tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86799347068998406202024-03-20T04:25:19.199-07:00Linda's Derbyshire DiaryWalks and days out in Derbyshire, EnglandLindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07305664339422822793noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8679934706899840620.post-69533123943631278522012-03-25T12:28:00.005-07:002012-03-26T12:49:00.248-07:00Hot As Madrid<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The former Osmaston Hall</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Apparently it was as hot in Derbyshire today as it was in Madrid. Wow! Certainly a very warm and beautifully sunny day. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We went for a walk at a place I had never explored before - Osmaston estate near Ashbourne. There used to be a huge Italianate house here in Victorian times, but it was demolished in the 1960s. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The pretty estate village remains. It its one of the few places in Derbyshire where there are many thatched cottages. Obviously the folks at the big house liked their villages rustic and picturesque.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We walked past the bustling Shoulder of Mutton pub and the diminutive village post office ("Ring for attention"), and turned left at the village duck pond. Several people had set up deckchairs by the water and were enjoying the sunshine.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Another pretty cottage in the village</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There was a lovely old tree in a field by the footpath. It had a swing and it was very tempting to have a go, but I felt a bit sorry for the tree! Here I am trying to take a photo of it with my tablet PC.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdc4BLU9PCXg4-YSpCSRVOEyBugdSmVJQmda4cpBHkDD9747TPpHBcPmMsIkWn0OpRgo_Bfa7nNNLUK3QoRynmJVk6HqYeL6TeokcWuJr2ooUGVWw25JQ0b5j064-VuYROMxEPXeATdMib/s1600/DSCF0101.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img aea="true" border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdc4BLU9PCXg4-YSpCSRVOEyBugdSmVJQmda4cpBHkDD9747TPpHBcPmMsIkWn0OpRgo_Bfa7nNNLUK3QoRynmJVk6HqYeL6TeokcWuJr2ooUGVWw25JQ0b5j064-VuYROMxEPXeATdMib/s320/DSCF0101.JPG" width="320" /></span></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Descending a slope we came to the estate water mill, a building with a somehow Alpine look to it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Its delapidation only makes it more picturesque. We especially liked the tufty ferns sprouting from the roof tiles.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From thence we made our way across fields for a mile or so until we reached the charming hamlet of Shirley. Here there is a remarkable 'survivor' tree. It is built into the wall of the village church, and the metal fence along the top of the wall goes through it. The tree has at some point been cut down to a stump, yet still has twigs and bugs growing, despite being completely hollow and riddled with woodworm!</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrTkXh_piS1bBC6v4-0e78G7xccihqIFX4QoAP4H4p2zbgbBa4yEK-3qdWMJI1RBVbm_jZ5i2bm1Y87E79ZUIYKg2_wVdP9thtQ9sCAclp0WI4VDGQOgkW-jMMEHscgKZHYL51Te00cpjS/s1600/DSCF0123.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img aea="true" border="0" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrTkXh_piS1bBC6v4-0e78G7xccihqIFX4QoAP4H4p2zbgbBa4yEK-3qdWMJI1RBVbm_jZ5i2bm1Y87E79ZUIYKg2_wVdP9thtQ9sCAclp0WI4VDGQOgkW-jMMEHscgKZHYL51Te00cpjS/s640/DSCF0123.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuaFSUgJcP7M453Ojv_23ra4d_QPV29eG3L5XXWI9qZlvcCtt_WqharsmuXjncWUlxhRz2hUx7UR4PBdQLTuGb8SQsZ2a1TV84nqbpxw6qTwT7BUFkpAPtTZwcvNkiLiswl1epDDyTz-VE/s1600/DSCF0129.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img aea="true" border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuaFSUgJcP7M453Ojv_23ra4d_QPV29eG3L5XXWI9qZlvcCtt_WqharsmuXjncWUlxhRz2hUx7UR4PBdQLTuGb8SQsZ2a1TV84nqbpxw6qTwT7BUFkpAPtTZwcvNkiLiswl1epDDyTz-VE/s200/DSCF0129.JPG" width="131" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Across from the tree and the church is the Saracen's Head pub, which is very neatly kept. Inside the hostelry everyone was happily nibbling on tasty roast dinners <a href="http://www.saracens-head-shirley.co.uk/">http://www.saracens-head-shirley.co.uk/</a> Only having a fiver on us and being as we were saving up for our holidays we could only afford a cup of tea and an orange juice. So we sat at a bench outside and dribbled over the puddings menu (eg "Vanilla Pan Cotta with Lavender Cookies").</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtk9NByHJDprnio5jxIgxTzmxIiAynKQNH0UiJWdr7di3AygkcXM0N-040j4rcIY9pblfV9X49CWFTL9GUTMfL2uprL71ZaHaWdVqyAvyQ8JeACs-m65F72szoirn5dSr7e6xd4FnPA6Lu/s1600/DSCF0126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img aea="true" border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtk9NByHJDprnio5jxIgxTzmxIiAynKQNH0UiJWdr7di3AygkcXM0N-040j4rcIY9pblfV9X49CWFTL9GUTMfL2uprL71ZaHaWdVqyAvyQ8JeACs-m65F72szoirn5dSr7e6xd4FnPA6Lu/s200/DSCF0126.JPG" width="131" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After leaving Shirley our route led through some dry sandy fields. The fields had a spring green colour to them and the sky was impossibly blue. It certainly didn't feel like March. I collected some of the pebbles which filled the fields, intending to take them home and make them into owls for the garden. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From thence into a quiet wetland area. Someone had constructed an very sturdy boardwalk to carry the footpath over a marshy area of rushes. It was nice to sit and bask on the boardwalk for a while.</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgffevVlrfVNL-rjTrNpVL8UQMq57DyR-h6lSPj4BV_M4hIUwRGJKCUpg8FkzCcZBQjdWhjUnItdhYhww24N6Usj3BEePltnu5VnqcAfyO0_hrEKklPMpNiS0O-_X6h_Mp26YptZbzc0N25/s1600/DSCF0135.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img aea="true" border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgffevVlrfVNL-rjTrNpVL8UQMq57DyR-h6lSPj4BV_M4hIUwRGJKCUpg8FkzCcZBQjdWhjUnItdhYhww24N6Usj3BEePltnu5VnqcAfyO0_hrEKklPMpNiS0O-_X6h_Mp26YptZbzc0N25/s320/DSCF0135.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then into some conifer woodland and eventually we emerged to a small lake. From the shore, the one remaining tower of former Osmaston Hall could be seen in the far distance, cloaked by trees. Along the lake was a line of alders, their roots making little islands along the water's edge.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8WoIxXwmGr8iV1fFACiVBa628ISsE6crq3rzOObSwdJ_eiGR4qvIfRbvN-2q3R6TvG4ICY6VQE9k1HL3FBIQ5cwycTnl2dukAMHdal6IH7jhGO1aoFejUz7r1Otmae-yKmalBuN1hq0SU/s1600/DSCF0138.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img aea="true" border="0" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8WoIxXwmGr8iV1fFACiVBa628ISsE6crq3rzOObSwdJ_eiGR4qvIfRbvN-2q3R6TvG4ICY6VQE9k1HL3FBIQ5cwycTnl2dukAMHdal6IH7jhGO1aoFejUz7r1Otmae-yKmalBuN1hq0SU/s640/DSCF0138.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidkW84mBRf1DxVOM9LZ_CpGOVrEN_2iNcqc8a5SqRBoIOuKtn-tQw6_AQMWufi69psCZg-Ck_Wm3Gvkz0MRZ5atAWQmAK5BoeGzkvoitp4CWrBrkwUpKduCT1qjF7Gl-PYVeTaCXBaqIHG/s1600/DSCF0146.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img aea="true" border="0" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidkW84mBRf1DxVOM9LZ_CpGOVrEN_2iNcqc8a5SqRBoIOuKtn-tQw6_AQMWufi69psCZg-Ck_Wm3Gvkz0MRZ5atAWQmAK5BoeGzkvoitp4CWrBrkwUpKduCT1qjF7Gl-PYVeTaCXBaqIHG/s640/DSCF0146.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Up a steep incline past a twisted stag headed oak and then out through the tall gateway that once led to the hall, back to the pretty "village ornee" of Osmaston for a cup of tea and a slice of cake which we had brought along with us. What a nice walk!</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPZaAVjrR4DCA6HVlLqs4WpGtFkTogILXTN5-dBYXUYHvEionV47J8GroLHmwxj8Yiynj-UX-gAUoDeg8IVL-FYNRknXCG4B08M5TooO0Ch7TxuIo-GRsLn54uW88ZZtv0nau5jwrNfJl7/s1600/smile!.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img aea="true" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPZaAVjrR4DCA6HVlLqs4WpGtFkTogILXTN5-dBYXUYHvEionV47J8GroLHmwxj8Yiynj-UX-gAUoDeg8IVL-FYNRknXCG4B08M5TooO0Ch7TxuIo-GRsLn54uW88ZZtv0nau5jwrNfJl7/s320/smile!.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07305664339422822793noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8679934706899840620.post-6402732860395320792012-03-18T11:08:00.000-07:002012-03-18T11:08:59.938-07:00Round Press on a Sunny Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Press" is a funny name for a village. It's a straggle of cottages located in a rather backwater area of North East Derbyshire between the former industrial towns of Wingerworth and Clay Cross and the countryside heading over towards Wooley Moor and Ogston Reservoir. There is a series of three small reservoirs at Press, created for heaven knows what purpose but these days a haunt for fishermen. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXM8xGbRXqbfWGfN6byb3u8i-u_oKzKShdd0Unt7iaCSvFNkJbjQKUlhW_4AcIBpgxFOanKqBas-4CDrXeMkInaNPnryuh2sk5IiTkv17zund5TaoPSIJvTgki5q8OE85aVvHX0iVUmVDB/s1600/Sleigh%2527s+manor+house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img aea="true" border="0" height="436" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXM8xGbRXqbfWGfN6byb3u8i-u_oKzKShdd0Unt7iaCSvFNkJbjQKUlhW_4AcIBpgxFOanKqBas-4CDrXeMkInaNPnryuh2sk5IiTkv17zund5TaoPSIJvTgki5q8OE85aVvHX0iVUmVDB/s640/Sleigh%2527s+manor+house.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Outside Mr Sleigh's Manor House</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">It being an unseasonably sunny day last Sunday (11th March) we set off on the footpath between reservoirs one and two, and soon found ourselves in a muddy, unmade lane. The 17th century stone manor house close by (Manor Farm these days) was apparently once Derbyshire's most hard to access pub. In one direction is the rutted and unsurfaced lane, and in the other a very narrow gated road. Today I suppose it might create a niche market by advertising itself as some kind of four-wheel drive challenge, but back in the day it must have been nigh on impossible to get too, even if you knew where to look. Our guidebook said the manor was built by one Samuel Sleigh, who also gave his name to nearby Sleigh Woods.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3BmdXlHmlBj1NBFxNnSLHHGCNdsqTyb8QjgU-uJxf69eofa_2ujQEuTr2ApBMJkGCcuAyWBFl7jr8RnwMKVo58cZf1SbW64tIEYqwQ8e79SLcqY7caRqExRNchbkrxRVvbaR7zy9EAIIC/s1600/postbox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img aea="true" border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3BmdXlHmlBj1NBFxNnSLHHGCNdsqTyb8QjgU-uJxf69eofa_2ujQEuTr2ApBMJkGCcuAyWBFl7jr8RnwMKVo58cZf1SbW64tIEYqwQ8e79SLcqY7caRqExRNchbkrxRVvbaR7zy9EAIIC/s200/postbox.jpg" width="118" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The splendid post box</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">After crossing several fields and stiles (including one with a lot of frogs) we arrived at a footpath eandering around the perimeter of Stubbing Hall Park. The hall is a Georgian building. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">The footpath passes its former Home Farm, and a couple of cottages, one of which had a spendid ornamental hen house complete with cockeral weather vane, and a very fancy wrought iron letter box.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh88dgg4pjx2LCnhNHoIyrKQF4tq5yKWGGCNAmQmEQq7nlF5lkKrYHMyQ9PRBsbycoOznMB6nwhByxdEU1XLaw9wX1_YvtSVl2iMY-_nMNyh6b9a9eITyQJ4CAYeIIsSoi8ojl5ajOiU0Q5/s1600/frog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img aea="true" border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh88dgg4pjx2LCnhNHoIyrKQF4tq5yKWGGCNAmQmEQq7nlF5lkKrYHMyQ9PRBsbycoOznMB6nwhByxdEU1XLaw9wX1_YvtSVl2iMY-_nMNyh6b9a9eITyQJ4CAYeIIsSoi8ojl5ajOiU0Q5/s200/frog.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">At the road junction are a few houses and a Methodist chapel called Salem ("Peace" in Hebrew) which - by the number of cars parked outside and the enthusiastic singing coming from within - is a very popular place of worship. There was a funny story in the guidebook about the evangelical preacher who built it having a fall out with local worthy Sir Henry Hunloke and being prevented from buying stone for the chapel in any of the local quarries, all of which were owned by grumpy Sir Henry.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Nearby is the "Great Pond of Stubbing" - now a tranquil reservoir. It must be the same age as the hall. A small boathouse on the far bank looked appealling.</span> <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTANbhS0zJKA1H3ou789lBtsopzdlcwyJoDnyGVCPK34CR2YBVBld6pnAKN3_h21RZsH3QHAiCaxYZufvgPv2gcAxkCjFvnKpj80vOqiCB9Rpi894EvqstKEbs_T00QcGx1JA6laXF6A2x/s1600/Great+Pond.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img aea="true" border="0" height="486" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTANbhS0zJKA1H3ou789lBtsopzdlcwyJoDnyGVCPK34CR2YBVBld6pnAKN3_h21RZsH3QHAiCaxYZufvgPv2gcAxkCjFvnKpj80vOqiCB9Rpi894EvqstKEbs_T00QcGx1JA6laXF6A2x/s640/Great+Pond.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Great Pond of Stubbing</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">The path now wound in the direction of Wingerworth, taking the form of stepping stones set in grass. Presumably these prevented Non Conformist Victorian ladies from soiling their dresses whilst walking through the fields to chapel. Up a steep bank and onto the road then up another even steeper incline, this one a narrow road leading into trees. There was a fine sunny view over fields below, starting to look green again after winter, due to the sunshine.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Through and out of the woods, our path started to descend. We stopped to say hello to a friendly donkey and to admire the view which must be enjoyed fron the modern red brick house at the top of the ridge, with its many balconies and terraces.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlwTZDPE_tD6aAgMd-WxFaVE4mJYq-Q-ngMQ9-tT_quNtVZq0SM0OGGUgYXMIU4t5OnuC4HXUufLoS90AiJ6Zd3asKjU9ehNYCLHM9U3NTpPpR6MDI_4Y91N_grr7MOiLZNr6R8GrWe8cy/s1600/Donkey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img aea="true" border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlwTZDPE_tD6aAgMd-WxFaVE4mJYq-Q-ngMQ9-tT_quNtVZq0SM0OGGUgYXMIU4t5OnuC4HXUufLoS90AiJ6Zd3asKjU9ehNYCLHM9U3NTpPpR6MDI_4Y91N_grr7MOiLZNr6R8GrWe8cy/s400/Donkey.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Heading back towards Press and Northledge hamlets, we passed a cottage with three alpacas in a field outside. They came over to the fence curiously and then frolicked, rolling in the dust. They were odd looking creatures, with large long lashed eyes and what looked like furry leggings. Ahhh!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWUoxeTYdCmSlKEtubHpYohREaB8Z5yUxfkZ3gvUxi7meUg-6o1ZlbuprR81Us3qVpGJrWDiPnzfRxeEt8drDXfODL84_sup1LfpSuWo6O63vTYDFVdLsbwx1bjVVWc-7_yZ3LkQ5DNJIM/s1600/Alpaca.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img aea="true" border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWUoxeTYdCmSlKEtubHpYohREaB8Z5yUxfkZ3gvUxi7meUg-6o1ZlbuprR81Us3qVpGJrWDiPnzfRxeEt8drDXfODL84_sup1LfpSuWo6O63vTYDFVdLsbwx1bjVVWc-7_yZ3LkQ5DNJIM/s200/Alpaca.jpg" width="150" /></a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07305664339422822793noreply@blogger.com0Wingerworth, Derbyshire, UK53.202816824482255 -1.465440185424768153.180777824482256 -1.512880185424768 53.224855824482255 -1.4180001854247681tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8679934706899840620.post-66667602982037185152012-02-28T14:15:00.011-08:002012-02-28T14:25:23.416-08:00February In Monsall Dale<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> This weekend we went for a short walk in Monsall Dale, starting from White Lodge and walking up to Monsall Head. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdk6dtYGB2iDL11Ln5OsRrXjg3S9Y4jVFvuRR_badePPJKm7U9v9iRBMqUZnqDnPfK4uNG7PjI17VZ-jDdBq34LJYNYAcIMUUFjUVCrLJPaztVSmX3J056xj5TPt5cZdw1ftKCJRPYB90Z/s1600/2012_0225monsallfeb0019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdk6dtYGB2iDL11Ln5OsRrXjg3S9Y4jVFvuRR_badePPJKm7U9v9iRBMqUZnqDnPfK4uNG7PjI17VZ-jDdBq34LJYNYAcIMUUFjUVCrLJPaztVSmX3J056xj5TPt5cZdw1ftKCJRPYB90Z/s640/2012_0225monsallfeb0019.JPG" uda="true" width="640" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipJZAnZDsAOfOHJei-Ci90DZQFOI7o5E3kDISIWGkkkqMH47T5pZ7XCnkoDBJGNLdTGdxmpZMkCLwyKFCKtbOaMzSy9Z3WyWf7EVUShD7PVyR95chbJj05ndw0baVt9I38uivF9bzglLAI/s1600/2012_0225monsallfeb0009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipJZAnZDsAOfOHJei-Ci90DZQFOI7o5E3kDISIWGkkkqMH47T5pZ7XCnkoDBJGNLdTGdxmpZMkCLwyKFCKtbOaMzSy9Z3WyWf7EVUShD7PVyR95chbJj05ndw0baVt9I38uivF9bzglLAI/s400/2012_0225monsallfeb0009.JPG" uda="true" width="400" /></a></div>Along the way there is an impressive waterfall, where a rescue team was practising, with the aid of a huge Newfoundland rescue dog called Tugs.