Author Archives: bowlandclimber

FRUSTRATIONS.

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Another walk that didn’t go to plan.

It’s my fault for not reading the map correctly. We are up against barbed wire, no sign of a stile, and unable to progress. What’s worse is that we have a herd of cows pressing their noses at close quarters. Fortunately, they are not as skittish as some. It takes me some time to untwine the fastening of our escape gate back onto the public right-of-way path on the other side, where we should have been in the first place. By then, another herd of inquisitive cows had gathered to welcome us into their field—betwixt and between.

It all started with a phone call from Mike wanting to do a walk. He belongs to an elderly walking group and soon it will be his turn to lead the monthly walk, the parameters of which are becoming even tighter regarding distance, pub, terrain, stiles and mud. My walks don’t often fit their category, but I come up with a few suggestions. We plump for a Grimsargh itinerary, at least it starts and hopefully finishes at a pub, The Plough.

Straight out of the pub car park, we take a ginnel which is on the line of the Longridge to Preston Railway,  until it closed in 1967. Within 50yards we are striding out into the countryside.  

The embankment stretches ahead, but we take a footpath to skirt around Grimsargh Reservoirs.

The first of several expensive properties we passed today.

These three redundant reservoirs have found new life as a wetland nature reserve maintained by volunteers. One is a reed bed, the next one is low-lying land and water, and the third is deep water—three habitats in one.

We cross the causeway between the first two, stopping at a hide to peer at the shallow lake. Geese, ducks, and a few waders are all we can make out. We see nothing in the reed beds.

We come out onto the main road….

…and straight across into a new housing estate on land adjacent to what was once the Hermitage Restaurant, now a private house hiding in the woods.

The line of the previous footpath is easy to follow, and we are soon out the other side, where a footpath track bypasses Woodfold Farm and heads towards the church. Another good track has us onto Alston Lane. Everything is going well, all perfect for Mike’s group.

But once we hit the fields, my concentration goes, and we end up in the wrong place. The map with its red dot may explain it.

By the time we extricate ourselves out of the fields and away from the cows, some dodgy stiles weaken our resolve, and we walk into Grimsargh on Elston Lane, with tails, well and truly, between our legs.

There are more new developments to view. My final highlight, showing Mike the deep lake of Grimsargh Wetlands with not a bird in sight, probably came too late.

A suggestion that we could tweak the route a little for his group didn’t go down well. 

A BOWLAND STROLL.

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A lot of Bowland Fells involve some serious tramping, remote and rough; tough paths, if you can find them. Today, I will show you a gentle* walk into the Bowland heartlands.

JD is always a willing companion for my fantasies. This morning he creates mayhem trying to park outside my house, whilst the lane is being used as a diversion for road works elsewhere. I have been up since 6 am with the noise of the traffic, only another week to bear.

We are on our way to Dunsop Bridge, the gateway to the High Bowland Fells.

You can park for free on the little lane by Puddle Ducks Cafe. We are there before the cafe opens, and already parking spaces are at a premium. Should I take a waterproof or fleece? The forecast is for a dry and sunny day. But this is Bowland, so I pack both.

And then we are on our way into the Dunsop Valley.

It is a long valley, at first open meadows, but then becoming clasped by the fells. A cold wind is blowing up the valley, and we are tempted to don windproofs. When it turns to August drizzle and then rain, we succumb to the inevitable and feel much better for it.

After passing the confluence of the Brennand and the Whitendale, we take the left fork towards the Brennand Valley. But first, there is a seat at the junction for elevenses, with a view.  I have water, but JD has coffee, which he is willing to share.

We contemplate the harsh life that farmers have in these upland valleys as their tractors pass by. The bench we are sitting on, as well as an adjacent flowerbed, is a memorial to Jack and Sylvia Walker, recent tenants of Brennand Farm. I always marvel at the view up Brennand Valley from here, with its green meadows, lonely farms and fells disappearing into the background. Timeless. But all a bit murky today.

A zoom to Brennand Farm in the murk.

Leaving the road we take to an old byway high above the river, traversing below the fell, Middle Knoll. The last time we came this way, we climbed to its unfrequented summit, just for the sake of it. Today, we just follow the waterlogged path. At some point we meet up wth the track coming up from Brennand.


By now, the skies are clearing and we can make out the upper reaches of the seldom explored Brennad Water. The purple blush of the heather on the fell tops shows up in some of the photos. Looking at the map, it’s time I had another trip up there.

I think we chose the wrong side of the wall for the continuation up boggy ground. There is a plentiful supply of Spagnum Moss and reeds up here. Oh, and the mist has come down again.

But eventually, all vague paths meet near the watershed. It is then downhill, gently at first and then steep and more awkward than I remember. There has been a lot of tree planting on this slope, and it all feels different from the last time I was here. But the Whitendale farmstead is there below. A bumper crop of berries this year on the Rowan.

A footbridge crosses the river, and there ahead of us is a bench for lunch by the Shepherds Cottage. The properties are empty, the farm tenanted from United Utilities, is run by Brennand Farm. The Crown owns Dunsop village, and the tenants pay their rent to the King.

I become distracted by house martins flying in and out of their mud nests under the eaves.

Time to get going, rather than follow the road back down the valley, we know of the rough path on the east side of the river. At times difficult to follow, boggy in parts, it improves as it follows a pipeline now high above the river.


The track crosses Costy Clough, which looks like a wild place, before we reach the water board road for the stroll back to the village.

We stop only to identify a probable clump of Larch Boletus underneath a larch tree with which it is ectomycorrhizal. Look that one up and read if you can, Entangled Life by Merlin Sheldrake, for a whole new perspective on the fungal world.

We fail to identify this pink flower growing in the bog, mainly due to the fear of falling in.  So, a good introduction to the delights of Bowland in all its guises. Don’t forget your waterproof. 

* Let’s rephrase that as ‘relatively gentle’.

 

SHOWERS WITH SUNNY SPELLS.

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A favourite phrase for the TV weather forecaster.

At the tail end of Storm Floris, I didn’t know what to expect for Tuesday’s weather. 

It was raining first thing, but it brightened sufficiently for me to venture out locally, hoping the strong wind would blow the showers away. I needed some exercise after a few days of lethargy and inactivity, and I wanted to check on how the building work was progressing at a local country inn. A few miles were soon planned to include the latter.

Walking out of the village past the cricket ground, the skies darkened, and the mist came down on the hills. There was still rain about. I stayed on the country lanes until I could cut back on the track leading to the hotel. The hills stayed hidden, the wind blew, and it continued to rain, though only lightly. A typical day in the north west, though more like April than August.

Hidden Bowland fells.

Hidden Longridge Fell.

As I approached the hotel, it still looked like a building site. Ferrari’s, as it was known, has been bought by a Manchester events group who are hoping to upgrade the place for upmarket weddings and functions. The ‘functions’ area of the hotel looks good, and I believe they have already hosted pre-booked weddings. The guests would have had to look away from the mess in the car park.

The building was originally built as a hunting lodge for Lord Derby on his Black Moss estate. The Ferrari family had been running it as a hotel for thirty years. A name change was needed, and as the nearby pub, marked on the map, is called The Derby Arms, the name Derby couldn’t have been used. What about reverting to the original Black Moss House? But no, they have chosen the rather boring and inaccurate Longridge House. This is Thornley, not Longridge. These things matter; it’s a shame they didn’t consult locals about the name change.

At the road entrance, they were erecting new signage.

Meanwhile, down the road, the Derby Arms continues as a fine country inn. My sunny spell briefly occurred with views to Longridge Fell from the cricket pitch on the way back.

And then it rained, I was like the proverbial drowned rat by the time I reached home. Not all walks are honey and roses. Compare with the last time I  walked this way in May.

PILGRIMS PROGRESS. FINISHING IN LICHFIELD.

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Day 19.   Fradley to Lichfield.

I’ve been here before at the end of my Two Saints Way from Chester.

The bus stops right outside St Stephen’s Church in Fradley. I notice the writing on the porch above the door, a biblical quote. Presumably, that is where the phrase ‘watch your step’ originated, a fitting warning to us pilgrims.  It is open and the heritage group are setting up an exhibition. They are all very friendly and pleased to narrate the church’s history and show me around. We even find a chocolate egg hidden behind the piano, missing from the children’s Easter hunt. The interior is bright and airy.

One of the group was involved in the planning of the Pilgrim Way Church Trail, which I’m following. By the time I leave, the morning’s drizzle has abated, meaning I have walked the whole route without the need of waterproofs, if only I had known at the start.

They warn me of the HS2 workings closing several footpaths into Lichfield. I plot a way using minor roads further north. Even so much of the area seems to have been grabbed by the HS2 fiasco. I thought it was stopping at Birmingham.

I cross the Coventry Canal and, with hindsight, could possibly have used it for some distance up to Fradley Junction, then connecting to footpaths into Lichfield. I had to look up the Coventry Canal on the map, as I was previously unaware of it.

As it is, I’m committed to a narrow lane used as a cycleway. I think I’m walking through the site of the wartime RAF site, judging from the occasional hangars still visible.

My first view of the famous triple Lichfield steeples, Ladies of the Vale, is ironically through HS2 security fencing.

Little ginnels wind through housing estates and straight to St Chad’s church.

St Chad’s Well was looking attractive, with a covering of Russian Vine. That was until I was closer and could see a body slumped inside it, down and out. Inside the church, a wedding ceremony is being rehearsed, so I don’t linger.

 A word or two about St. Chad while we are here.
“St Chad was born to a noble family around 634. He was educated on Lindisfarne and spent time as Bishop of York and Abbot of Lastingham. In 669, he was appointed Bishop of Mercia, one of the most powerful Anglo-Saxon kingdoms. Chad chose to centre his administration in Lichfield, not Repton, where he founded a church near the holy well and a community which became the religious heart of the kingdom.
  On his death in 672, his remains quickly became venerated and a place of pilgrimage. Bishop Hedda, his successor, consecrated the first Cathedral in Lichfield. St Chad’s remains were transferred from his church to there, and the shrine grew quickly in importance and became one of the most important centres of medieval pilgrimage in the country. At the reformation, his remains were removed for safety into private hands, eventually resting in Birmingham Cathedral”
Since my last visit to Lichfield in 2021, a new shrine has been established in the Cathedral in 2023. Relics from Birmingham have been incorporated into its cross. See below.
The cathedral is across the park and Stowe Pool.

I pause on the way to admire the bronze statue of St. Chad by Peter Walker, 2021,  and some of the ornate stonework.

The usual crowds throng the magnificent western front with all 19th-century replacements of medieval figures, showing apostles, kings, and saints.

I’m greeted at the Cathedral door by one of their volunteers; they must have known I was coming. It turns out he is a historian of all things related to Chad. He tells me of many sites throughout the north; some close to home, which I will have to look into.

