of the best of the BBC's rural programmes for this part of the world.

This is Country Tracks.

This is Formby Sands, a vast expanse of beach backing onto mile upon mile of impressive sand dunes.

It's one of the most dynamic dune systems in Britain.

Since the beginning of the 20th century, this coastline has been retreating by anything up to five metres every single year.

During a severe storm, nearly 50 feet can disappear from the front of the dunes.

A combination of soft sand and high tidal range could see the sands recede the length of four football pitches over the next 100 years.

These bricks are just spilling out onto the sands here.

They're the foundations of a car park that's been completely undermined by the rampant erosion.

And down here, beneath my feet, buried deep under these dunes, are caravans!

The Pine Tree caravan site was abandoned in 1981 as the dunes migrated backwards and swallowed up the land.

Some of the caravans were swallowed up too.

It's funny to think of them rusting away down there.

It seems this coastline is in a state of flux resulting in buried secrets and unusual features.

But it's not just the power of the sea that shapes this coastline.

These dunes are also at the mercy of the wind.

Now, this is Devil's Hole.

It's a six-acre crater just south of Formby Point.

The cause of its creation remains a bit of a mystery.

But it is being made ever bigger by wind erosion.

It's thought to be the biggest blow-out in England.

Blow-outs form when a sand dune's protective cover of vegetation is damaged.

Sand is then blown down-wind and an armchair-shaped hollow develops.

This one mysteriously started to appear in the early part of the Second World War.

It was even photographed by the German Luftwaffe.

Local historian Reg Yorke has investigated much of the Sefton coast and finds the Devil's Hole particularly intriguing.

It feels like I'm in a big oval crater, Reg, but what shape exactly is it?

It's more irregular than a simple oval.

We've got two craters side by side, joining at the seaward end.

I can show you exactly what I mean by these aerial photos.

These were taken by a microlite.

We're here, then, I take it?

We're just there.

There's a blow-out here.

OK.

This big one is extending over into the woodland and overwhelming it.

It's massive, Reg, isn't it?

Compared to the little houses over there.

And that school.

That's a whole comprehensive school.

That's a huge area.

You could lose that school in here very easily.

Do lots of people know about this place?

I don't think they do.

Even local residents who've lived here all their lives don't really know about it.

I think that is because it's relatively new.

It's in the last half century that it's developed.

Besides being a very striking feature on this landscape, what else is special about it?

Well, um, it is a very rich habitat for a number of botanical species and, of course, our famous natterjack toads.

But because the different facets of it face different ways, some are protected from the wind more than others, some get more sunshine and warm up more than others.

So you've got a spectrum of different types of habitats in a relatively small area.

So lots of micro habitats exist within this crater.

Exactly.

Wonderful.

Does this place get flooded at all?

Yes, it does.

The rain has not soaked in to the water table very quickly and it's risen above the surface so we've got six or nine inches of water in places.

I presume that's when the toads love it!

I expect so.

Reg, what is this sort of mound in the middle of the crater?

It's quite unusual.

I'd expect it to be completely flat.

Yes, it's interesting.

This is formed by blown grains of sand, the turbulent wind blowing across the lip of the hole, depositing the sand in the middle of it.

So we're getting a new dune, known technically, I believe, as an embryo dune.

Embryo dune!

Baby dune, forming in the middle of the cavity.

And why on earth is it called The Devil's Hole?

We don't know.

There are about ten famous devil's holes in the world.

They're all natural.

Some are in the middle of the sea, some in places like Niagara Falls.

This is the only one, as far as I know, that exists in this country.

But they're not man-made.

They're all natural.

So therefore I think, somehow or other, they've been attributed to the devil.

It's time to move on from Formby Sands and the strange Devil's Hole.

I'm continuing north along the coast to the Ribble Estuary, the gateway to Lancashire and the Ribble Valley.

Inland lies the truly wild and windswept Forest of Bowland.

Much of the appeal of the Forest of Bowland is down to the wild and untouched nature of the landscape.

In fact, what we see is the product of thousands of years of human activity.

How did this landscape come about?

First, there was the wild wood, the natural wood.

Then people came along and hacked away at it, made clearings, settlements for the villages.

And in course of time, the hills became fairly bare.