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgElikifmGThRJea22lDCuuNunzOnIyFi6o6ZsGAALX01NgZ3jv7nV7DmfWUp-wuXdbTNSvkWIuMduOUKMQEm5LqXQQOoi5faWoh8HACFYELnGF-la56K8psKpgoYnNmXUuPPTryOTxrrjl/s1600/2012_0225monsallfeb0018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgElikifmGThRJea22lDCuuNunzOnIyFi6o6ZsGAALX01NgZ3jv7nV7DmfWUp-wuXdbTNSvkWIuMduOUKMQEm5LqXQQOoi5faWoh8HACFYELnGF-la56K8psKpgoYnNmXUuPPTryOTxrrjl/s400/2012_0225monsallfeb0018.JPG" uda="true" width="266" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4W6tgspCJWbOoquUAwOBsRPRt2uwW4gj8O47kEaHcI2RoMX6IOmeGHTfSg_SgvjD2Fx7WyjDqRHsFt2tSKkid7L-KeN-BpJhk2dOtsTkSdPpKhHzSAt45XkSahvsiL69MWQOuUSOPfNl9/s1600/2012_0225monsallfeb0022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4W6tgspCJWbOoquUAwOBsRPRt2uwW4gj8O47kEaHcI2RoMX6IOmeGHTfSg_SgvjD2Fx7WyjDqRHsFt2tSKkid7L-KeN-BpJhk2dOtsTkSdPpKhHzSAt45XkSahvsiL69MWQOuUSOPfNl9/s320/2012_0225monsallfeb0022.JPG" uda="true" width="214" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Lesley was wearing a new Fairisle hat that she recently knitted.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">We stopped for refreshments at the teashop at the head of the gorge, and sat outside to enjoy the great view. Inside the cafe is a small craft shop where we admired a picture by artist Catriona Hall of the dale. I am a fan of her work.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJg4aSNj6uaJwkRBeAxfk86eONlAiEw0QWnFh7oq4mL300ak7U_d46cIkgKkX8CkYyF9xLcRZzWxu6g0RhAbjb0CbfEhJM-SoBUT5cj252GgJZx2lG3xaOhOZLRDn7xba07jM2IQzOwxTU/s1600/catriona+hall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJg4aSNj6uaJwkRBeAxfk86eONlAiEw0QWnFh7oq4mL300ak7U_d46cIkgKkX8CkYyF9xLcRZzWxu6g0RhAbjb0CbfEhJM-SoBUT5cj252GgJZx2lG3xaOhOZLRDn7xba07jM2IQzOwxTU/s1600/catriona+hall.jpg" uda="true" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">After our short stroll it was still early in the afternoon, so we went to Bakewell for a browse around the shops. I managed to resist the siren call of the chip shop!</div></div>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07305664339422822793noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8679934706899840620.post-87762790124902099382012-01-15T11:07:00.000-08:002012-01-15T11:07:28.188-08:00A Chilly Day at Hardwick Hall<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjma4RAnw8MHHFs4TKAxIxVkAnzHA4jAiO72N9ZXqqMrUafRMOmrSnOjdRcWgi3cBBvuAcdyPkIATjMBNIzNUf8wWxRz8UkTLB4S9YlGw2Vxe0dQdTBSCekaGTApzcmy5JBzTidLqs0VB9k/s1600/2012_0223Haddon0007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="420" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjma4RAnw8MHHFs4TKAxIxVkAnzHA4jAiO72N9ZXqqMrUafRMOmrSnOjdRcWgi3cBBvuAcdyPkIATjMBNIzNUf8wWxRz8UkTLB4S9YlGw2Vxe0dQdTBSCekaGTApzcmy5JBzTidLqs0VB9k/s640/2012_0223Haddon0007.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I had a minor fall out with Tom, my Sat Nav, who tried to take us on a scenic trip round the back streets of Clay Cross and then directed us down a lane which seemed to get narrower and narrower. The fact that it had grass growing down the middle was also not reassuring. Yet, unexpectedly, we popped out at the right place. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There was a hard frost when we arrived at 11am and parked at Stainsby Mill for a walk in Hardwick Hall park. It later turned out that we shouldn't have parked there, because the walk started somewhere else entirely, but that's what you get for relying on an inadequate sketch map with no scale. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAdA0AyYBTsb0sLQEcNIRPSDVMPCX78JaICpu90DV7GevsJ6_xsc-vh1ojkfW4V-QCubGXM4YC_7DP-QXsui3uyG-uWkqMdC1Vht1sUitIckjS_DWLoMXSOLwDPj5kuB-q48Dllyan1_bf/s1600/2012_0223Haddon0008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAdA0AyYBTsb0sLQEcNIRPSDVMPCX78JaICpu90DV7GevsJ6_xsc-vh1ojkfW4V-QCubGXM4YC_7DP-QXsui3uyG-uWkqMdC1Vht1sUitIckjS_DWLoMXSOLwDPj5kuB-q48Dllyan1_bf/s320/2012_0223Haddon0008.JPG" width="320" /></a>However, the drive was at least dry and ice free. After meandering round the hill and past some very aged and twisted oaks, we finally came within sight of both the Old and New Hardwick Hall, though the last is somewhat of a misnomer of course. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The building looked, as ever, imposing and slightly fantastical, its chimneys and finials bristling. She was no modest woman that Bess, her initials on the turrets must be several feet high. Sadly the hall shuts for winter, but the snack shack was open as was the Old Hall. We bought a postcard and sympathised with the attendant in his draughty lobby. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQM47RycgziJp7NvH76qi7R2MXpeG9kunutJgZNchB1fhi-fAdpD1D3u8QrGDWAiQ5bJzHFUwp_tcxoFdF1zLIo52khg_iXKdfOi25BIfWDtT988-iBupWLDWG7PyMZN3DBiqW5sqq-fUF/s1600/2012_0223Haddon0009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQM47RycgziJp7NvH76qi7R2MXpeG9kunutJgZNchB1fhi-fAdpD1D3u8QrGDWAiQ5bJzHFUwp_tcxoFdF1zLIo52khg_iXKdfOi25BIfWDtT988-iBupWLDWG7PyMZN3DBiqW5sqq-fUF/s320/2012_0223Haddon0009.JPG" width="211" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeqcJt9hUpM7JIf8WzC1bvjR3lO-TtDsFmUV0085uUClTgxQvcsog7IHx-dyHqEB361pEA3ksHNW0gffXckJpT6ncv9R0FUCujFybuQxxQJ2pD-dlaikvWyezZo7cPlEjrPGNyGmRZOL_b/s1600/2012_0223Haddon0011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="131" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeqcJt9hUpM7JIf8WzC1bvjR3lO-TtDsFmUV0085uUClTgxQvcsog7IHx-dyHqEB361pEA3ksHNW0gffXckJpT6ncv9R0FUCujFybuQxxQJ2pD-dlaikvWyezZo7cPlEjrPGNyGmRZOL_b/s200/2012_0223Haddon0011.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5H17-pDLjQh27NYtofIZ-8furLf-070PvIywra0MAm1zawGEjWlCmiQp8ik6F6JWWuNslGJQaCKSszGfs-BplH44SYVRWQ1UqeO_pL1AY66IUT8YCLDIChVCx_ZyIQxN1wEl4sbX3oUXP/s1600/2012_0223Haddon0012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="211" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5H17-pDLjQh27NYtofIZ-8furLf-070PvIywra0MAm1zawGEjWlCmiQp8ik6F6JWWuNslGJQaCKSszGfs-BplH44SYVRWQ1UqeO_pL1AY66IUT8YCLDIChVCx_ZyIQxN1wEl4sbX3oUXP/s320/2012_0223Haddon0012.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Old Hall</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjakTdwPKlxmX8kUN5V_r_FcDNKGwwayEAvPyURltUy03Mj_3b7Se7cEB_Bo5bqHEnaFpPcgZAouRLVQeUq0cE4J4gB8K1FOAjqiSdvG4_YG0A-iLmWgCkhPFNAf8lQJnVEIR91SSix6vpG/s1600/2012_0223Haddon0016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjakTdwPKlxmX8kUN5V_r_FcDNKGwwayEAvPyURltUy03Mj_3b7Se7cEB_Bo5bqHEnaFpPcgZAouRLVQeUq0cE4J4gB8K1FOAjqiSdvG4_YG0A-iLmWgCkhPFNAf8lQJnVEIR91SSix6vpG/s320/2012_0223Haddon0016.JPG" width="201" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lesley firmly ensconced in her new winter jacket. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>After our walk we were still early enough to find plenty of space at the cosy Hardwick Inn, a pub I had never visited before. Though by no means picturesque inside (the 1980's artex style plastering a little too freely applied) it serves a wide range of affordable hearty meals. Lesley and I chose a roast dinner each and I tried a half of Bess of Hardwick Bitter - an excellent brew. We did not expect to be able to clear our loaded plates, but the frost and a walk had obviously made us hungrier than we thought, for somehow most of it disappeared.<br />
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A half circuit of the Millers' Pond brought us back to the car, the sun making a brief appearance. </div>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07305664339422822793noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8679934706899840620.post-59329326581991058262011-10-22T13:53:00.001-07:002012-03-25T12:34:30.170-07:00The Devil's Arse<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBsgcBiIz3RRFAA85LfWkCm9wr5zIm1C8M6jXJwHQN4swO0HKRbNuIo8jJeo1Q_qRz9xcg4z0W0QQjIzmpq8rCYlWBcsYhh8MKUA5LfunlP_w3PcpMWqu4rda32-UiKb6kP3vTRklB1-Gb/s1600/Castleton+010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" rda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBsgcBiIz3RRFAA85LfWkCm9wr5zIm1C8M6jXJwHQN4swO0HKRbNuIo8jJeo1Q_qRz9xcg4z0W0QQjIzmpq8rCYlWBcsYhh8MKUA5LfunlP_w3PcpMWqu4rda32-UiKb6kP3vTRklB1-Gb/s320/Castleton+010.JPG" width="214" /></a></div>We went on a trip to the Devil's Arse last Sunday. Or Peak Cavern, as it used to be called. The cavern extrance is dramatic - the largest in the British Isles. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPqbaKGRziP0bNQzhLXAEojaBeHrFfx1FpF7wFgouZHjnLbFgvUXDHEy6iT1vf1oC1-3EAhiqmSQ2th0YzQ63QKnCS-n0ZV4wW_X_hp-EA3dpHf1YgzAGqyu36cN0qUEhvwLtZvqvWm9O6/s1600/Castleton+015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" rda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPqbaKGRziP0bNQzhLXAEojaBeHrFfx1FpF7wFgouZHjnLbFgvUXDHEy6iT1vf1oC1-3EAhiqmSQ2th0YzQ63QKnCS-n0ZV4wW_X_hp-EA3dpHf1YgzAGqyu36cN0qUEhvwLtZvqvWm9O6/s200/Castleton+015.JPG" width="132" /></a></div>It's strange to think that back in Ye Olde Days whole families lived here, carrying on the rope making trade in the damp shelter of the overhanging rock. Apparently it was a very smelly place, what with the hovels, pigs, chickens and children running around, smoke from fires and tallow being boiled. A gothy girl guide gave us a demonstration of exactly how the rope was made, and I helped her wind the wooden contraption which made it so neatly, using hempen string.<br />
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Parts of the cavern are very low, and apparently in Victorian times the entrance passage was partly flooded. So to get in visitors had to lie on their backs in a flat bottomed boat the side of a coffin, clutching a candle to their chests, and be ferried in by a wading guide. I felt glad that the visit of Queen Victorian had persuaded them to blast a larger hole into the cavern, so that today's visitors only have to stoop along "Lumbago Walk" for a few dozen yards, and though there is mud, there are no black depths to be navigated.<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoiGzl9vGUu_Uc58oMGWwEObRO2YzyvJWeRv7frUjBPmnnKY3LwDFqtxj9BKDJxvp2yTw5G2Rzyh9gj0OB2opHwUjdiR-v0NEFm4eXaj8ZN82pdQuHW89N6x_ULBalpFTcmhl3q39W9Sl0/s1600/Castleton+031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="428" rda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoiGzl9vGUu_Uc58oMGWwEObRO2YzyvJWeRv7frUjBPmnnKY3LwDFqtxj9BKDJxvp2yTw5G2Rzyh9gj0OB2opHwUjdiR-v0NEFm4eXaj8ZN82pdQuHW89N6x_ULBalpFTcmhl3q39W9Sl0/s640/Castleton+031.JPG" width="640" /></a></div> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidehBHq4R0xAh6yhKrJxkMXY-l1Zw7UnVOMjn85r9X_ZYi9T_bzVf3vXCeMQpd58PrYv0Ko_9fcacYBzEr2e-1CQNkZiDhgwD1vfFQ7MQMXTcwE8MOUzjcZuMXB-kFmgFMAJ3gDB1XQ8Bm/s1600/Castleton+016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" rda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidehBHq4R0xAh6yhKrJxkMXY-l1Zw7UnVOMjn85r9X_ZYi9T_bzVf3vXCeMQpd58PrYv0Ko_9fcacYBzEr2e-1CQNkZiDhgwD1vfFQ7MQMXTcwE8MOUzjcZuMXB-kFmgFMAJ3gDB1XQ8Bm/s200/Castleton+016.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
After leaving the cavern we had a walk up Cavedale - the limestone gorge above which towers the ruined Norman castle. It is like a scene from "Gawain and the Green Knight."</div>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07305664339422822793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8679934706899840620.post-8542869517132919322011-07-31T03:49:00.000-07:002011-07-31T03:49:10.750-07:00Up and Down Dale in Ladygrove<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div closure_uid_hqckjs="655"><span closure_uid_wnaxki="120" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">A very warm sunny day today. so we headed into Derbyshire to make the most of it. I had details for a walk around Darley Dale - a place which we usually just drive quickly through on the way from Matlock to Bakewell. </span></div><div closure_uid_wnaxki="122"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj279LCZ3qiiA0rhq_eN9S1qw66ZmXQFCatmUgWP9iz1ylFMG9jjFDRcFjG7z85uRDfUxCHtEtI7rEXVV_5PRkJsLN8duek1q3lWGhZpg1_J5_hS1vHBkirWaMLOsMjPuyx0Dqt0sZ4S__Y/s1600/darleyyew2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj279LCZ3qiiA0rhq_eN9S1qw66ZmXQFCatmUgWP9iz1ylFMG9jjFDRcFjG7z85uRDfUxCHtEtI7rEXVV_5PRkJsLN8duek1q3lWGhZpg1_J5_hS1vHBkirWaMLOsMjPuyx0Dqt0sZ4S__Y/s320/darleyyew2.jpg" t$="true" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Darley Yew</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div closure_uid_hqckjs="102"><span closure_uid_wnaxki="121" style="font-family: Georgia;">Before setting off we took the opportunity to call into St. Helen's churchyard in the old part of the village, to have a look a the famous "Darley Yew". This is a hoary veteran of a tree said to be 2000 years old, opposite the church porch. From its massive 33 foot girth it's easy to believe that it might have been already growing here when the Romans arrived. Stout metal railing protect the arboricultural curiosity, and inside the fence are a series of memorial stones commemorating famous battles. </span></div></div><div closure_uid_wnaxki="122"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_wnaxki="122"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi692CgUC89WrPGPBg2rFUcRpaq3fnI1SYf4l4LRz6s-R_Aad4_oWUEox6ERqD6z6a5rmhkK-Us4-_8jOG0aCq5AtGlKLIng1sSHuZYKJaQxw3m0QJzDa_ou-L1zPf7B_q4NSVOkNmCHRbn/s1600/ladygrove+011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi692CgUC89WrPGPBg2rFUcRpaq3fnI1SYf4l4LRz6s-R_Aad4_oWUEox6ERqD6z6a5rmhkK-Us4-_8jOG0aCq5AtGlKLIng1sSHuZYKJaQxw3m0QJzDa_ou-L1zPf7B_q4NSVOkNmCHRbn/s200/ladygrove+011.JPG" t$="true" width="132" /></a></div><div closure_uid_hqckjs="445"><span closure_uid_wnaxki="121" style="font-family: Georgia;">The church, though 14th century, evidently replaces an earlier structure, as there bits and pieces of what looks like Norman stonecarving, such as the wolf like creature inside the porch. There are even said to be some Saxon stones inside the church, but we were unable to check this as the door was firmly locked. Two women decorating the porch with flowers for a wedding said there had been recent vandalism. The churchyard was peaceful and shady, with gravestones dating back to 1645.</span></div></div><div closure_uid_wnaxki="122"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_wnaxki="122"><div closure_uid_hqckjs="478"><span closure_uid_wnaxki="123" style="font-family: Georgia;">Our footpath took us over some fields , along the reedy bank of a stream, where Meadowsweet was in full flower, and past the cricket club where a practise was in progress and a marquee suggested that the church weddingn guests might not have far to go to the reception. We passed the Square and Compass pub near Darley Bridge, and the camping field opposite which was absolutely rammed full of tents and caravans.</span></div></div><div closure_uid_wnaxki="122"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_wnaxki="122"><span closure_uid_wnaxki="124" style="font-family: Georgia;">Thence our path led through a field of rather pooey Friesian cows and across a footbridge until we emerged onto the busy A6. We sweltered along the road for a while until reaching the next path, through the grounds of what used to be St Elphin's School. It is now an upmarket retirement complex, and a huge amount of construction work seemed to be in progress. With all the scaffolding and Herras fencing here, it made you feel a bit sorry for those who had already bought appartments in "phase one". They seemed unlikely to be enjoying a quiet retirement. </span></div><div closure_uid_wnaxki="122"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_wnaxki="122"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihSJWhdBLVpKFOe_E39ZqAXYtuMyqEHwf29tmBqVJWiA9GfseQ-_lMHTKm7fUGIjpCQ6TqthPEkjCrRnbcye_wex818wjlSLCbhBlkxILETIKu_7NdiIOlIdZP2-Tx-gmXp0SVByO-mk6S/s1600/ladygrove+015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihSJWhdBLVpKFOe_E39ZqAXYtuMyqEHwf29tmBqVJWiA9GfseQ-_lMHTKm7fUGIjpCQ6TqthPEkjCrRnbcye_wex818wjlSLCbhBlkxILETIKu_7NdiIOlIdZP2-Tx-gmXp0SVByO-mk6S/s320/ladygrove+015.JPG" t$="true" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old Spring & Well near Hackney</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span closure_uid_wnaxki="132" style="font-family: Georgia;">It was very hot by now and the slope seemed to get steeper all the time. Thankfully, someone had placed a bench near the top of the hill, so we rested a while and enjoyed the fabulous view over distant Stanton Moor before turning left on a bumpy tarmac lane below some 1930's bungalows.