Tea at "Robin Hood"

This is one of my favourite short walks - along the Cromford Canal to the oddly named hamlet of Robin Hood near Whatstandwell.

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.   

 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!

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!

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.  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. 

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.  

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. 

A Jolly Stroll up Water-Cum-Jolly Dale



Who could resist a place with a name like Water-Cum-Jolly Dale?

It was another fabulously sunny afternoon so, armed with a printout from http://www.go4awalk.com/ L and I set off down the road from Monsal Head towards Upperdale, where the river Wye meanders pleasantly through meadows. 

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. 

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.  Here is some of the history of Cressbrook Mill courtesy of www.letsgo-tideswell.co.uk 

John Baker who was a hosier and entrepreneur, developed this site in the 18^th 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 fame who gave him the title of ‘Minstrel of the Peak’. He is buried at Tideswell Church.

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. 

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.

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:

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.

 

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.

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. 

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.  



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!

Photo above: View from viaduct.  Video:  A panorama round Water Cum Jolly Dale

A short walk in Halldale



<>

Don't snigger at the sunhat!



When you drive through Darley Dale towards Bakewell on the busy A6 you pass a couple of quiet wooded valleys winding up into the hills on you right. This short walk passed through one of them, Halldale, which is owned by The Woodland Trust.

1940's Weekend, Crich Tramway Museum

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. 


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. 

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. 

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. 

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.

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. 

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. 

A Tropical Day In Derby

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 (www.cromfordstationwaitingroom.co.uk).

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 (http://www.e-v-r.com/), 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. 

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 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.

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 (www.royalcrownderby.co.uk/visiting).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")

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.

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!

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.

A Sunny Walk in Florence Nightingale Country, Derbyshire

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.

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.

The Jug & Glass pub

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.

Manor Farm, Dethick

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). 

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.



View from near the church 



 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.

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!

  

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.