Hartshead Pike
Hartshead Pike is a familiar landmark to anyone from Oldham or Ashton. It’s a monument on top of a hill with commanding panoramic views of the surrounding countryside. From its height, there’s a view of Oldham, with its ugly Civic Centre, a scattering of the last mills left undemolished, and the skyscrapers of Manchester city centre in the distance. On a clear day there’s a view of Jodrell Bank and its radio telescopes, way over the Cheshire Plain. It’s even possible to see Eryri, still better known as Snowdonia, in Wales if it’s an even clearer day. Behind lies Saddleworth, with its open hills, characterful villages, and grizzly Moors Murderers history. Hartshead Pike has been the site of a beacon since before the Roman invasion. It’s easy to see why.
We’ve come here in the evening for a glimpse of the setting sun and the feeling of cold sun on our faces on an even colder day.

The carved stone plaque from the original 1731 pike building was relocated to the tower when it was rebuilt in 1863. On it is inscribed:
“Look well at me Before you go And See You nothing at me throw”
My dad climbed Hartshead Pike as a boy and had his cap stolen from his head and thrown out of an upper window by some bigger boys. He had to climb all the way down again to rescue it. At one time it was run as a sweet shop. Now it’s boarded up.
Behind it is a farm which used to have a pub attached. I remember visiting the Colliers Arms, which appeared to consist of an indeterminate number of rooms in the farmhouse, run by the local farmer’s family. On my only visit, back in the 1980s, I saw a farmer as we approached. He was wearing a tweed jacket which had clearly been through a piece of agricultural machinery, as it had been torn into strips four inches wide and then sewn up with huge stitches using baler twine. How anyone could have thought it acceptable to still wear it was beyond me. His flat cap was set firmly on his head. Maybe he’d had it stolen and thrown down the Pike as a boy, too.
There was no space for us to sit in the pub, the one open room being full, so we were made to wait while the grandmother of the family was ushered out of one of the farmhouse rooms and we were invited in. She didn’t seem to be too pleased at having to leave her cosy place beside the fire. Beer appeared to be served from a hatch as there was no bar, and when I asked for a cherry brandy for my girlfriend at the time, I was invited into the store room beyond the hatch, to reach down the bottle from the top shelf. It was an extraordinary experience.
Vintage Pubs and Real Ale in Greater Manchester described the Colliers Arms at Hartshead Pike:
The incredible Colliers Arms is attached to a farm, high above Mossley, right next to Hartshead Pike Tower. It is delightfully ancient and pokey. Nothing has altered for decades. It is difficult to know which are the public rooms and which are the private household areas. In fact there is only one public room with odd corners, very old bench seats, a fireplace and a piano. In reasonable weather most people drink outside the pub rather than inside. The beer is served from the doorway of a small back room rather like a scullery. Alas, it’s Bass keg beer. In this setting it should be home-brewed beer, dispensed by jug. Worth a visit for curiosity value, but not for the beer.
You could be asked to ‘shove up’ because Charlie was coming in for his tea, and the toilets consisted of two holes in a plank. There was a piano which hadn’t been tuned since the Second World War and the two women who ran it could easily be heard discussing their dinner which consisted of bulls’ balls.
Sadly, it closed down, but not before gaining the reputation as the country’s worst pub. Personally, I loved it. Only the country which gifted the world Fawlty Towers could have produced and supported it for so long.
Here’s the view:
