30 July 2016 - Buxton Caravan Club Site, Derbyshire

What a difference the sunshine makes! Even the jackdaws rising from the cliffs early in the morning sounded more joyful in greeting the day. Jet trails criss-crossed the skies and Derbyshire was indeed one of the loveliest counties of our travels in England so far, just as Margie had been telling us.

We packed our lunch in the eski, headed off to Peaks Leisure, the caravan and camping  store on the north east edge of town we had discovered a few days ago when we were looking out for television aerial fittings. Today we were after a replacement magnetic catch for one of the kitchen cupboards that had broken off. The shop was able to supply us with a fitting that should do the trick, and then we were off along the A6, eastwards toward our destination for the day; the grand estate of Chatsworth. 

The route across the countryside, mostly following the Wye River, part of the road descending steeply down toward Bakewell was just so lovely in the morning sunshine. We turned north east before reaching that town, cutting across to Chatsworth which is quite some distance up roads that pass through land and villages belonging to the estate. 

Scenes of Chatworth

We had been saving this particular outing for a full day of good weather, knowing that we would not be able to enjoy discounts for age concession, or membership to the National Trust or English Heritage. Chatsworth is owned by a charitable trust, but for all intents and purposes to the normal tourist, is a private commercial venture, and as such, you will pay every step of the way. To be honest, I did not come away feeling as fleeced as I expected; we paid £4 for our parking, £19.90 each for entry to the house and garden, and a further £3 each for audio guides, which we have discovered really do enhance one’s experience.

You would recognise Chatsworth if you saw the regular postcard view of the house, even if the name means little, however today we were to discover that the property has been undergoing various waterproofing works since 2006, including the replacement of blocks where necessary and repair of the roof, all at massive expense. Worst for the tourist, this means that most of the house is sheathed in plastic and scaffolding and the wonders of the exterior have to be imagined rather than seen by the naked eye.

According to the introductory guide, the work will be completed in 2017; this of little use to us. When we mentioned that this must be a very expensive process, the guide gave us one example of the frustrations to be dealt with. The stone must be replaced like with like, which in theory should be a simple matter, the estate still owning the quarry whence the stone was originally quarried. But now with all the regulations, heritage, health and safety, council permits et cetera, the stone must be cut by hand in the quarry, and carted by hand to the transport at the top of the quarry, when this could be so simply be done without the nonsensical regulations with mechanised efficiency. The stone is then delivered to the house and if not an exact match, be discarded and the process repeated, after seeking another permit to do so. With each stone requiring the same bureaucratic process, it is a lengthy and expensive business. 

We arrived at the house half an hour before opening and joined the queues of visitors, escaping for quarter of an hour to enjoy the excellent “history of the house in a nutshell”. Then we spent a couple of hours filing through the splendour with hundreds and hundreds of others. It is indeed a very popular place and certainly well worth a visit and putting up with the crowds.

After lunch we spent a further two hours wandering about the wonderfully extensive gardens, originally a formal affair, later subject to the “destructive” hands of the famous Capability Brown between 1758 and 1766. After the River Derwent was remodelled and massive earthmoving completed, trees planted and formal ponds and lakes drained to fit with the “natural” look, the gardens were formed into the great parks they are today.

Chatsworth is one of Britain’s finest homes, built in the seventeenth century in its original form by Bess of Hardwick, whom we met some weeks ago at Hardwick Mansion. It has remained in the Cavendish family ever since although like most of these stately mansions, undergone restructure and metamorphosis over the centuries. 

The biggest change makers were the 1^st Duke, the 4^th and the 6^th Dukes of Devonshire. The last of these was a bachelor, whose passion of entertaining in grand style required him to build a wing that was as large as the whole residence before the addition. He was also a grand tourer, collector or scavenger of treasures from further afield, and it was he who added the Sculpture Gallery to display all the booty collected over the years.