</span></div><div closure_uid_hqckjs="479" closure_uid_wnaxki="122"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_wnaxki="122"><span closure_uid_hqckjs="421" closure_uid_wnaxki="133" style="font-family: Georgia;">Eventually the lane turned to a track, and we passed an old spring and trough on our right, before heading downwards into woodland. It was annoying to lose all the height we had just gained, because it suggested that there would be more hillsides to slog up later, but at least it was cool and shady. It was clearly a damp place at most times of year, as thick green moss covered the walls and tree trunks. </span></div><div closure_uid_wnaxki="122"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_wnaxki="122"><span closure_uid_wnaxki="126" style="font-family: Georgia;">At the bottom of the dale was a converted stone mill, and a right hand turn onto a stony path which rose gradually through the pretty wooded valley of Ladygrove. A brook babbles down the dale. There are a series of dams along the valley, named Nancy Dam, Fancy Dam and Potter Dam. </span></div><div closure_uid_wnaxki="122"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpAhZJN6vDYMmaAUJVnPSivDKhZS2E4uZENX-MtsBWBnmFs7QLrjU1VUu2iN7bysULWY6X0xug1we-R-nsbpzOFQwjXrQq_C_H1nCNYZy6SIQ-BCYjjFMNL0bh7gReZtJAcQGvBNaBNlSb/s1600/ladygrove+020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpAhZJN6vDYMmaAUJVnPSivDKhZS2E4uZENX-MtsBWBnmFs7QLrjU1VUu2iN7bysULWY6X0xug1we-R-nsbpzOFQwjXrQq_C_H1nCNYZy6SIQ-BCYjjFMNL0bh7gReZtJAcQGvBNaBNlSb/s320/ladygrove+020.JPG" t$="true" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" closure_uid_hqckjs="907" style="text-align: center;">By Nancy Dam</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span closure_uid_hqckjs="550" closure_uid_wnaxki="126" style="font-family: Georgia;">The path runs close to Nancy Dam, but slowly pulls away from the water afterwards, running ever higher up the wooded slopes. With the trees thickly covered in leaves, we could hear the water below, but only catch occasinal glimpses of it. A number of tiny streamlets crossed the path, making it muddy in places, and small waterfalls burst out of the mossy rocks on either side. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWt5BZLXq5ETA-NmzG-94uQac52TENQbkQjeTWoPHHN6Nb8TQ7k99X-l0zeEIDxPXDo1UPSJT8Hp7ehc7mdBxwFYmiw03BdSwjtUyXbwxFM7iChblUiUr3wfCh-DwZXxerRFRV8HooLclI/s1600/ladygrove+025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWt5BZLXq5ETA-NmzG-94uQac52TENQbkQjeTWoPHHN6Nb8TQ7k99X-l0zeEIDxPXDo1UPSJT8Hp7ehc7mdBxwFYmiw03BdSwjtUyXbwxFM7iChblUiUr3wfCh-DwZXxerRFRV8HooLclI/s320/ladygrove+025.JPG" t$="true" width="212" /></a></div><div closure_uid_hqckjs="551"><span closure_uid_hqckjs="550" closure_uid_wnaxki="126" style="font-family: Georgia;">At the end of the path was a much larger waterfall, which gushed noisily out of a rocky gully. After taking a few pictures we had to scramble up a very steep slope to where the footpath comtinued above. </span></div></div><div closure_uid_hqckjs="507" closure_uid_wnaxki="122"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_wnaxki="122"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdcwdqjX3qNwc0VAByze2ZfZQUTSACTOPyUY4Y3FNRKQMGDFe9JLS-UmRX5Yh4r90cq5cDysH6mcViZp8kkPnxzEXE9sniDOm8j8ionOJkyQ4poecNhuDRdxCjxscsOg4ohESKBVPYUg46/s1600/ladygrove+027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdcwdqjX3qNwc0VAByze2ZfZQUTSACTOPyUY4Y3FNRKQMGDFe9JLS-UmRX5Yh4r90cq5cDysH6mcViZp8kkPnxzEXE9sniDOm8j8ionOJkyQ4poecNhuDRdxCjxscsOg4ohESKBVPYUg46/s320/ladygrove+027.JPG" t$="true" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Syndnope Hall in the distance</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div closure_uid_hqckjs="757"><span closure_uid_hqckjs="814" closure_uid_wnaxki="127" style="font-family: Georgia;">The route took us on through a couple of fields, and past Syndnope Hall, a grey stone pile on our right, up a narrow snicket at the bottom of Syndnope Farm garden, and up onto the road, where a large unfriendly looking dog snarled on the other side of the iron gate. After 50 yards or so we were directed up a lane where a typed sign advertised "Teddy Bear's Picnic". Sadly, we could see no sign of gambolling furry toys. The walk directions told us to turn left and follow a farm track for half a mile. </span></div><div closure_uid_hqckjs="757"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_hqckjs="757"><span closure_uid_hqckjs="814" closure_uid_wnaxki="127" style="font-family: Georgia;">It proved a very stoney half mile, on the kind of track where you have to watch your step cerfully to avoid a twisted ankle. On the way down we stopped to smile at an old "Guide Stoup" - one of the gritstone way markers erected in Derbyshire in the 1700's, to guide travellers. It featured a pointing hand and the legend "Chasterfeld Rode". Stonemasons in Chesterfield obviously weren't good at spelling. </span></div></div><div closure_uid_hqckjs="577" closure_uid_wnaxki="122"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXUGdsCw3pkukhaSU_Nmb0AYoXxYYBZ1SYaEBb8PSBbugSX93CrKBPjI6Yze6is_iCT_wi5gpnWmtTPcxxAdl7GDZ1SjGTsVL3rX6wiPcqlos7WH4sUL4POVg5i1wpgHzi5ZnI3fLtDyB-/s1600/ladygrove+029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXUGdsCw3pkukhaSU_Nmb0AYoXxYYBZ1SYaEBb8PSBbugSX93CrKBPjI6Yze6is_iCT_wi5gpnWmtTPcxxAdl7GDZ1SjGTsVL3rX6wiPcqlos7WH4sUL4POVg5i1wpgHzi5ZnI3fLtDyB-/s320/ladygrove+029.JPG" t$="true" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guide Stoup from 1700's</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
</div><div closure_uid_wnaxki="122"><span closure_uid_wnaxki="128" style="font-family: Georgia;">Out on the steep B road pointing down into Two Dales, we had a brief wander around trying and failing to find a shortcut through a field. In the end we gave up and took the road instead. Two Dales proved to be more interested that I expected. There was a cute looking and very tiny pub with the date stone 1775, and a number of old stone cottages mixed in with the modern housing. </span></div><div closure_uid_hqckjs="576" closure_uid_wnaxki="122"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_wnaxki="122"> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu7a5OtdC_QL-1leSW2R0TBhrkqIRueye9yYphkDgaVNjmpjEy7oV0uxW2NRz69XCu6jNrH8xLaHUP4fscVFOe6a0wlifG4O0G3DcPamE3_o3X_-EtSP9tVtSnTywf3T7nQHhm_DP_3vOQ/s1600/ladygrove+030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu7a5OtdC_QL-1leSW2R0TBhrkqIRueye9yYphkDgaVNjmpjEy7oV0uxW2NRz69XCu6jNrH8xLaHUP4fscVFOe6a0wlifG4O0G3DcPamE3_o3X_-EtSP9tVtSnTywf3T7nQHhm_DP_3vOQ/s200/ladygrove+030.JPG" t$="true" width="132" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mmmmm!</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <span closure_uid_hqckjs="864" closure_uid_wnaxki="129" style="font-family: Georgia;">It didn't seem long before we were back down on the A6. Crossing the busy road we took a sidetrip into the grounds of the Whitworth Institute, a large stone edifice built by (I believe) a wealthy Edwardian businessman, who made his money producing parts for rifles. I had driven past this for years without realising that at its rear is a large and attractive public park. We bought ice creams from the village shop and sat on a park bench to eat them, before retracing our steps down the lane. </span></div><div closure_uid_hqckjs="602" closure_uid_wnaxki="122"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_wnaxki="122"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj25xh9OScaaUItvX-a1SKrIUrhLHFLEOACrpdlebvj_GMKz7h9waXs6GdZ78hqWNDeeylQuanZvuK7n7Kc3LnZO73lg8YLgBggnrHkrHF9TbgC90NsOZW9RZJ59dj8DcEvF4UDT2ACPhpT/s1600/ladygrove+035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj25xh9OScaaUItvX-a1SKrIUrhLHFLEOACrpdlebvj_GMKz7h9waXs6GdZ78hqWNDeeylQuanZvuK7n7Kc3LnZO73lg8YLgBggnrHkrHF9TbgC90NsOZW9RZJ59dj8DcEvF4UDT2ACPhpT/s320/ladygrove+035.JPG" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div><div closure_uid_hqckjs="701"><span closure_uid_wnaxki="129" style="font-family: Georgia;">Passing the Peak Rail station, we paused to snap a steam train noislily "letting off steam" before heading off in the direction of Matlock, before retracing our steps up the lane to </span><span closure_uid_wnaxki="129" style="font-family: Georgia;">St Helen's Church.</span></div></div><div closure_uid_hqckjs="675" closure_uid_wnaxki="122"><br />
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</div></div>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07305664339422822793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8679934706899840620.post-71121205330498272462011-06-27T11:56:00.000-07:002011-06-27T11:56:37.134-07:00Return to Cressbrook Hall<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIJry797ECTNzRi_TrKWkZPEE241F-OuSdNA04YDD08ztvom61T_K6jCp_0GAkF0oaHh7L_OH5AspoMUS5knhU6fBT1iNdNdB2zzeB166NEaZNEEvTwSWAfJo5Y4h8r1cND2Ms-EJcKxrU/s1600/cressbook+and+litton+001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIJry797ECTNzRi_TrKWkZPEE241F-OuSdNA04YDD08ztvom61T_K6jCp_0GAkF0oaHh7L_OH5AspoMUS5knhU6fBT1iNdNdB2zzeB166NEaZNEEvTwSWAfJo5Y4h8r1cND2Ms-EJcKxrU/s320/cressbook+and+litton+001.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We went to Litton Well Dressings last weekend. Litton is up on the limestone plateau between Bakewell and Buxton. In winter it can be a bit grim and drafty, but in the flowery height of summer, and bedecked with bunting, the place looked buxom and bucolic. We parked the car outside a stone cottage with a window sticker that said "Neighbourhood Witch". In the window of the 4X4 outside was a "My other car is a broomstick" sticker. We made a mental note to be extra careful not to trash her verge. Well, you wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of that particular villager would you?</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">There were two wells dressed. Neither were real wells, but the symbolic type much favoured by villages that have lost their original water sources, or the real ones are too muddy and too off the beaten track for cake seeking car bourne tourists like us to tramp all the way to. I liked the idea they had of rigging up a tiny temporary garden fountain in front of each. </span></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">The charming Red Lion pub has tiny rooms, so what with the brass band setting up outside and sunday lunches in full swing, the odds of getting a seat were slim. We opted for tea at the village hall where a goodly spread of cake made up for the lack of lager. After munching our way through a couple of slices I bought a couple of items from the elderly lady running an animal charity stall and we wandered back out to the green. A poster near the village shop (a co-operative venture owned by villagers, but sadly now in need of more stakeholders) advertised the fact that Cressbrook Hall was opening its gardens on Sunday afternoons. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">I have always liked the look of this Victorian Gothic country house, poised on the slope by the Water Cum Jollydale gorge. In fact L and I nearly stayed in one of their self catering cottages once. (I forget what stopped us - poverty or a better offer perhaps). The old man on washing up duty in the church hall assured us that it was at most a mile and a half from Litton to Cressbrook, so we decided to walk there.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">It was a dull, overcast day, and rather windy. The road winds up by the cemetery then through fields of staring cows, then past a row of 19th century cottages inaccurately called "New Houses". From thence it drops down past a Victorian chapel into Cressbrook Village - a cluster of dark stone houses that looked as if they were probably built as estate cottages for workers at the hall. Cressbrook had a couple of wells dressed too, and bunting was flapping in the breeze. After viewing the wells we found the twisty lane that led up towards the Hall. But a dissappointing notice announced that the gardens were "Closed Today". Peeved</span><span style="font-family: Georgia;">, we set off back to Litton. To add insult to injury it was uphill all the wall back. But at least we got back in time for the well blessing outside the chapel.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAlbuOCIvQd1VNG4ALh-C0BlHBvIL27XiSz5qyv6pYZqtg4fMroowUCbPFXpC6n-OF_8j_do4r1140LiqDvIyaXEOWEb-f3pXWLfkAQfuMQsRHsSD2XxpKlBlUqcvDBTKsBVaeQyyFYOs4/s1600/cressbook+and+litton+007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAlbuOCIvQd1VNG4ALh-C0BlHBvIL27XiSz5qyv6pYZqtg4fMroowUCbPFXpC6n-OF_8j_do4r1140LiqDvIyaXEOWEb-f3pXWLfkAQfuMQsRHsSD2XxpKlBlUqcvDBTKsBVaeQyyFYOs4/s320/cressbook+and+litton+007.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">This Sunday I was determined to go back and get into those gardens. I had e-mailed Mrs Bobby Hull Bailey, the owner, and told her our sad tale. She mailed back to assure me that the gardens would be open from 11.45am. </span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw9ipx7a7_lRqIQEkt32Ix-vnhAJ_Kixpnci1uZw7kHPloQ5Xy1vHyB_k6l8t8L-Ou-2Z9IbfT2ARA6SnO9qKeNRW_AnQm6RYRMwesssgdU_c09rHzAdzOWDApKH-UskYfzlJSmev9c5dU/s1600/cressbook+and+litton+013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw9ipx7a7_lRqIQEkt32Ix-vnhAJ_Kixpnci1uZw7kHPloQ5Xy1vHyB_k6l8t8L-Ou-2Z9IbfT2ARA6SnO9qKeNRW_AnQm6RYRMwesssgdU_c09rHzAdzOWDApKH-UskYfzlJSmev9c5dU/s320/cressbook+and+litton+013.JPG" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Di's Brew Stop</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">This time we walked from Millers Dale. For once the weather forecast spoke true and we had a mini heat wave. After weeks of cool showery weather, it felt curiously tropical striding through the Wye Valley gorge with the sun shining and a sticky patch of sweat under my rucksack. (Sorry, too much information!)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Litton Mill was dusty and baked in the heat. We stopped for a slice of my homemade Pineapple and Coconut cake and a nectarine. By Cressbrooke Mill we were in need of a cuppa and happily "Di's Brewstop" was open. This odd little hole in the wall isn't really a cafe. There is no loo and inside only a few old chairs like you used to see in oldfashioned Youth Hostel Common Rooms. But it is much enjoyed by muddy booted walkers and our shoes <em>were</em> distinctly muddy by this time, it having evidently rained hard the night before. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The strange, crenallated building looks like a mini castle but was apparently the Mill overseers' house. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Fortified by an ice cream and a mug of tea we continued on our way up a steep hill towards Cressbrook Hall. The fact that everything is on a steep slope, obscuring the view, and the lanes wander up and down a bit made it quite hard to find the right approach. But eventually, having passed the Lower Lodge and made our way up and then down the hillside into the estate, we came to the back entrance door of the hall. It is a house in the mock Elizabethan style, with over tall chimneys and pointed garbles. Built 1835 (four years before our cottage!) its glory is its location, on a shelf of land overlooking the wide rocky river gorge, with a stoney slope rising high on the opposite side.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWEswnihRWMYSHbBLcKtSnLEBxIbgWxRaD3adATHDLB08x_CMYGhYUeC1ayFeq9eIfVJMA4YOOHOC_Y5KzOr1q0KX23WXmNLAEbOebG7eYcYujqxRPV2C0olx2Yf0nHxT5bXfB0kc_sOva/s1600/cressbook+and+litton+015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWEswnihRWMYSHbBLcKtSnLEBxIbgWxRaD3adATHDLB08x_CMYGhYUeC1ayFeq9eIfVJMA4YOOHOC_Y5KzOr1q0KX23WXmNLAEbOebG7eYcYujqxRPV2C0olx2Yf0nHxT5bXfB0kc_sOva/s400/cressbook+and+litton+015.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-family: Georgia;">A notice asked garden visitors to ring the bell, which we did and a pleasant middleaged woman in a flowery blue dress </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">(not posh enough sounding to be Bobby) took our money, gave us a leaflet and asked if we wanted tea or coffee. "When you're ready sit on the terrace and I'll bring it out for you" she instructed. There were no other visitors and so we had the lovely gardens to ourselves. They aren't large, but the island beds, planted in a very High Victorian style, were immaculately edged with was not a weed in sight nor a blade of grass out of place. I admired the Black Elder and several other choice plants. Beyond the terrace balustrades, the ground dropped away to the wilder woodland along the river. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidXyh25YWivc3vaB8C3U0xufgd9wZ25JGoRb0CE-KXlyZiiNrD7Y7lL_yFWU2WpaEL9idy5gsc4_-X4QAnGllo3wxRAff9-dY9hRn6V937sonP2zDDiCG2uO6DKHzrVpK1_w74AMSx0a76/s1600/cressbook+and+litton+021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidXyh25YWivc3vaB8C3U0xufgd9wZ25JGoRb0CE-KXlyZiiNrD7Y7lL_yFWU2WpaEL9idy5gsc4_-X4QAnGllo3wxRAff9-dY9hRn6V937sonP2zDDiCG2uO6DKHzrVpK1_w74AMSx0a76/s200/cressbook+and+litton+021.JPG" width="132" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Georgia;">By now it was very hot and still, with not a breath of wind. Our host brought out a tray of tea, plenty of biscuits and a brochure about the hall. When we asked how much, she said it was included in the price. Jolly decent I thought. We complimented the gardens and she explained that they were not hers, she was merely helping out. (I was right about Bobby then). </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1bZbIJX_mRr7FyBtcYs9QjzAOo7GXCxKyHDD_rIOJbvmVpGeYm1ADHYqOqZ2yPvtyUs3XsGe-vlL1y87Lr5SnMlElfRsDnItr88w36iArxI_GoPid0cLT5sk9GFR26uEy201E_7dmETf8/s1600/cressbook+and+litton+023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1bZbIJX_mRr7FyBtcYs9QjzAOo7GXCxKyHDD_rIOJbvmVpGeYm1ADHYqOqZ2yPvtyUs3XsGe-vlL1y87Lr5SnMlElfRsDnItr88w36iArxI_GoPid0cLT5sk9GFR26uEy201E_7dmETf8/s320/cressbook+and+litton+023.