There is a service in progress in the chancel, so I sit and listen to it being broadcast throughout the Cathedral—a moving sermon reflecting sensibly on some of the world’s present problems, if only our politicians could listen.

Lichfield Cathedral is the only medieval three-spired Cathedral in the UK, and is a treasured landmark in the heart of England. (Lincoln only has towers) It is one of the oldest places of Christian worship, and the burial place of the  Anglo-Saxon missionary  St Chad. There is so much to see in its interior. George Gilbert Scott was heavily involved in its restorations. As noted above, a new shrine has been placed in the cathedral. It is a simple shrine with a cross incorporating a ‘relic’ of St. Chad from Birmingham, above a circular illuminated halo.

Among the cathedral’s many other treasures, in the Chapter House is the fine 8th-century sculpture of the ‘Lichfield Angel’, thought to be from St Chad’s tomb, as well as the 8th-century Lichfield Gospels.

Last time St. Chad’s Head Chapel was closed, so I am pleased today to be allowed up the steps to this peaceful space. This is where his skull was initially kept as a focus for pilgrims. After his remains were removed, people still came up here to pray. I suppose now his new shrine below will take preference. I’ve already been in the Cathedral for more than an hour and a half and have only cherry-picked my points of interest. One could easily spend half a day in here exploring. But before I leave, some mention should be made of the story behind the stained glass in the Lady Chapel. Originally commissioned for the nuns at Herkenrode Abbey (about 50 miles south-east of Antwerp) in 1532. Fortunately, the glass had been removed and taken to safekeeping before Napoleon’s troops arrived. It was bought by Brooke Boothby, who sold it to the Dean and Chapter for the price he had paid. It was installed here between 1803 and 1806. The abbey itself may be no more, but its images remain for us all to enjoy.

Lichfield’s streets are busy, it looks like an interesting city, but I have trains to catch.


*

*

Another walk completed, even if in stages from January, due to circumstances.  From an initial idea of connecting Whalley Abbey to Manchester Cathedral, it evolved into a more extended pilgrimage from my home to Lichfield. Maybe about 160 miles in all. Following ancient ways, passing Saxon crosses, absorbing Ecclesiastic history, meeting wonderful people, and experiencing our diverse environment in all its guises.

How you approach a route is in your own hands; it may be a spiritual journey, a chance to experience the rural beauty or simply hearty exercise. Let’s not forget that walking is fun.

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. THE PILGRIM WAY CHURCH TRAIL.

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Day 18. Branston Bridge to Fradley. 

Rather than just walking along the canal towpath towards Lichfield, I have found the Pilgrim Way Church Trail, A fourteen-mile route from St Michael’s Church in Tatenhill to Lichfield Cathedral. It follows an ancient path which may have been the route taken by Saint Chad on his journey to establish Lichfield Cathedral.

And how I’m enjoying it.

There are six churches on the trail, fine examples of churches from the Saxon to Victorian periods. The route takes you through some of Staffordshire’s finest countryside.

I’m back at Branston Bridge Inn, but I leave the canal to walk up lanes to Tatenhill. It’s already warming with the full sun.

Fortunately, there is a cycle path for most of the way.

Tatenhill.  St. Michael and all Saints.

  The squat sandstone Parish Church of St. Michael & All Saints Church is a 13th-century building which was substantially enlarged and altered in the 15th century. Around 1890, Bodley ‘restored’ the church.

The church is closed, so I walk on up the road. I stop to check where my footpath leads when a farmer appears. He has just been feeding his stock. He is happy to chat about all things rural. He runs a small farm with only 15 cows and 40 sheep, which he manages in an environmentally sound manner. He is a tenant on the current Lord Burton’s land. They tolerate each other despite being so different. Surprisingly, he knows Lancashire well from all his dealings, even visiting a blacksmith in Bolton-by-Bowland.

Whilst chatting, he points out a well across the road which I was unaware of. He calls it a ‘wishing well’, but it has possibly been a holy well in the past. Underneath its hood, there is clear water.

I take the path through the farmer’s fields, and thankfully, his cattle are out of sight. A wood alongside has won an award for forestry, but I can’t see why. Along the byway hedges berries are flourishing this year.

Over the valley is a large manor house, Rangemore Hall, previously owned by Lord Burton.

My way takes me through one of those places with accumulated junk, in this case, cars. There is a Morris Minor in there somewhere.

Escaping from the junk yard, I dive straight into a field of sweet corn where the path is not obvious, I just push my way through.

A lane takes me to my highest point and then straight down through varied countryside to the scattered houses and church of Dunstall.

Dunstall St Mary’s.

St Mary’s is a church built for the Dunstall Estate and stands alone. It has an imposing tower demonstrating the wealth of the benefactors, the Arkwright family, before they moved to Cromford. It was completed in 1853.

I enjoy the cool of the beautiful stone interior. The walls of the Chancel are particularly fine, lined with alabaster. The Church Warden is busy preparing for a wedding tomorrow.

The font is carved from Caen limestone with ornate panels, here Moses is striking the rock.

A fine alabaster Reredos at the altar was in memory of the Hardy family, who ensured the church was completed after Arkwright’s death.

Everywhere you look, there are delicate carvings.

The grandeur is completed with stained glass windows in memory of the Hardy family.

On a more mundane note. I eat my lunch sitting in the porch out of the hot sun.

The nearby listed church hall was once the estate’s school and has apparently a fine interior.

Onwards through the Dunstall Estate, past some delightful properties and across the land on a bridleway. The Dunstall Church stands out across the way. This is quintessential English countryside.

There are plenty of options through the fields.

Barton-under-Needwood has a busy main street, no more so than at the local Co-op, where I purchase a coffee and cake to be enjoyed on the seat outside. The church is only a stone’s throw away in a well-kept churchyard.

Barton-under-Needwood.  St. James’.

 Local boy John Taylor, the eldest of triplets, rose to prominence and riches under Henry  VIII. He decided to build a new church to replace the 12th-century chapelry, which existed in Barton. He was already a sick man and died in 1534, a year after the church was consecrated. 

Its exterior perpendicular style has changed little in seven centuries, but the interior has been altered many times. 

As I enter through the glass inner doors, I notice they are etched with what looks like a stylised conch shell, which is St. Peter’s emblem, found on many pilgrim routes.

I don’t find anything unique in the church, but there are some fine, mostly Victorian and modern, stained glass windows.

After a bit of newish estate wandering, I come across the Royal Oak. At last, a pub serving Marstons Pedigree on draught. I can’t leave the area without tasting one of Burton’s famous brews. And very cosy it is inside, top marks.. Out of town, I pick up a green lane leading straight to the church at Wychnor.

Wychnor St. Leonards.

The original church was a simple, small Norman nave, which was extended in the late 1200s. Over the next few hundred years, an aisle and a tower were added. Unfortunately, regular services are no longer held here, and it is not open today.

The adjacent fields show evidence of earthworks of a medieval village, which even I could make out.
.

Suddenly, I’m back alongside the Trent and Mersey Canal. I’m not sure where the original tow path ran, but along here, modern walkways have been installed over the marshy areas.

I manage to catch this Heron.

I’m on the edge of the village of Alrewas. 

A couple are enjoying a picnic by a branch of the River Trent, where a ford used to be on trade and pilgrim routes. Interested in my walk, she spends a lot of time helpfully suggesting cafes I could visit, despite the fact that most of them were miles from my route. Car drivers have little conception of what it is to walk a long-distance route.

Alrewas.  All Saints

A church, connected to Lichfield, has stood on this important site from at least 822AD (some suggest St Chad himself founded it in the 870s), the first building being of wood. This, in due course, was replaced by a simple structure in local stone and developed over the centuries since then.  It is closed today.

I don’t see much of Alrewas except the village sports fields before quiet lanes into Fradley.

 I walk along nondescript housing estates. People I meet, in their front gardens, have little knowledge of where or when buses leave to take me back to Burton. My reading of the timetable is mistaken; there is no 15.35. Despite the buses running supposedly  every hour, they seem to miss this slot.

So that gives me time to walk along to St. Stephen’s church

Fradley.   St. Stephens.

St. Stephen’s was built in 1861 as a Chapel of Ease for Alrewas. Its unusual design and its position on the corner of Old Hall Lane have made it a landmark feature for the village. A pleasing modern building, again closed, but that leaves me to look around the well-kept graveyard. There are 34 simple war graves, many Australian airmen alongside RAF pilots from the nearby wartime airport. In amongst them is a sole headstone to a German pilot, Joachim Schwarz.

My bus turns up at 16.35 and drives around in circles to get me back to Burton. It’s been a long, hot day, The Weighbridge Inn is the grounds of my hotel, so I enjoy a pint there on the way in.

***

 

 

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. MAINLY REPTON.

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Day 17. Repton to Branston Bridge. 

Everyone has been telling me of the wonders of Repton’s St. Wystan’s church.

My bus drops me off at the Cross, the original market cross..On the way in, I spotted a local butcher and grocery shop, so I head there first to buy a proper cheese and onion pie for lunch.  I’m disappointed with supermarket ones. Back at the cross, I am able to take better photos than I did during yesterday’s rush hour. I wander up the High Street to take a look at some of the buildings, many of which are owned by Repton School.

A sign advertises The Maple Leaf, a community cafe down a side street. I’m served a large cup of coffee for less than £3 by the lovely lady volunteers. A gentleman has the same idea, and we share a table outside. It is already uncomfortably hot and humid. In conversation, it turns out he is an amateur Local Historian. We enjoy chatting about Saxons, pilgrims, hidden wells, the Trent, and much more. You can find him at http://www.fourshireshistory.co.uk

Time to have a look around St Wystan’s Church. St. Wystan is depicted above the porch entrance, holding his sword.

“Repton is the cradle of Christianity in the Midlands”, says the sign in the church. Christians have worshipped since 653 AD, when an Abbey was established on this site, following the introduction of Christianity to Mercia by Elfleda. 

From the outside, St.Wystan’s is a handsome medieval church. Its tall and thin spire dates from the 15th century, as does the tower.  Other features date back to the 14th century. Much of the chancel is Saxon, extensively modified, and it becomes particularly interesting, for here, under the chancel, lies a Saxon crypt. 

The Chancel. Note the upper chamber, which would have been reached by steps from outside.

