UK 2012 ISSUE 9

Mick and the Punto

 For those of you who were enquiring (did you catch the spelling?), Dad is back home from his sojourn in hospital.  Seems to have been one of those inexplicable incidents that happen to all of us as we get older.  He's installed back in his own chair and in front of the telly.  The only thing that he took away from hospital seems to be a cold.  Our experiences with the National Health Service could fill a whole blog all on its own but shall not burden you with the minutiae and inconsistencies to which a nationalised health system is prone.  Will share the one thing that most totally blew me away . . . no television, no radio, no telephones, no entertainments at all were provided.  Peculiar!!

We are gearing up for a trip to London and beyond to spend two weeks with Frank and Carol Sobotka, our neighbours from Ashland.  Despite having the Punto, we shall have to "hire" a vehicle to carry four adults and their luggage.  If you are wondering just how big a Punto might be, think Mini Cooper, not really on.  Discovered one interesting fact about car hire in the UK . . . you don't want to get an automatic transmission unless you don't have a choice.  They cost twice as much and I'm not exaggerating!!!

I have been trying to get out and do some driving every day but I am still somewhat terrified by the big roundabouts.  There are all kinds of protocols about which lane to be in and when to move over, when it is appropriate to signal, blah, blah, blah.  They can have anything from three to five or six exits, never mind two to four lanes that come and go.  The best thing is if there is a big lorrie (truck) entering the roundabout next to you.  You can "draft" alongside of them and they are barrier to any other oncoming traffic.  Once you're on the roundabout things are good,  if you miss your exit you can always go around again.  The lanes seem to have a lot of writing on them.  Great big white lettering and arrows meant to tell you which lane you should be in and the name or number of the road that the particular lane is intended to access.  Crazy business.

We did manage a get away the other week.  We took ourselves off the the Peak District some hundred or so miles away.  Peak is a relative term in England, the highest point in the Peak District being Kinder Scout which tops out at something just over 2000 feet. That is the height at which we live in Ashland!   It is really more of a moor or plateau, a flattish area of peat bogs.  The Pennine Way, which is a notable hiking trail akin to the Appalachian Trail or PCT, runs through this area.  It was also the target of the Mass Trespass of 1932 in which the Ramblers intentionally trespassed on open lands to ensure access and prevent landowners from prohibiting access.  As I understand it trespass is not a criminal offence in England, who knew.

Politically Incorrect

Following our usual guidelines it's blue highways all the way.  In this instance it was really green highways as that is how the "b" roads are designated in our atlas.   On the outward bound trip we were successful with the exception of an approximately two mile stretch of the M50.  It was a lot of open countryside, green and yellow fields giving way to more industrial areas as we left the textile and agriculture of Leicestershire for the pottery and livestock of Derbyshire (pronourced "darby" shur).  Just outside of Ashbourne the road began to climb as we left behind the land of hedgerows and farming for one of dry stone walls, cattle and sheep.  You really need to see this landscape to appreciate it.  It is an area of undulating hills with low growing vegetation.  Trees are few and far between, the green deciduous forests disappear but for the few hardy oaks that make a stark statement against the brown grass and blue sky.  Gone are the hedgerows full of hawthorn, blackthorn, cow parsley and clematis.  It is an arid and somewhat desolate feeling landscape with dry stone walls separating fields.  Cattle and sheep graze on the hillsides and occasional stone farm buildings dot the countryside.  Given the sheer quantity of stone you see used in constructing buildings and walls one wonders if it were ever possible to try to cultivate the land.

We make our way through the Victorian spa town of Buxton which probably deserves a look see but not on this trip.  Onward toward our destination we make it to Chapel en le Frith (guessing this was once a Norman town) only going wrong one time.  The road signs say Pilsbury to the left, Bakewell to the right and Hayfield straight on.  Why we should choose horse fodder and open ground over pastries and goodies can only be explained by the fact that we have reservations in Hayfield.  Bakewell is certainly on my list of places to see.  It is the home of the Bakewell Tart, an absolutely delightful concoction of pastry, filled with strawberry jam and covered in an cakelike almond substance.  It is also a market town which generally means market squares and old building and museums.  Pilsbury, well who knows but I have always be fond of the Pillsbury doughboy.

Pub Beer Garden

I'm not entirely certain how we ever navigated the narrow cobbled lanes of Hayfield in search of the Sportsman Inn, our destination for the next two nights but we did.  It is very nearly at the end of the road , all but the last building in the village.  It is a pub built in the mid 1700's which has five "ensuite" bedrooms.  Ensuite being a euphemism for you don't have to share the toilet and bath with others in the building.  It is lunch time and we have brought our usual picnic lunch.  We purchased a pint from the landlord and settle in to their beer garden for our sumptuous repast of ham sandwiches, raw veg, hummus and ginger biscuits (cookies). 

The day was bright and the weather was fine.  Given that our intent had been to do some hiking, it seemed there was no time like the present.  We laced up our hiking boots, grabbed our sticks and set off.  It was only a quarter of a mile or so to the end of the road and the designated trail up to Kinder Scout.  Public telephones, a dying breed in the US, are still alive and well in England, particularly out in the wilds.  There was a time when most people (like in the 1970s) did not have private phones and pay phones, be they in building foyers or next to row houses out in the country were de rigeur.   Here is an image of a post box and phone box, at least a mile from the village of Hayfield and less than a quarter of a mile from the end of a road that accesses hiking trails that lead out in to the back of beyond.  To the  right of the phone box is a row of four circa 1800 stone houses, these were most likely installed with them in mind. 

Stone walls and Kinder Downfall in the distance

Stone stile over the fields

We did a couple of miles, some of it steeply uphill, alongside a reservoir.  It soon became obvious there was no way we were reaching the summit (if that is what you want to call it) of Kinder Scout.  We made our way back along the Kinder River and back to the Sportsman Inn for dinner. 

Next up, the joys of rooms in an 18th century hostelry and a visit to Little Moreton Hall.