Like all families there are some fascinating tales to be told, and if I were to recount them all here, there would be little reason to call before the plastic wrapping comes off. One that did tickle my fancy was that of this 6^th Duke’s parents who lived rather publically in a ménage-a-trois arrangement, the 5^th Duke finally marrying his mistress when his first wife died. But oh, there is more, so much more to this story!

When the current Duke inherited the property rather unexpectedly in the 1950s, it was he and his wife who restored the property to its heyday and opened it up for the public. These days there is a farm shop, holiday rentals on site, venues available for weddings and like occasions, and all manner of other commercial ventures.

The house is full of extravagant furnishings, artworks and decorations, fabulously ornate ceilings in the state apartments built for royal visits that never happened, treasures and rooms that take your breath away. The Devonshires still live in the place although are tucked away in their own corner for the most part. Given that it is open seven days a week for most of the year, I do wonder how much time they actually have to enjoy the rooms that are open to view during the daytime.

There are a further two generations “in waiting’ for the title and the burden of this fabulous estate. I think I would abdicate and hand the whole thing over to The People if I were to inherit the property; surely it is such a burdensome responsibility to be guardian of heritage properties like these? 

The author's husband helping the organ grinder

By the time we left, guests were gathering in the Stable restaurant for a wedding, and as we wended our way out the narrow access road we passed firstly the car bearing three bridesmaids, soon followed by another with the bride and her father or whoever was to “give her away”. Chatsworth would make for a fabulous wedding venue, although I would want the plebs to be long gone if it were my nuptials taking place.

The sun was still shining as we drove up into the Grin Low Country Park. The sheep who had refused to move off the tarmac as we drove out this morning were nowhere to be seen. Inside the camp entry, the Fish’n Chip caravan was already set up for the Saturday night special. Soon we were unpacked, salad made and Chris returning to our own van with a package of our own fish and chips; an excellent finish to an excellent day.

29 July 2016 - Buxton Caravan Club Site, Derbyshire

Typical English drizzle greeted us on rising and developed into miserable rain for the day, despite the forecasted improving weather. We hung about until mid-morning hoping for improvement, and then headed off out of our quarry camp with misguided great optimism.

Our route this morning took us across the steep hills to the north west of Buxton, the mist obscuring the Goyt Valley far below. We pulled onto the side of the road before losing sight of Buxton to send a batch of emails I had lined up and ready to go. Travel used to mean checking in once in a blue moon with the occasional postcard, but these days one needs to stay on top of business affairs with emails and respond almost immediately.  But then it is because of this that one can carry on endlessly “holidaying” and still keep tabs on business, work, family and friends. It’s a catch twenty two situation, and really, I would have it no other way.

We should have joined the A6 at Whaley Bridge, but our Tomtom had other ideas; instead we cut across further hills on narrow roads, the views from which might have been spectacular if the rain had cleared. We emerged onto the A6 at Disley, now in Cheshire, and very soon were guided into the entrance of Lyme Park, our destination for the day.

Lyme, sitting on 570 hectares of parkland with views on better days of Manchester and the Cheshire Plains, was the home to the Legh family (pronounced (Leigh or Lee) for more than 600 years.

Way back in 1346, a knight by the name of Thomas Danyers, a Leigh ancestor, was one of a small group who rescued the Black Prince at the battle of Crecy, and then Thomas went on to retrieve the Prince’s standard but only when he cut off the arm holding it in momentary victory.

The symbol celebrating this rather gory deed,  a severed arm holding flags, is the “Augmentation of Honour” of the family, given by Elizabeth I in 1575 to recognise this bravery; not that of the unwilling donor but the amputator. This emblem of pride appears over and over on various architectural features throughout the building.

He was awarded an annuity, but it was not for some years that his descendants claimed their reward; a parcel of land, part of the King’s hunting forest park, here on the edge of the Peaks. Initially a modest home was built where the current residence stands these days, and as in most cases, it evolved through the years, becoming more substantial as status and lifestyle demanded. There were years when the property was subjected to neglect and years when it was improved in grand style. 