 Repton Crypt dates from the first half of the 8th century, during the reign of King Aethelbald of Mercia. Constructed perhaps as a baptistery, sunk 1.2 m into the ground,  with a spring below it. It was later converted into a mausoleum, perhaps to receive the body of King Aethelbald himself. King Wiglaf (827 – 840) built the church chancel above it. Wiglaf ‘s grandson, Wystan, was murdered in 849 and buried at Repton. Wystan became venerated as a saint probably after ‘miracles’ occurred, and the crypt then became a place of pilgrimage. When the Vikings invaded, the remains of St Wystan were taken away by escaping monks; they were returned to Repton after the Vikings had departed. (Later, King Cnut of England (1016-1035) had them removed to Evesham Abbey.) The church was restored after the Vikings left, but the importance of the crypt gradually declined. The adjoining priory didn’t survive the Dissolution, although the parish church was spared. Archaeologists discovered a mass Viking grave located above where the Trent used to run.

For a long time, the crypt was entirely forgotten, lost beneath later work. It was only when a workman fell into it during building work in 1779 that it was rediscovered. Near the crypt part of an Anglo-Saxon cross-shaft was found. On one side is a kilted warrior on a horse.   This is thought to be a representation of King Aethelbald of Mercia, who died in 757 and was entombed in the crypt. The ‘Repton Stone’ was seen in the Derby Museum on my previous visit.

Narrow, worn stairs lead down into it, and once your eyes have adjusted, you see beautifully carved stone piers supporting the arched roof enclosing four burial niches.  It is one of the oldest and most important examples of Anglo-Saxon architecture to survive intact.   Sir John Betjeman described it as “holy air encased in stone”. And when you stand down here in complete silence, you begin to feel what he meant. 

In comparison, the rest of the church has less interest. A tall bell tower, a C15th alabaster tomb, Victorian and later stained glass, and more fragments of crosses.

St Diuma, St Wystan, St Guthlac, St. Chad.

Adjacent to the church is the arched entrance into Repton School, from the C13th and the only surviving part of the Augustinian Priory on this site.

Enough history, let’s get on our way. 

Passing the School’s chapel, I find a path alongside the Leisure Centre, and I’m soon in undulating rough fields. There are occasional views across the way to the Willington Wetlands, where Beavers have been reintroduced. 

St Anne’s Well is marked on the map but is not obvious or signed from the PRoW. I have to backtrack and scramble down the bank to an overgrown hollow, and there it is, a stone-lined trough leading to a channel. I push through the brambles to get a closer look. There is no water at present, but the silted-up base is damp. What was its function? Given its name, did it have some religious connection?

It’s down there somewhere.

I move on through flower-rich meadows, now apparently on the Trent Valley Way.

Passing a pipeline bridge with dire warnings not to climb, so I just follow the footpath on this side of the Trent to Newton Solney.

A convenient bench serves for a snack. Newton Solney was a brick-making centre in the 17th and 18th centuries, and on a trade route with a nearby river crossing.

I have time to look around St Mary the Virgin’s church. 14th century, but restored and enlarged over the years. There are several tombs of the local de Solney family dating back to the C14th.

The kissing gate out of the churchyard is a precursor of those new galvanised ones – but much more elegant.

A busy main road bisects the village.

Once across, a walled track leaves the road, the bricks probably made in the village.

It leads to the large Newton Park farmhouse, but my footpath crosses fields with the spire of Winshill, the prominent church ahead.

Through Bladon Farm, and down their access road, do you remember these old farm diesel pumps?

The climb back up to Winshill was starting to look intimidating.

But then a  Trent Valley Way marker alerted me to the Dalebrook walk. So, back into the undergrowth to follow the little stream. The sandstone bed is clearly visible in places.

Local communities have facilitated some colourful wildflower areas.

I eventually come out onto the main road alongside the Trent, but at least there is a decent footway.

A lot of the properties along here have a riverside frontage, or rather backage. That must add a few grand to the value of your house.

I’m heading to the Trent Bridge, a famous Burton landmark. This 29-arch bridge was completed in 1864, replacing an earlier medieval 36-arch one downstream. The river has changed course over the years. The New Bridge was widened in 1926 and had a tramway running across it until 1929. There is a photo of both bridges coexisting for a short period.

It’s a different picture today with queues of cars trying to cross in the rush hour.

I was hoping to walk into Burton through the riverside Washlands, a flood plain on the edge of Burton. The way seems to be blocked off with those builder’s wire fences, so I don’t risk it.

Instead, I just walk along the High Street. Burton-on-Trent was the brewery centre of the country at one time, and there are some fine civic buildings from that prosperous time.  

Several old brewery sites are passed as I walk up Station Road. 

Coors Brewery is the new face of brewing in Burton. I’m feeling fit, so walk on past my hotel to do a few more miles and shorten tomorrow. Past the station, I come across the prominent Town Hall and then the Gothic style St. Paul’s Church.

An ally gains the Trent-Mersey Canal, whose towpath I follow for a couple of miles.

The Bridge Inn, where I waited for my taxi, didn’t even have a draft Burton beer. 

 

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. ESCAPING DERBY.

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Day 16. Derby to Repton.

 My mobile rings at 10 am “Do you fancy a coffee?”  I do, as I’ve just arrived back in Derby after a very early start from home. Over the sound of the busy traffic, I explain my whereabouts; no need to explain why I am here. Hopefully, completing my ‘pilgrimage’ to Lichfield. That coffee will have to wait. 

On this trip, I managed to walk across Manchester almost entirely on cycle paths or parklands. I was pleased with my choice of routes, but the leisure infrastructure was a great help. So far, I managed to walk into Derby in rural surroundings, but getting out of the southern side could prove challenging. Looking at the map, there are no obvious green spaces and no cycle ways or redundant railways. I need to get to Repton somehow.  Half the fun of choosing your own route is the time spent linking up likely footpaths on the OS map.

However, first, I want to visit a couple of sites in Derby that I missed last time. 

St. Alkmund’s Well.    Derby’s last remaining Holy Well. The earliest mention of the well dates back to 1190, but it may have been in use much earlier, possibly as early as 800. I find it hidden away in a residential area of the city.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/c8reyld535jo

I retrace my steps to the bridge over the bypass leading to the stately St Mary’s Roman Catholic Church. It is closed, but I find a bench in its peaceful garden for a breakfast snack.

Nearby, a plaque commemorates the site of the original St. Alkmund’s church, which was demolished to make way for the bypass road. During this demolition, the sarcophagus of St. Alkmund was discovered, which I viewed in the Derby Museum on my last visit.  Here are some historic pictures of the church and its demise.

I can’t find the plaque, so I move on.

A 5-minute walk away is The Chapel of St. Mary on the Bridge, one of six medieval bridge chapels left in the UK. It stands just above the Derwent next to the 18th-century St Mary’s Bridge, which replaced a medieval bridge to which the chapel was originally attached. I don’t know how I missed it before.

The first chapel was probably built late in the 13th century on the original stone bridge. Later in the 14th century, it was replaced by the present building. The chapel would have been a place of prayer for travellers leaving the city and a collection point for bridge tolls.   The hagioscope, or squint, was used by the hermit to monitor traffic, as well as by passers-by to see the altar. One of the arches of the old bridge can be made out under the chapel.

Unfortunately, it is closed, so I miss out on its peaceful interior. It’s open on some Saturdays and continues to have services.

I don’t dally at the Museum of Making, the Cathedral, or the Art Gallery/Museum, all of which I visited last time.

Instead, I head across the city to visit St. Peter’s church, which apparently has much of interest from Medieval times. The streets around here are edgy with lowlife, a heavy police presence reinforcing the feeling. ( I learn later that there have been recent armed robberies here, a bank and the Pawnbrokers, hence all the police) Anyhow, the church was closed, so I don’t see the Florence Nightingale window.

I’ve had my fill of Derby’s beggars, drunks and addicts. Sorry to be judgmental, but it is a fact of many city centres these days. My resolve is weakened, and I jump on the first bus heading out of town. This saves a couple of miles of suburban walking. A Pilgrim’s dilemma, forgive me.

Using my bus app, I know where to alight in Littleover to get back on track. The road looks busy with little verge, but fortunately, there is a traffic-free way alongside a new housing estate. I get my first glimpse of the countryside along with the loud mooing of a herd of cows. Let’s hope I don’t encounter too many of them.

A footpath continues past a fishing lake to the edge of the farmland. The bedraggled Heron is the only one fishing.

The farm is bypassed, and I’m on my way. The fields are not well walked, but those new-fangled metal kissing gates lead the way. Strangely, they are all missing their yellow catches. Did they run out of funds during the installation, or are scrap metal dealers profiting? 

Kestrels quarter the newly cut fields;  no doubt, the rodents have less cover.

Over to my left are five cooling towers, all that remain of Willington Power Station, a familiar sight for travellers on the A50.

I pass through one of those farms that collect junk, but don’t worry, they are commited to the environment. 

The steeple of Findern church is a good landmark to head for. On a map somewhere, I saw this route marked as The Priory Way, and as I enter Findern, there is a board explaining where and why the Priory existed; it has since disappeared completely.

I find the Find Cafe in the village’s old meeting rooms.  A pleasant surprise: good coffee and cake. 

Findern was mentioned in the Domesday Book when it was held by Burton Abbey.  All Saints’ Church was rebuilt in 1863, on the site of a Saxon place of worship. Its fine sandstone a pale colour.  Again, it is closed. There are some interesting properties around the village green. The village pump is preserved along the High Street; it was used until 1931, when a water main arrived.  

A short stretch of pavement walking alongside a busy road over the A50, and I’m soon back in fields leading to the Trent and Mersey Canal. First, I can’t resist diving into the Willow Spiral, funded by the nearby Mercia Marina. It could do with a trim, but I do reach the centre. 

A metal footbridge has me on the canal towpath for a stretch into Willington. The canal barge owners are a friendly lot with some fine narrowboats.

There is little to detain me in Willington. Despite the sign, the church is closed. I’ve not had much luck so far today. The bridge leaving Willington over the River Trent was built in 1836, replacing a ferry, and was one of the last main road toll bridges in England. It was not made free until 1898. It has five elegant arches, which I can view from the site of the demolished toll house. The toll fees per animal, for assorted carriages and wagons, were based on the thickness of their wheel. 

The stretch of road leading to Repton is very busy, and the pavement is narrow.  The spire of St Wystan’s prominently ahead. I’m relieved to arrive in one piece.

Immediately, the influence of the Repton School premises takes prominence with their chapel and modern buildings. The Chapel was opened in 1859; prior to that, pupils attended St. Wystan’s.

It’s rush hour, and the village roads are a nightmare; I risk taking a photo of the Village Cross and St Wystan’s Church before catching the bus to Burton-on-Trent. Exploration of Repton can wait till tomorrow.  

***

I’m booked into the basic GO2 Hotel for three nights. A converted grain store by the railway.

***

NATURE IN MY LOUNGE.

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This morning, as I was preparing to write a short post on our peaceful walk with the dogs yesterday, a loud bang was followed by the sound of breaking glass. 

