Day 15. Duffield to Derby.

The last day of my present intermittent progress.

I start the morning in Duffield with a coffee and a delicious custard. The cafe fills up quickly after ten, their coffee is very good and hence popular with the locals. I’m not in a great rush as I only have about five miles to walk to Derby.

The main street features some large Georgian properties, alongside little independent shops. All very pleasant.

I find the footpath leading to the church, which is a quarter of a mile south. Its position, so far from the village, is thought to have served travellers crossing the river on their way from Ashbourne to Nottingham in Anglo-Saxon times.

St. Alkmund’s Church is on the same site as an Anglo-Saxon timber church. The original part of the present building, however, is Norman, although it has undergone many modifications over the years.

 I reach the River Derwent from the rear of the churchyard and walk upstream a short distance to the fine stone bridge, where it is thought that pilgrims crossed to reach the church.  Duffield Bridge was built across the river, next to the Inn, in the thirteenth century. We sometimes take for granted these structures, but that’s 700 years ago!

A pleasant footpath, the Derwent Valley Heritage Walk, runs through woods and then open fields. 

Past old mills.

Soon, I leave the road up a cobbled track taking me to Little Eaton.

Turning a corner into the village, I am surprised by the variety of shops on offer. I try the butcher’s to purchase a proper pie for lunch later. Along the road is a reminder of the canal that once brought goods from Derby to be offloaded at a wharf, and connected by a tramway to bring coal from Denby. Peering through the trees, one can make out a short stretch of water, all that remains.

A cycle route follows the line of the infilled canal, but I choose a path nearer the river. It appears that there was industry on site at one time. Now, a maze of paths traverses the area. The vegetation is high in its summer growth;  poppies, foxglove, teasel, cow parsley and lots of nettles and brambles.

 Halfway along, I am diverted around an active demolition site; the dust and noise are unpleasant. It will be interesting to examine the old maps later to discover what was going on here.

The only way out is onto a busy main road, but fortunately, there is an underpass. I’m not enjoying this.

Things don’t improve as I lose the path in fields used for growing turf. Several fenced-off air vents border the track. What was their purpose?

I only have an occasional glimpse of the River Derwent.

Needless to say, I haven’t found anywhere suitable to eat that pie.

When at last I emerge from the fields, I’m on the edge of Darley Abbey village and mills.  I find a way through the mill complex, now offices, cafes, and an extensive wedding venue. The oldest parts date from 1789-92, built by the Evans family, some of the earliest cotton mills. The buildings have been carefully restored. There is a Toll house, no longer charging for crossing the Derwent above the mill’s slipway.

On the far side, I find a seat overlooking the waters and the mill buildings. After my brush with industrial wasteland, this is a perfect spot to eat that pie.

Abbey village is a haven of peace and tranquillity. It is a village of delightfully restored cottages, built in rows or around squares for the workers in Evans mills. It was originally an Augustinian priory, founded by Robert Ferrers, second Earl of Derby, around 1146. The Abbey was almost totally destroyed during the Dissolution. The Abbey Pub is the only remaining building, thought to have been used as the Abbey’s guest house for travellers and pilgrims during the 13th century. The pub has been tastefully and carefully restored. I have to stop for a small beer just to see the timbered interior.

There is a wealth of background history available about Darley Abbey

By staying close to the river, I miss the church and most of the village. But it is delightful to stroll through the park, which was given to the people of Derby by the Evans family.

Coming into the city alongside a fine bridge over the Derwent, C18th St.Mary’s Bridge. I must be tiring because I don’t notice the adjacent Bridge Chapel. Built in the early 14th century over the first arch of the then-existing bridge, it offered spiritual reassurance to travellers in dangerous times as they left the city. I may have to return.

The Cathedral towers above the rooftops.  I flop down on a riverside seat to get my bearings before exploring the city. I happen to be next to a very modern-looking gallery, whose purpose I have no idea – I’m about to find out.

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