About the Smugglers Way
The Smugglers Way began with a fascination for the forgotten history of the Wirral Peninsula — a landscape once shaped by sailing ships, shifting sandbanks, isolated shorelines and the activities of those who lived and worked along its coast.
Behind the familiar streets, promenades and buildings of modern Wirral lies another landscape, one of old inns, hidden caves, ancient pathways and stories of smuggling and wrecking. Much of it has disappeared, but enough remains to make its history worth exploring.
This website grew out of my book, The Smugglers Way, and provides an opportunity to revisit those places, examine their stories in greater detail and follow the surviving traces of a coastline that has changed almost beyond recognition.
Childhood on Bidston Moss
Long before Bidston Moss was transformed by development, the River Birket wound between tall reeds and open marshland. Here, as evening settled over the Moss, my friends and I built dens beside the water, with St Hilary’s Church and Bidston Hill rising in the distance. It was a landscape of childhood adventure, mystery and memories that would eventually inspire The Smugglers Way.
The Story Behind the Smugglers Way
My fascination with the Wirral coastline began in childhood. The sea, its islands, sailing ships and the mysteries of its maritime past always held a particular attraction for me. I remember lying awake at night, listening to the distant foghorns of ships and lighthouses, imagining the vessels making their way through the darkness.
During my childhood, I lived in Leasowe, close to the northern shores of Wirral. My friends and I would spend our evenings exploring an area of Bidston Moss known locally as the Danger Field, long before much of the surrounding landscape was developed. We built dens along the banks of the River Birket and wandered around the edges of a world of marshland and waterways, exploring the rough open ground that seemed made for adventure.
I particularly like “the edges of a world of marshland and waterways”. It conveys the sense of mystery and adventure without suggesting that you were wandering through the dangerous marshes themselves.
A Scary Encounter at Mother Redcaps
One evening in my teenage years, while walking along Egremont Promenade with friends, we came across Mother Redcap’s, an old building standing empty and derelict. I knew nothing of its history at the time.
The neighbouring house presented an unsettling sight. In its front window stood an unusual arrangement of pottery or ornaments, with a living black cat positioned among them. Something about the scene disturbed me.
Curiosity nevertheless overcame our apprehension, and we ventured inside Mother Redcap’s. Upstairs, we discovered a pentagram carefully chalked onto the floorboards. Having developed an interest in the occult, I immediately recognised the symbol. A chill ran through us, and we fled the building, never to return.
When I next visited the site, Mother Redcap’s had disappeared, replaced by a care home.
Alone on Bidston Moss
Beneath the winter stars, Bidston Moss became a different world. Far from the comfort of familiar streets, I walked alone across its dark, open ground, with Orion shining overhead and Bidston Hill silhouetted against the distant lights. What had once frightened me gradually became a place of solitude, discovery and fascination.
The Darkness of Bidston Moss
My fascination with the mysterious side of Wirral continued into adulthood. Determined to overcome my childhood fear of darkness, I began walking alone through Bidston Woods at night, repeating the experience most evenings for about a month until the darkness no longer troubled me.
Eventually, I ventured farther, onto the open stretches of Bidston Moss. My interest in astronomy provided another incentive, for away from the streetlights, the Moss offered darker skies and an opportunity to observe the stars.
For reassurance, I carried a large stone attached to a length of string, which I would swing above my head as I walked across the drier ground. It was an unusual precaution, perhaps, but one that gave me the confidence to explore alone.
Those solitary journeys brought me back to the landscape I had known as a child. The marshes, waterways and surrounding woodland had lost none of their mystery, even though I had gradually learned to overcome my fear of them.
From Boggarts to Smugglers
By then, I had written several long-distance walking guides, including There and Back on the Pennine Way, The Two Moors Way, The Wolds Way, The Southern Upland Way and The Coast to Coast Path.
Looking for a subject closer to home, my thoughts repeatedly returned to the adventures of my youth: Bidston Moss, the Egremont shoreline, the abandoned Mother Redcap’s and the ghostly stories that had once frightened me.
My original intention was to write a walking guide called The Bidston Boggart Trail, combining local ghost stories, personal experiences and the legends associated with the area.
However, research at Wallasey’s main library in Earlston Road gradually led me in another direction. Behind the tales of ghosts and mysterious happenings lay an equally compelling history of smuggling, wrecking and the communities that inhabited Wirral’s once-isolated coastline.
The more I discovered, the more I realised that these stories deserved a walking guide of their own. And so The Smugglers Way was born.
From Memories to a Book
What began with childhood adventures on Bidston Moss and a frightening encounter at Mother Redcap’s eventually became a journey into Wirral’s forgotten maritime history. Years of memories, exploration and research came together in The Smugglers Way, a walking guide through the places, people and legends of a coastline transformed by time
The Smugglers Way website continues that journey, exploring the history behind the walking routes and uncovering stories that could not all be included in the original book. It is also intended to grow alongside future explorations of Wirral’s western coastline, including West Kirby, Hilbre Island and the shores towards Chester.