Coming downstairs, I found a Collared Dove panicking in a window of my lounge. I managed to hold and then release him or her out the front door. Looking around, I saw a hole smashed through a window at the back and a Sparrow Hawk perched on a ledge outside. There had obviously been a chase which ended up through my window. I hate to think what would have happened if the hawk had followed into the room. Suffice to say, there are no photographs of the birds, only of the hole in the window.

Fortunately, neither bird seemed any the worse for the encounter. I’m still picking up pieces of glass. I feel that my house and I are jinxed this year.

*

To go back to yesterday, my son and youngest grandson took a short, enjoyable walk from Brock Bottoms car park with the two dogs. We walked as far as the old mill, which is slowly being overtaken by vegetation. While we pottered around the mill ruins, the dogs enjoyed the river.

I treat them to a meal at the nearby Cross Keys, my grandson was somewhat outphased by the size of his pork ribs…

… but he is a growing lad.  The dogs had sausages. 

Meanwhile, back at home, my two little kittens were unconcerned about the dogs, and thankfully, the dogs were unconcerned about them. They are slowly taking over my home, as cats do. 

Each to their own.

Oscar on plastic bags in the kitchen.

Dusty taking a lounge cushion.

Let us out of here.

Life is never dull. 

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. WIRKSWORTH CHURCH.

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Day 13 postscript.      St. Mary’s Church.

Arriving in Wirksworth, I discovered another church, St Mary’s, where I spent some time absorbing its history. I have lost the information booklets I purchased, so once again I’m relying on my photographs and Simon Jenkins.

The church is very welcoming and provides a wealth of information for visitors interested in the site’s history. I met the friendly team vicar, there are 10 churches grouped together, who was busy with a treasure hunt for a local school in the grounds. She explained the local custom of ‘clipping the church’ in September when the congregation, probably augmented, holds hands encircling the outside of the building. She wished me good fortune on my journey and emphasised I must visit Repton.

The earliest parts of St. Mary’s date back to the 13th century, including the lower part of the tower. Much was added in subsequent centuries. Sir George Gilbert Scott was responsible for major restoration in the 19th century. This is probably when  all fragments of carving were incorporated into the walls, a gallery of early sculpture. These carvings suggest a church would have been established on this site as early as the 8th or 9th century.

Going around the church clockwise.

Starting in the north transept is a large collection of early carvings set randomly  into the wall.

In the north aisle, there are two 16th-century chest tombs, exquisitely carved in alabaster, of the Gell family. Sir Anthony Gell (d. 1583) has his statue on his tomb. He established a Free Grammar School in the town in 1576. Alongside is the simpler tomb of his father, Sir Ralph Gell.

The chancel contains the tomb of Sir Anthony Lowe, a Gentleman of the Bedchamber, who served Henry VII, Henry VIII, Edward VI and Mary I and died in 1555.

The church is noted for containing an Anglo-Saxon carving of a lead miner, “T’owd Man”, the oldest representation of a miner anywhere in the world. It was moved here in 1863 from Bonsall Church for safekeeping and has never been returned. The church makes a good deal of this relic and has installed a video featuring him in a ghostly form, in which he recounts his perilous life as a miner. History brought to life.

There are more random, rather strange fragments of carved stones on the walls. 

However, the most significant piece is a large coffin lid dating back to approximately AD 700. It is believed that this artefact belonged to one of the early mission priests who established the church here during the conversion of the ancient kingdom of Mercia to Christianity. The lid depicts scenes from the life of Jesus and other biblical stories in a complex composition. It was discovered under the chancel during those 19th-century restorations.

There are two fonts in the church. One is a Norman cauldron-type stone font, and the other dated 1662.

There were many Victorian stained glass windows. Perhaps the most notable is that in the north transept, which was designed by Edward Burne-Jones, a noted Pre-Raphaelite artist, and created by the William Morris workshop in 1907. It depicts Christ and various saints.   (You may remember his window in Youlgreave Church).

The biblical significance of some of the other windows is lost on me. 

I probably missed as much as I have highlighted here; the church was full of historical curiosities. The sad fact, the vicar told me, is that they only have a congregation of about fifty these days. It was built for five hundred. 

PILGRIMS PROGRESS. YOULGREAVE CHURCH.

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Day 13 postscipt.   A brief look around All Saints Parish Church in Youlgreave, with its Saxon connections.

Usually, when visiting churches, I pick up or purchase an information leaflet, and most churches have an electronic payment machine.  I have mislaid my excellent guide to here, as well as Wirksworth Church, so I’m relying mainly on memory and Simon Jenkins’ comprehensive book – England’s Thousand Best Churches.

I arrived here from Bakewell, with the church tower dominating the village.

There was probably a wooden Saxon church on this site, but the present building dates back to the 1150 period and has been much modified since.

The oldest surviving parts are in the nave, featuring typical thick Norman pillars and arches. Since then, many different styles have been incorporated – a large Gothic chancel, Tudor windows, and a 15th-century perpendicular-style bell tower.

Blocked Norman door.

Perpendicular style tower door.

The Norman font originally belonged  to the church at nearby Elton and is a simple sandstone affair, but with an added stoup with a salamander (a symbol of baptism) carved into its support. 

Above the altar is the great east window, featuring stained glass by the William Morris Company, designed by the Pre-Raphaelite master Edward Burne-Jones.

I’m not sure about these windows. A Victorian and a C20 memorial to incumbent vicars.

Another stained window in the north aisle is a poignant memorial window to Rennie Crompton Waterhouse of Lomberdale Hall, Middleton-by-Youlgreave, killed at Gallipoli in 1915.The window glass was gathered from the ruined cathedral at Ypres and other destroyed churches in Flanders, and brought back to Youlgreave by his brother.

I have two photos of tombs within the chancel.

The first one I’ve identified as a fine marble tomb to a Thomas Cockayne, who died in a fight in 1488. The effigy is smaller than life size, indicating that he died before his father.

The other chancel tomb is a worn effigy of a knight with his feet on a lion, dated to the 13th century and thought to represent Sir John Rossington. Notice the tiled floor.   

In the north aisle, there is a wall memorial dedicated to Roger Rooe of Alport, who died in 1613, and his wife, depicted wearing a top hat, and their eight children.  The memorial is an ornate Jacobean-style piece, featuring the couple facing each other with their children standing below.

Another memorial is an alabaster plaque from 1492 commemorating Robert and Julia Gilbert, featuring a central figure of the Virgin, and kneeling figures of Julia and numerous daughters on one side, and Robert with numerous sons on the other. The inscription says that Gilbert “caused this chapel to be made”. They certainly had large families back then.

The choir stalls, likely Victorian, feature some interestingly carved heads.

If I had looked up I would have seen wooden carved roof bosses.
I was most interested in the small figure in a semicircular niche, probably a C12th carving of a pilgrim, with his bag and staff. I felt a close infinity. Another probably AngloSaxon stone carving depicts a man, could he be peeing in the bushes?
Elsewhere a piscina is held up by a ?Norman head.

That was an hour well spent. My present mileage of 8 to 10 miles per day gives me ample time to explore and interact with people along the way.

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. A TASTE OF DERBY.

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Day 15 addendum.

I’ve never visited Derby before, and I’m pleasantly surprised by the mix of old and new. I want to visit the Cathedral and the Museum before catching my train home. I stop at a seat in an open square to rehydrate and pack my sticks away. This just so happens to be alongside The Museum of Making, which I had not intended to visit. Chatting to a couple on the n̈ext seat who happen to work there, I’m encouraged to have a look inside.  I’m glad I did. 

The Museum of Making. 

The Derby Silk Mill here is widely regarded as the site of the world’s first modern factory, built in the valley that helped to change the world. It has recently had a major facelift. Here is its raison d’être.

“Celebrating the area’s rich history of innovation, the Museum of Making in the Derwent Valley Mills UNESCO World Heritage Site is a contemporary space telling Derby’s 300-year history of making to inspire new creativity. Designed and made by the people and industries of Derby, with exhibits, workshops, activities and events, there’s something here for everyone” 

I am immediately enthralled as I walk in and am greeted by one of their volunteers. I explain that I’m just having a quick look around, as I’m really in Derby for its Anglo-Saxon associations. I come out two hours later and thank her. 

The Rolls-Royce engine dominates the entrance hall, a thing of beauty as well as engineering magic.

The subsequent floors feature the most amazing collections of memorabilia, all on display, more like a junk shop to browse through than a traditional museum of glass cases.  But it is not all random; the exhibits are organised by technology and materials. ‘Things’ made in or associated with Derby from the start of the Industrial Revolution. Far too many objects and information to share with you in this post.  Visit Derby, bring the children, and immerse yourself in the experience.

As a bonus, there is an art exhibition on the top floor, EarthBound.  Exploring the hidden layers of the  Earth, examining how we are connected to this surface through the eyes of a diverse group of artists.

“EarthBound aims to make us pause for breath and think that our future survival may well depend on our having a deeper understanding and respect for the incredible micro-organisms and fungal networks that hold our planet in balance. The smallest things can have the biggest impact on our survival as a species”.

I stop by the ‘making and repair’ room, where the couple who recommended I visit are busy working. I’ve been invited back for an extended visit. 

*

Churches dedicated to Saint Alkmund, the Saxon patron saint of Derby, who died in 800AD, have been constructed on a site in Derby since the 9th century. The most recent Saint Alkmund’s Church was a Victorian church, which stood in a Georgian square between Bridgegate and Queen Street. The church and its yard were demolished in 1968 to make way for the construction of a road to improve traffic flow.  A stone coffin and the remains of a 4-metre (13 ft) tall stone cross were recovered from the site and transferred to Derby Museum and Art Gallery. (I have also read about St. Alkmund’s Well, which is nearby)

*

So I’m off to the Museum and Art Gallery to see the Saxon stones, except most people I ask for directions don’t know of it. Typical of many of us, neglecting what’s on our doorstep for treasures further afield. I grab a ground plan and head to the Archaeology room.  The central space is occupied by a Bronze Age wooden boat, crafted from a single 10-meter-long oak log. 

St. Alkmund’s Sarcophagus, c. AD 800  is the stone coffin removed from St. Alkmund’s Church during its demolition. Initially placed in the 9th century church on the same site, it is remarkably well-preserved and features the intricate interlacing carvings with which I’m becoming increasingly familiar on this trip. It is carved from a single block of sandstone and weighs nearly a ton. Its lid has gone missing.

Alongside is St. Alkmund’s Cross, c.AD 850, an Anglo-Saxon stone cross found in the churchyard when it was being rebuilt in 1840. It is only part of the upper shaft and has intricate carvings on each face, mainly of animals.  These don’t show up well in my photographs, but I have one for completeness. 

Also found at St. Alkmund’s Church in 1840 is a fragment of a 10th-century Viking Hogback tombstone..

