Derbyshire High Peak is an area of
contrasts: From lush, leafy forests and
verdant valleys to miles of rugged moorland and jagged rocky outcrops. In fact,
the area where I live is one of the most popular places for tourists in the
world! No wonder that, on her regular visits home, my ozone-depleted,
London-based daughter insists on at least one lung-challenging walk every day.
Which means consulting
the Green Book, a guide to local footpaths by a husband and wife rambling team. Unfortunately, it has disappeared, much to my darling daughter’s disgust. We try consulting an
Ordnance Survey map instead but can make neither head nor tail of it! So we decide to
re-visit a favourite walk in Hathersage, a few miles from my home. Like so many
quaint Derbyshire villages these days, free parking isn’t easy to find, but there’s
a generously sized car parked not too far from the village centre.
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| View of Hathersage |
“Why are you wearing
those stupid sandals? Haven’t you brought your walking boots?” asks my darling
daughter (DD for short). I explain that I have indeed brought my walking boots
but have forgotten my socks and, as the fields are dry and relatively
flat, I can’t foresee any problems, despite the rather high wedged heels I’m
wearing. “And anyway,” I add, “you haven’t exactly dressed for a hike yourself
in those flimsy trainers.” DD merely shrugs and links my arm. I sigh with
relief. First objection tackled, argued and put to bed. (And we’re still
talking.)
Having reached the
village, we make our way past allotments and a small cricket ground until the
path leads us into open fields. “Oh look!” says DD pointing to a tree stump
halfway through the second field. “Someone’s lost their glasses!” Now this is
what I like about Derbyshire folk; someone has very thoughtfully placed the
spectacles on the stump in such a way they can be easily seen - so if the owner
is reading this and wants to retrieve them, I’d bet my life on them still being
there!
DD is now in full
stride, racing ahead of me. The view is breathtaking, so I ask DD to turnaround
while I take a photograph of her against the tree-lined hills. “I don’t like having
my photo taken,” she replies, going all diva-ish on me, so most of my shots are
of her disappearing rear. She does, however, oblige me with her profile as she
stops to chat with a newly-sheared sheep. “I wonder if she’ll let me pet her,” muses
DD.
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| Gini and sheep |
Now, Derbyshire sheep are an unusual breed, not easily alarmed and rather bold
when it comes to cadging food from unsuspecting picnickers. They are also rather
stubborn and this particular sheep is no exception to the rule. Having settled
herself onto a comfy patch of grass, she’s reluctant to give ground, even when
DD leans towards her. It isn’t until DD’s hand comes in for the pat that the
animal decides to budge - just in time to avoid contact.
Another photo. “Oh Mum,
do stop it!” sighs DD, turning her back on me yet again. “You only want
pictures for your stupid blog!”
After a mile or so we
reach our first place of interest: North Lees Hall. This imposing Elizabethan
manor was once home to the Eyre family and is thought to have inspired the
fictitious Thornfield Hall where Mr Rochester wooed ‘Jane Eyre’ and where his
mad wife jumped from the turreted tower. Apparently, author Charlotte Brontë stayed
in Hathersage (her model for ‘Norton’) in 1845 with her friend Ellen Nussey,
the vicar’s sister.
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| North Lees Hall |
“It’s very small, isn’t
it?” muses DD but I’m too busy taking photographs again. I particularly like
the clog-worn steps leading up from the back of the hall to an ancient footpath
which I’m certain Charlotte will have trod, and the views beyond are
spectacular.
“Oh come on, Mum!” DD is
now decidedly grumpy, so I put my phone/camera away and we look for a way back
to the village via the parish church. We amble towards a path which seems
vaguely to go in the right direction. Just as we reach the style, a lady
appears, walking her dog.
“Will this take us to
the church?” I ask.
“All paths lead to the
church,” the lady replies, adding: “In the old days, there had to be a way for
every farm to carry their coffins for burial.” Here follows a pleasant
discussion about Hathersage and its various features, including a dam, the rock
pools along the top of the crag, and a swimming pool. “Only it’s closed today
for cleaning,” says our new friend. Due to hot sunshine the previous day, a
large number of families had cooled off in the pool, but only after smothering
themselves with sun-cream: “Which made the water extremely greasy, I can tell
you!” (Not to mention all the other unmentionable substances which may have
been lurking – but let’s not dwell on that!)
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Minutes later, DD and I are walking through fields towards the parish church and by this time my feet are starting to hurt. A lot. DD has already removed her trainers and is walking unfettered through the luxurious grass, so I decide to follow suit - only the grass isn’t that pleasant. It’s soggy and spattered with sheep droppings. “Don’t think this is such a good idea,” I say. “People can catch Lyme Disease from sheep, you know.” “Oh Mum, you’re so negative!” “But it’s true!” I insist, “and if anyone’s allergic to ticks or spiders in the grass, it’s you!”
“Spiders!?” DD squeals and
starts dancing on the spot like a cat on a kiln, toes curling with horror.
“Better get your trainers on, Quick!” I yell, secretly enjoying her discombobulation,
as she struggles to put on her trainers and keep both feet off the ground.
Somehow, she manages to re-shoe herself and we both continue.
“Oh,” says DD.
“Tourists!” Sure enough, a few yards further down the field is a party of
Chinese teenagers who have stopped to ask the way from an elderly gentleman sitting
by the fence eating sandwiches. He tells them how to get to their destination
at which they promptly set off in the opposite direction. “Hoi,” he cries,
pointing his finger, “That way!” This the youngsters understood and set off on
the right track.
“Lovely day, isn’t it?”
says the elderly man, cheerily. “My missus has gone to Wimbledon, so I’m having
a picnic and a nice long walk.” Actually, I feel a bit sorry for him, even when
he tells me his wife has made his lunch before setting off for the London train,
but he seems happy enough and willing to pass the time of day – much to DD’s
annoyance. She’s walked on a bit and is now gesticulating, grimacing and beckoning
me furiously from behind a hedge.
“Why were you talking
to that man?” she demands, “We’re SUPPOSED to be on a walk!”
“Just being friendly,”
I explain. “Can’t cut people dead mid-sentence, can I?”
“But you were sooooo loooooong!”
In answer, I get my
phone out again and start taking photographs. DD harrumphs, not for the first
time, and stomps off ahead of me. Honestly, I do TRY to catch up but am
beginning to feel rather tired. Left to my own devices, I’d be having a nap by
now.
“Here we are then! St Michael’s
& All Angel’s Church.”
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| St Michel's & All Angels Church |
Though mostly built in
Tudor times, the structure of this impressive parish church actually began in
1381, and there have been other churches on this site since the 12th
century.
The graveyard is
thought to house Little John, allegedly a Hathersage man. Whether or not this
IS the burial place of Robin Hood’s legendary side-kick is open to dispute, yet
whoever lies beneath the Yew Tree before the church’s main entrance is
certainly a very tall; when opened in 1782, the grave contained a male skeleton
measuring 7ft. (Our dog walking friend reckons it was over 8ft judging by one
of the thigh bones!) Little John’s neighbours include Robert Eyre, a veteran
from the battle of Agincourt whose descendants built the church extension along
with North Lees Hall.
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| Little John's Grave |
By this time, my feet
are really hurting and I’m looking forward to tea and cake at Cintra’s in the
village. This lovely café doesn’t disappoint – in the garden behind the café,
we order moist lemon cake, a delicious toasted sandwich and a generous pot of steaming
tea from the very pleasant owner and staff! Bliss!
