As a child, Dibnah was fascinated by the sights and sounds of industry and the dozens of chimney stacks visible around Burnden Park,[8] and paid particular attention to the steeplejacks he saw on his way to school.

Dibnah and his friend Alan Heap built a canoe from old bicycle wheels (cut in half to make the ribs), slate laths and a canvas sheet from the back of a lorry.

Dibnah had watched the activities of steeplejacks throughout his childhood, and first witnessed a chimney felling from his father's allotment near Bolton's greyhound track at Raikes Park.

Unfortunately, on this occasion the chimney fell in the wrong direction, onto the greyhound track's dog kennels, a local café and a series of power cables.

There he persuaded his commanding officer to let him repair the regiment's farmhouse (used for stabling horses and hounds) and he was soon given a more permanent position as a builder and handyman.

He impressed his commanding officers by making a weathercock from army kitchen trays, but was also chastised when he was found with a 1914 Luger P08 pistol he had bought from a fellow soldier.

[22]On his return from National Service in 1962 Dibnah retrieved his tools from storage, bought a 1927 350 cc AJS motorcycle for 21 guineas and looked for more work.

A vicar offered him some of the old gravestones from the church graveyard, which Dibnah then used to create the stone lintels and mullions, though he later expressed his fear that his property would now be haunted.

He offered to remove them without using explosives, by cutting an ingress at the base of the chimney—supporting the brickwork with wooden props—and then burning away the props so that the chimney fell, hopefully in the intended direction.

He even offered to let the engineer light the fire, but the wind blew so hard that the chimney did not draw the flames and once the props had been burnt through, it remained standing.

[44] Restoring the steamroller placed a heavy burden upon his marriage and Alison would often complain that her husband spent more time in the shed, repairing the engine, than he did in the house.

[53] His warm and friendly manner combined with his enthusiasm and broad Lancashire accent proved popular and he was later contacted by producer Don Haworth, with a view to making a documentary.

After several meetings over the course of a few weeks, filming began early one morning just as Dibnah had climbed to the top of a 245-foot (75 m) chimney at Shaw and Crompton, Oldham.

Sporadic filming took place over an 18-month period and captured Dibnah (with assistant Donald Paiton) working on a range of buildings, spending time with his family and enjoying his hobbies.

Giulio Briccialdi's Carnival of Venice (performed by James Galway) was the music chosen to accompany Dibnah's work on Bolton Town Hall.

[58] I've seen them from close-up and they're fantastic, great big stones perched two hundred feet up in the sky, covered in incredible carvings and all fitting perfectly, in an attempt to keep them up for ever.

That's why I don't get much pleasure demolishing a chimney, when I think of those fellows manhandling tens of thousands of bricks and tons of mortar, to build the thing in the first place.

He did however manage to undertake the removal of a small chimney stack from a business in the town, under a distinctly grey sky and aided by his wife, Alison.

In The Fred Dibnah Story (1996) she recalled their first meeting: "He looked sad and miserable, quite a pathetic sort of figure really, none of the bounce that people knew him for.

However, the strain of living with a man so dedicated to his hobbies began to take its toll on his wife: Sometimes he'll have busted his thumb because he's hit it with a hammer; you couldn't really expect him then to come in and start doing things in the house.

[71] The two worked on new ideas for a programme that would show Dibnah touring the country, visiting important historical locations and speaking to the men involved in the maintenance and restoration of industrial machinery and architecture.

Before filming began for Fred Dibnah's Magnificent Monuments, he had installed his red ladders on the steeple at St Walburge's in Preston, ready for an inspection.

The restoration of his traction engine was almost complete; later that year, however, Dibnah had another checkup at Christie Hospital and was told that a large tumour had been found on his bladder.

Although the sight of pithead gear may have been considered by his neighbours to be unusual, as a child raised in Bolton, he had been surrounded by pits such as Ladyshore Colliery and had long harboured an interest in mining.

[83] Using traditional shaft-sinking techniques and the labour of mining friends Alf Molyneux and Jimmy Crooks, the shaft was sunk to a depth of 20 feet (6.1 m) and lined with brick.

With his friend, Alf Molyneux, Dibnah would tour the country on his completed traction engine, visiting the workshops that still could produce the parts needed for his antique vehicle.

[87] Dibnah's engine suffered early mechanical problems; it could barely tow the fully loaded living van uphill, as the cylinder had been placed very slightly closer to the footplate than it should have been.

[90] Filming continued at various locations around the country, with sons Jack and Roger, who had become essential members of the tour, providing much-needed support for their father.

He initially planned to drive his traction engine into the palace grounds, but was refused as the Royal Parks Agency feared that its weight would damage the surface of The Mall.

[42][99] Eleven days later, thousands of mourners watched as Dibnah's coffin (on top of which his trademark flat cap was placed) was towed through the centre of Bolton by his restored traction engine, driven by his son.