The Repton Stone was found in 1979 outside of  Repton Church. It is thought to be an upper section of a standing cross, c 700 – 873. One face shows a mounted figure, wearing mail armour and brandishing a sword and shield. This has been identified as King Æthelbald of Mercia. In 757, Æthelbald was killed and buried at Repton. If this is Æthelbald, it would make it the earliest large-scale pictorial representation of an English monarch.

I only glance at some of the other rooms, nature and history, etc, but I spend some time in the Joseph Wright gallery.

Joseph Wright, 1734-1797, was born in Derby and became a renowned portrait and landscape painter at the beginning of the Industrial Revolution and the Age of Enlightenment. He was particularly noted for his use of light on his subject matter. I have previously seen one or two of his paintings in other galleries; they are very distinctive, but to view so many in one room was a treat. Here are four well-known ones to sample.

In complete contrast, in another room, was some work by Marion Adams,1898 – 1995, a Derby-born teacher who found some fame as a surrealist.

*

I make my way back to the cathedral. The Cathedral Church of All Saints was founded in 943 by King Edmund of Wessex and is at the heart of the city. That church disappeared, and there were rebuilds in the intervening centuries. The present church is a Georgian rebuilding by James Gibbs, completed in 1725. The tower, however, dates from the 16th century.  To offset the rather austere interior, Gibbs introduced a wrought-iron chancel screen, extending across the entire width of the church, manufactured by the local iron-smith and gate-maker Robert Bakewell.

The first impression upon entering is one of space and light. There is no heavily stained glass.

An organist is playing, or rather practising, which adds to the atmosphere.

The two modern stained glass windows, by Ceri Giraldus Richards, at the east end of both aisles represent the light and dark forces.

I come across the artist Joseph Wright’s gravestone, saved from the ill-fated St. Alkmunds Church. The tomb of Bess of Hardwick is a prominent feature,  “one of the richest and most powerful women in the kingdom”  This Elizabethan lady was responsible for Hardwick Hall and Chatsworth House.

I missed the memorial to Florence Nightingale and probably much more. 

*

In the distance, I can see a beautiful church. I walk towards it, and there is a connecting bridge across the freeway, St. Alkmunds Way. This is St. Mary’s RC church. Designed by Augustus Welby Northmore Pugin (1812-1852), an inspirational figure whose dedication and spiritual attachment to the Gothic medium was to transform English church architecture. 

*

I will be returning to Derby to start the last few days of my pilgrimage to Lichfield, and I have a few other sights to see in the city. 

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. THE DERWENT VALLEY.

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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.

C18th St. Paul’s.

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.

***

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. MORE HEIGHTS.

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Day 14. Wirksworth to Duffield. 

It’s Market Day in Wirksworth and very busy, so I just set off without my usual morning coffee. I have to climb up to Alport Height somehow. There are numerous small lanes and field paths to choose from. The scattered houses of Gorsey Bank are my first objective.

I pass a small Catholic church on the way, and then Providence Mill. Wirksworth mills were renowned in the 19th and early 20th century for specialised tape manufacture. John Bowmer began tape making in 1883 at Providence Mill, later known as Gorsey Bank Mill. They produced narrow red tape to bind legal documents. (That’s where the term ‘red tape’ comes from.) The firm was later to take pride in the fact that it had manufactured the fuse-binding tape for every Mills Bomb used in the First World War. The mill is now an exclusive-looking private residence.

At the end of the metalled road, a wide byway, Prathall Lane, continues to climb. There is a wayside water trough, so this must have been a route regularly used by horses.

There are views back to the limestone quarry overshadowing Wirksworth and more rural scenes to the west. The summit of Alport Height with its antennae appears, so I just follow the little lanes in the right direction.

A path leads to the parking area next to the antennae. There is a toposcope, but to be honest, although the views are far-reaching, they lack interest, and the masts obscure half of it. The trig point is at 314 m (1,030 ft).

If this ‘port’ was on a long-lost trackway, could this be a marker stone? How do you date stones anyhow?

I don’t hang around on what is a bleak spot in the wind. My attempt at a shortcut back to the road is thwarted by a motocross track with noisy bikes churning up the sand. But what is this? Not noticed on the way up, but a rocky pinnacle in a small abandoned quarry. The Alport Stone. Chipped holds on one side tempt you onwards, but how do you get back down?

I have found some old photos of early ascents.

I make good progress by sticking to the quiet lanes, the type with grass down the middle.

The Midshires Way is encountered again, where it climbs onto a small ridge. Longwalls Lane must be an ancient track with signs of cobbles and worn down to the bedrock in places.

At its end, as I drop down to Blackbrook  (who, according to all the signs, doesn’t want any more houses, like similar villages being swamped with developments), there ahead of me is The Chevin, a gritstone ridge above Belper leading me straight to Duffield. How much more appealing than Alport Height? In Blackbrook, I cross a ford and climb through trees to a cluster of houses at Farnah Green, where by the roadside is a 19th-century milestone. Derby 7  Wirksworth 6. And then I’m onto the ancient track across the Chevin, possibly the Portway, and maybe used by the Romans to reach their Lutadarum, a grand way to finish my walk today. Cobbled most of the way with views down into the Derwent Valley and Belper. I walk along with a local couple, and he explains the history of the area to me. I would have been puzzled by this isolated wall structure, seen by the wayside without his knowledge.

From the listed buildings site – Former firing range. Circa 1800. The range is comprised of a tall, tapering target wall, aligned north-east to south-west, approximately 25 metres long and 5 metres high. The wall is built of coursed squared gritstone, with a heavy flat gritstone coping. To the southeast of the wall are a group of five regularly- spaced rectangular coursed stone firing butts or platforms, the first being approx 150 metres from the wall, and spaced every 25 metres thereafter.

The firing range was built for the local militia, the Belper Volunteer Battalion, raised by the Strutt family who established the textile factory communities at Belper and Milford. Lt. Cl. Joseph Strutt was the battalion commander. The range was used during the Napoleonic Wars, and again in 1860, during the Boer War and the First World War. The firing range is important evidence of the part played by local militias in the national defence strategy of the early C19, and is a rare survival of the period. 

Quite unique.

I left the couple and made my way down through the extensive and hilly golf course past the clubhouse onto the main road in Duffield.

I had not gone far when I noticed this sign by some steps.

Duffield Castle is a remnant of the estate of the de Ferrers family, who originally owned the village; however, they lost their local possessions to the king in 1266, and their castle, if it ever was finished, was demolished. All that is visible is the mound with traces of foundations and a well. As the sign says, use your imagination.

The train takes me back to Matlock.


***

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. LEAD AND LIME.

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Day 13.  Winster to Wirksworth.

Winster and Wirksworth were both known for lead mining, a very valuable commodity in the medieval period, and both are mentioned in the Domesday Book. They prospered in the 18th and 19th centuries. On the map the deep Griffe Grange Valley,  with its busy Via Gellia road, forms a barrier between the two villages. I need to find a way around this without incurring much height loss. The Limestone Way takes a far too circuitous route. 

Winster is bedecked for the culmination of its festive Wakes week. I get a coffee from the village shop and sit outside watching the locals come and go to what is now the centre of village life.

Across the way is the Market House, dating back to the 17th century, when it would have been the centre for village life. At one time, the ground floor was an open, arched space for the market while the first floor was for village assemblies. The National Trust now owns it, and some limited local information is available upstairs.

Time to make a start up that steep lane going south, the residents must be a fit lot. Pretty cottages and gardens are a pride to their owners. Although holiday lets are becoming more prominent. A lady is out checking on the hundred or so ducks hidden for the festive ‘duck hunt’.

At the top lane, the pinfold has become an attractive wild garden. I am impressed with Winster. 

Soon, I’m above the houses, a footpath heads across meadows, forever upwards. There is surface evidence of lead mining everywhere you look.

A stiff wind gives the weather a fresher feel as I climb higher. I could continue through a network of fields for another mile or so, but there are an awful lot of cattle about. Why have the hassle when there is a gated road with no traffic running parallel? As I’ve written, I’ve no definite route, just places to visit along the way. I’m my own master.

I get to see the views just the same, and I have time for some wayside flower spotting. 

In the distance is a working quarry, not realising I will end up beside it.

Down to Grangemill, a cluster of houses and a pub, the Hollybush Inn, at a busy crossroads. Here I found a bench for some lunch, watching the lorries come out of the working quarry opposite every minute or so onto the busy road down to Cromford, Via Gellia. There is a lot of lime dust in the air. 

The Via Gellia is named after the Gell family who lived at Hopton Hall for generations, having profitable quarries and lead mines. The building of the Via Gellia is dated to 1791 and was designed to allow carts of lead ore or stone to travel down from the Hopton area to the canal and lead smelters at Cromford. One of the Gell family may have named it in the Roman style. Todays traffic disappears down the road into the deep wooded Griffe Grange Valley.

Back into the fields bordering the old quarry, I pick up The Limestone Way again. It’s not entirely clear on the ground. A runner coming towards me is lost, trying to navigate using his watch. I point out the way, and off he rushes to complete about twenty miles, in this heat!

 

Now, on higher ground away from the quarry nose and dust, I can see the hilltop of Harborough Rocks, which I wanted to include in today’s route.

 A lady runner is also confused by the field systems, but she is only doing six miles and is much more relaxed, enjoying the scenery.

On to the High Peak Trail, the former line for the Cromford and High Peak railway, which I last met back in Whaley Bridge. It was built in the early 19th century to transport minerals and goods across the high ground between the two canal towns. I’m also back on the Midshires Way.

Up ahead are Harborough rocks—a popular low-grade climbing area of Dolomitic Limestone, full of pockets and jugs. Once again, I start reminiscing on sunny days spent here, but I don’t recall the noisy factory adjacent. A couple are climbing above the path; it turns out they are from Burnley, not far from me, and visit Craig Y Longridge from time to time—a small world.

Apart from the climbing, the other reason I wanted to visit here is to seek out the ‘Hermit’s Cave’. The cave has been excavated several times. Finds included human burials, dated to the Neolithic. Iron Age pottery and arrowheads, Daniel Defoe visited the rocks in the 18th Century and found the cave was inhabited by a lead miner and his family. If the Portway had come this way, could it have been used as an overnight shelter?

The High Peak Trail goes on and on. 

One forgets that these railways were originally horse-drawn and used Fishbelly rail laid on stone blocks, a common form of early track construction. This had the advantage of providing a continuous soft path between the rails that was suitable for horses.

Eventually, field paths drop away from the line, no sign of Wirksworth yet, but the hill in the distance must be Alport Height, tomorrow’s objective.

I find myself walking through the remains of a massive quarry.

At last an ally takes me to the high street of Wirksworth.

A busy market town with an impressive High Street of independent shops.