So why is it called The Forest of Bowland?

It wasn't a forest in the true sense, in the modern sense, at all.

Just land set apart for hunting.

It was done by the Norman kings.

The Bowland side, rather suggests something like Robin Hood with bows and arrows.

But in fact, the word possibly comes from "boland", which means "land of cattle".

This village shop and tearooms at Dunsop Bridge in Bowland is like many others, apart from one reason which makes it different.

Because this place is at the very geographical centre of the United Kingdom.

How did you work that out, Andy?

The Ordnance Survey uses the gravitational method which means if we cut out the shape of Great Britain and its 401 associated islands, balanced it on the head of a pin, Dunsop Bridge would be at that pin head.

Traditionally, the Forest of Bowland has belonged to a small number of big land owners such as the Duchy of Lancaster - in other words, the Queen.

These large estates have continued the medieval royal tradition of managing the area for hunting - particularly game birds.

Large areas of Bowland do look like wilderness, but in fact they're very carefully managed.

Yes, it's easy to look at a landscape like this and think that nature just does its own thing.

But there is a lot of management input that goes into looking after these areas.

Burning the heather in small patches to create the habitat for the wild life that lives here.

Everything from the moorland boundary walls, it all needs management which takes a lot of time and effort.

A lot of that is done for the benefit of grouse shooting.

As an estate owner, you look after a place like this to maximise the grouse.

You're really providing habitat, not just for grouse but for waders, curlews, lapwings, and all sorts of other wildlife as well.

Vast areas of Bowland are owned by large estates.

What benefit do they bring to the area?

One of the benefits that estate management brings is a continuity and a firm direction of management that maybe you wouldn't get if you had lots of smaller farms looking after it.

The fact you can look after something for the benefit of future generations not just after your own interests is very important.

Maintenance of everything from woodland and walls and so on, takes a long time to get it right.

These uplands are now open to public access.

What were your concerns before the law came into force?

I was very much wary of open access.

Just the impact of the human footprint was a major worry.

So far, people have tended to stick to the footpaths in any case.

We haven't had any great issue with people tramping on the moor.

They haven't done any harm as yet.

But I am very worried that the impact of people with dogs may have on nesting birds.

Also the impact that might have on fire.

Given the right conditions, this moor can turn into a tinder box very quickly.

A couple of days with the right wind will do it.

I don't feel that currently the conditions under which a moor can be closed are taking enough account of the local factors.

I think that needs to be revised.

Under the Countryside and Rights of Way Act, nearly 66,000 acres of upland in the Forest of Bowland became open to public access.

So what's the impact been of open access?

The type of people who come to areas like this don't like to behave in an illegal way.

It is a wonderfully secret place to come and we want people to come here, but we want them to come to enjoy it, to do all the exciting things you can do here - fishing, walking, cycling - we want them to be able to do that but obviously we don't want it to be spoiled.

It's always mysterious, magical, different.

And it is like having a park of your own.

I'm discovering the wildness of this landscape too.

My journey started at the southern tip of the Ribble Estuary at Formby Sands.

I've travelled inland up the Ribble Valley to Mitton, to see a precious relic of the past.

This part of Lancashire has some stunning scenery and it's great walking country.

But it's on this very land during some of the most turbulent times in our history that Britain's fate was decided.

In 1625, Charles I was crowned king.

It wasn't long before he became an unpopular ruler.

At the time, parliament wasn't yet established in the political system.

It was more an advisory committee, summoned on the will of the monarch, and could be dissolved at any time.

Following a disagreement in 1627, Charles declined to call a parliament for a whole decade.

The king eventually recalled parliament but at the start of 1642, negotiations between the two sides proved fruitless and towns and cities began declaring their support for one faction or the other.

The resultant English Civil War spread quickly and involved all levels of society.

In 1646, the first war had ended, but a series of Royalist uprisings continued throughout England.

On 17 August 1648, the parliamentarians, led by Oliver Cromwell, marched through Lancashire, ready to engage the Royalists.

Cromwell held a council of war at this very bridge.

An 8,000-strong army marched across it heading west into battle at Preston.

The resultant victory by Cromwell's troops marked the end of the second English Civil War.

The monarchy was restored in 1661, only now with the consent of parliament.

