Where tourists seldom tread, part 20: three UK towns that feel like home

Harrow

The lexicon of suburbia – commuting, dormitory, cul-de-sac, privet hedge – resonates with not seeing. In densely peopled north-west London, you have to dig – with eyes, books and boots – to find the occluded past, a past often buried beneath layers of relentless urban expansion and the homogenising forces of commuter culture. Harrow, today, is largely perceived as a sprawling residential district, a vital but often anonymous cog in London’s vast metropolitan machine. Yet, beneath its suburban veneer lies a profoundly ancient and historically significant landscape.

Its earliest recorded mention in a 767 charter reveals its name as Gumeninga hergae, translated as the "heathen temple of the Gumeningas [tribe]". This suggests Harrow-on-the-Hill, the small, naturally prominent hill around which the area developed, was a sacred site long before Christianity took root in England. The term harrow itself, appearing in place names across the country, often denotes a pre-Christian shrine or a high place of worship, highlighting its deep-seated spiritual significance to early Anglo-Saxon communities. This strategic and sacred elevation would later be absorbed into the vast estates of the Archbishop of Canterbury, reflecting the Church’s strategic appropriation of pagan sites. By the time of the Domesday Book in 1086, Harrow was a remarkably substantial settlement, boasting 70 ploughlands, 117 households, 102 villagers, two cottagers, three knights, two slaves, and a priest. This enumeration indicates a thriving agricultural economy and a well-established social hierarchy, making it a considerable economic and administrative centre for its era, far from the anonymous suburb it would later become.

The ancient landscape was dominated by nature. Trees once vastly outnumbered people, and the medieval manor extended to include a 100-hectare (250-acre) deer park in nearby Pinner, reserved for the lord’s hunting pleasure. The very name Harrow Weald, derived from the Old English for woodland, serves as a poignant reminder of the extensive Forest of Middlesex. This vast ancient forest once stretched from Houndsditch in the City of London, through what are now Highgate and Mill Hill, reaching these outer western extremities. It was not merely a wild expanse but an economically crucial resource, providing pannage – autumn feeding grounds – for an estimated 20,000 pigs, a testament to its immense ecological and agricultural value.

During the 16th and 17th centuries, Harrow’s accessibility to London, particularly by coach and four, made it an attractive location for the gentry seeking a rural retreat within easy reach of the court and parliament. This influx of wealth and influence culminated in the foundation of Harrow School. Wealthy landowner John Lyon secured a royal charter in 1572 to establish the school, which would grow into one of England’s most prestigious public schools, further cementing Harrow’s status and drawing a distinct social stratum to the area.

An 1868 map paints a picture of a vastly different Harrow-on-the-Hill: a mere scattering of houses nestled amidst extensive parks, groves, and the nascent school fields. The only significant nearby transport link was the London and North Western railway line, arrowing towards distant industrial hubs like Birmingham and Crewe, rather than primarily serving London commuters. Even in 1930, the area retained enough greenery and wildlife to inspire Harrovian Tom Harrisson, who would later co-found the groundbreaking Mass-Observation project, to publish "Birds of the Harrow District," a work that now stands as a record of a vanished ecological landscape.

The true transformation arrived with the advent of "Metro-land," a term coined by poet John Betjeman to describe the idyllic, semi-rural utopia promised by the Metropolitan Railway’s expansion. By the 1950s, this vision had largely materialised, submerging the historic hill and its environs under a tide of new housing. The railway lassoed Harrow to London, spawning satellite districts like North, West, and South Harrows and other subdistricts, ultimately providing suburban living for more than 200,000 people. A more populous, yet still largely unplanned, version of this sprawling landscape greeted me when I moved there in the summer of 1987, to travel, as Betjeman puts it, “Smoothly from Harrow” on the Metropolitan line “fasts” to a dreary office job in Blackfriars. The daily commute underscored the area’s new identity: a functional dormitory town, its unique past largely obscured by its present purpose.

Knowing, now, a little about this lost town’s historical layers helps explain the still tangible sacrificial feel of the place, the amorphous sensation of inhabiting a populous nowhere. It’s the feeling of a place that has surrendered its ancient character to the demands of modern living, leaving behind echoes of its former selves. For those willing to look, however, Harrow still offers glimpses into its rich tapestry.
Things to see and do: Walk section 9 of the Capital Ring, a route that offers green escapes within the urban sprawl; explore Headstone Manor Museum, a Grade I listed medieval manor house that provides a tangible link to Harrow’s agrarian past; visit the Zoroastrian Centre, housed in the former Ace Cinema, an Art Deco architectural gem that speaks to the area’s evolving cultural demographics and adaptive reuse of iconic buildings.