In Roman Britain, this limestone area yielded lead, and they named a place Lutudarum, which is likely the present-day Wirksworth. Roman roads from Wirksworth lead to Buxton (The Street) and to Castleton (The Portway). It was in the 17th century that Wirksworth further developed from its lead mines and limestone quarries. Richard Arkwright owned a cotton spinning mill here, marking the beginning of the industrial age. When the lead ran out in the 19th century, large-scale limestone quarrying took its place.  

I head to the parish church, St Mary the Virgin. The existing building dates mostly from the 13th century, but a church has stood on this site since at least the 8th century AD. One of its restorations was by Sir Gilbert Scott in 1870. 

The church is notable for its Anglo-Saxon carvings, a large Anglo-Saxon coffin lid, and beautiful stained glass. Again, like Youlgreave’s church, I may do a separate post on St. Mary’s. However, in the meantime, here is the carving of the medieval or possibly even Saxon lead miner.

After a bit of shopping, it is time to catch the bus back to Matlock. You may recall a car fire halting my bus in Buxton; well, this time, a fire broke out in an abandoned building on the outskirts of Matlock. When we arrived, the police were in attendance and let us through. Five minutes later, as the black smoke enveloped the valley and fire engines were rushing to the scene, the roads were closed. By then, I was safely in my B&B.

***

 
 
 
 
 
   
   
   
   
 
   
 
   
   
   
 
   
   
 
   
   
   
 
   

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. PART OF THE PORTWAY?

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Day 12. Bakewell to Winster.

For the next stretch of my ‘pilgrimage’, I’m booked into a B&B in Matlock. I won’t bore you with my travel logistics. These days, it is becoming more difficult to find accommodation in the smaller towns and villages. 

Where did merchants, drovers, and pilgrims, making lengthy journeys, stay overnight before the arrival of inns?  Before starting this walk, I had never heard of The Portway.

“There are several ‘portways’ in England, such as the route over the Long Mynd in Shropshire, but the Derbyshire Portway seems to be the longest and the best-researched. The route in Derbyshire was first suggested by Cockerton, a historian from Bakewell, in the 1930s, who based his idea of a long-distance route on a string of ‘port’ place names such as Alport and Alport Height, which can be linked together by existing tracks and paths. These place names are reinforced by references to a ‘Portwaye’ in some medieval documents and two Portway lead mines.  It seems clear that the word is Anglo-Saxon, and was applied by them to pre-existing, non-Roman routes.. A ‘port’ suggests a place of safety and shelter, so I think a portway was a long-distance route which had ‘ports’ for travellers at intervals of roughly ten miles. Sites where wayfarers could sleep, cook and graze their animals overnight. In Derbyshire, these are likely to have been on high ground for defence”

Stephen Bailey.  Old Roads of Derbyshire. 2019. 

An introduction from the book I’ve just been reading. Well, that adds another dimension to my walk. Again, like pilgrim routes, the portway is not defined precisely on any map, so my wanderings between significant Saxon religious sites can be combined with linking possible ‘ports’ together. They are likely to have had very similar routes.

I’m back in Bakewell for another four days ‘pilgrimaging’. As usual, I start the day with a coffee,  this time in the Graze café.

The church clock is striking 10 as I leave the hustle and bustle and start to climb steeply up Butts Road. They provide a handrail for the elderly,  and I make good use of it. At the top, there is a fresh breeze, so I’m hoping for cooler temperatures than of late. Alongside the cemetery, a gent is walking his dog. We stop to discuss the weather, and the conversation drifts to long-distance walking and eventually to climbing. He, in fact, moved here originally to be near the rocks. A pleasant interlude after the steep climb.

Suddenly, I’m out into rolling limestone country on a walled lane, and I feel I’m on an ancient route. A portway? Losing and gaining height as I go.

A short stretch on a road, and I spot the stile I’m looking out for. Pleased to be off the road, I enter a swaying sea of oats and, hopefully, by my passing, help to define the right of way. Skylarks are everywhere; it’s a glorious morning.

I reach the lane at Conksbury Bridge in Lathkill Dale. Across the way is the site of an abandoned Medieval village, but from here I can’t make out any features.

 Going down Lathkill Dale for a distance, I’m unable to access the stream. A man is picking raspberries from a particularly fertile patch, and I join him for a while. Last year, there was hardly any, but this summer is giving a bumper crop. Ice cream and fruit for him this evening.

Continuing downstream to Alport is an option, but I want to visit Youlgreave, it must be nearly 40 years since my two sons and I did a Limestone Loop around the Peak District, staying in YHAs. I remember the one in Youlgreave being at the top of a steep hill away from a river. My sons were convinced every youth hostel was at the top of a hill at the end of each day.

Youlgreave was mentioned in the Domesday Book. It increased in size in the late 18th century when lead mining prospered. It is now a magnet for visitors, thanks to narrow streets, interesting limestone properties, and charming cottages. The village street is hectic, far too narrow for the number of cars using it. 

All Saints Church dates back to the late 12th century, and I feel it would be best to dedicate a separate entry to my in-depth look around; otherwise, this post would become overly long. All I’ll mention here is a carving of a Norman traveller carrying his bag and shaft. Just like me.

The YHA is still here, looking as I remember it, but I don’t recall the cafe on the ground floor. Anyhow, I go in hoping for a pot of tea, but nobody is in a rush to serve me.

Wandering on, I reach the village fountain, which has an interesting history. A farmer’s daughter, a local spinster in her 70s. Hannah Bowman formed the Women’s Friendly Society of Youlgrave and had plans to bring water to the village. Previously, the villagers had to walk down to the valley for water. A 1,500-gallon capacity conduit was built in Youlgrave’s marketplace on the site of its ancient Saxon cross. At its opening in July 1829, the Derbyshire Courier voiced its approval: ‘The inhabitants of Youlgrave are rejoicing from at last having their anxious wishes realised by a salubrious spring of soft water being conducted to the village cross, where it now forms a beautiful radiated fountain discharging upwards of 10,000 gallons in 24 hours. The spring is as pellucid as crystal, almost equal in purity to distilled water. The cistern fills up overnight, and residents pay an annual charge of sixpence to use the splendid new facility”

It is still functional, owned and run by the villagers.

From the fountain, I take the lane down to the valley, where a clapper bridge spans the River Bradford. Lower down the river is proving popular with locals who, in this heatwave,  are enjoying paddling and swimming in the deeper pools created by the weirs.

By the lower clapper bridge I sit on a bench for a spot of early lunch before the climb out of the dale.

I’m not sure which way to navigate around Castle Ring at Harthill, marked by a red arrow above. The Bronze Age hill fort is on private land. This entire area, including nearby Stanton Moor, is characterised by numerous prehistoric circles and standing stones.

My choice is influenced by the fact that I’m now on the waymarked Limestone Way, last crossed in Miller’s Dale. So to the left we go, proving very pleasant in the shade provided by the stately beech trees.

I recognise the parking place on the road, which I’ve used many times for climbing at Cratcliffe. Despite being on the ‘Limestone Way’, this is gritstone country. Britain’s geology frequently baffles me. One of those stone circles can be seen by a tree in the fields below. Ahead are the twin rock pinnacles of Robin Hood’s Stride; the trees have grown since I was last here.

Let the Limestone Way wander on; I’m off to take a look at those climbs of old, and there is a Hermit’s cave to be found somewhere. There are voices in the trees. I’m hoping for some climbing action.  I get to enjoy some high-standard bouldering with friendly youngsters.

Everywhere seems overgrown as I try to find my way to the Hermit’s cave, but eventually, there it is. You can just make out the figure of Christ on the cross. 

https://derbyshireheritage.co.uk/curiosities/cratcliffe-hermitage/ gives a link to the Portway.

I peek around the corner at the imposing main crag. Did we really climb up there?

Below the rocks – everybody had a Hilary in their lives.

I find my way back to the Limestone Trail and begin the slow, now weary climb up Dudwood Lane, which is initially metalled, but soon becomes rough. 

Portaway Mine, presumably a lead mine, is marked on the map. 

One of those lovely stone squeeze stiles lead me into Winster through parkland..

There is a meeting of villagers in the church, St John the Baptist’s, so I won’t disturb them. The tower dates from 1721, and restorations to the body of the church were completed in 1885.

Today, the village is bedecked with bunting for its Wakes Week celebrations. I only have five minutes to spare before my bus.

“Lead mining, for which Winster was renowned, may have originated here in Roman times. The boom in mining from the late 17th century turned the village into a prosperous town, one of the largest in Derbyshire.

Historically, Winster was also a main crossing point for many roads and trackways, one of the most important being The Portway, an ancient trading route that passes close to the village. Salt routes from Cheshire came through the village, as did the main turnpike from Nottingham to Newhaven in later years.

With more than 70 listed buildings, Winster has one of the most impressive street scenes in Derbyshire, and the main street is an array of impressive buildings which merge with a jumble of cottages up the bank on the southern side. The Old Market Hall, which dates from the 17th century and is now owned by the National Trust, together with The Old Hall and Dower House, are particular highlights”

 I’m lucky to catch that bus as the roads have been closed for resurfacing until today.

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. THE SHORT, HOT DAY.

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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. 

***

***

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.

.

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. MAINLY MONSAL.

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Day 10.  Buxton to Monsal Head.

I say ‘mainly Monsal’,  as it takes me, with all my exploring, almost half a day to reach the Monsal Trail.. Slow progress, and be warned, a long post, but hopefully an interesting one.

In Buxton, I had spotted this café the night before and earmarked it for breakfast—a great choice, with perfect scrambled eggs on sourdough.

The walk out of Buxton along the main road is not good, I’m more than pleased to see a footpath into the fields. The viaduct is on the defunct Cromford to Whaley Bridge railway line, mentioned yesterday. On past Staden Farm to the rim of the massive Staden Quarry, where I was hoping to see some climbing action. We used to come here when the sun was hot, as the main wall faces north. Yes, there was a rope at the top, but no sign of the climbers. Barbed wire prevented me from looking down the face. I chat to the farmer and his wife, mainly about cows and calves in the fields. The threat of prosecution from the public weighs heavily on them.

Onwards through Cowdale and across newly mown fields, a walker is ahead of me, but he goes off in a different direction.

There is a small church, Christ Church, King Sterndale, by the road. There is a medieval cross in the nearby village, which I regret not visiting.

Back into the fields, the Midshires Way starts to drop steeply into Deep Dale. It arrives at the base right below  Thirst House Cave, and I scramble up to have a look.

I don’t venture too far into its depths. Roman artefacts have been found here, but it dates far further back, with a bear’s skull.

Deep Dale is a delight, a sunken gorge full of bird song, mainly Jackdaws from the higher crags, and carpeted with flowers. Nobody else about.