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">The brochure revealed that prior to 1979, when the current owners bought it on a whim for its stunning location, the house had been home to a pig farmer, Colombia Pictures, an estate agent and a community of nuns. Not all at the same time one hopes. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia;">After enjoying the refreshments we explored The Nun's Steps and the little private garden belonging to Garden Cottage. Evidently nobody was in residence that week. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiORCgsMjK4nKCd-rSEpUYXb8Qpe_mYJrZZiE2iwsHwxEy329M1kGDIBs5LCA6iKGcOtfTrrkklMe6pNLNSxlLKKw-_QhddVdjEat8O99fKIZ2pPvTTB-D7zB62Y7JvrXTZNIzbZtoihJ9I/s1600/cressbook+and+litton+018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiORCgsMjK4nKCd-rSEpUYXb8Qpe_mYJrZZiE2iwsHwxEy329M1kGDIBs5LCA6iKGcOtfTrrkklMe6pNLNSxlLKKw-_QhddVdjEat8O99fKIZ2pPvTTB-D7zB62Y7JvrXTZNIzbZtoihJ9I/s320/cressbook+and+litton+018.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Then it was time to go and we took what we thought was a short cut along the drive and out of Lower Lodge. Up the lane was a footpath to Litton Mill, avoiding the mud of Water Cum Jollydale by skirting the wooded slope of the gorge. After making our way carefully along the steep, rocky and rather slippery path we eventually popped out at the bottom of the Nun's Steps. Meaning that had we but known it, we could have cut quite a long section off our route. But no matter. The weather was still warm and sticky but pleasant for walking and strangely for such a damp green route by the river and wetland, there were no bothersome midges or insects to annoy us.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">We walked back long the road from Litton Mill to Millersdale, avoiding the steep scramble up to the Monsall Track on the opposite bank. What a lovely Derbyshire day!</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb-GOTwMtQViL4xiCCyz9bpTazUL1DZOW3lA66CqvcY4wSB0vJO-m3QPFGIXyp2wcDQ03vZ-cG5tHy9UQIIbQvP53d0HdWmId_qXr8ajKtUKwjkKMOVoVIB1CKaYI8mA1leMp_-ZboW8iT/s1600/cressbook+and+litton+009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb-GOTwMtQViL4xiCCyz9bpTazUL1DZOW3lA66CqvcY4wSB0vJO-m3QPFGIXyp2wcDQ03vZ-cG5tHy9UQIIbQvP53d0HdWmId_qXr8ajKtUKwjkKMOVoVIB1CKaYI8mA1leMp_-ZboW8iT/s320/cressbook+and+litton+009.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07305664339422822793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8679934706899840620.post-15662595815745545532011-06-11T13:06:00.000-07:002011-06-11T13:06:01.421-07:00Lifestyle Envy In The Secret Garden<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinfF8ZfBtzFinotxLPNnEMm_l1nVHm5O84T06oUHxwpl32t0Si5Z4rfWNVHcDYRwY_gcdiRtppxcnBQ1FBAi4qT5-18KGjugzqc5UBNtRmNe-92bAD9vXHsKg5X5TvEuYcuwkv_7OI2YEt/s1600/IMAG0148.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinfF8ZfBtzFinotxLPNnEMm_l1nVHm5O84T06oUHxwpl32t0Si5Z4rfWNVHcDYRwY_gcdiRtppxcnBQ1FBAi4qT5-18KGjugzqc5UBNtRmNe-92bAD9vXHsKg5X5TvEuYcuwkv_7OI2YEt/s200/IMAG0148.jpg" t8="true" width="119" /></a><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This weekend was "Hidden Gardens & Courtyards of Wirksworth", where for a trifling £3.50, people like me, who enjoy peeping into other folk's gardens and houses can gratify their curiosity and enjoy a good deal of home made cake, all in one fell swoop. Wirksworth is the ideal kind of town for this, where town houses and workers cottages rub shoulders in an "up hill, down dale" topography. It's a place with many crooked alleys and narrow ginnels weaving between limestone walls, and being invited to have a snoop into some of them is an opportunity not to be missed. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOZAR7yuuuG5lxa3m_ij8mY9s8DnehyELqt3E0RCBoblw-WxUcWOxI0vc6B9TJzEQ2cD1x-og3S-hnffpas7eGSCVE98Eb34Dj4Zsf_nHUSEyDktjAC2u1ulwxVqY7HfoLbPHncoNNhHVc/s1600/DSCF1412.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOZAR7yuuuG5lxa3m_ij8mY9s8DnehyELqt3E0RCBoblw-WxUcWOxI0vc6B9TJzEQ2cD1x-og3S-hnffpas7eGSCVE98Eb34Dj4Zsf_nHUSEyDktjAC2u1ulwxVqY7HfoLbPHncoNNhHVc/s320/DSCF1412.JPG" t8="true" width="240" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">The 20 gardens are spread out all over town, so there is the added advantage of getting some exercise to work off the calories in between tea n' cake stops. We began by parking at the Ecclesbourne Steam Railway station, where steamy types go to eye vintage rolling stock. Tickets for the weekend event were on sale at the Wirksworth Community Garden, just up the hill. This is a worthy project, in which townsfolk grow fruit and vegetables on a plot cleared from the weeds and nettles of the slope overlooking the railway. As a saxophone quartet tootled in the background, visitors admired the raised beds and claimed their lapel stickers ready for the hike up Wash Green to the next garden. This is an interesting part of town which I had never explored before, full of all kinds of domestic and workshop buildings, thrown together in a higgledy piggledy way. Prospect House had an acre of well tended lawns intersperced with fruit trees, and a good view down over Wirksworth. The fairy cakes were most acceptable.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDm0_syh75ChgzmUvT6IgANu4o6Dmjj-ruEM75SOQesNhS82mrPLG1Pq53pLtVORCujjrbtpDF183KyUnuqV_cqhGlPnjphS6WQQlHXEqtb8U03m0B_uYkvsBd1wB_Cgtbs2Pe7xaHAW3a/s1600/DSCF1414.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDm0_syh75ChgzmUvT6IgANu4o6Dmjj-ruEM75SOQesNhS82mrPLG1Pq53pLtVORCujjrbtpDF183KyUnuqV_cqhGlPnjphS6WQQlHXEqtb8U03m0B_uYkvsBd1wB_Cgtbs2Pe7xaHAW3a/s200/DSCF1414.JPG" t8="true" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial;"></span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Back down the hill in Coldwell Street, "Greengates" was a perfect hidden garden, squeezed between tall stone houses and on many levels. There were some beautiful old fashioned roses, a mossy old apple tree, a charming summerhouse and a tree peony with fascinating flowers. A couple of stalls sold vintage gardening tools and another plants. It was all very Country Living. Next door, some chaps with guitars and a washboard were entertaining the visitors squeezed into the mediterranean style courtyard of a B&B. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div> <span style="font-family: Arial;">Church Walk, 15 St John's Street, Birch House...more tiny but inspired gardens full of flowers. The smell of roses and lavender was delightful. The worst thing about this type of event is that occasionally, as you pass the door to someone's perfect kitchen, the type with blue enamelled range cookers and Sweet Williams in artsy jugs on the sunny windows, you feel a dark undertow of bitter envy. When are my lottery numbers going to come up, so that I too can have a house this cute and a potager this neat and a summerhouse this ditsy?</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhua2-30x_tEXqWkGB8TD2xqewRTd6sRYdOUSiYdSRUfe3SOiSU87nweWeKDkZ3L0dizaPaUGbYo5FTEjETLHtSm-Tl033dTDvqka77V1hubtV41ApWEGop5Ihtvn3Psl3O8LHb5qqyoMPR/s1600/IMAG0152.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="380" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhua2-30x_tEXqWkGB8TD2xqewRTd6sRYdOUSiYdSRUfe3SOiSU87nweWeKDkZ3L0dizaPaUGbYo5FTEjETLHtSm-Tl033dTDvqka77V1hubtV41ApWEGop5Ihtvn3Psl3O8LHb5qqyoMPR/s640/IMAG0152.jpg" t8="true" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;">At Orchard House, just off the main road through Wirksworth, a young guy in dungarees with a long straggly white beard welcomed us friendly tones to a large, romantically rambling green oasis, which was a cross between The Good Life, Glamping, and Away With The Fairies. A small rose garden redolent of perfume gave way to a wildflower meadow, beyond which was an enclosure for pygmy goats and a turkey.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSXIks8iTAXZy0l1oh9ybyLVX57wBMAhrRydhYFf3yT2odvG9BugUOwElBvjVV-Lp4YOekgvNsyJRV4nha1RsXi7mxBaRWwPRZ67U0y3_ScXSNVrQu0dWq-cmRjjCjxZ-2SPmS_8_n0I_B/s1600/DSCF1423.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSXIks8iTAXZy0l1oh9ybyLVX57wBMAhrRydhYFf3yT2odvG9BugUOwElBvjVV-Lp4YOekgvNsyJRV4nha1RsXi7mxBaRWwPRZ67U0y3_ScXSNVrQu0dWq-cmRjjCjxZ-2SPmS_8_n0I_B/s640/DSCF1423.JPG" t8="true" width="640" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: Arial;">Further on was a pond full of wriggling tadpoles, overlooked by the perfect Hippy summerhouse, complete with floral curtains, pot pourri, a tigerskin chaise longe and a Still surrounded by empty gin bottles. A hammock and one of those swingy lougers looked nice places to relax on a summer evening. I bet it's fun with candles in the lanterns but I guess you have to be careful not to fall in the pond when half cut. </span> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguT5yWgx3aASDwM_Eqxd-NczhkxiU9qC3iVxOBmkkZmUK72EAjsNANmHcw3LJfzW_EPS6ilWzt1uI8O-A3uXL-4fY9-9EcPNdraVDOKdsvq-lTz5NRISbHxAwny5kC2ScpHyKBZ5uOh2_y/s1600/DSCF1426.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguT5yWgx3aASDwM_Eqxd-NczhkxiU9qC3iVxOBmkkZmUK72EAjsNANmHcw3LJfzW_EPS6ilWzt1uI8O-A3uXL-4fY9-9EcPNdraVDOKdsvq-lTz5NRISbHxAwny5kC2ScpHyKBZ5uOh2_y/s200/DSCF1426.JPG" t8="true" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the life! Note handy gin bottles</td></tr>
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHzKj5qihZD6ATDci_11qxm4DQ2BI1bds-bIjYlFvDx_483tFLsmTWwZXHeQuKKdbZdraMt0rC7mNWeVFQLM9x5PvlAfG8TOjoBLl7GnYpCYysKqR6N3N67GPPRpgCuWFwa28JaiLj4qrK/s1600/IMAG0161.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHzKj5qihZD6ATDci_11qxm4DQ2BI1bds-bIjYlFvDx_483tFLsmTWwZXHeQuKKdbZdraMt0rC7mNWeVFQLM9x5PvlAfG8TOjoBLl7GnYpCYysKqR6N3N67GPPRpgCuWFwa28JaiLj4qrK/s200/IMAG0161.jpg" t8="true" width="119" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhlE9AqdNGuFYTHBz9roZuv7I0Be2D_48AQ7cESXQmPH7ZQuV9VcODcFyTEMZYcA8OEymVOrXeFGN2HDiTgCfcEetpF9_2oi8X5jzz0yJMq4Jck1bBA8hTpouVO9qy2XtBjefWYUvb7CpA/s1600/IMAG0160.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhlE9AqdNGuFYTHBz9roZuv7I0Be2D_48AQ7cESXQmPH7ZQuV9VcODcFyTEMZYcA8OEymVOrXeFGN2HDiTgCfcEetpF9_2oi8X5jzz0yJMq4Jck1bBA8hTpouVO9qy2XtBjefWYUvb7CpA/s200/IMAG0160.jpg" t8="true" width="119" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial;">Two small black sheep where cutting the grass near the neat vegetable garden. A plant stand near the house displayed old shoes in which sedums and other plants were growing. So many imaginative and amusing touches in this garden, like the Hansel and Gretel wigwam, and the fence panel made out of the tangled stems of an ancient ivy, cut from some wall where it had grown into hoary, hairy wood. Sadly, just as we came within sight of the tea urn and cake stall, the sunny sky darkened and it began to rain. This soon turned into hail. It being nearly five, the gardens were beginning to shut up shop anyway, so we took refuge in the Mistral for a coffee until the shower blew over. </span></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Arial;">With several gardens yet to be viewed, we were pleased to discover that our lapel stickers entitled us to another go tomorrow. So we wended homewards with the hope that the weather would be kind enough to allow us a further afternoon of snooping on Sunday.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc8zcpisiIUL7S_4BgyPqhyXurDy4dX-7FElWoys7qnVzjbQzowxDperOJ-D_Vt_N5_OXCHcqSqzxUU7u6DhTGWkBtR-pNQxYuvAi2T6IpVxFJrFRTZa5DGKb64h6GNxVCep9wLP7jJ-iT/s1600/DSCF1417.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc8zcpisiIUL7S_4BgyPqhyXurDy4dX-7FElWoys7qnVzjbQzowxDperOJ-D_Vt_N5_OXCHcqSqzxUU7u6DhTGWkBtR-pNQxYuvAi2T6IpVxFJrFRTZa5DGKb64h6GNxVCep9wLP7jJ-iT/s200/DSCF1417.JPG" t8="true" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07305664339422822793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8679934706899840620.post-70781923182057477202011-06-05T13:11:00.000-07:002011-06-05T13:11:26.244-07:00From Steamy Architecture to Rude Ladies: Alderwasley Walk<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMpWQgAHq0_MusoQnQbBTGXM7_99AWNoEAFywBlmgyQe7v80EzHV3TKcIzrFri_50kqJ3UmrDHPcYQPr2DwEIE_UcUJbU8dsYTPiY-5uUNp4ENlbut_JdXiifbm5EVLCfHOLNxJrQhUERF/s1600/DSCF1353.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMpWQgAHq0_MusoQnQbBTGXM7_99AWNoEAFywBlmgyQe7v80EzHV3TKcIzrFri_50kqJ3UmrDHPcYQPr2DwEIE_UcUJbU8dsYTPiY-5uUNp4ENlbut_JdXiifbm5EVLCfHOLNxJrQhUERF/s320/DSCF1353.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div> <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We popped in to High Peak Junction first of all, to take a peek inside Leawood Pumping Station, which was in steam today. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Some steam enthusiasts with bushy beards had one of the two large boilers well stoked up and the massive beam engine inside was busy lifting water from the River Derwent to feed the Cromford Canal. In the days when the canal was working, barges moving through the locks between here and Langley Mill, plus leakage from the canal (at a higher level than the river) meant that water had to be pumped in to keep boats from grounding. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkB5KRIg4qe8OjGBNbshJhTP0spg_nEYjUgWDjJ00bQzMDJ1vIGTox8FLDHoUAKRR1dGNHYz1r9ZmpEf0QWLSb6kcYQVTthOEjgv3wQlB-XY0HaCvDvK8OyghsTjoKTlumc6azecBFytfb/s1600/DSCF1356.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkB5KRIg4qe8OjGBNbshJhTP0spg_nEYjUgWDjJ00bQzMDJ1vIGTox8FLDHoUAKRR1dGNHYz1r9ZmpEf0QWLSb6kcYQVTthOEjgv3wQlB-XY0HaCvDvK8OyghsTjoKTlumc6azecBFytfb/s200/DSCF1356.JPG" t8="true" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two steam boilers, once stoked up and one empty</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It is the first time I have been inside this sturdy Victorian building, and I was impressed how well the volunteers keep it. It was interesting to see the water surging into the canal, under the surface, and the ducks no doubt enjoyed the jacuzzi effect.</span><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana;">From thence we drive on to Ambergate, and parked at the station, where the day's walk proper began. The first stretch, into Shining Wood, leads through a strange expanse of derelict factories, the "Wire Works", where ruinous old houses, massive abandoned concrete and steel warehouses, and a clutter of brick outbuildings, are slowly being invaded by nature. It would make a great setting for one of those films about most of the earth's inhabitants being killed by an alien bug, a murder story, or a trendy urban backdrop for some futuristic fashion shoot.</span></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdzw3puLK-wTOSTfqF4qq35crMautaNxXyR1DCgLVZJRfNKtX59x3J_xcgPqhWCDRRRhj6X1jqUTajGfCmTF8tbR1azwS2rRglPibFsVhKMjATKFJrDdEutC1Z0vqdwI8wbYxMW57xrc0r/s1600/DSCF1370.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdzw3puLK-wTOSTfqF4qq35crMautaNxXyR1DCgLVZJRfNKtX59x3J_xcgPqhWCDRRRhj6X1jqUTajGfCmTF8tbR1azwS2rRglPibFsVhKMjATKFJrDdEutC1Z0vqdwI8wbYxMW57xrc0r/s200/DSCF1370.JPG" t8="true" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abandoned house near Wire Works</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Happily, the ugly factories eventually give way to the green slopes of Shining Wood. Apparently this woodland is very ancient - being part of Duffield Frith, a Norman hunting forest once owned by the de Ferrers family. There are some very old and beautiful sweet chestnut trees along the path, with their characteristic gnarled and furrowed trunks and long sawtoothed leaves. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana;">The path was quite steep and wet where a little stream was trying to adopt the path as its bed, but I made it to the top without getting my sandal clad feet wet. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Here the path emerged into meadow land, which looked to be part of the Alderwasley Hall estate. A wide expanse of wildflowers brightened the slope down to our right. Ahead, the Hall now a private school) provided a landmark to steer by.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In Shining Cliff Woods<br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Emerging onto a lane we decided to make a detour to visit St Margaret's Chapel, the oldest building in the village. This early 16th century "chapel of ease" was apparently abandoned for many years but rescued in 1980 and converted into the parish hall. The main gate to the chapel grounds is locked but an entrance to the graveyard is hidden further up the lane. I was interested to examine the reputedly haunted building, because it is said to have a medieval "Sheela Na Gig" carving - one of those rude semi pagan carvings of a hag displaying her naughty bits. We found the worn exhibitionist ancient set into the wall of the South front, at a convenient height to photograph. One has the feeling that she was not originally built into this part of the chapel. The stone looks too large for the wall, even though the roofline was once lower. On a Victorian photo of the chapel which I found on an archaeology web page, she does not feature at all. Perhaps she was moved here in one of the 19th or 20th century alterations to the structure.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9NgHaaYm1X4BlPXv996mmKk4mMKBftPxOy8ZfLhXo0ZDUfYo-saXxv4ynCRciztyzq-9Lnn-GMTJ_OGuPAWWKR39RHoiDwUkDcVs8DGV2ikWUImsvnolM10rslrWITNres0sBhkdP_kK4/s1600/DSCF1387.