Circumstance rather than deliberate choices kept most from the wrong side of the royals; in fact they enjoyed great favour from most of the kings and queens through the centuries. In the early 1800s, an Italian architect was engaged to oversee renovation work and it is to this era that any more modern restoration has been matched.

Although it was the same family who held the property through the centuries, there were families who ran out of direct male descendants and inheritance was switched across to cousins, but always a Legh. I had come upon this name while researching my husband’s ancestry, as well as a reference to Stockport which lies just down the road. I was keen to see if there was any connection, so was delighted to find on our return this evening that his great, great, ….., grandmother was the sister of Piers Legh VI. I will do some further research when I have access to the internet. Needless to say we were both tickled pink by the discovery.

Lovely Lyme

The family’s wealth grew over the centuries with canny marriages and much later, coal mining, and it seems there were no foolish wasters as there have been in other instances, such as with Calke Abbey. However when the coal seams diminished, and later the mines were nationalised in 1939, the Leghs were unable to maintain the grand estate. In 1946 they gave it to the National Trust, which in turn leased it to the Stockport Council for ninety nine years, as they too did not have the financial resources to support the property.  The lease has yet to expire, however the Trust took it back in the last part of the century, and have run it ever since.

Funding comes from entry fees, and surprisingly not from filming rights. The television series “Pride & Prejudice”, starring Colin Firth as Mr Darcy, was filmed here, or at least the exterior scenes of “Pemberley” were here, while the interior scenes were shot in the Sudbury Hall south of Ashbourne, a property we passed close to on our way north to Buxton. Needless to say, interest in these very popular series and other films has stirred up interest in the place and the tourist flock in their thousands.

Arriving at Lyme, we found ourselves a little early to visit the house, so took tea in the Stables, an unusual treat for us, then walked up to the house in the rain, interrupting our tour for a historical talk in the chapel. This was most interesting and took us through to lunchtime, after which we returned to the house and spent a further couple of hours wandering through the splendidly appointed rooms. The gardens are also quite lovely but not so appealing in the pouring rain, and the rain had increased rather than diminished. I had been keen to walk up to the “Cage” a tower-like folly on the hill with 360 degree views, but the ground was soaked and visibility was poor, so we gave that a miss and headed home.

Returning via Whaley Bridge, we spotted a brown heritage sign for Bugsworth Canal Basin which piqued our interest. A few miles along a riverside road toward Chinley brought us to the canal basin, a large restored area, the work of industrious volunteers.

The basin marks the end of the Peak Forest Canal. It was once the heart of industrial activity in the area when limestone, lime and gritstone were brought down from nearby quarries. The limestone was either burnt at the basin or shipped out straight away. Then there were nineteen lime kilns operating around the Basin.

Narrowboats at Bugsworth

When the canal opened in 1796, canal mania had gripped the country. This was the time of the Industrial Revolution. Factories and building sites demanded more and more raw materials. Canals allowed safe transport on a massive scale.

Enterprise here was massive with workers moving enough limestone at Bugsworth Canal Basin to fill over 2,000 canal boats in 1808 alone. Horses hauled the boats at about four miles an hour. A journey from Bugsworth to Manchester took around ten hours because the crews had to negotiate thirty four locks on their way. 

From 1796, until around 1924, the Peak Forest Tramway continued to carry limestone, lime and gritstone to Bugsworth Basin for loading into canal boats. Well over one hundred men, women and children toiled at this dirty, unhealthy place; some loaded boats with stone and burnt lime, others sweated in kilns, crushed stone or worked on the tramway.

The coming of the railways with their steam locomotives led to the closure of the Tramway and in 1927 the track was ripped up for scrap. Rail transport gradually replaced the tramway wagons and canal boats and Bugsworth fell into disuse.