The limestone path is uneven in parts, and the summer foliage is encroaching, so slow progress is required.

The end of the valley has been despoiled by an overflow of waste material from the adjacent Topley Pike Quarry. How do they get away with it in a national park?


Escaping the modern industrial devastation, across the A6 at Wyedale, I am on the road leading to the former Midland Railway Line, Manchester to London—the Buxton to Bakewell section, which closed in 1968.  As well as passenger transport, this line served the limestone quarries hereabouts. Thirty to forty years ago, we would use stretches of it to reach crags in the valleys. The tunnels were closed at that time; since then, they have been opened and illuminated, and the route has been surfaced, making it suitable for cyclists and mobility vehicles – The Monsal Trail. So I expect it to be busy.

All routes lead to the Blackwell Mill cycle hire depot at the beginning of Cheedale. One is not actually on the railway until then, the bridges you pass under carry the Great Rocks Dale branch of the railway, which still operates to several quarries. This is as far as many people reach, all very pretty, but on a dusty road. This map may clarify the complexities of the initial trail, but there again…

I meet a man checking, just visually, the bridges. Every few years, they have to do a more detailed rope assessment. A pleasant job on a sunny day like today, we stroll along together.

Anyhow, I’m now on the trail for the next 5 miles, cyclists come whizzing past in both directions. The rest of us just saunter along.

To start with, the railway cuts through the limestone.

And then along the gorge of Cheedale.

The river is down below the towering crags. Plum Butress is one of the first climbing areas I recognise through the trees. A route called Sirplum goes through the overhangs and ascends the nose.  Happy memories of climbing in the sun with my mates, I’ve become distracted in no time. The first bridge I cross gives views down to Chee Tor. The bridge man is down there somewhere.

The first tunnel, Rusher Cutting, is only a short one, 111m.

The next one, Chee Tor No.2, is also short, 83m and unlit, but the next Chee Tor is much longer, 367m, and has roof lighting.

Back in the open, there is some excitement at the next bridge. A group of children are being introduced to the delights of abseiling. 40ft to the floor.

A more serene pastime is old-fashioned photography, which involves using a coated glass plate and developing the image on-site with all the necessary chemicals. A lot of equipment to carry about. I wish I had taken note of his details to view his work.The object he is going to focus on is this limekiln, a 20th-Century concrete structure hiding Victorian kilns. During the C19th the demand for quicklime, used in steelmaking, chemical industries and agriculture, increased. Quarries and lime kilns were developed alongside the railway, coal for burning was transported in and quicklime out.

It’s time for lunch. The cafe at Millers Dale is on the line. I sit inside, out of the sun, surrounded by railway memorabilia and enjoy a quiche and a Bakewell slice.

The additional viaduct, they built two, is being renovated.  The river is a long way down here.

More tall lime kilns appear close by the right-hand side of the trail.

The crowds have thinned out after the cafe at Millers Dale. Cyclists keep appearing on their return trip.

Down there is Raven Tor,  the jewel in the crown of Peak District sport climbing, ie using bolts for protection.  In 1982, Ron Fawcett initiated the action with Indecent Exposure, 7c,  a multi-pitch route that reached the top of the crag. 1984 Moffatt’s Revelations 8b became the hardest route in the country. 1988 was Martin Atkinson’s Mecca, which at 8b+ was one of the hardest routes in the world. Ben Moon beat Moffatt to Hubble  8c+,  the hardest route in the world at the time.  In 1998, Steve McClure climbed Mecca Extension, 9a, and quickly followed it with Mutation 9a+,  putting the Tor on the world map again. Fancy your chances, it’s even steeper than it looks?

I have time to dally and look at some of the flora lining the trail.

The chimney of Litton Mill can be seen down in the trees. Built in 1787 as a cotton spinning mill, it gained notoriety for exploiting its pauper apprentices. Later, it produced yarn for hosiery and was eventually converted into apartments.

Litton Tunnel, 471m goes through a spur in the hills and emerges overlooking Cressbrook Hall before diving into my last tunnel, Cressbrook 431m. (I will not reach the longest Headstone at 487m).

On emerging from Cressbrook Tunnel I can see up on the hill my hotel for the night, but first I have to leave the trail and drop into the Wye valley for the footbridge at Upperdale.  An angler is fly fishing for brown trout in this idyllic spot.

A bit of a slog up paths brings me to the popular tourist viewpoint at Monsal Head. It is some viewpoint. The Wye Valley is laid out below with the Headstone viaduct prominent in the foreground.

Monsal Head Hotel lords over the scene. Faded glory on the outside, but luxury in my room, where I was keen to have a shower and freshen up before a meal and a few drinks in the stable bar.

I can watch the sun go down from my boudoir.

It’s been a long ten miles, but every mile was full of interest. A classic walk.

This is what Ruskin had to say about the valley in 1871.

There was a rocky valley between Buxton and Bakewell, once upon a time, divine as the Vale of Tempe. You enterprised a Railroad through the valley – you blasted its rocks away, heaped thousands of tons of shale into its lovely stream. The valley is gone, and the Gods with it; and now, every fool in Buxton can be in Bakewell in half an hour, and every fool in Bakewell at Buxton; which you think a lucrative process of exchange – you Fools everywhere.

I think we have mellowed since then and have learnt to live with and interpret our industrial heritage.

***

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. THE HIGH PEAK.

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Day 9.    Whaley Bridge to Buxton.

I have my pilgrim shoes on once again, actually, they are my new boots. I bought a pair of HH lightweight boots about three years ago, and they have served me well. Last time out, I noticed a slit in the uppers, and the soles are wearing out. No problem, because I was so pleased with the original pair that last year, I purchased the same to be kept ‘under the bed’ until needed. They should fit straight from the box, I hope.

I’m continuing my ‘pilgrimage’ from home, Longridge, to Lichfield, following in the footsteps of Saxon monks through Mercia.  I’ve crossed Greater Manchester and I’m heading into the Peak District proper. 

My train from Manchester covers ground I recognise from my last trip. New Mills., Peak Forest Canal, arriving back in bustling Whaley Bridge. There is not a lot of ancient history in Whaley, although the name is of Anglo-Saxon origin. The Romans chose here for the crossing of the river Goyt on their road from Buxton to Manchester. Coal mines and mills were the biggest employers until the early 20th Century, and the canal and railway improved prosperity. 

The only cafe open is the Bridge Bakery, which proves very popular.

I sit outside with my drink, indulging myself with a Pain au Chocolat for my second breakfast.

Getting into conversation with a charming lady with a tale to tell. Both her husband and son-in-law suffered a stroke within 24 hours of each other. I end up staying much longer than planned. The morning is disappearing by the time I leave. 

It starts off well alongside the Goyt.

It was back in 2019 when the Todbrook Dam, directly above the town, leaked, causing a hurried evacuation. I had not expected the repairs to be continuing, so my planned paths were initially closed and diverted away from the dam. (The repair is running over budget and behind schedule).  A bit of improvising was needed. In hindsight, it would have been easier just to follow the road, which I end up on in any case.

The ongoing path, when I find it, skirts that all-too-familiar developer’s metal fencing before flower-filled meadows. 

I reach the few houses and the church at Taxal. Last night, I drew a red line on the map with my possible route, mainly based on the Midshires Way in the forest on the west side of the Goyt Valley. I meet a gentleman preparing to go metal detecting somewhere hereabouts. He suggests a better way on the east side, closer to the River Goyt.

I have time to explore the small 12th-century church. It is dedicated to St. James, associated with the Pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela. It is only later that I read there are examples of his symbol, the scallop shell, around the church. The bell tower is the oldest structure within the church. I admire the stained glass of the East window.

While sitting outside, another man appears through the graveyard, walking his dog.  He also recommends the lower route, especially if you have a dog, which I obviously don’t. 

So the decision is made, dog or no dog, let’s go with their recommendations. I drop down to a ford over the shallow Goyt but resist the temptation to get my new boots wet.

I’m soon on lovely paths, often in trees and then in open meadows, with the River never far away. I think I have made the right choice as the Midshires Way seems to involve a lot more steep climbing. My path just gradually ascends over the next couple of miles.

At one point, men from the Environmental Agency are ‘electric fishing’, monitoring the fish population., 

A road comes in from somewhere, and the car park is busy with people walking babies and dogs.

I don’t need to cross the dam; an unexpected lane goes alongside the east side of Fernilee Reservoir, following the line of the old Crompton to Whaley Bridge railway. Completed in 1831 to carry minerals, coal and goods through the hilly rural terrain, the highest and steepest in the country at the time. It closed in 1967. I enjoy my easy stroll along here. 

The interpretation boards recount the valley’s history before the construction of the two reservoirs. Stockport Corporation built Fernilee Reservoir in 1933 for drinking water, covering the old gunpowder mill, paint mill and several farms. 

When the last member of the Grimshaw family of Errwood Hall died in 1930, Stockport Corporation acquired their estate as well. In 1968, it completed the Goyt Reservoir, now known as the Errwood Reservoir. The  dam of Errwood Reservoir requires a bit more effort to reach, and once there, I see that the water is very low, the ugly side of reservoirs.  

Lunch is taken sitting on some rocks. It would be interesting to follow the course of the old railway over to Buxton or the Goyt to its source. But having rejoined the Midshires Way, I’ll be content with that. I almost miss the path, leaving the road and dropping down to a stream.

It is now continuous climbing for 600ft or more, I wonder if this has been a packhorse route.

Good to be up on the open moor on a day like this.

There are improving views northwards over Chapel-le-Frith to distant Kinder, and is that Castle Naze above Combs? 

I know I must be getting near White Hall outdoor centre when I spot apparatus in the woods and hear screaming children enjoying themselves. A boy comes hurtling past on a zip wire.

This P&NF sign dates back to 1938, number 95. I wonder where number one is?

The skylarks are in full force, but I fail to get a decent audio of them. 

The straight road was Roman, up from Buxton heading to Whaley Bridge. It has been resurfaced lately, allowing for carefree walking to my highest point of the day, which is about 1,500 ft. My attention is drawn to a line of gritstone crags to the left. I start imagining climbing routes up them. I expect they have already been documented. (Later at home, I track them down – https://www.ukclimbing.com/logbook/crags/buxton_boss-17725/#overview) I’m starting to tire, so stop for frequent drinks of water. I’m glad I brought plenty, as the temperatures are in the mid-twenties. The traffic-free lane meets up with the main road, which I am worried about walking down. But after a short stretch, a footway appears all the way into Buxton.

The houses are on the grand scale, most now split into appartments.

In the centre are the Dome, the Opera House, the Baths and the Crescent, to name a few.  Regency architecture is everywhere.

As I sit in the shade by the church, its bells ring out, 4pm.  St. John’s, the parish church from 1811, doesn’t look particularly inviting.