The civil wars effectively set England and Scotland on course to adopt our current form of government, a parliamentary monarchy.

Perfect place for a cup of tea.

It's hard to believe such an idyllic place has been the site of so many dramatic scenes over the years.

Lancashire has many stories to tell, and Ben Fogle was here to explore the setting for a true classic.

Back in 1961, the Ribble Valley in Lancashire became the backdrop for what was to become a classic British film.

Set in the bleak winter landscape, an isolated farm became the central location for Whistle Down The Wind.

It's a charming, bitter-sweet film about three children living on a farm.

One day, they discover a man living in their barn who they believe is Jesus Christ.

And this is where it was filmed, at Worser Hill Farm, near Clitheroe.

Its style was to become an important development in British films, bridging the gap between the often sentimental films of the post-war period and the gritty realism of the films that followed.

It starred Hayley Mills, number one at the box office at the time, and two unknowns, Diane Holgate and Alan Barnes.

And that's how our story begins, with our three main characters racing around the hills trying not to be spotted by the farm worker.

They want to save three kittens that he's been sent out to drown.

It was a wonderful story, a story about love and trust and innocence.

And children, faith.

Um, it was my mum's story, albeit set in Lancashire.

She'd set it down in the south somewhere.

Dickie Attenborough, the producer, Bryan Forbes, the director, were old friends of my parents.

I had known them both all my life.

It was a very, very…

…very happy, lovely film to be…

to be on.

The novel, written by Hayley's mother, was adapted for the screen by Keith Waterhouse and Willis Hall.

It's when she goes to check on the rescued kittens she discovers a wounded man.

Who is it?

Jesus Christ!

She takes him literally and believes she's found the Son of God in a barn in Lancashire.

The novel is set in Sussex and it was the genius of Willis Hall and Keith Waterhouse who suggested we moved it much further north and isolated it.

It's very difficult - well, impossible today - to make a film about childhood innocence.

They all seem very street-wise.

So we put it on this isolated farm where they had no television and little contact with the outside world apart from the village school.

Eddie!

And this is the barn that featured in the film.

This is where "Jesus Christ" was hidden and where children came from all the surrounding villages to see him.

It's in a bit of a state now, though!

In the story, "Jesus" had to be the children's secret.

They thought if the adults found out about the man in the barn they might betray him, just like in the Bible.

Of course, what the children didn't know was that that scruffy man in their barn, played by Alan Bates in only his second film role, was actually a murderer on the run from the police.

It's hard to believe this was the focal point for the whole film.

What is remarkable is that apart from Hayley Mills, the children in the film were recruited from local primary schools.

They spent ten weeks on set and loved every minute of it.

I was one of the disciples on the film.

There were eight of us, chosen locally to complement Hayley Mills and the other star actors that were in the film.

How did you get chosen?

It was quite unusual, really, because Richard Attenborough and Bryan Forbes turned up at school in a Bentley, got out of the car, came into the classroom and shot everybody with a little lens to see if we were photogenic and asked us all to say something and we were chosen like that.

Little Keith Clement was just six when he was picked for the film.

In one of the papers at the time they said they wanted a Billy Bunter look.

So they put these glasses on me.

I didn't wear glasses, they just had plain glass in them.

I think that's what they were looking for.

We went round the back of the hedge side and I fell over, which I wasn't supposed to do, but they kept it in the film.

We were supposed to be being quiet and I did my Indian noise.

And fell over.

Can you still do it?

Woo-woo-woo-woo!

And Diane turned round and said, "Do you want to see Jesus?"

And I said…

'Yes.'

'Well, shut up, then!'

And off we went.

Yeah, I got told off there!

For one young schoolgirl, there was a much bigger role in store.

Unbeknown to her at the time, 10-year-old Diane Holgate landed one of the main roles, playing alongside Hayley Mills as her younger sister, Nan. 'Apparently I got the part but I didn't realise I had at the time.

I said to my mum, "Mum, I might be in a film."

She said, "Don't be so ridiculous!

Eat your dinner."

That was that.

We'd no idea of the storyline.

We just did what we did at the time.

It was spontaneous.

That was the success of it.

So it was only afterwards when you saw the film that you realised you were pretty much…

Absolutely.

A third of the film revolves around you!