The Basin lay derelict for over forty years. In that time the polluted industrial wasteland recovered to become a haven for wild plants and animals. But in 1968, volunteers of the Inland Waterways Protection Society (IWPS) began to renovate Bugsworth and it finally re-opened to boats in 1999.

This afternoon we wandered all over the area, dodging the goose along the tow paths and the dog poo even more liberally left. We greeted the narrow boat captains and their companions, the lock keeper and everyone else we encountered, and were generally delighted that we had come upon this lovely spot. And even better still, the rain stayed off all the while.

Back on the road, the rain continued to stay away but the visibility was still poor, so we decided against taking an alternate route for sightseeing purposes. Once home we lay out our wet gear as we had yesterday and hoped that tomorrow would bring dryer weather.

28 July 2016 - Buxton Caravan Club Site, Derbyshire

The forecasted rain had not arrived by the time we awoke, but the television reports suggested it was still inevitable. We decided to head off on a driving tour, to be enjoyed for the journey rather than concentrating on the destination attractions along the way, given that we may find them rain drenched, or ourselves so.

 We headed north on the A6, the route we will take when we finally leave Buxton for our next camp, but checked into Chapel-en-le-Frith which announced itself on entry as the Capital of the Peak District. Apart from driving through this surprisingly spread out small town, and discovering it had a Morrison’s superstore and other sundry shops and services to meet the everyday needs of the townsfolk, we were unable to see why this claim to such title may be true. It certainly did not warrant an entry into our rather out-dated "Book of British Towns.”

We turned east nor‘east, along the A6187, a route shown only as a fat white road in our map, not a route to be taken when towing. The countryside was delightful, dry-walled green fields spread across the rolling hills, and then steeper country rising to Mam Tor, still dwarfed by higher peaks to come; Win Hill at 464 metres ASL, Brown Knoll at 569 metres ASL and Kinder Scout of 636 metres, to name but a few. There were numerous cars parked in car parks along the route, from which walkers, impervious to the rain now falling all about, had set off to conquer the challenging landscape. 

Just past the walking tracks up Mam Tor, we descended down into a valley on roads almost as steep as those travelled through the Lake District last year, roads that restricted the payload to “light cars” which those we travelled last year should also have done.

Mam Tor is known as Castleton’s “Shivering Mountain": an important archaeological monument. It is the site of two Bronze Age burial mounds dating from 5000 to 3500 BC and a late Bronze Age village and hill fort. Excess water in the alternating layers of soft shale and millstone grit has created a very unstable structure. About 3600 years ago, Mam Tor began to move and at some point a major landslide occurred. Much more recently, in 1979, the road was finally closed because of subsistence. The landslip is still moving an average of 9 cm every year and is likely to remain unstable for at least the next 1000 to 1500 years,

We soon arrived at Castleton, an absolutely delightful village lying on the northern edge of the White Peak, centre of several caverns all open for tourist business and lying in the shadow of the Peveril Castle, the ruins still perched high on a premonitory of land accessible only by walking up a steep footpath.

We found a Pay & Display parking area in the town, paid our dues and headed firstly to the Information Centre which is also home to a modest little museum. We enjoyed the exhibitions here very much and learned more of the area than our guide books had offered. 

Landscapes in the Peaks come in two forms; the brooding high moorland peaks of Dark Peak, taking their name from the underlying grit-stone, and the more forgiving southern limestone hills of the White Peak. 

There’s been a village here since 1086 when the Normans built Peveril Castle. Rocks and caverns have always been important to Castleton and in the 18^th and 19^th centuries lead mining was the main industry here. Although the mining ceased long ago, local people still dig and work Blue John, the name from the French “Bleu et jeune”,   wonderful coloured stone fashioned into jewellery in Buxton and sold in every second store here in Castleton.

William Peveril built the castle on a natural defensive position high above the valley. It served to strengthen Norman control over hunting and valuable lead mining interests.