Time to fill my water bottles up at the well. St. Anne’s Well is built on the site of former wells, and pilgrims of old would have stopped here for the pure warm water. They also visited the mineral spars.   Buxton Mineral Water is bottled from pipes at this site. A couple have travelled from Leicester to fill up many gallon containers.

After the disappointment of St. John’s church, I seek out the oldest building in Buxton, St. Anne’s Church. Unsigned, it is tucked away down an alley. A single-storey building from the C17th.  It was the parish church until St. John’s was built. Unfortunately it is locked at this time of day.

There are some interesting old pubs in this part of town.

My room for the night is in the market square, located above The Vault, a former bank that has been converted into a pub.

I received emails from them. “Rooms@theVault is a Self-Service concept that requires very little interaction between yourself and the staff” – scary.

On the day I received instructions on gaining entry to the property. 

  “ACCESS –Your accommodation is located above The Vault pub, which is situated on the corner of Buxton’s Marketplace, opposite the Town Hall. Facing the pub, turn right for 20 yards down Chapel Street. Turn left along Torr Street (by the balloon shop) and you will see a wooden gate clearly marked. Walk down the passage to another clearly marked wooden gate. Take the wrought iron staircase to the black door and entry keypad.
REAR DOOR ACCESS CODE – 1303

ROOM ACCESS – Once in the building, you have been allocated Room 3, and your key safe code is 0033.

KEYS – On your keyring is a metal door key, a key card for the electric slot in your room and a plastic fob (when held to the entry keypad, this automatically opens the rear door).

EXIT – When leaving the building, you need to press the door release switch, which is located to the right of the exit door. The staff in the pub have no responsibility for the guests staying in the accommodation and will not be able to assist with check-in“.

What could go wrong? Well, I can’t find the first wooden door to start with, as I walk up and down Torr Street, nobody can help. I realise the wooden door is open, so I can go straight down the passageway. The outer door opens with the magic code, but I don’t initially see an obvious way to get the room keys out of the coded box. I eventually sit on the bed in my room. I need a coffee, it’s been a long day.  Modern technology sometimes confuses me; dare I go out again? 

The room was perfect, clean, spacious and well-appointed.

View of the marketplace.

The TV is in another world to me. I am unable to get a news channel to appear among all the other suggestions on Netflix and Disney. And no, I don’t want to watch a five-year-old episode of Love Island.

I venture out with care, clutching my key and remembering the codes. Fish and chips £12. Just to retain my sanity, here is a blast from the past, some of you may recognise. Established in 1972, I would often call in to buy equipment if climbing in the area. Nothing to do with Joe Royal, the footballer.***

CONRAD COUNTRY.

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Limestone wanderings. 

This is Conrad Country.  That sounds like the title of a cowboy film. Do they still make them? I have the temerity to suggest taking Conrad, alias Sir Hugh, on a walk in his own backyard. I do have the backup of Walk 7 from Cicerone’s Short Walks in Arnside and Silverdale in my pocket. I never know whether we are in Lancashire or Cumbria.

We both have busy schedules, mostly consisting of hospital appointments and garage visits, but today we are able to meet up and enjoy the good weather.  I give him the option of a short or a longer walk, and unsurprisingly, he opts for the latter, provided I am happy with his slow pace on any hill. I’m more than happy, the slower the better.

Walk 7.  Leighton Moss and Cringlebarrow Wood is the title, but that only scratches the surface – we experience much more.

From the outset, at a lay-by in Yealand Storrs, as we enter the woods of Yealand Hall Allotment…… a couple walking a dog, the first of several encounters along the way. When they overtake us, the dog is nowhere to be seen; it is, in fact, taking a lift. I often come across people carrying little dogs or pushing them in a pram. In the high Pyrenees, we were overtaken by a couple of female fellrunners, each with a pooch in a pouch.

We stroll through the woodland, whose floor is a limestone pavement.  Rocks are everywhere around here. There are distant views down to Hawes Water, which we bypass by going down Moss Lane to the road at Red Bridge.

We enter Trowbarrow Quarry by a track I have never used before.

This limestone quarry operated for a hundred years, closing in 1959. In addition to lime for building and agriculture, James Ward developed new techniques for producing Tarmacadam, which combines crushed limestone with bitumen. It is now a nature reserve and climbing arena. We observe both today.  Look here for an excellent overview of the reserve.

I had forgotten how extensive the quarry is; coming here for climbing, one tends to focus only on the highest walls. On the quarry floor today, a group of naturalists from Liverpool is combing the area with insect nets. The chap we talk to is enthused about a male horse fly, Sir Hugh tries to look interested.

A brief visit to the fierce Red Wall.

But more interesting are two climbers just starting up Assagai Wall, we find some boulders to sit on and follow their progress while eating our lunch.

Finishing Assagai on those magnificent flutings.

We wander into a ‘walled-off area’ with signs asking you to watch your step – the Bee Orchid grows here, but I think we are a little early for it. Above rises the slab of Coral Sea, and that’s exactly how it originated before being tilted at right angles by the Earth’s movements.

Nobody is climbing on the cracked main wall, so I try to find the coal seam that crosses the limestone floor, to no avail.  The time I was here with the Rockman, we had no success either. Meanwhile, the insect nets are sweeping all around us. One enthusiast even has a ‘vaccum cleaner’ to suck them up! We, both au fait with the quarry, can not find our way out as described in the guide. Eventually, we discover the ‘carabiner gate’ and the ongoing mini gorge.

The gate is dedicated to John Mabson, of whom I can find nothing. Except for copies of the poem, an Irish funeral song.

May the roads rise up to meet you,

May the wind be always at your back,

May the sun shine warm upon your face,

May the rains fall soft upon fields

And until we meet again

May God hold you in the palm of his hand.

Very appropriate for a mountaineer.

The track has had trees cut down to encourage a more diverse flora.

Crossing the road, we enter RSPB Leighton Moss Nature Reserve and come across another type of nature enthusiast – the ‘twitcher’. Recognised by their camouflage and their loooong lenses.  There is a hushed silence in the hide. Again, we feel inadequate, not able to tell a comorant from a crow.

Now for the steep bit, in the grounds of Leighton Hall, Sir Hugh cruises it.

Our next objective is Cringlebarrow Wood. The public footpath passes through it, but ‘Private’ notices abound. There are tracks everywhere, legal or otherwise.

If you look closely at the map, you will see Deepdale Pond clearly marked. It’s in a ‘doline’ (a natural amphitheatre created by the collapse of a cave) and is yet another truly extraordinary place. It’s more of a swamp than a pond now. We follow animal tracks to find it.  So far, I’ve been unable to convey this through a photograph and doubt I ever will. A deer makes a rapid getaway.

More woodland tracks bring us back to the car.

A lovely wander through this limestone wonderland. ‘Conrad’s country’ has a wealth of things to explore. I’ll be back.

***

A TRIP TO CHORLEY.

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The Yarrow Valley. 

Whilst the Speaker of the House is trying to control today’s PM question time, I pay a visit to his home town of Chorley. Sir Linsay Hoyle has been its popular no-nonsense MP since 1997. He has been the Speaker since 2019 and has not been without controversy during that time. He comes across as passionately proud of his Lancastrian heritage and promotes Chorley and its vicinity at every opportunity. Time to have a look around.

First, an outpatient appointment at Chorley Hospital.  I have received excellent health care here over the past few years. Today is no exception. The appointment is handled promptly and professionally.   I find myself back at the car before lunch. The day is perfect for a walk, and I weigh up my options. I should have done some advance planning. First that comes to mind is a revisit to Rivington and an ascent through the gardens, but continuing to Rivington Pike, which I’ve not climbed for years. No, I will leave that until I have a meet-up with the Bolton Rockman. 

Astley Hall is just around the corner, but I’m not in the mood for indoor galleries today. I need a walk. I have heard about Yarrow Valley but never visited it, so this could be the ideal opportunity to explore.

I drive across town and soon find the car park for the country park.

“Yarrow Valley Country Park covers over 300 hectares and is located between Chorley and Coppull. Created on land previously used for bleaching, dyeing, calico printing and mining, Yarrow Valley Country Park is of local historical importance.
With restored mill lodges and water courses, footpaths, picnic areas and a purpose-built visitor centre, the park provides an ideal setting for a host of recreational activities.”

For a detailed history of the industries previously occupying the valley, look no further than the excellent blog of https://lancashirepast.com/2020/10/17/birkacre-mill-yarrow-valley-country-park-near-coppull-and-chorley/

Of course, I know nothing of this when I arrive today. I don’t really have a plan except to walk as much of the attractive areas of the valley as feasible. Guides are available online for several walks, but being unprepared, I follow my nose most of the time. My phone map will have to do.

I start by climbing up to one of the settlement lodges, and immediately, I’m in a different world of water and ducks. The walk alongside the Big Lodge brings more of the same.

The swan’s cygnets are having a treat.

Then I’m on paths through the woods adjacent to the River Yarrow. The mill race is a popular photographic spot, but from then on, I hardly meet a soul.

The path is quite uneven and awkward in parts. I notice the remnants of a mine shaft, a reminder of the industrial past.

Drybones is a strange name hereabouts; the track bypasses an unseen house of the same name. I’m keeping to the right bank of the Yarrow, but at a bridge, take the right bank of the wrong stream and walk on for perhaps a half mile before realising my mistake, it is easy to rectify. All is green and verdant.

Back at the bridge, I take the more obvious track up the true valley.

Open fields lead me to the next footbridge over the Yarrow, and this is where I hope to follow the water upstream on its right side, even though no path is marked on the map.

A ‘twitcher’ says I can get through, but it is muddy and awkward in places. It turns out to be a delight in the woods with dappled shade alongside the lively stream. There is bird song everywhere.

The footbridge not taken.

I’m aware I’m walking further and further away from my starting point, and I’m pleased to see the footbridge taking me to the other bank for my return journey. This path is much wider and well trodden through the stately beech trees. 

There are regular seats overlooking the water, ideal spots to stop and enjoy a snack and a drink – except I didn’t bring any.

Rather than just retrace my steps further alongside the river, I take to the open fields and climb away from the river, only to find myself in a new housing estate and even more ongoing development. I suspect there would have been many objections, patently ignored, to building in this beautiful environment. More fields are earmarked for the bulldozer.

I escape down a little track and then through fields displaying Early Purple Orchids.

I am soon back at the hustle and bustle of the Big Lodge. Baby ducklings were everywhere.

In the car, my bottle of water is too hot to drink, and my chocolate has melted, so I go across to the Treeface cafe for sustenance.

A perfect little walk around this beautiful area. I’m not sure why I’ve never visited before, but I will certainly return. Oh, but there’s also Astley Hall and its gardens, and I notice a round Chorley walk sign…

***