Right!

I was absolutely gobsmacked. "I'm in it again.

There's another bit and I'm in it again!"

Were your parents as surprised as you were, to see the size of…

They were, yes.

They'd never heard of Richard Attenborough or Bryan Forbes.

We didn't go to pictures.

This part of the Ribble Valley, dominated by Pendle Hill, has changed very little in the last 300 years, let alone the last 40.

There's very few places you can say that about.

These hills are made up of fossil-rich limestone dating back 340 million years - when, believe it or not - Clitheroe was on the Equator and all this was under the sea.

That's Clitheroe, down there.

And that's Pendle Hill, famous for where the Quaker movement started.

And also for the Pendle Witches.

The bleakness of the place was caught perfectly by the black-and-white photography of the film.

If it was remade today, God forbid, really, it wouldn't be made in black and white and it would…

Very, very hard to get that…

…that particular kind of truth about that place and that time and those kids.

You could see how cold it was.

You could see how muddy it was.

My role was to come on at the very end to ask what had happened to "Jesus".

Because all the children had come running down and saw "Jesus" being taken away.

I was late.

So I ran up to Hayley Mills with my little friend cos there were two of us, and I asked Hayley Mills three little words, "Has he gone?"

Then I had a little look at the end, rolled my eyes and looked, "Oh, dear!

I've missed him!"

And walked away.

So I remember it well, very well.

Has he gone?

Yes.

Yes, you missed him this time.

But he'll be coming again.

And if he did come again and found himself back in Lancashire, I think he'd recognise everything.

Just the way it was.

Whistle Down The Wind.

One of the nation's best-loved stories.

I'm on a journey through the very landscape featured in that film.

I've now arrived in Clitheroe, famed for its castle.

Standing at the heart of the Ribble Valley, this Norman castle has dominated the skyline for over 800 years.

The castle keep features a striking vestige of the English Civil War - this huge hole.

After they'd wrested control of the castle from the Royalists, the parliamentarians deliberately sabotaged it as a way of avoiding paying tax on the building.

In the words of a 1649 government decree, the keep was to be put in such condition "that it may neither be a charge to the common wealth to maintain it, "nor a danger to have it kept against them."

The castle stood unloved and in disrepair for many years.

But a recent campaign secured a £3.

5 million restoration, bringing a fresh wave of tourism to the area.

But I'm not here as a tourist today.

I have a job to do, and it means climbing up there. 'There's one thing missing from the top of the castle 'and that's the St George flag.'

Hiya, Keith.

Hello, there.

Nice to meet you.

How are you?

Going up the keep, are we?

Yes. 'I'm keen to find out how castle flags are hoisted. 'Keith Jackson's the man in the know. 'He's been raising the flag over Clitheroe Castle for 25 years 'and has the technique down to a T.'

Wow!

Are the conditions right today, Keith?

Very good.

How can you tell?

It's not blowing a gale!

There are different flags for different occasions?

Yes, for different occasions.

The Union flags go up when it's either a royal birthday or some royal event.

When certain visitors come to the castle, you have to put up a particular flag?

Right.

OK, show me how it's done.

If we undo the flag, it's much easier to put up.

Straighten it out.

Gosh, it's really big, isn't it, Keith?

It is.

Notice the toggles at the top.

OK.

That is the top of the flag.

Shall I pull that for you?

Pull that one.

OK.

Here we go.

This is where we hoop that onto the loop.

Go for it.

OK?

Yes.

Thank you.

No problem.

It looks so gorgeous against that blue sky, Keith.

It does.

Look at it billowing out.

Beautiful!

Thank you very much for letting me do that.

It was an honour.

I feel like the queen of the castle!

You do!

The scenery of the Ribble Valley is breathtaking.

The keep at Clitheroe Castle gives you a fantastic view over to Pendle Hill.

The hill has a chilling story to tell from a time when Britain was in religious turmoil.

The Protestant king, James I, lived in constant fear of a Catholic rebellion.

In 1612, seven years after Guy Fawkes and the Gunpowder Plot had been foiled, the finger of suspicion was pointed at Pendle Hill.

Lancashire had long been a Catholic stronghold and the Gunpowder plotters' confession of an intended uprising against the king in this very county had added to its reputation as a dangerous and lawless place.