During the 13^th century, documented repairs and additions to the residential buildings in the castle’s inner baily indicate that it was occasionally made ready for visits by the king and his large household of soldiers, servants and guests. These visits were in fact very rare; King Henry III, who reigned between 1216 and 1276, only visited once, yet he added a new hall on the castle’s north side.

After the death of King Henry III, the castle and estate passed to a succession of royal favourites, including the English Queens, Eleanor of Castile and Isabella of France. In 1372, the Forest of the Peak became part of the Duchy of Lancaster, under the influence of the King’s uncle, John of Gaunt.

Peveril Castle remained in use during the 15^th century, and its buildings were occasionally described as needing repairs. However, much of the running of the estate, such as the holding of courts and the collecting of rents, was now carried out elsewhere in Derbyshire.

View over Castleton

By the reign of Queen Elizabeth I, Peveril Castle was so ruinous that its demolition was considered. Only the keep remained useable, “both for the terror and punishment of offenders and the keeping of the courts, the Queen’s majesty having none other house in these parts for that purpose.” The bailey with its stone walls was used to impound straying cattle and livestock confiscated from the tenants in debt. Soon afterwards, the castle fell completely into disuse.

Tourist interest was not piqued until after the publication of Sir Walter Scott’s historical novel, “Peveril of the Peak”, in 1822, even though it was not actually set here. The more recently popular pursuit of “rambling” (such an English English” term!) or walking has brought tourists to the town and the castle.  In 1932, the castle was placed in the guardianship of the Office of Works and in 1984, it passed to English Heritage.

Had it not been an English Heritage administered attraction, we may not have persevered in the rain, however, the heavier showers eased a little, and we set off up the hill, duly rewarded with the amazing views over the town and the surrounding countryside, all the way back to Mam Tor and the horizon. It was quite wonderful, although I would have to say that if we had paid the requested entry fee, and climbed up there in the rain, I might have felt a little short changed. 

The remains of Peveril Castle's keep

We retreated to the shelter of the car to eat our lunch, then drove on further east through Heathersage, once a needle making centre, with a string of factories belching out dust and dirt, slowly killing off the workers. As we drove through the place today there was little evidence of such a past, but no other reason for us to stop. From here the road rose steeply, on to heather covered moors, great expanses inviting dozens of ramblers, even on a Wednesday and worse still, such a wet one.

We turned south and descended into a heavily wooded valley, again turning west and soon arriving at Eyam, the second village on our list for the day. Eyam, pronounced E’em, is famous for its very dark and sad past, events that took place in 1665 – 1666, when the town was hit by plague which wiped out about one third of the population. Of course, bubonic plague was more virulent in places like London, but Eyam was special for the fact there was a self-imposed quarantine and all the stories around that. Also unique is the fact that details of all the deaths were documented and more recently these have assisted in the research into the disease and the reason why some survive and others do not.

On arrival we followed the National Trust signs and soon found ourselves in Eyam Hall, an unspoilt example of a grit-stone Jacobean manor house, built in 1672, years after the plague, and home to the Wright family for nineteen consecutive generations. We wended our way through the rooms over two floors and were duly impressed, but cognoscente that we had come to discover the plague history of the village, and were becoming rather distracted. Interestingly this property still belongs to the family, but has been leased to the National Trust for ten years, three of these already past. The house has never been home to this current family except during the time they restored it to its original state. Apparently they live locally but their long term plans for the house are known only to themselves. In the meantime, there is plenty of interest in the house, not least, our own.

We joined a one and a half hour walking tour around the village in the rain, our guide Chris most informative and entertaining, if such tragic stories can be considered so. We stood in the shelter of trees and porches wherever possible, however our party was really too large and by the time we retreated to the car once more, we were rather bedraggled.

And so, in that state, we headed home, glad to sit down to a hot dinner, comfort food thawed and heated in the microwave, after a good hot shower. Hopefully the weather will be better tomorrow because we have much more to explore in this part of the District.