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9NgHaaYm1X4BlPXv996mmKk4mMKBftPxOy8ZfLhXo0ZDUfYo-saXxv4ynCRciztyzq-9Lnn-GMTJ_OGuPAWWKR39RHoiDwUkDcVs8DGV2ikWUImsvnolM10rslrWITNres0sBhkdP_kK4/s320/DSCF1387.JPG" t8="true" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photographing Sheela</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Back on the path we wended our way back down into the river valley and crossed the river and the busy A6 road at Derwent Hotel. The ivy clad pub was closed up, and we concluded that like so many other hostelries in the area, like the late lamented Holmesford Cottage, it had fallen a victim to the current recession. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Musing on the dismal state of the national economy, we walked down a long stretch of canal towpath along the Cromford Canal. This part was even more leafy and weedy than the Cromford to Whatstandwell section and there was not the evidence of tree clearance that we had seen on previous walks along the canal. With the trees now in full leaf it was quite shady and the sky threatened rain, but it came to nothing in the end. Feeling in need of refreshments we took another detour at this point - to the "greasy spoon" trailer in the bikers' layby that plies its wares on the noisy road between Ambergate and Matlock. The bill of fare centred exclusively around butties - bacon, sausage, egg etc and a strong reek of frying fat filled the air. Scared of a cholestrol induced heart attack simply from inhaling, we bought a tea and a hot chocolate and sat on the nearby wall to drink it while we eyed the bikes.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFUkoQkz6CNtRc9-k8OHDs7oDG1c9VLs1YfdvG3WBvAWUwO14GYwTYBGNxV1ziy9WN1pzP8af1rNuHj22wl1lc_xItmiJbUSblvItTWMyWQ9_amnhTrb75Nqoi9TBLcGuD1j3mPrt3rSXV/s1600/DSCF1396.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFUkoQkz6CNtRc9-k8OHDs7oDG1c9VLs1YfdvG3WBvAWUwO14GYwTYBGNxV1ziy9WN1pzP8af1rNuHj22wl1lc_xItmiJbUSblvItTWMyWQ9_amnhTrb75Nqoi9TBLcGuD1j3mPrt3rSXV/s320/DSCF1396.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">From there it was but a short stretch to a hump backed stone bridge where the canal starts to peter out, and descending to the road near the Hurt Arms we soon found ourselves back at the station car park. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07305664339422822793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8679934706899840620.post-19525200900730952802011-05-29T12:42:00.000-07:002011-05-29T12:42:57.944-07:00Well Dressing Weekend - Part Two<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjYtGa5__yrZAnVxhj9sDe2PelZoFY4AQBWKdeDeHKxaxsLmP7r29G2PvayvOF4_oCmCXEKpK1L94n1o7EsyPv3LJnOGPaDBDp0mvwzePEQumyquZWGY3g2PMzp6DZ1KRus1nBq9lczI4U/s1600/Wirksworth+well+dressing+019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjYtGa5__yrZAnVxhj9sDe2PelZoFY4AQBWKdeDeHKxaxsLmP7r29G2PvayvOF4_oCmCXEKpK1L94n1o7EsyPv3LJnOGPaDBDp0mvwzePEQumyquZWGY3g2PMzp6DZ1KRus1nBq9lczI4U/s320/Wirksworth+well+dressing+019.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Our well dressing weekend continued with a trip to the charming higgledy piggledy town of Wirksworth, where the annual Bank holiday carnival featured nine well dressings by various community groups.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">St Mary's Church was prettily decorated with flowers and a band of volunteers served tea and cakes to visitors eager to get out of the wind for a bit. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">On the marketplace some brave souls manned stalls, and we bought some beautifully decorated cupcakes from a couple who were looking a bit lonely.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7BnPzNxczFBuWoTLXqi-gH-KPZD5BZ54LxfMLigUxA7chPXsjeKETu87L_hPpab2ItA-QT5yZHBf7nYJAD-N8t75CQv1gnpVwR06uRhY0reG86MS7EVOlTDEvNl17g21isVQxZbIi1xBi/s1600/Wirksworth+well+dressing+021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7BnPzNxczFBuWoTLXqi-gH-KPZD5BZ54LxfMLigUxA7chPXsjeKETu87L_hPpab2ItA-QT5yZHBf7nYJAD-N8t75CQv1gnpVwR06uRhY0reG86MS7EVOlTDEvNl17g21isVQxZbIi1xBi/s320/Wirksworth+well+dressing+021.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd8g6-rmRdMh9__EM-xw6FgYD7ztDDLh7S9LV68hOOFy0EGgdQgDxnmcZElZ1BCHgid15bUSgEsddtYflkWc9hyG1rdSih2u2siUM-YQp7v_tbqXyEWUoG7-bJSs11UiJXDZ65Jy0yYIfU/s1600/Wirksworth+well+dressing+031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd8g6-rmRdMh9__EM-xw6FgYD7ztDDLh7S9LV68hOOFy0EGgdQgDxnmcZElZ1BCHgid15bUSgEsddtYflkWc9hyG1rdSih2u2siUM-YQp7v_tbqXyEWUoG7-bJSs11UiJXDZ65Jy0yYIfU/s200/Wirksworth+well+dressing+031.JPG" t8="true" width="152" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsi-2nyth94xN6Nsl_3l9oyCqbefEjOJMbSgpYZicIq4QipUs3xGb3hSlrluGpcs3NbRnfYpnL98p3x4OQO8qWLNK85d-k0RNBJHBhjkyADZFCLQ32lVvi6EZNQ_0QA7nVTxRDrmKFZ591/s1600/Wirksworth+well+dressing+030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsi-2nyth94xN6Nsl_3l9oyCqbefEjOJMbSgpYZicIq4QipUs3xGb3hSlrluGpcs3NbRnfYpnL98p3x4OQO8qWLNK85d-k0RNBJHBhjkyADZFCLQ32lVvi6EZNQ_0QA7nVTxRDrmKFZ591/s320/Wirksworth+well+dressing+030.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div>The microbrewery seemed the busiest place in town. The town always has a good community spirit and it is a shame the sun did not shine on their efforts, but everyone seemed to be having a good time regardless.</div>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07305664339422822793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8679934706899840620.post-29050069169206385912011-05-29T12:16:00.000-07:002011-05-29T12:44:08.611-07:00Well Dressing Weekend - Part One<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMbJS2ZAA7TF5H6SXPZhjYg9pyjqJCWWuq8cQ6Whyphenhyphen9tt5I7OXmtuMvnjY5EkQTkVW-K4AOxrFJHBjeqxmNhie9EoQlus6C3CRBY731aq2AScD8j2fDzk_80AKA-ZcZrH2Y16KuqKH-pYzD/s1600/P1020856.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMbJS2ZAA7TF5H6SXPZhjYg9pyjqJCWWuq8cQ6Whyphenhyphen9tt5I7OXmtuMvnjY5EkQTkVW-K4AOxrFJHBjeqxmNhie9EoQlus6C3CRBY731aq2AScD8j2fDzk_80AKA-ZcZrH2Y16KuqKH-pYzD/s320/P1020856.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div>It's that time of year when Derbyshire villages start well dressing. Despite a cool and windy Bank Holiday weekend, with the threat of a shower ever present, L, S and I set off to explore the rural delights of our village celebrations.<br />
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Although there are a couple of real wells in Brackenfield, they are a bit too far off the beaten track for easy access, so instead we have kind of 'notional' wells. Basically, you put a jar of water out to symbolise the well (and for people to drop coins into) and carry on regardless. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNXn5tBKaLvQqaNl9kkh7wVi8N8v38aUhHlMraVjOPlYsuvlHVkZDA8FdbZZOpGJ03JikqEL4o_zj9wom2TAu7lt_ViWcLcR96v04PyRMiB4bZEwHuDz9I67cLmV_mzDfTZgp4qP4SUCP4/s1600/P1020857.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNXn5tBKaLvQqaNl9kkh7wVi8N8v38aUhHlMraVjOPlYsuvlHVkZDA8FdbZZOpGJ03JikqEL4o_zj9wom2TAu7lt_ViWcLcR96v04PyRMiB4bZEwHuDz9I67cLmV_mzDfTZgp4qP4SUCP4/s200/P1020857.JPG" t8="true" width="132" /></a><br />
The theme this year was "The Seasons" and the school "well" boasted a charming autumn scene of a country cottage, the panel topped with a realistic rendition of a sheaf of corn complete with poppies. It was widely pronounced the best Brackenfield dressing to date. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqjWh1V7iBbxHRYWrKKtvYFGt8uVhWYGCfI1YAvLnpcMwsckWpsco_Xt_VqrZjnnlXkpFGlOkwbcyhHYrRJABh1iXXUvBUI5eRUOgdIA83Yxjy5RXbPvDxRbXjJYTWLHJbqVURpX4ZL6A1/s1600/P1020860.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqjWh1V7iBbxHRYWrKKtvYFGt8uVhWYGCfI1YAvLnpcMwsckWpsco_Xt_VqrZjnnlXkpFGlOkwbcyhHYrRJABh1iXXUvBUI5eRUOgdIA83Yxjy5RXbPvDxRbXjJYTWLHJbqVURpX4ZL6A1/s200/P1020860.JPG" t8="true" width="132" /></a><br />
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Outside, on the expansive village green, the dull weather did nothing to deter patrons of the bouncy castle, coconut shy and skittles alley. Mr Whippy did not seem to be doing much business, but there was a brisk trade in homemade cake, sausage rolls and egg sandwiches in the old schoolroom. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFbkorzfwPe37ZUuJxMLfS8UVxVqVJGgm9JDFYFwvxoxvHU27wJZZ_eWI4by68LrW2zJaVlxrJpIl44HLlSdp-scwrNGtja21AVVFZsmYKpdV0fSrSj9cehScJDHajvcU7EqD-35GGu-ff/s1600/P1020875.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFbkorzfwPe37ZUuJxMLfS8UVxVqVJGgm9JDFYFwvxoxvHU27wJZZ_eWI4by68LrW2zJaVlxrJpIl44HLlSdp-scwrNGtja21AVVFZsmYKpdV0fSrSj9cehScJDHajvcU7EqD-35GGu-ff/s640/P1020875.JPG" t8="true" width="640" /></a></div>Down at Holy Trinty Church, the local flower arrangers had a different theme "countries of the world", and I made sure to take a photo of the floral tribute to Kiwi Country for my uncle Brian in New Zealand. There was also a nice green arrangement with a Guiness bottle for Ireland, and "Scotland" was celebrated with the help of a tartan picnic rug and a pair of bagpipes.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglBvB-trmok3t-snedTThNJ4acwtlJCo-ju3E4pvpS06YgVHNaSGvyyK2qYllP6JyrDWoI2uMU_q434Gndulb61eT8Bvz3QDh1_Rwk27c08n_Q11-MQfmH9rFDUaWVyDhykJNZJDq27VRG/s1600/P1020887.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglBvB-trmok3t-snedTThNJ4acwtlJCo-ju3E4pvpS06YgVHNaSGvyyK2qYllP6JyrDWoI2uMU_q434Gndulb61eT8Bvz3QDh1_Rwk27c08n_Q11-MQfmH9rFDUaWVyDhykJNZJDq27VRG/s320/P1020887.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div> "The Ideal Holiday" - a colourful display featuring a hula skirt and a pineapple. S wanted to take a photo but found her view blocked by a straggling family. She successfully persuaded them to move by slumping into a pew and adopting an attitude of deeply reverential prayer. They disappeared immediately. I must remember that one for future occasions. <br />
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The Methodist church was also serving tea. Now obviously we couldn't show favouritism, so we had to stop for a cuppa there too.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP3CzGZudQN8AVEECe62cxm1BXzhWsZoVUFN7i7tVun0vk3i07cIhY0pisUPCvEi-5HrlDPwkM8NQm7_f7t3CJi_dCFja-ySe4OeAml1bZ_rDq9gVQ2LXOnrzI1h1FDY7mzHtrk2XDpMi8/s1600/Wirksworth+well+dressing+010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP3CzGZudQN8AVEECe62cxm1BXzhWsZoVUFN7i7tVun0vk3i07cIhY0pisUPCvEi-5HrlDPwkM8NQm7_f7t3CJi_dCFja-ySe4OeAml1bZ_rDq9gVQ2LXOnrzI1h1FDY7mzHtrk2XDpMi8/s320/Wirksworth+well+dressing+010.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">S admires the detail on the Methodist Church well (awww! look at the teeny wishing well!)</td></tr>
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We rounded off our trip with a stroll around the village and admired the brilliant red poppies amongst the green corn in one of the fields.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQC9szREoOi4XezJ-mpU_VhVzKAM-v2dUos6MC-6mg-7yJOLwdm3sgY3foupMxeiEZe-XdT6zpbgdqOo5M_y-Tjg60OuQVRuSZJeAxXpUR86dqbHCgFXhQoN__mj0jdQbue-QYn9kki0Eq/s1600/Wirksworth+well+dressing+004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQC9szREoOi4XezJ-mpU_VhVzKAM-v2dUos6MC-6mg-7yJOLwdm3sgY3foupMxeiEZe-XdT6zpbgdqOo5M_y-Tjg60OuQVRuSZJeAxXpUR86dqbHCgFXhQoN__mj0jdQbue-QYn9kki0Eq/s640/Wirksworth+well+dressing+004.JPG" t8="true" width="640" /></a></div></div>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07305664339422822793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8679934706899840620.post-90857039004277232432011-05-02T10:24:00.000-07:002011-05-02T10:24:21.437-07:00Lavender Cake at The Village Hall<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF1uor16fVTyD8Vwo9BgRxstV6g56q0kvsrAHBmawcXR0kosFHvi1nYDv28YelRsmhpYUK3ZvxnH0xsHBNWH1CNHC3masx7vOMQqzQI8grNaUast9SXIBNmRK2SSN1iQIlUmuN9k77rszi/s1600/IMAG0103.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF1uor16fVTyD8Vwo9BgRxstV6g56q0kvsrAHBmawcXR0kosFHvi1nYDv28YelRsmhpYUK3ZvxnH0xsHBNWH1CNHC3masx7vOMQqzQI8grNaUast9SXIBNmRK2SSN1iQIlUmuN9k77rszi/s400/IMAG0103.jpg" width="246" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> <span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">May Day Bank Holiday and still the incredible sunshine continues. We decided to combine a walk with some rustic festivities and dropped in to Elton, a pretty village in the limestone area beyond Stanton Moor. The village hall was serving refreshments and it was hard to decide which of the yummy homebaked cakes to plump for (a few of those and plump could be the operative word!) In the end it was a toss up between carrot and banana muffins and lavender fairy cakes, but the lavender won the day. Out the front an elderly lady in a pink Easter bonnet was doing a brisk trade on the plant stall.</span></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSjcOKidcYnM17hTLAcD_lpWiY_ckgmh-kIitoEu8fEKx_so_tix97pGwhrm7eSIU1lBWPcAJr6cz8zKsPI43cdBAJIHEHW4yjxwPUy141QhQQoUkJcl3OwFNNUnUvu_pUB5-8o2HOTiU9/s1600/elton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSjcOKidcYnM17hTLAcD_lpWiY_ckgmh-kIitoEu8fEKx_so_tix97pGwhrm7eSIU1lBWPcAJr6cz8zKsPI43cdBAJIHEHW4yjxwPUy141QhQQoUkJcl3OwFNNUnUvu_pUB5-8o2HOTiU9/s200/elton.jpg" width="119" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stop waving that cake!</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Down the village street, with its attractive old stone cottages another villager ("Sue") had left a plant sales display out on the verge, with handwritten instructions to help yourself and post the money through the letterbox of the house opposite. We made a note to return for a yellow margerite later.</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Our walk started down a deep sided lane which descended the valley to a gate by the road where the path led up to Robin Hood's or "Mock Beggars' Hall", so called because the striking grit stone outcrop has two pinnacles which at a distance slightly resemble the chimneys of some fantastical manor house. Some say that they were used as alignment points by the ancient people who erected Nine Stones Close, a short distance away down the hillside. The whole Stanton Moor area is certainly a fascinating one for anyone interested in stone circles and ancient remains.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTF6Qo-A7MO2x2Y0HDfqkZ6LD8V7iH-FLASnBArOujBrvGUQ3Sp7B5f-IdpEpXj8gK7SK3W3dwiKecyZZZgqsefRFv8kpqWiXHqO9D_50OzyOF_UDyONGeWf33jqT-s5DUcGZf8x6KlBRv/s1600/IMAG0108.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTF6Qo-A7MO2x2Y0HDfqkZ6LD8V7iH-FLASnBArOujBrvGUQ3Sp7B5f-IdpEpXj8gK7SK3W3dwiKecyZZZgqsefRFv8kpqWiXHqO9D_50OzyOF_UDyONGeWf33jqT-s5DUcGZf8x6KlBRv/s400/IMAG0108.jpg" width="261" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">After a quick photostop at Nine Stones Close, where sadly only four tall standing stones still remain from a vanished ring, we headed down the road and turned left on a sandy path through some woodlands of mixed conifers and broadleaf trees, where bluebells were still flowering. This led into an open field with a steep hill on the left which on the map was labelled "Castle Ring". </span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #444444;">Castle Ring is situated on Harthill Moor in the eastern gritstone moorlands of Derbyshire. The monument is a sub-circular enclosure comprising a bank, external ditch and counterscarp bank surrounding an area of about a hectare. The internal bank or rampart appears to be of simple dump construction and varies between one metre and two metres high, while the counterscarp bank is between metre and one metre high. The ditch is c. metre wide and is less distinct on the south side where there is no rampart visible. This is an indication that the original entrance lay in this region. The monument has not been excavated but it forms part of a rich Bronze Age landscape on Harthill Moor which also includes burial mounds, a second enclosure and Nine Stones Close stone circle (Derbyshire HER ref. scheduling report 1994)</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #444444;"> </span><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Circling round behind Robin Hood's Stride we skirted some woodland and whilst crossing a stile saw a photocopied notice for "Serenity Cafe" at nearby Cliffe Farm. Evidently some enterprising farmer's wife is "diversifying", as the farm also ran a self catering cottage, and several other walkers were taking advantage of the sunshine on the couple of tables outside. We availed ourselves of a coffee (one has to patronise local businesses) and then carried on our way. The walk up the hillside back to Elton village was a pretty one, with lush spring grass and the hawthorn coming into blossom. Its an odd geological mix for the white stone walls tell you that you are in limestone country, whilst and there the softly rounded landscape is peppered with small gritstone crags. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq0LowLhT8E5WDWrFevRuVFwMCJT2OEHg7UusKRM9mwJ6AENkS2KjJSuVV7iqLa7Lit5xRGtCm1ekHU0oOf5VQFaT-zCmzek2offvVZVU341SkZp4XAax-vyo6mEFMGasBMMw3Wfv54y86/s1600/IMAG0115.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq0LowLhT8E5WDWrFevRuVFwMCJT2OEHg7UusKRM9mwJ6AENkS2KjJSuVV7iqLa7Lit5xRGtCm1ekHU0oOf5VQFaT-zCmzek2offvVZVU341SkZp4XAax-vyo6mEFMGasBMMw3Wfv54y86/s320/IMAG0115.jpg" width="191" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">Back in Elton we simply had to pop into the village hall again for more tea (well, the loos were very handy)</span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and nip down the road to pick up the yellow margerite (£1.40 - a bargain! Thanks Sue). Later, when I got home, a cheerful lady rang me to say that I had won a toolbox in the village hall raffle. Unfortunately I am back at work tomorrow and can't collect my booty, but hopefully it will help to raise funds at the next raffle.</span></div> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh the joy of sun on one's face!</td></tr>