Clitheroe

I recommend a slow approach to Clitheroe, to take in the setting. This small market town in the heart of the Ribble Valley in Lancashire is best appreciated by letting its dramatic topography unfold before you. A walk into town allows time to admire the hill, the steep-sided lump on which sit the evocative ruins of the Norman castle, built around 1102. Its prominent position offered a strategic vantage point over the fertile valley and the ancient route north, a testament to its crucial role in controlling this border region between Anglo-Saxon and Norman territories. From its summit, the views are genuinely uplifting: the ever-changing weather rolling in from the west, the majestic Bowland Fells, slivers of Yorkshire’s iconic Three Peaks, and the brooding presence of Pendle Hill, a landscape steeped in history and folklore, particularly the tale of the Pendle Witches. The castle’s keep, notably the "second smallest surviving stone keep in England," is a remarkable piece of Norman architecture, hinting at its original robust defensive capabilities despite its diminutive size.

The town’s character was significantly altered, and in some ways preserved, by the construction of the A59 Lancs-Yorks trunk road bypass at the end of the 1960s. Before then, cars and vans chugged directly up Moor Lane and along Castle Street, which remain the traffic-cluttered sections of the high street. The bypass, while diverting through-traffic, paradoxically helped to safeguard the historical integrity of the town centre. The narrowness and low-slung 17th- and 18th-century shopfronts remind me, in a way, of Totnes, which is largely Tudor. This architectural continuity, largely absent in many British towns, speaks to a different trajectory of urban development. There was a continuity to towns into the modern era, warped by redbrick Victorian pomp and finally shattered by the 20th-century’s brutal raze-and-redevelop wave of shopping precincts (many of them since condemned). Clitheroe, by escaping the worst of this modern urban planning, retains a charming, walkable historic core.

In some respects, Clitheroe is archetypal Lancashire, yet it stands apart from the struggling one-time textile boomtowns to the south of Pendle Hill. Those towns bear the visible scars of industrialisation and the subsequent economic devastation wrought by offshoring. Clitheroe, relatively speaking, is intact. Its economy was perhaps more diversified, and its market town status, coupled with its agricultural hinterland, offered a degree of resilience. Old places seem to weather booms and busts better, perhaps because their economies are not solely reliant on single industries. New money helps, of course, and Clitheroe has successfully leveraged its heritage and picturesque setting.

While not as heavily industrialised as its neighbours, factories did exist here. Two former spinning blocks, a weaving shed, and offices, once part of the town’s textile heritage, have been given a creditable makeover to create Holmes Mill. This ambitious redevelopment is a prime example of adaptive reuse, transforming industrial relics into a contemporary hub: a combined deli-cum-bar, a "luxury" cinema, a craft brewery and alehouse, a hotel, and a popular wedding venue. It ticks aspirational boxes for affluent Lancastrians and tourists alike, providing high-quality leisure and hospitality options. This blend of new and old, traditional and modern, reflects Clitheroe’s evolving identity. The town also maintains a vibrant pub scene; lively local boozers are dotted all around town, and Camra (Campaign for Real Ale) groups are probably Clitheroe’s main excursionists, drawn by the quality and variety of local brews. The New Inn, for instance, is riotously cosy, embodying the warmth of traditional English hospitality. For finer palates, Georgeonzola offers a curated selection of cheese and wine, and there are at least three cocktail bars, challenging any lingering stereotypes of a working-class northern town. No clogs or caps there, perhaps, but a lively, sophisticated atmosphere.

I live a couple of miles outside Clitheroe. It’s sometimes strange to think it belongs to the same county as St Helens and Warrington, where I was born and raised. Locals often distinguish this region as “Pennine Lancashire,” setting it apart from the industrial “Plains” of the county. The rain is worse here, and the wind can be evil, but this north-facing town is a likable knot of streets and stonework; there’s plenty to discover, still. Its blend of rugged natural beauty, preserved history, and modern amenities makes it a compelling place to explore.
Things to see and do: Experience the refreshing waters of Edisford Bridge, a popular swimming spot in summer; embark on invigorating walks up Pendle Hill or along the scenic Ribble Way, ideal for winter exploration; discover the serene ruins of Whalley Abbey, easily accessible by bus or train; or take the No 11 bus into the stunning landscapes of Bowland and towards the majestic Pen-y-ghent.

Princetown

Devon is typically perceived as the least bleak county I know. It boasts balmy summers, rolling pastures of red earth and vibrant green grass, a coastline intricately serrated with coves, charming hamlets, high hedgerows, and winding lanes, alongside its ecclesiastical cities and maritime hubs. Its winters are generally mild. Princetown, however, stands as its sole, stark flirtation with grimness. Tourists do come, and not as seldom as other spots in this series, but they often look shocked when they get out of their cars or dismount their bikes, confronted by the raw, untamed beauty and the palpable sense of isolation that defines this corner of Dartmoor.

