The Devil's Arse

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. 

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.

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.

 
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."

Up and Down Dale in Ladygrove

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.  

The Darley Yew

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. 

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.

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.

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.

Old Spring & Well near Hackney

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.

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. 

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. 

By Nancy Dam

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. 

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. 

Syndnope Hall in the distance

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. 

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.

Guide Stoup from 1700's

 

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. 



Mmmmm!

 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. 

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 St Helen's Church.

Return to Cressbrook Hall

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?

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. 

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. 

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.

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, 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.

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. 


Di's Brew Stop


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!)

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 were distinctly muddy by this time, it having evidently rained hard the night before. The strange, crenallated building looks like a mini castle but was apparently the Mill overseers' house. 

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.

A notice asked garden visitors to ring the bell, which we did and a pleasant middleaged woman in a flowery blue dress (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. 

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). 

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.  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. 

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.

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!

Lifestyle Envy In The Secret Garden

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. 

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.

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. 

 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?

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.

 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.  

This is the life!  Note handy gin bottles



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. 

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.

From Steamy Architecture to Rude Ladies: Alderwasley Walk



We popped in to High Peak Junction first of all, to take a peek inside Leawood Pumping Station, which was in steam today. 

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.


Two steam boilers, once stoked up and one empty


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.

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.

Abandoned house near Wire Works

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. 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.  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.



In Shining Cliff Woods


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.

Photographing Sheela

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. 

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.

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. 

Well Dressing Weekend - Part Two

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.

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.

On the marketplace some brave souls manned stalls, and we bought some beautifully decorated cupcakes from a couple who were looking a bit lonely.

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.

Well Dressing Weekend - Part One

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.

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. 






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. 


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. 

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.

 "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.  

The Methodist church was also serving tea.  Now obviously we couldn't show favouritism, so we had to stop for a cuppa there too.

S admires the detail on the Methodist Church well (awww! look at the teeny wishing well!)

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.