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</div></div></div>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07305664339422822793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8679934706899840620.post-6630264381884401692011-05-01T14:59:00.000-07:002011-05-01T15:02:38.394-07:00The World & His Dog at Padley Gorge<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me & My Compass</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Two more days of freedom before the Easter / Royal Wedding / May Bank Holiday Fest comes to an end and I have to go back to work. Being the Sunday before a Bank Hol it was probably a bad time to choose to visit the National Trust's popular Longshaw Estate for a walk, because with the weather continuing fine, sunny and warm, the world and his dog were tramping the moors. We couldn't squeeze into the main car park so ended up at the overflow a mile or so away, but by some serendipity this turned out to be very close to the Grouse Inn, which was on our walk route. </span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Anyway, we set off up the hill into a strong wind. Luckily we had our comedy sunhats with us which prevented drafty ears, but there was some anxiety about them blowing off and wrapping themselves round the face of an unsuspecting hiker. We weren't sure if we were following quite the right track. Later it transpired that we weren't, but we still ended up at the right place - descending from woods to Grindleford Station. See - even with a compass I have no sense of direction. Good job L is better at this kind of stuff. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The view was good, but listen to the video and you'll see what I mean about the wind.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: right;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dywOhI6Npfa8aSD7J1T1iRIT1SvaqNLJs-haToywqMuHKjx689zwwBSkdVLTB875rznSUIyETWrUTdCsHPFDw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUf-NCCE6hbB1SwLPdQpWdDDtPjGKdOVUAyipiVMPpL201Z0tr3MVPVxzh3MKnEP3R9p-crunvdpedI-oXJ84wxGBcWmdkKYJkZKOJ2Y3FDhdx4PKDJMgC3jj3MQHCcPnsTuDlfWa8jAUD/s1600/IMAG0093.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUf-NCCE6hbB1SwLPdQpWdDDtPjGKdOVUAyipiVMPpL201Z0tr3MVPVxzh3MKnEP3R9p-crunvdpedI-oXJ84wxGBcWmdkKYJkZKOJ2Y3FDhdx4PKDJMgC3jj3MQHCcPnsTuDlfWa8jAUD/s320/IMAG0093.jpg" width="191" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The cafe at Grindleford Station was heaving, and the picnic tables swarmed with people nibbling ice creams and plates of chips, as a single teenager strived manfully with a long queues and a lack of change. L and I were very amused by the multiplicity of admonatory signs covering every available space. Those visiting the loo (For Customer Use Only) were exhorted to remember that "taps don't turn themselves off". Outside tables were "Not for you to have a rest at but for paying diners only". Visitors were asked "Not to be rowdy" and a counter inside was labelled "This is a serving hatch, NOT a viewing area". Lest we start to think that customers were a nusisance, there were also notes to the staff. I particularly liked "WIPE YOUR SPOUT" over the expresso milk frother. Put me off having a coffee anyway.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: right;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Totley Tunnel</span></td></tr>
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUf-NCCE6hbB1SwLPdQpWdDDtPjGKdOVUAyipiVMPpL201Z0tr3MVPVxzh3MKnEP3R9p-crunvdpedI-oXJ84wxGBcWmdkKYJkZKOJ2Y3FDhdx4PKDJMgC3jj3MQHCcPnsTuDlfWa8jAUD/s1600/IMAG0093.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj029dvZi3FtguY4yNFRn7g-Swoo79Kkm8dQvP0ANIvc8qHR1ufWEh4HiT-Z-yCRbCrZ-rbSolb8820CQ4m6q36oQYMjm8TDmd9qFm7PuSEjObgFCOMhq3y1Nb6z7vv9cLc3mkqpale121S/s1600/IMAG0097.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img border="0" height="191" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj029dvZi3FtguY4yNFRn7g-Swoo79Kkm8dQvP0ANIvc8qHR1ufWEh4HiT-Z-yCRbCrZ-rbSolb8820CQ4m6q36oQYMjm8TDmd9qFm7PuSEjObgFCOMhq3y1Nb6z7vv9cLc3mkqpale121S/s320/IMAG0097.jpg" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We passed the charming Padley Mill and started ascending the gorge. The path is a stoney one, involving much stepping over blocks of grit stone and stubbing your feet on tree roots, through a grove of gnarled trees twisted into strange forms</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaQOZF6Gt6zNbRovt89Z6GKWNllkbn0lgqA5zIhva6LqepqjfaOuDXp5w0U7SlX91Lp2_-UEfcqmuVnWheqVqkk-ixPKXCP3HOGeg577xEXL5xSbLdpMWYrHxD3mrHusZB5PM3G4MHQVmv/s1600/IMAG0094.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> by age and weather. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">At one point I thought I had found "Little John's Well" as marked on a map, but it turned out to be an old explosives store from when this area was quarried for the stone used to build Howden Dam. As we ascended the gorge it got busier and busier, with dogs, toddlers, teens and scouts all milling around. The rushing stream in the rocky valley bottom below was a magnet, particularly for the dogs and children, who were enjoying that timeless game of jumping in and out, slipping off boulders and getting very wet.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL9NlCfqF4c-rKE6WVWRXQp6UHiYy5ZgkVaTWJtyHwF-hEeKSIftcbY0pt7IniPjh6NbCqawyV1qvki0RnL2NtoWyH1wqO_BWpqQvbhz126o7ZMLu95t8Q2w3uHnpL01_cn3OrCUijhICb/s1600/IMAG0096.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL9NlCfqF4c-rKE6WVWRXQp6UHiYy5ZgkVaTWJtyHwF-hEeKSIftcbY0pt7IniPjh6NbCqawyV1qvki0RnL2NtoWyH1wqO_BWpqQvbhz126o7ZMLu95t8Q2w3uHnpL01_cn3OrCUijhICb/s320/IMAG0096.jpg" width="191" /></a></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><table align="right" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOPcVUYC1EwrYbLxRoqxaAV11sJs9BSk5b9XPVD2A2Jdb2g3b1x_7GPOM-G2aOXjR258hEiJ8lEnAls2flx1kK2PKExb2v9ZwQL_JmbV62S4_FGJ-gz1q8SnLU007SkhbBHp-ACVCDiP30/s320/IMAG0099.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="191" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">A tree hug</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">At the very top of the gorge the scene began to ressemble Skegness, with much pink flesh on display - none of it very attractive. We steered in the direction of Longshaw Lodge, a grey grit stone Victorian mansion, which I presume was built by Lord Manners purely as a "Shooting Box", for the outlook over the moors cannot have been attractive in anything other that high summer, and even then it is a windy exposed spot. The breeze was still trying to pull our hats off and the dust from the well trampled paths threatened contact lens problems at any moment. However, we made it to the National Trust Tearoom with no mishap, where L tried a Fentiman's Rose Lemonade (smashing!) and I had a Mandarin and Seville Orange Jigger (very refreshing).</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"></div><div style="text-align: right;"></div><div style="text-align: right;"></div> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMR_bAQvrk9YCvOJV6mjDIfzPQdeQWcmCd4hDB0LUSiI5PvPkZpndvYHm859oSCK4KxGIWSNg1fycEVoaiyqovUFYXJWsKc_HupqHUi3w3QD_DUGQTTVq6ld5UV-MZRFlL0x_hTmTB-n-n/s1600/IMAG0101.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="191" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMR_bAQvrk9YCvOJV6mjDIfzPQdeQWcmCd4hDB0LUSiI5PvPkZpndvYHm859oSCK4KxGIWSNg1fycEVoaiyqovUFYXJWsKc_HupqHUi3w3QD_DUGQTTVq6ld5UV-MZRFlL0x_hTmTB-n-n/s320/IMAG0101.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Longshaw Lodge</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">From thence we walked to White Edge Moor, heading down a path by a dreer looking stone lodge. I can't imagine who lived there in such a windswept and treeless place - perhaps a grumpy gamekeeper. It was pleasant to get away from the pushchairs and grannies for a while however, and there was a fine view across to the more hospitable wooded valley opposite. Back at the car it was a relief to get out of the breeze and a cup of tea from the thermos went down nicely.</span></div></div>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07305664339422822793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8679934706899840620.post-33376304237385915372011-04-30T14:15:00.000-07:002011-04-30T14:15:25.355-07:00Tea at "Robin Hood"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn9EzL0v5EbQOQf_dAdGLNHiKqqU18UIamXVjTyJQZxYX8ZYtqCwuajvGFYmk6aHQf0wROTzmVnAmF3f5VAIkDgQMlWF-5n0Tf6wwPus_8XINtaJ1tB0KTg5AyGnsk506ikgH1x0b4i5aJ/s1600/IMAG0068.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn9EzL0v5EbQOQf_dAdGLNHiKqqU18UIamXVjTyJQZxYX8ZYtqCwuajvGFYmk6aHQf0wROTzmVnAmF3f5VAIkDgQMlWF-5n0Tf6wwPus_8XINtaJ1tB0KTg5AyGnsk506ikgH1x0b4i5aJ/s320/IMAG0068.jpg" width="191" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">This is one of my favourite short walks - along the Cromford Canal to the oddly named hamlet of Robin Hood near Whatstandwell.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">We left the car at High Peak Junction car park and quickly crossed the footbridge to the canal (it pays not to hang about as there is a sewage farm here!) From the junction and the information centre you take the path on the opposite side heading away from Cromford and passing Leawood Pumping Station. The canal is shallow and silted up these days, overhung with trees and home to reeds and weeds, making it useless for boats but ideal for waterbirds and wetland creatures. And it being late April there is the added attraction of watching families of tiny fluffy duckings bobbing around their mothers. The Derbyshire Wildlife Trust have been doing quite a lot of felling along the path, which is opening up the tree canopy to more light and will doubtless encourage more wild flowers. </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWx4SqOKy2q-vaEiRlS0N6pRkuIX2uVxQPh4FJ2pzHBfYl4hruo4Rxj4OgPUxc6-OuuZ0ft77aptbDw4YLMskIeMebDvfhULdgwYA-A6KJmOexiPGT65Opokt2u-CbMQLXZP6w0pTghCpD/s1600/IMAG0072.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWx4SqOKy2q-vaEiRlS0N6pRkuIX2uVxQPh4FJ2pzHBfYl4hruo4Rxj4OgPUxc6-OuuZ0ft77aptbDw4YLMskIeMebDvfhULdgwYA-A6KJmOexiPGT65Opokt2u-CbMQLXZP6w0pTghCpD/s320/IMAG0072.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> The path runs along with the river Derwent down to your right and the canal on your left, and at one point Crich Stand is briefly visible ahead, on its cliff of quarried limestone. It seems odd that the canal is at a higher level than the river, but as canal, road, river and railway all share the same ribbon of flat land at the bottom of this wooded valley, I guess they all have to fit in somehow!</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgox9YCC8pPrtM9IKVmTDZyHBpW7wQWLkXrxhMEO7ZN_9AhpAx2Ho7bZJn5rJgH78RUoIeQckJNc5t73vdIbV6rqrRvX6huc1xcmuKw7Aorae9eZPa59Ulijt0jemDgzjqEPBgCjynDn2g3/s1600/IMAG0074.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgox9YCC8pPrtM9IKVmTDZyHBpW7wQWLkXrxhMEO7ZN_9AhpAx2Ho7bZJn5rJgH78RUoIeQckJNc5t73vdIbV6rqrRvX6huc1xcmuKw7Aorae9eZPa59Ulijt0jemDgzjqEPBgCjynDn2g3/s320/IMAG0074.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4DB17CnE3CisBrpgwlJejtqbcFOKJNvlZz7y6dSd0by1YMwoJKic0N_ZWZGdRg4dv-FImL4uZh7iFqbl6Tuh4XsIwDm9aBPO4O5YzNfEZCj8ULWHSE1512WgOHmCr9MxF8LjpUeW2tJMb/s1600/P1020753.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4DB17CnE3CisBrpgwlJejtqbcFOKJNvlZz7y6dSd0by1YMwoJKic0N_ZWZGdRg4dv-FImL4uZh7iFqbl6Tuh4XsIwDm9aBPO4O5YzNfEZCj8ULWHSE1512WgOHmCr9MxF8LjpUeW2tJMb/s320/P1020753.JPG" width="212" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">At one point the path passes under a narrow brick tunnel and in another under this charming little bridge. Eventually the canal curves and the tiny hamlet of Robin Hood comes unexpectedly into sight. The Old Sawmill was apparently once the place where gritstone from Dukes Quarries above was sawn up and loaded onto barges for transport. Today it is a very pretty looking B&B with a lovely situation overlooking the water and backed by a steep slope up to Oxhays Woods, where the quarries used to be located. A brook must have provided the power for the mill, and can still be seen rushing through a series of archways. Beyong the Sawmill is a footbridge and crossing it you come into an area of woodland crisscrossed by footpaths. The wild garlic plant (Ransoms) flourishes in this shady spot and the smell at this time of year is so strong it's hard not to think about garlic bread!</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs_PCTbRvo24nHNu_JL-jDVTYey1uA4KBPy_JnOWF1ghesW9P4kWJBl5-UZWwkq0EvWVIR6itaGIql_bJBT4gciX9QDwO_p8HoJ0LjOSiKOp6eHPy-hSZT0MKjAR7OpAFMloWrii-Z9AW_/s1600/IMAG0075.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="119" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs_PCTbRvo24nHNu_JL-jDVTYey1uA4KBPy_JnOWF1ghesW9P4kWJBl5-UZWwkq0EvWVIR6itaGIql_bJBT4gciX9QDwO_p8HoJ0LjOSiKOp6eHPy-hSZT0MKjAR7OpAFMloWrii-Z9AW_/s200/IMAG0075.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzoFcB1SRewPXQQ6UmzhrcCxp5nGbui0XezmoCKZBUGfHMulGPO8iL-2US7cBbnaBCvBEy2fS4uVCJebQcOY6WQ67HRee92HWlvMC5KbdGp583RKqdWoQ1YVWQE0eYCiKozleSNj2DSlK4/s1600/IMAG0080.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzoFcB1SRewPXQQ6UmzhrcCxp5nGbui0XezmoCKZBUGfHMulGPO8iL-2US7cBbnaBCvBEy2fS4uVCJebQcOY6WQ67HRee92HWlvMC5KbdGp583RKqdWoQ1YVWQE0eYCiKozleSNj2DSlK4/s320/IMAG0080.jpg" width="191" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">A short stroll through the woods and up a tarmac lane leads to the entrance to Oxhays Woods (full of bluebells still) on the left and the Oakford Cottage Tearooms on the left. I love this place - not for the quality of its scones, but for the wonderful view from its terrace. On a bright day it's a real suntrap and I could sit for hours just enjoying the vista across the valley to Shining Cliff Woods.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> It's open from Wednesday to Sunday each week, but there are only a few tables and at peak times John the owner closes the gate. Last time we came we had to wait quite a while for a table. You have been warned. But if you can squeeze in, it's worth the wait. Some ducks and a peacock are usually strutting around or squabbling over crumbs in the garden field below. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj0GpiMMzCPHsiu8SU6bSfJ4Om00b5BuAJUOfrvMo3H1_CDGkGVXHfCBJjAYYlxIZRqSAHw-FIyn59NetNGLC8qmBS_dtGoFtvxsFzHbDBJC8XEmpL0PM2krd62LqsDTyH2twjlhcIh-g_/s1600/IMAG0081.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj0GpiMMzCPHsiu8SU6bSfJ4Om00b5BuAJUOfrvMo3H1_CDGkGVXHfCBJjAYYlxIZRqSAHw-FIyn59NetNGLC8qmBS_dtGoFtvxsFzHbDBJC8XEmpL0PM2krd62LqsDTyH2twjlhcIh-g_/s320/IMAG0081.jpg" width="191" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The attractive aluminium tableware is, I was informed by John, called "Piquotware", and has the ability to keep tea scalding hot for ages. He and his wife collected 14 sets for use in the cafe by scouring eBay. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Eventually of course one has to pay the bill and descend the hillside again for the walk along the canalside back to High Peak Junction. </span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNVButIHCPDVCoJHawC_X-pMlJmmtSfuAiWpL4_FW4QJBzUK-8hGTUq9oQmrRQdwOq_4xMNzMqG9mAFcxDXEYzLE0hkx_yRZAA8m8pBGphkmShGy0yeiJigfLWzPNEHfC8rUrz5fsxgal5/s1600/IMAG0082.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="380" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNVButIHCPDVCoJHawC_X-pMlJmmtSfuAiWpL4_FW4QJBzUK-8hGTUq9oQmrRQdwOq_4xMNzMqG9mAFcxDXEYzLE0hkx_yRZAA8m8pBGphkmShGy0yeiJigfLWzPNEHfC8rUrz5fsxgal5/s640/IMAG0082.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07305664339422822793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8679934706899840620.post-75443478704839864242011-04-27T13:42:00.000-07:002011-04-27T13:42:50.462-07:00A Jolly Stroll up Water-Cum-Jolly Dale<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC-eBXFKPIN_b2xB1GaKlOmxYr6ZL8nOi_JGTSFKDpR7fL3fPMi2q9Vfq1IiPhLEjSLPuCFwPkz4kmmH1eKuvYMU9Elg3q0gdIbjAy1rJDC2WzQf73eAOa7nNLpIAhK_Eau2ZuKHxjq96i/s1600/IMAG0056.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC-eBXFKPIN_b2xB1GaKlOmxYr6ZL8nOi_JGTSFKDpR7fL3fPMi2q9Vfq1IiPhLEjSLPuCFwPkz4kmmH1eKuvYMU9Elg3q0gdIbjAy1rJDC2WzQf73eAOa7nNLpIAhK_Eau2ZuKHxjq96i/s400/IMAG0056.jpg" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Who could resist a place with a name like Water-Cum-Jolly Dale? </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It was another fabulously sunny afternoon so, armed with a printout from <a href="http://www.go4awalk.com/">http://www.go4awalk.com/</a> L and I set off down the road from Monsal Head towards Upperdale, where the river Wye meanders pleasantly through meadows. