Back in the day when Preston was a frontier town, things were different to nowadays.
Herds of wild beasts roamed the badlands near the Ribble between Fishergate and Penwortham. Some of these beasts had names, others were never seen, some maybe never existed.
Some lived out all their lives on the banks of the Ribble, hunting for whatever they could find, others, knowing the pickings were meagre, were just passing through.
The sight of thousands of migrating Moose, on their way from the hills of Cumbria to the lush pastures of Skelmersdale, is one that is now long past.
The eagle eyed can still see a link with these ancient times though, the sign for the Moose Hotel. A sanctuary where a tired Moose could get a decent bed of straw for the night, and a safe room away from the hunters.
Its amazing it’s survived really. I presume the clientele has changed since then, or they’ve dropped their prices. Looks like the straw is still on offer though.