The imposing, granite-grey Dartmoor Prison is not merely the dominant architectural feature of Princetown; it is the very reason for the township’s existence. Built high on the bleak, windswept moor, it was the brainchild of Thomas Tyrwhitt MP, who in 1805 secured land from the Duchy estate of the Prince of Wales. His vision was to establish a "depot" for prisoners captured during the Napoleonic Wars. The site was chosen precisely for its remoteness and its sufficiently inhospitable environment, which was believed to deter escape attempts and impose a harsh regimen.

The first prisoners, French soldiers, arrived in 1809, and soon Princetown prison became notoriously overcrowded. When American prisoners from the War of 1812 began arriving, conditions deteriorated further. Diseases such as pneumonia, typhoid, and smallpox became alarmingly prevalent, effectively functioning as "natural" death sentences for many inmates in the harsh Dartmoor climate. The Depot closed after the conflicts ended in 1815, but its strategic location and formidable structure ensured its future. It reopened in 1850 as a penal establishment for "common criminals" – a role it has largely retained ever since. Over its long history, it has held a diverse range of notable inmates, including the future Irish premier Éamon de Valera, who was imprisoned for his role in the Easter Rising; Frank Longden, a conscientious objector and later Labour MP; and Reginald Horace Blyth, the English Zen poet and scholar, whose time there added an unexpected intellectual footnote to the prison’s grim history.

Beyond the prison, Tyrwhitt – by then Sir Thomas – harboured ambitions for a self-sustaining community. He oversaw the construction of a railway line, not just to serve the prison, but to facilitate economic activity. This railway was vital for transporting quarry stone down to the port and bringing up essential supplies such as farm produce, coal, timber, and lime for fertiliser, thus attempting to make the desolate moor productive. The line was used by both prisoners and passengers at various times, playing a crucial role in the development of the area until its eventual closure in 1956, a sign of changing transportation landscapes and perhaps a fading of Tyrwhitt’s broader vision.

In a recent and significant development, the prison was temporarily closed in 2024, not due to escape attempts or unrest, but due to "higher than normal" levels of radon. This cancer-causing gas, formed by the natural decay of uranium in granite rocks and soils, is an inherent feature of Dartmoor’s geology, adding a contemporary layer of environmental grimness to Princetown’s historical harshness.

Today, the old railway line has found a new purpose, transforming into a track down which runners and cyclists hurtle. They escape from Princetown – a town that, by population, might be considered a village, yet whose stark appearance and history defy such a quaint label – and its "anti-twee, anti-wild camping, anti-tourism" ethos. The town, perhaps ironically, is still a focal point for those seeking the raw experience of Dartmoor. Its literary connections run deep; Sir Arthur Conan Doyle famously stayed at the Duchy Hotel (now the national park visitor centre) while researching The Hound of the Baskervilles. The escaped convict, Selden, plays a pivotal role in the novel, his presence underscoring the wild, untamed nature of the moor that surrounds the prison. Doyle vividly described the setting: "Between two farmhouses called High Tor and Foulmire and the great prison extends the desolate, lifeless moor. This, then is the stage upon which tragedy has played, and upon which we may help to play it again." For the modern, leisure-age gaze, the moor is no longer simply "lifeless"; it is a wild camping backdrop and, at least potentially, full of vitality, thanks to its airy solitudes. Yet, HMP Dartmoor in Princetown, emptied for now, remains the tragic set piece, a granite monument to human confinement against the backdrop of untamed nature.
Things to see and do: Explore the Princetown to Burrator Reservoir mountain bike tracks, following the path of the old railway line through dramatic scenery; delve into the dark history of Dartmoor at the Dartmoor Prison Museum; or discover the stark beauty and industrial legacy of Foggintor Quarry, a striking example of man’s impact on the moor.

These journeys into the "underexplored, overlooked, bypassed" reveal that every landscape, no matter how seemingly ordinary or isolated, holds a vibrant, complex history beneath its surface. From Harrow’s ancient pagan roots and metropolitan transformation to Clitheroe’s resilient market town charm amidst industrial change, and Princetown’s bleak beauty forged by penal history, these places resonate with layers of time. Revisiting them is indeed a pilgrimage, acknowledging the ghosts of the past, and a funeral for what has been lost, while simultaneously celebrating the enduring spirit of place.
Chris Moss’s latest book, Lancashire: Exploring the Historic County That Made The Modern World, is published by Old Street Publishing at £25. His book based on this series, Where Tourists Seldom Tread will be published by Faber in 2026.