Protestants often spoke of Catholic practices and prayers as a form of conjuring.

In 1612, the king wanted names of those who did not take Protestant communion in church.

At the same time, methods were devised of identifying so-called witches.

In the early 1600s, two rival peasant families lived on the slopes of Pendle Hill, behind me.

The men of the families were dead, leaving two elderly women, Demdike and Chattox, in charge.

The local population lived in fear of them, believing them to have special powers.

In the spring of 1612, a number of suspicious incidents led to Chattox, Demdike and members of their family being sent to Lancaster Castle on charges of witchcraft.

The trial began on 17 August.

Records tell of weeping, fainting and cursing throughout the trial.

The accused were not provided with a defence and the judge found all nine guilty.

Three days later, they were hanged in Lancaster, in front of huge crowds.

The story has never been forgotten but with the passing of time, it's turned into a kind of spooky legend aimed at visitors to the area.

The sleepy villages of the Ribble Valley attract many tourists, offering a picture-postcard image of rural England.

But we've uncovered a rare snapshot of everyday village life from more than 20 years ago.

It's also a nostalgic look back at television from the 1980s.

This is the story of Downham post office, at the foot of Pendle Hill.

REPORTER: At times, a witch does appear on Pendle Hill, as they'll tell you in the local post office, which doubles or trebles as the village store and a cafe.

It's a focus for visitors and villagers, but also home for the post mistress June Rumfitt and her husband, Vic.

As well as Her Majesty's mail, June attends to bed-and-breakfast guests.

The key to life in the post office at Downham seems to lie in diversification.

Their day starts even before this delivery of papers for the village at six.

But the Rumfitts believe in selling much more than a few stamps.

There's no way that the post office would support this business.

It wouldn't keep it going.

It would have to close if it was just up to what business there is from the village.

I'm not saying anything against the village.

It's the trend today that people go to supermarkets to buy their groceries and that's the way things are.

There's no way we can compete in price.

We don't expect to.

So we have to diversify to make a living.

And that's how the village ice cream kiosk was born.

Vic only opens it on hot, sunny days, so it's not too much strain.

Vic also converted the old stable to accommodate more bed-and-breakfast guests.

And they're not just taking the dog for a walk.

When Vic's sorted the papers, we go off round the village together, delivering the newspapers and walking the dogs.

We enjoy the walk round the village very much, whatever the weather.

Whether it's snowing, raining, or a sunny morning, we still go, we still enjoy the walk.

I think it's the nicest time of the day for us.

We can see all the birds and very often we have lovely views of Pendle which you don't get at any other time of day because of the early morning light.

Before becoming a post mistress, June used to work in the textile industry.

Sudden redundancy opened up this whole new way of life.

She came to Downham seven years ago and Vic joined her in the post office two years later having taken voluntary redundancy himself.

Visitors find it hard to believe the pair weren't born and bred here.

Running this multi-faceted business has made them a vital part of village life.

Vic even has the key to the church.

There's no resident vicar to open up.

In Downham, the post mistress is the next best thing.

Must remember next week to lock the church as well as unlock it cos Geoff and Di are away, aren't they?

I could have a little boy doing the paper round but I'd much rather do it myself.

I've always enjoyed it.

I'll never stop as long as we're here.

So long as I can walk round.

Don't get too old and decrepit to do it!

Yes!

But I'll keep trying!

Oh, Pendle, oh, Pendle, thou standest alone

'Twixt Burnley and Clitheroe, Whalley and Colne

Where Hodder and Ribble's fair waters do meet

With Barley and Downham content at thy feet

Where witches do fly on a cold winter's night…

We sell a lot of the witchy things in the shop.

Often people say we're on the wrong side of the hill for Pendle witches.

That's not so.

They flew all around the area and a lot of them were executed at Lancaster.

Oh, Pendle, oh, Pendle, thou standest alone…

During the winter months, we even get a picture of a witch appears on the slopes of Pendle.

It's the way the snow melts on this side of the hill.

It gives an impression of a witch on the hillside.

Downham Post Office has had a few different owners since the late '80s.

Sadly, Vic Rumfitt died some years ago but his wife, June, still lives in the village.

I've found my way onto the Rochdale canal, one of the many water