Day 11.   Monsal Head to Bakewell.

The day is forecast to be the hottest of the year, and I’m trying to avoid any references to baking hot in Bakewell. I skip breakfast at the hotel to get an early start and make the most of the cooler part of the day. As it is, I only have a short walk ahead of me.

That view accompanies my wake-up coffee in the room—a good start.

I walk along to Little Longstone, at one stage, a pavement cleaner prepares the way. There is a pub, a Congregational Church, a pinfold and a pump. 

Field paths head off down the hill.

I arrive in Ashford-in-the-Water. The information board tells me ‘Ford by the ash tree’. It was known in the Doomsday Book for lead mining.  This was where the ancient route of the Derbyshire Portway (from Nottingham to Castleton) crossed the River Wye,  a route that had existed since the Bronze Age before falling out of regular use in the Middle Ages. That reference directs me to the LDWA website, and I end up ordering a book on Abe titled The Old Roads of Derbyshire: Walking into History: The Portway and Beyond.  I wonder where that will take me. 

Ashford is a touristy village, but at this time of day, it is pleasantly quiet and quaint—lots of little limestone cottages.

I search for the church, dating back to the 12th-century, but with extensive modifications. It is currently hosting a flower festival, but I arrive too early for it to open. I content myself with the 15th-century cross base in the grounds.

Well dressing is a significant and unique historical tradition in the Peak District, possibly a Pagan ritual giving thanks for water, important in limestone areas. I come across several collages created on clay-covered boards at the village wells.

I leave the village by the timeless bridge next to the mill. The busy A6 bypasses the village.

The path follows the river, then passes by weirs and lakes, all of which were constructed for the watermills.

I try to follow paths closer to the river at Lumford Mill, but have to retreat. I then avoid the main road and climb through the woods next to an exclusive-looking private school. 

I head straight to the parish church, All Saints, in the higher part of town. The church was founded in 920, during the Anglo-Saxon period, and the churchyard features two 9th-century crosses that I would like to see. First, I come across the medieval stone coffins of various sizes leaning against one of the walls.

The two Anglo-Saxon crosses are in the churchyard. The one surrounded by railings was found at Hassop, about a mile away, where it may have been a marker or prayer cross on an ancient pathway.. My phone camera is refusing to take pictures due to overheating, so I only have a front view. Before it lost its head, it was thought to be 10ft tall. The other cross, dug up in nearby Beeley, has also lost its head, but the carvings are better preserved. Apparently, both crosses are covered in the winter months to lessen erosion.

I mostly put my phone away to cool down whilst looking around the church, but this site has a detailed history and lots of photos. 

There is a large collection of carved Saxon and Norman stones in the church’s porch. These have intricate patterns and detailed insignia. It is thought that Bakewell was a centre for stone carving, supplying the northern Mercian area.

Inside the church, the choir stalls feature some fine misericords, and a side chapel is designated as the mortuary chapel for the Vernon and Manners families. There are yet more carved stones in an alcove.   

It’s a short walk down the hill to the centre of town. Bakewell is another busy touristy market town full of nooks and crooks, mellow stone buildings, quaint courtyards, and enough shops and pubs to satisfy the crowds. Next time, I will have more time to look around, and hopefully it will be cooler. 

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I catch my bus with seconds to spare, but not all goes to plan. As we are passing through Buxton on the way to the railway station, a car at the lights suddenly bursts into flames and explodes shortly after the driver escapes. All very dramatic. The fire brigade arrive quickly to quench the flames.

The road is closed, and by the time I walk to the station, I’ve missed the Manchester train. There is one every hour, but unfortunately Northern Rail decide to cancel the next one. So, a two-hour wait, and by the time I’m in Manchester, the rush hour is in full swing. Everyone is hot and bothered. 

The only good outcome is that as I’m walking home through Longridge, a long time later, two friends spot me from the wine bar and I’m dragged in for a welcome pint.

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