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">This is the time of year which makes the old cliched description "verdant" come alive. The grass really is a vivid green, of a shade that is never seen again after May. We passed a pair of holiday cottages owned by the Chatsworth estate which looked as though they would be a very peaceful place to stay. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw4-4a5ws7tougBD-F_UQkcZixl5wfRC-yt6_0zOEWJsEGqm23oAi-_1GlthkpKN-Cg_Sm1XkxYS-WRN753nvLmW_B8n7leEYC2Xt9WcsIl4m2Q7e4ZyH6c2XbYz0KxNejEjRqReFg9SbP/s1600/IMAG0055.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw4-4a5ws7tougBD-F_UQkcZixl5wfRC-yt6_0zOEWJsEGqm23oAi-_1GlthkpKN-Cg_Sm1XkxYS-WRN753nvLmW_B8n7leEYC2Xt9WcsIl4m2Q7e4ZyH6c2XbYz0KxNejEjRqReFg9SbP/s320/IMAG0055.jpg" width="190" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Cressbrook Mill, in Georgian and Victorian times a throbbing site of industry, is now quiet and seems to consist mostly of private appartments and rented flats. They have a rather grim and spartan aspect however, not helped by rather raw new landscaping. One can only hope it will soften as it matures. The footpath is diverted behind a steel railing, presumably to avoid yuppie appartment owners being bothered by hikers yomping through their patios. Beyond this is a little folly in the shape of a tiny castle, which was built to house mill apprenctices, but is now "Di's Brew Stop" - a quirky looking refreshment halt which sadly we were unable to try as it was closed during the Bank Holiday week. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Here is some of the history of Cressbrook Mill courtesy of </span><a href="http://www.letsgo-tideswell.co.uk/"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">www.letsgo-tideswell.co.uk</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #777777;">John Baker who was a hosier and entrepreneur, developed this site in the 18<sup>th</sup> century. He constructed a distillery for peppermint, lavender and other aromatic herbs which he grew or found locally. He erected the first mill building around 1785, this however was destroyed by fire. A new mill was constructed and taken over by Richard Arkwright. Arkwright died in 1792 and the mill changed hands yet again. In 1815 the impressive 12-bay Georgian building was erected by William Newton (father of Henry Newton mentioned earlier). Newton was a self-educated poet that befriended Anna Seward of Eyam </span><span style="color: #777777;">fame who gave him the title of ‘Minstrel of the Peak’. He is buried at Tideswell Church.</span></span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNgx6JaK2wj2MIFSjRDUwPkLu12xpp7fyBg5l9Mi4oDilve6VcJrbyfLrcD6BsU2YMVv5tCXqDfWJqML8vh2LevZshX86Aw1rAgqJH2nxF_WqjmvT1k0pTvE1x8HnC2T9KS3p0fmJcXYfe/s1600/IMAG0057.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="380" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNgx6JaK2wj2MIFSjRDUwPkLu12xpp7fyBg5l9Mi4oDilve6VcJrbyfLrcD6BsU2YMVv5tCXqDfWJqML8vh2LevZshX86Aw1rAgqJH2nxF_WqjmvT1k0pTvE1x8HnC2T9KS3p0fmJcXYfe/s640/IMAG0057.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">After this, the path curves under a cliff of grey limestone, and the river Wye opens out into a wide channel. With the sun sparkling on the shallow water and wooded slopes rising up on the opposite side this beautiful spot is the amusingly named Water Cum Jolly Dale. And very jolly it is too. Obviously it floods sometimes as there is an alternative path which leads up over the top, passing Cressbrook Hall. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The path eventually runs into a lightly wooded area. With the Cresswell Brooke running along one side and the river on the other it feels cool and pleasant. We saw quite a lot of large trout in the river, which I guess is the reason for the many signs about private fishing and urging visitors to keep an eye out for fish poachers. I am sure a bit of trout would have been quite nice poached actually, even fried or grilled.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">At the entrance to Millers' Dale is another Georgian factory - Litton Mill. Like Cressbrooke, this has now become a community of holiday accommodation, flats and appartments, and with its pale stone it looks much less forbidding that Cressbrook Mill. However, this belies a a grim history, as it is said to have been a place where child labour was exploited, and the high mortality rate amongst its workers shocked even the Victorians:</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: #777777;">Ellis Needham was a mill owner or factory master with the worst reputation. He established the early mill in 1782 and together with his partner Thomas Firth, attempted to sell the premises in 1786. Their advertisement stated ‘well supplied by hands from the neighbouring villages at low wages’. When the mill failed to sell, Needham took to apprenticing Parish orphans and paupers, some of whom were brought from London or other large cities. They worked long hours with poor food in bad conditions and were beaten and abused. In 1815 Needham was declared bankrupt so ironically his cost-cutting measures did not pay off. </span></span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Can't say I'd fancy living in the place. One would always be looking over your shoulder on dark nights for the unhappy ghosts of sad apprentices. However, it lookcheerful today with the sun shining and red white and blue bunting in place ready for Friday's Royal wedding cerebrations.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipt3leX_Ti-dAP-bZg0GBIVWDC4UmG5H_rnEKcbETMQ0Ck_XkR5Bn45CD1Y65wqQyKSBvLS1pdaU6HaHb-9p9vljXnWgcvg52GukcNlUZ4xB6HhYz9FALk-0A0bP7lcKttiEKJ687l8hm8/s1600/IMAG0060.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipt3leX_Ti-dAP-bZg0GBIVWDC4UmG5H_rnEKcbETMQ0Ck_XkR5Bn45CD1Y65wqQyKSBvLS1pdaU6HaHb-9p9vljXnWgcvg52GukcNlUZ4xB6HhYz9FALk-0A0bP7lcKttiEKJ687l8hm8/s320/IMAG0060.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Our return route according to the map was across a footbridge and onto the Monsal Trail, a disused railway line. Cressbrook Tunnel is closed for repairs before at some future point opening to bikes and walkers, but as yet it remains inaccessible. A narrow footpath thus hares off up the hillside at a vertiginous angle, with a sheer drop on the left. Neither L or I fancied this much, so we opted to retrace our steps and go back the same way as we came. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">At the end we took a detour however over a footbridge near Netherdale Farm so as to be able to enjoy the view from the disused viaduct. It is certainly a good vantage point. I then took the short scramble up the hillside to the ice cream van waiting at the top in the Monsal Head car park, and L made a more leisurely ascent via road. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div> <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">At the top, there was the usual compliment of pensioners sittingon benches admiring the view and sniggering at the panting red faced people who have just trudged up from the valley bottom. I was so looking forward to a cup of tea from the flask we had left in the car and we eagerly got out the cups at a picnic table. Sadly, for some reason the water had gone almost completely cold, so we had to resort to swiching a teabag morosely round in lukewarm water. Note to self: Sack the caterers! </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCCmRIxXhbsIjqjfHCTWG_7oyUvC_zfRn2SHcP7WvbOTltvJYi0Ny243VcJmzDhD-Ru8sFKI8pj0Z5mmY_XMmRFZYXGXYSN3JU75-JPrRjd0fxAAvUheA97bSe9LMHJr3njYQTulmoKlcS/s1600/IMAG0063.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCCmRIxXhbsIjqjfHCTWG_7oyUvC_zfRn2SHcP7WvbOTltvJYi0Ny243VcJmzDhD-Ru8sFKI8pj0Z5mmY_XMmRFZYXGXYSN3JU75-JPrRjd0fxAAvUheA97bSe9LMHJr3njYQTulmoKlcS/s400/IMAG0063.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo above: View from viaduct. Video: A panorama round Water Cum Jolly Dale</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzdm4mePHlD4hxweNy4ejhsf48dS7uoC1e67vRakHRMClZlE5m0Gbwf6ssJh9rOKscx2DcniLmZqvyyWdNblQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div></div>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07305664339422822793noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8679934706899840620.post-36016471594082433922011-04-26T15:05:00.000-07:002011-04-26T15:05:47.117-07:00A short walk in Halldale<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSHWF4zHNJFlwOgIY1-LtJJxBTD8TMmox-2vAMMcQivGy2xoqeW5JzAR-I5UuCkNefyr842e7_iCRc44icL9QTZjct_D3VSFJwivDjKUKan3XIdNenJXz4OQ-KzSaMAU2emQZDLfoSMoIJ/s1600/P1020837.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSHWF4zHNJFlwOgIY1-LtJJxBTD8TMmox-2vAMMcQivGy2xoqeW5JzAR-I5UuCkNefyr842e7_iCRc44icL9QTZjct_D3VSFJwivDjKUKan3XIdNenJXz4OQ-KzSaMAU2emQZDLfoSMoIJ/s320/P1020837.JPG" width="320" /></a> </><td style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiJsaDsgrgJaafIdl0Yy4HV73cTaPh0gFaOGtb935jdC3nVTuyeDzSYNoTTTAxDqbLi_tu64emyZ_8V_UxGb14nm4_OxGv3OQ0oIYgMpwV-dpYvVgWHx-JCxgEaou_klCVYseBUiXb-wE_/s1600/P1020832_edited-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiJsaDsgrgJaafIdl0Yy4HV73cTaPh0gFaOGtb935jdC3nVTuyeDzSYNoTTTAxDqbLi_tu64emyZ_8V_UxGb14nm4_OxGv3OQ0oIYgMpwV-dpYvVgWHx-JCxgEaou_klCVYseBUiXb-wE_/s320/P1020832_edited-1.JPG" width="212" /></a></td></div></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't snigger at the sunhat!</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">When you drive through Darley Dale towards Bakewell on the busy A6 you pass a couple of quiet wooded valleys <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDUsZULWyhfBh_bOSFbufAtJlnDzdw35kw3yYgMqT-ZWIvI4_ofCOOe0BZ27FLwVCZAyw-n3bw5UNLRExjol_9yA-rgDTCJUrZXFEnD1Rc_gYLgGwWIB-RTGcKH0FUiGN3s4KzsNHYhgyN/s1600/P1020834.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDUsZULWyhfBh_bOSFbufAtJlnDzdw35kw3yYgMqT-ZWIvI4_ofCOOe0BZ27FLwVCZAyw-n3bw5UNLRExjol_9yA-rgDTCJUrZXFEnD1Rc_gYLgGwWIB-RTGcKH0FUiGN3s4KzsNHYhgyN/s320/P1020834.JPG" width="212" /></a>winding up into the hills on you right. This short walk passed through one of them, Halldale, which is owned by <a href="http://www.woodlandtrust.org.uk/">The Woodland Trust. </a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSHWF4zHNJFlwOgIY1-LtJJxBTD8TMmox-2vAMMcQivGy2xoqeW5JzAR-I5UuCkNefyr842e7_iCRc44icL9QTZjct_D3VSFJwivDjKUKan3XIdNenJXz4OQ-KzSaMAU2emQZDLfoSMoIJ/s1600/P1020837.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSHWF4zHNJFlwOgIY1-LtJJxBTD8TMmox-2vAMMcQivGy2xoqeW5JzAR-I5UuCkNefyr842e7_iCRc44icL9QTZjct_D3VSFJwivDjKUKan3XIdNenJXz4OQ-KzSaMAU2emQZDLfoSMoIJ/s320/P1020837.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAZsdh03OU6GLYvm_KX3g2QajkDqnw_LGslj6poCRIzzOz182Xk1q86psF3CIi9C9VYhZpXxErNXn4Ef_lRrWGYLpplAjSA67wyeJ2yXhzHAMwLGjzQk3d42Pq2ZWCOs_MZUyYS5_xGPzp/s1600/P1020843.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAZsdh03OU6GLYvm_KX3g2QajkDqnw_LGslj6poCRIzzOz182Xk1q86psF3CIi9C9VYhZpXxErNXn4Ef_lRrWGYLpplAjSA67wyeJ2yXhzHAMwLGjzQk3d42Pq2ZWCOs_MZUyYS5_xGPzp/s320/P1020843.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtQ3oqXCM3WlNsFHAKSre1vbWNy1rwoOYfMihPE8jbVjILOd-Te2DgS-PysXcxrgrxogEVmuKetyiHZXcDJU-do5NvvZUVZAg7xlhSws_o3jU02FTFIcfwlAImvZBOvX21ueUNaMIKcVXs/s1600/P1020845.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtQ3oqXCM3WlNsFHAKSre1vbWNy1rwoOYfMihPE8jbVjILOd-Te2DgS-PysXcxrgrxogEVmuKetyiHZXcDJU-do5NvvZUVZAg7xlhSws_o3jU02FTFIcfwlAImvZBOvX21ueUNaMIKcVXs/s320/P1020845.JPG" width="320" /></a></div></div>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07305664339422822793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8679934706899840620.post-47651123349037392202011-04-24T11:27:00.000-07:002011-04-25T09:03:24.855-07:001940's Weekend, Crich Tramway Museum<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Once again the small Derbyshire village of Crich became The Home Front as the Tramway Museum mounted its twice annual 1940's weekend. Last Easter we didn't go because it was too cold, but no problems with the weather this year. Though cloudy, the temperatures were ideal - warm enough to be able to stroll around in comfort, but not so hot as to make it a sweaty trial for the uniform clad re-enactors. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">We parked in a field where the grass was so long that my little car failed to get much purchase. The wheels spun to little effect, and at one point we looked like being stuck. Happily, a helpful young man hurried over and with the help of a push we made it safely into a parking space. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">L had donned her repro vintage blouse, sandals and wide legged slacks and I was squeezed into a print dress that was slightly too small for me but looked OK as long as I never unfastened my repro 1940's jacket! And at last I got chance to wear that real 1940's hat that I bought on eBay ages ago. Shoes were a problem though. The only pair I possessed that looked of the period were very difficult to walk in, which makes navigating the carpark in a former quarry and the cobblestones of the museum street a wearisome business. Fortunately there were a pair of comfy square-heeled shoes on sale for £5 on the stall of one of the traders - not vintage but looked enough like it to pass muster- so I was spared too much hobbling. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">We had a ride on my favourite tram (a tall ginger and yellow rattler - Glasgow 812) and admired the attractive countryside at the Wakebridge end of the line. It was standing room only downstairs. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlu3WgXXP_tJsZtVAGZOB6Ebdl-bgc-TXLOwanWpprSTZZkwHPVUCqdbpvdPOdPNXLYTohgtwbAyiMS7QRC7Jr9zpRvD4gGUk-DDbrXEXSolaNBrdzJNnMDEZodefLlZNU-BtmYGFDBLSi/s1600/019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlu3WgXXP_tJsZtVAGZOB6Ebdl-bgc-TXLOwanWpprSTZZkwHPVUCqdbpvdPOdPNXLYTohgtwbAyiMS7QRC7Jr9zpRvD4gGUk-DDbrXEXSolaNBrdzJNnMDEZodefLlZNU-BtmYGFDBLSi/s320/019.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;">As usual, Mr Churchill arrived to make a short speech, but we both felt that his diction and intonation left much to be desired. It would not have stirred much nationalistic fervour I fear.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Whilst browsing the traders area (note that shopping was taking precidence over transport history here) L bumped into a pal from work who was heavily into the 1940's scene, and we were invited to pop over to the family caravan later for a drink. This we did, and spent a pleasant time sipping cava and discussing how much Lola Lamour charges for her performaces these days. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIwkZ0JbESYvLAQU5iukkUc46LG62wm7TxgAVFyv6mzvguxV-pDotOcqus__EHu-bOxkeGndX5CDDEqgsmD4f3duTJCgjKw5wcCuNh7CHg7rfDb6lYu4i1NLtweF0ImEDEg0ASUQJkQBc0/s1600/009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIwkZ0JbESYvLAQU5iukkUc46LG62wm7TxgAVFyv6mzvguxV-pDotOcqus__EHu-bOxkeGndX5CDDEqgsmD4f3duTJCgjKw5wcCuNh7CHg7rfDb6lYu4i1NLtweF0ImEDEg0ASUQJkQBc0/s320/009.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Georgia;">The wartime fun continues tomorrow and being Easter Monday the site will no doubt be thronged, but a cool breeze with the scent of rain suggested that we had chosen the better day to visit. </span><br />
