Skip to main content

Cake, canal and cotton: A walk near Cromford

Just before Easter, Graham and the boys received an invitation to join some friends on a canal boat for a couple of days. That gave me the chance to have a rare day out walking - and fortunately the weather cooperated with some beautiful warm sunshine. This excursion fitted all my criteria for a good walk: well-marked paths, beautiful views, interesting things to see, very few people, and even a decent cup of coffee along the way!

I parked at the High Peak Junction car park near Cromford, and started by climbing up through spring-flowered woods, with views across the Derwent valley.


When I came out onto a lane, I discovered a farm with a blue plaque saying that Alison Uttley was born there. On my bookshelf there is a very battered yellow paperback called Magic in my Pocket, a collection of some of Alison Uttley's short stories. They contain some beautifully evocative descriptions of sledging down snowy slopes and walking across moonlit meadows, but I had never connected her with the Peak District. Of course I had to dig out the book when I got home, and re-read the stories in a new context!


I continued up the hill (more stunning views), then dropped down through sheep fields and across stepping stones to reach the village of Lea.

View of Cromford


Lea Gardens was a place I'd been wanting to visit for a while. I was just a little early for rhododendron season, which is the garden's chief attraction. There were a few splashes of colour around, though, and some stately trees. Plus a cafe which served me a delicious slice of lime and pistachio cake and a proper bucket-sized cup of coffee. I'd recommend the place for the cafe alone.




 

 Suitably fortified, I continued across grassy fields, accompanied by skylarks, and along a track from which I could see the end of the tramline at the Crich Tramway Museum. As I watched, a tram nosed its way through the trees and paused to drop off its load of passengers.

From then on it was mostly downhill to the Cromford Canal, passing some old quarries in the woods on the way.

 

I found a bench by the canal to eat my lunch. A couple of ducks came up looking hopeful, but plopped into the water again when nothing was forthcoming. The canal path was nice and flat, and I was tempted to follow it back to High Peak Junction. Instead I went through a tunnel and then branched off uphill to walk past Lea Hurst, the family home of Florence Nightingale. The house is quite secluded, so I couldn't see much of it, but the parkland was pretty.


The final interesting sight was the Smedley Mill on the outskirts of Holloway village. Amazingly enough, it is still a working business producing knitted clothing today. It's been manufacturing in the same premises since 1784. The buildings are that mix of practical and historical, renovated and bashed around, that you get when a place is still being used, instead of just a museum piece.



I finished off with a much-needed cold drink at the High Peak Junction cafe. Then I had a phone call saying Toby had been sick, and could I come and pick him up off the canal boat? Oh well, I'd had my day out, and a very nice one it was too.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Mr White Watson of Bakewell

Once upon a time, back in 1795 or so, lived a man who was always asking questions.  The kind of questions like, "Why is glass transparent?" or "Why do fruit trees grow better in that place than in this place?" or "What does the earth look like underneath the surface?"  This last question was one that he was particularly interested in, and he went so far as to work out what the rock layers looked like where he lived, and draw little pictures of them.  Now he was a marble sculptor by trade (as well as fossil hunter, mineral seller, and a few other things) so he thought it would be even better to make his little pictures in stone.  That way he could represent the layers using the actual rocks they were composed of.  Over the course of his lifetime he made almost 100 of these tablets, as he called them. Then he died.  And no one else was quite as interested in all those rocks and minerals as he was.  His collection was sold off, bit by bit, and the table...

Birmingham: Temples to many things

Birmingham's cathedral is overshadowed by more modern temples: the mirrored swirls of New Street train station; the dotted bulge of the Selfridges store; the lacy blocks of the library; the pillars and pediments of the museum and art gallery. Museum and town hall Next to all these, Birmingham Cathedral, in its square of dusty grass, isolated from the main flow of shopping and travel, seems less like a dominant building and more like a minor chapel. It turns out the unpretentiousness is deliberate. St Philip's Church was built in 1715 when the worshipping population of Birmingham had outgrown the medieval constraints of St Martin in the Bullring . Birmingham remained part of the Diocese of Worcester until 1905, when Charles Gore pushed for the creation of a new diocese and became its first bishop. Seeing the depth of need in the city, he decided to convert St Philip's to a cathedral rather than spend money on a grand new building. Birmingham Cathedral had to be restored afte...

Southwell Minster, Newark-on-Trent, and a pilgrim cellist

You may remember that I recently mentioned people doing weird and wonderful things. Well, I found another one. Last year, Kenneth Wilson visited all 42 English cathedrals. On a bike. With a cello. It was a cargo bike; the whole setup, cello and all, weighed about 50 kg; and he mostly managed a rate of one cathedral per day, with occasional rest days and train journeys where absolutely necessary. That's a lot of cycling. Of course, he wrote a book about it, and when I found out he was on the schedule at Newark Book Festival, I had to go. It also provided the perfect excuse to visit Southwell Minster. Newark-on-Trent feels like it is in the depths of the Nottinghamshire countryside, but it isn't actually hard to get to, I thought as I buzzed along the dual carriageways of the A50, A453, A52 and A46 on a sunny Sunday morning. All along the route, the grass stood bleached and crispy, scorched by the summer heat.  Newark Castle with crispy grass The author event was at the National...