27 July 2016 - Buxton Caravan Club Site, Derbyshire

Pat, our hostess, bid us a fond farewell, with a large home-grown tomato as a parting gift. We thanked her for her hospitality but lamented the fact that we had not stayed long enough to see all there was  in the area. We omitted to say that while Sutton Bonington is truly a delightful place to stay, it is not well suited for the likes of us to explore the region; most of what we were interested in was either further north or to the west. While suggesting we might return next year when we caught up on those omissions, I was silently thinking that we would do better to find a base elsewhere.

Our route took us westward along the A50 toward Uttoxeter, pronounced You-toxitor rather than Utta-exeter as I had dared to mouth to my better educated spouse. We turned north a little short of that strangely named town, on the A515, now on a two lane country style road, lined with high hedges in the main part, with few laybys, following  the contour of the land rather than the attempt to avoid up and down-hills that motorways follow.

The countryside in Derbyshire is just lovely, undulating more than that through the counties travelled over the past couple of weeks. Sheep and cattle farming seem to dominate the agricultural scene. And even on arriving and passing through the charming town of Ashbourne on the River Dove, we were soon again into the green open pastoral countryside of the Peak District National Park and in normal keeping with English “National Parks”, populated and worked like any other part of the rural landscape. 

We found a most satisfactory sanctuary near Alsop en le Dale , once the site of a railway station, now a car park and picnic area for those choosing to enjoy the recycled rail trail, either on foot or by cycle. It should therefore come as no surprise that this was a Pay & Display parking area, and to my husband’s credit, he was less scathing about that than I. It would seem he is becoming more tolerant of this than I!

After an hour’s break, time to squeeze in a mid-morning coffee followed by an early lunch, we completed our journey through to Buxton, or more correctly our camp in the Grin Low & Buxton Country Park. 

The town of Buxton is situated in a crater-like indentation of the Peak District, and the park is on the southern lip of the crater, limestone cliffs rising above on one side and pastoral land all about. Approaching Buxton, we noted the many limestone quarries near the road, massive operations, and apparently still very active. Our camp is nestled in the base of such a quarry, but one rehabilitated many years ago.

The 100 acre wood nearby was planted by the 6^th Duke of Devonshire around 1820 to hide the eyesore caused by such quarrying and lime burning in years even earlier. The area is designated a Site of Special Scientific Interest due to the rich variety of animals and birdlife. The level open glades, probably such as we are sitting in, are the remains of waste ash from the 17^th and 18^th century lime burning kilns.

Chris’s sister recommended this camp to us some time ago, remembering the wonderful trips she took with her late husband many years ago. She told us that it was in an old quarry and that birds of prey often nested high on the cliffs, monitored by rangers to see they were not disturbed. Now this was some years ago, and we should have twigged, or at least thought about all of this in a more modern context; there is no internet, no cellphone and no TV reception apart from that via a special booster connection on each site’s service post. I doubt this was even in an issue when Margie and Dave used to go off on their caravan holidays.

After setting up camp this afternoon, and hanging the week’s laundry securely on my little line, we headed across town to the caravan accessory store to buy some fittings for the required TV aerial, so I can now report that my husband is happily watching programmes of his preference. Happy husband; happy life!

Our trip across town was slow due to a multitude of roads either closed or partially closed due to road works. It was not a good introduction to the town, however we were surprised to find it to be larger than expected, and invited further exploration another day.

Our quarry camp

Buxton’s spring of pure water, gushing from the depths of the earth at the rate of 1,500 gallons an hour, were popularised during the late 18^th century by the 5^th Duke of Devonshire. He built grand edifices to draw the tourists to this spot here in the Peaks District and it remained a popular spa town through the Victorian era, although never as popular as those of Bath. However their popularity waned and the spa was eventually closed in 1972.

Later this afternoon, when the sun had made a late appearance and the numbers of fellow campers had swelled, we examined our maps and tour guides and wondered how we would juggle our wish list, especially when considering the dodgy weather forecasted. Only the days ahead will tell.