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</div>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07305664339422822793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8679934706899840620.post-53241134276181035872011-04-23T15:11:00.000-07:002011-04-23T15:11:32.085-07:00A Tropical Day In Derby<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOibMZ4Tq3ersEeJXMHacac4-op9Ir3vWa3TKpAblbzbDuqQbwpLOQ45XZ45HKFrR5zZ_Kr8FcriPt-nzEIBKQUJ6wddAUHZytRrgPHp5DHal2VV4ZzifQ9O5nhiErd4En7nAr13xnuZGC/s1600/IMAG0036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOibMZ4Tq3ersEeJXMHacac4-op9Ir3vWa3TKpAblbzbDuqQbwpLOQ45XZ45HKFrR5zZ_Kr8FcriPt-nzEIBKQUJ6wddAUHZytRrgPHp5DHal2VV4ZzifQ9O5nhiErd4En7nAr13xnuZGC/s320/IMAG0036.jpg" width="191" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The weather continues sunny, hot and dry - more like midsummer than April. Apparently the other day the East Midlands was hotter than Rome. Today L and I arranged to meet S in Derby. We caught the Derwent Line train from Cromford station and enjoyed an alternative route into the city to the usual Park n Ride. Don't you just love the little Victorian waiting room across the track? It was designed by Mr Stokes, son in law to Joseph Paxton of Crystal Palace fame. A couple of years ago it was renovated and turned into an unusual holiday cottage (</span><a href="http://www.cromfordstationwaitingroom.co.uk/"><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">www.cromfordstationwaitingroom.co.uk</span></em></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">).</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfQ3YDmb5dqMmI8rDunQgsuahaApNOvxx6C5m2Mtllq1H9SrYtbxg39y0AwxP_N_cPK3qejUvmLyLsMPV0UqtV0lT86wW3Cj8FhzUlMNh27s78L_9qUrCQ0NZowrV9rbJDXOtcpjdwhiXv/s1600/IMAG0037.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><img border="0" height="191" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfQ3YDmb5dqMmI8rDunQgsuahaApNOvxx6C5m2Mtllq1H9SrYtbxg39y0AwxP_N_cPK3qejUvmLyLsMPV0UqtV0lT86wW3Cj8FhzUlMNh27s78L_9qUrCQ0NZowrV9rbJDXOtcpjdwhiXv/s320/IMAG0037.jpg" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The journey only takes half an hour but from Cromford meadows through Whatstandwell, Ambergate and Belper to Duffield it's a very pretty run, especially the Whatstandwell - Ambergate section, with Chase Woods on one side of the valley and Shining Cliff Woods on the opposite. We tried to count how many times the railway crosses and re-crosses the river Derwent and came to about nine. Road, rail and river run close together along the narrow band of flat land in the valley bottom. The trees look at their best at this time of year, when the new foliage is fresh and growing strongly, and the fields are a bright green. At Duffield we noticed the terminus of the newly opened Ecclesbourne Steam Railway (<span class="f"><cite><span style="color: #0e774a;"><a href="http://www.e-v-r.com/">http://www.e-v-r.com/</a>)</span></cite></span>, which runs down from Wirksworth. It looked spick and span. Nearer Derby, the rolling scenery gives way to industrial sprawl, as is inevitable on the approach to any city. </span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">S was already waiting when we arrived, and so were several police vans and a number of constables, but fortunately the reception committee was not for us but because of a Derby match taking place later. S regaled us with the improbable story of a crocodile trying to get through the ticket barrier, which made us wonder how many lagers she had drunk whilst waiting, but she assured us was something to do with football mascots. We sat down for a while on the cool stone steps of the Midland Railway War Memorial. I remember as a small child been slightly freaked out by this creepy looking cenataph - a tall block of Portland stone topped by a dead soldier lying on a bier. It's a strange sculpture, apparently by </span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Sir Edwin Landseer Lutyens. He should have stuck to designing houses. Anyway, Mr Lutyens' memorial was as good a place as any to eat the Easter Simnel Cakelets that I had made and brought as a snack.</span></span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZHFsVFYPV1Px_oNNiqFZ8JHJFdPSPBI-O25H3ELZ_n7LYC0UwN-Uzw6IHPKtQ-fQTYcDBT4Y2przVu8sYRzuxmvNZ5hKozE8zrZfje2Ow10OrQBm71_KCkfwGMep5YsGurZuS5B0QjE8t/s1600/IMAG0038.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZHFsVFYPV1Px_oNNiqFZ8JHJFdPSPBI-O25H3ELZ_n7LYC0UwN-Uzw6IHPKtQ-fQTYcDBT4Y2przVu8sYRzuxmvNZ5hKozE8zrZfje2Ow10OrQBm71_KCkfwGMep5YsGurZuS5B0QjE8t/s320/IMAG0038.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd5dm3jLBupwYNsBPYpeS4D9YR33svpUkXHJpzSiEPaNj3jF9BhgM993EkLcHrT5BDe-uIPgyOXLwT3XlKcSDkW4LG40u3OaE_nHa65g-hWvAkJSeMDfEswepheW3TogdnaXv9LdmNzi6C/s1600/IMAG0039.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd5dm3jLBupwYNsBPYpeS4D9YR33svpUkXHJpzSiEPaNj3jF9BhgM993EkLcHrT5BDe-uIPgyOXLwT3XlKcSDkW4LG40u3OaE_nHa65g-hWvAkJSeMDfEswepheW3TogdnaXv9LdmNzi6C/s200/IMAG0039.jpg" width="119" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">By now it was midday and very warm. As we expected town to be heaving with pink fleshed proles and not a spare table to be found at any pavement cafe, we headed for the cool interior of the Crown Derby Visitor Centre on Osmaston Road (</span><span class="f"><cite><span style="color: #0e774a;"><a href="http://www.royalcrownderby.co.uk/visiting"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">www.royalcrownderby.co.uk/visiting</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">).</span></span></cite></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">This proved to be a shrewd move as there was space aplenty, and there is the added advantage of having your tea out of proper china. The teapot was large enough to have supplied a small garden party. (This design of tableware is called "Grenville")</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfzPGGoAf3vLvjwgc57mVGUIz_WX3H8CXWHnJFmpnACMBf30bY8mzOYFTS6hqT7rvERTmWyrIQH9PVfv-pgwNzw0KkopMc_ZcrOiMKX7dtlnZya_3iAkBkMq2OAuQIB7Hr1WvGp47WCr5/s1600/IMAG0041.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfzPGGoAf3vLvjwgc57mVGUIz_WX3H8CXWHnJFmpnACMBf30bY8mzOYFTS6hqT7rvERTmWyrIQH9PVfv-pgwNzw0KkopMc_ZcrOiMKX7dtlnZya_3iAkBkMq2OAuQIB7Hr1WvGp47WCr5/s320/IMAG0041.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">There was an exhibition about the Titanic at the Visitor Centre, to publicise the launch of a new range of porcelain based on the crockery which Crown Derby produced for the ill-fated liner. But it was a pricey £6 to get in so we gave it a miss. However, in the china shop S allowed herself to be tempted by the "Little Owl" paperweight, which cost considerably more. A year or so ago when the design was launched, there was an event at the factory telling the story of Florence Nightingale's pet owl Athena. The Lady with the Lamp apparently brought an injured Little Owl back with her from a family holiday abroad, which recovered to become quite a character. reputedly the diminutive creature was trained to curtsey for food, and spent a good deal of time riding around inside Florence's pocket. Who could resist such a charming story? The sales lady, a slightly dotty lady of mature years, thought Athena had "beady eyes". I beg to differ. </span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxbNWzwRJAMOFqpwJusLT5Kiofkuk2duJu227-8VRQf3_f5n2LLC5o1k-GOFabsi5SPU38bTmJ6PcGCzsX6yb-REQ58q4RByNF_hdBFHUxcSNt8P47KBxT0nZIbrD_rX9_v4wXS_Hpavcr/s1600/IMAG0043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxbNWzwRJAMOFqpwJusLT5Kiofkuk2duJu227-8VRQf3_f5n2LLC5o1k-GOFabsi5SPU38bTmJ6PcGCzsX6yb-REQ58q4RByNF_hdBFHUxcSNt8P47KBxT0nZIbrD_rX9_v4wXS_Hpavcr/s320/IMAG0043.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">From there, we walked across town to Friar Gate, to visit Pickford's House museum. We were amused that almost every premise on Friar Gate appears to be a restaurant. bistro, bar or eaterie. What a lot of consumption must go on along this thoroughfare. The museum is a Georgian town house complete with tiny garden. Its interiors are rather plain, except for the ground floor kitchen, which is enlivened by much polished copper and blue and white crockery. We were rather taken by the (still functional) Edwardian and 1930's bathrooms. L said that the ornate and colourful floral design inside the Edwardian toilet made you feel bad about using it. Chinzy ornamentation knew no boundaries in those days. In the lace exhibition there were some interesting facts about the enormous number of work hours required to produce one of the fancy lace collars on display, and the curious statistic that King Henry VIII spent £20,000 on lace, the equivilent of £5M today. Clearly no cheap frills with those Tudors!</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;">A hot walk across town brought us back to the station in time for a cuppa before departure. Our train was full - not a things which happens very often in April according to the slightly hassled ticket collector. S reported that later, after a day of tropical heat Nottingham was deluged with an inch of rain, resulting in "lots of folk stranded under gazebos in comedy shorts". Brackenfield continues its drought as yet but seeing as we are planning on attending Crich 1940's weekend in costume tomorrow, there's every likelihood of a downpour.</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07305664339422822793noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8679934706899840620.post-54706855491926490472011-04-17T12:56:00.000-07:002011-04-17T13:38:10.004-07:00A Sunny Walk in Florence Nightingale Country, Derbyshire<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgboCxs-H6W_1MJBBTEv0pJr7pW88PE6-tVnnReCNOWWYmMigI4JRmHXJLUep-v1LHIEtDwwekDVY2ltVcugXQoD8VUWO5mzjnIj0Ly1GOyOlNQ8hE4vvnIaNcqFxdzBWimbinTYcPcRXu_/s1600/009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgboCxs-H6W_1MJBBTEv0pJr7pW88PE6-tVnnReCNOWWYmMigI4JRmHXJLUep-v1LHIEtDwwekDVY2ltVcugXQoD8VUWO5mzjnIj0Ly1GOyOlNQ8hE4vvnIaNcqFxdzBWimbinTYcPcRXu_/s200/009.JPG" width="132" /></a>It was such a beautiful sunny day today - more like summer than spring. L & I headed down the lane to Lea Bridge and set off on a circular walk around Lea, Dethick and Holloway - three pretty villages in the Derbyshire Dales. Parked my tiny red car in the car park belonging to Smedley's Mills ("home of fine knitware") by the river Derwent and walked back up towards Lea. A tarmac path between stone walls leads across a field and up to High Lane where there is a hidden footpath through pines and rhodedendroms by the side of The Old Chapel. This brought us out by Lea Rhodedendrom gardens, which were open and busy with visitors. A peep over the wall showed that the flowers were out and a blaze of gaudy colours. It has been an unusually dry April, but this didn't seem to have done anything to tone down the carnival colours in this well known spring garden set in a former quarry.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSZIppHQuu4s-R3FJmdg3xrx9U-ahicT7XWe7L2Atmd5xb0gkC-DpTSPhdTIq5_xMt0w8IXRADsrA7AKRYvo94vP_oBNIRtoZnQ4cnP5TeCwbxUVI1K9MRLRS03N_U8HBWF1d6-Xz23YvQ/s1600/006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSZIppHQuu4s-R3FJmdg3xrx9U-ahicT7XWe7L2Atmd5xb0gkC-DpTSPhdTIq5_xMt0w8IXRADsrA7AKRYvo94vP_oBNIRtoZnQ4cnP5TeCwbxUVI1K9MRLRS03N_U8HBWF1d6-Xz23YvQ/s320/006.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Our path curved away and down through houses into Lea, where we emerged onto the main road again opposite the Jug and Glass pub. I never knew before, but according to our walking guidebook, the pub was once a row of cottages of which part was used as a hospital back in Victorian times. It's said that Florence Nightingale of nearby Lea Hurst tried her first nursing here - no doubt much to the disgust of her wealthy parents. </div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvk0BwkzVjjN66i40coQaCaBGHQdZzv1bRiFEQiEBFzQ9-BOOZlFaPAzilmdeCyJR9nhIfyvOKPsZQ2D6z09encdsfbHK7GVp44KGeBGXBq8rL9usO6NusUwvsJMPJgVtneMmAuErfG_Jv/s1600/012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="140" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvk0BwkzVjjN66i40coQaCaBGHQdZzv1bRiFEQiEBFzQ9-BOOZlFaPAzilmdeCyJR9nhIfyvOKPsZQ2D6z09encdsfbHK7GVp44KGeBGXBq8rL9usO6NusUwvsJMPJgVtneMmAuErfG_Jv/s200/012.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Jug & Glass pub</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Carrying on up the lane we turned right at a stile and descended a flight of damp stone steps to cross a brook in Swine Park Wood, before emerging into a grassy field closely cropped by sheep, who had lambs skipping around them. The bluebells in the wood were only just coming into bloom, unlike the masses of blue flowers we had seen in sunnier Oxhays Wood the weekend before.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSkE2h5Ft_AnNqqJ44nx-phNQcIuzJujhyphenhyphenmKAB4eNcJs57RaiohzPVbd_SurmQLmMBngI6f-GNHEtL5VyPUa7GbIorrHRq3fkRyKAIF-20ABEKx-QmDy3eMH0zEA4coI380DlOsqw-kGI7/s1600/017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSkE2h5Ft_AnNqqJ44nx-phNQcIuzJujhyphenhyphenmKAB4eNcJs57RaiohzPVbd_SurmQLmMBngI6f-GNHEtL5VyPUa7GbIorrHRq3fkRyKAIF-20ABEKx-QmDy3eMH0zEA4coI380DlOsqw-kGI7/s320/017.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Manor Farm, Dethick</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCk_HwVGEhukxAL6XkLGWgd0hHXUZFEdx7i4EDEEzrC1P_6s4MvqCYB3FIs-AGdhH34OrAHzLbQWjMwbpC1euVmL2UmdYb2AiuP2P222dIPSDE0jygr2ib4gY8052ZYook28-TCSVUo3X4/s1600/021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCk_HwVGEhukxAL6XkLGWgd0hHXUZFEdx7i4EDEEzrC1P_6s4MvqCYB3FIs-AGdhH34OrAHzLbQWjMwbpC1euVmL2UmdYb2AiuP2P222dIPSDE0jygr2ib4gY8052ZYook28-TCSVUo3X4/s320/021.JPG" width="209" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Ahead of us was the little hilltop church of Dethick, which is such a tiny hamlet it consists of little but the church and a couple of farms. Manor Farm incorporates parts of an older hall which belonged to the Babington family, the home of ill fated Anthony Babington who was born in Dethick in 1561. Made a ward of George Talbot Earl of Shrewsbury at the age of ten, it is said that he fell under the spell of Mary Queen of Scots, who was being kept a political prisoner in England with Talbot her warder. Anthony was later executed for his part in a plot to free the captive queen from Wingfield Manor, a few miles away. Legend has it that he had a tunnel dug towards the Manor, from a house which he owned in nearby Crich (now demolished). </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The rise on which the church sits gives the chance to sit and admire beautiful views across the wooded valley towards Holloway, and beyond to Black Rocks at Cromford. It really is a lovely spot, and it being about 1pm we took the opportunity to stop for a picnic lunch of cheese strings, corn snacks, lemon drizzle cake and clementines.</div> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbf4YkKKPo_9YPvFqUdiX_iJ1YreqLeEBJzyRUA4ny75KD7AmrojR0tUOx-rl7ZCWmiTuv3XShLL71qO-7WyeL7jIL9LqbTRUzhZb2NcWkt-KqkGFRb2alDjvkjzcpSHtc4qelIJjAt5Nh/s1600/024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbf4YkKKPo_9YPvFqUdiX_iJ1YreqLeEBJzyRUA4ny75KD7AmrojR0tUOx-rl7ZCWmiTuv3XShLL71qO-7WyeL7jIL9LqbTRUzhZb2NcWkt-KqkGFRb2alDjvkjzcpSHtc4qelIJjAt5Nh/s320/024.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from near the church </td></tr>
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> Back on the main road through Lea, we walked up past several old stone cottages until reaching a footpath sign on the right which led off behind some houses and into fields. This stretch of the walk included an old sunken lane, which had become partially impassable because of a stream of water and a fallen tree, but fortunately some kind landowner had allowed a 'permissive path' alongside, which kept us from wet feet. The next stretch of path was an uneventful stroll over fields and round a rather smelly dairy farm where swarms of brown flies rose buzzing from cow pats as we passed. Through a stile and onto another lane, this time dropping into Upper Holloway - a pretty hamlet with several attractive and very well kept cottages, whose gardens backed onto a small quarry. This is my favourite time of year, when cherry blossom, blackthorn blossom, tulips and aubretia make bursts of colour in every garden, and the foliage has just come onto the trees, a fresher and brighter green than it will ever be in summer.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Holloway itself is a larger village, and even has a couple of shops - a butchers and a craft studio. Sadly, despite the enticing sight of coffee cups in the window of the latter it proved to be closed. So we followed the instructions in our guidebook until reaching a footpath to the rear of Lea Hurst - Florence Nightingale's one time home. The path curved round a wall and off alongside what looked (by the age of the gnarled trees) to be a very old piece of parkland. We were surprised to notice a couple of fallow deer there, one a stag with very fine antlers, alongside some placid looking sheep and an alpaca!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq4-b3mnF04k9erqek6kzud_5anT417f_iTcQnOdJud3tMnQs3HVzG3A75Y56xp0uyyPhD9ovdSFqxGKJ4TOpNOLlcXEnaLZORKlBpo5JwnxqW34rjOH1V7vkFW3U3xOzp7MjhJfng4m9q/s1600/025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq4-b3mnF04k9erqek6kzud_5anT417f_iTcQnOdJud3tMnQs3HVzG3A75Y56xp0uyyPhD9ovdSFqxGKJ4TOpNOLlcXEnaLZORKlBpo5JwnxqW34rjOH1V7vkFW3U3xOzp7MjhJfng4m9q/s200/025.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">At this point we decided that we had taken a wrong turn, a suspicion which seemed to be confirmed by the sight of a couple of elderly walkers marching confidently off across the field in a different direction. But our path, rising gently towards some woodland, looked on my map to emerge on the same road, so we decided to chance it. This proved a happy accident as Lea Woods proved not only to be attractive and with a good dry path, but we also had the privilege of seeing two red foxes suddenly burst from the undergrowth and chase madly through the trees. We did wonder where the trail would lead, but by some serendipity it brought us almost precisely to the car park where we had started the walk.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWt-ggSn8M46JVmbgWS2mnW6rvVihXB3YahIzHf8oOtD4oKqLrG7y_893tX6MLpG6pIQh0mvnUr0i4k4OZfUEqI3DYIE-YWND4I7MAos_VxLdJyRNmM0gBEI5wamLN8G1-SBXprvevzKKM/s1600/026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWt-ggSn8M46JVmbgWS2mnW6rvVihXB3YahIzHf8oOtD4oKqLrG7y_893tX6MLpG6pIQh0mvnUr0i4k4OZfUEqI3DYIE-YWND4I7MAos_VxLdJyRNmM0gBEI5wamLN8G1-SBXprvevzKKM/s400/026.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Lindahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07305664339422822793noreply@blogger.com0