October 24, 1986: Ilam to Hartington

Friday, October 24, proved to be a gray, misty day. This was evident the moment I got up at 7:20 and had my first peek through the pointed window of our dorm room. I went downstairs and shaved. Breakfast was at 8:30, but I was not at all concerned about a late start today – for we had only 9.5 miles to cover. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits and Eden, whom Tosh and I had spent so much time worrying about last night, seemed fine. I loaned her my cane at this point and she had charge of this object from this moment on.

Like the binoculars I had unloaded first on Paul, then on Anna, the cane was proving to be a major nuisance. I was always worried about who had this antique object, indeed whether it was still with us. Moreover I had made the mistake of telling the kids that it contained a “sword,” though I had never succeeded in extracting this from the base of the stick. Sure enough, they triumphed where I had failed; somebody was always having one more look at the short (unsword-like) blade and a number of times it was difficult for us to get it back in place, especially after Anna had fiddled with it. At least the cane now seemed to have, in Eden’s hands, some practical use. Tosh was scandalized by the sword: “No one should be allowed to carry a weapon like that.”

We had a nice breakfast and I had porridge for my starter. As usual there was confusion over our food orders since Lamya always declined to order anything, then wanted a little bit of everything. I had passed around a postcard to KT Brill, our Alternatives coordinator, for everyone to sign. It thanked her for sending us on this Alternative and assured her that we were having a good time. Julie Galun added her signature and then said, “Good, now let’s go kill her.”

Everyone headed off to complete the Youth Hostel chores on the list handed to us by the staff. We always had excellent cooperation at this point. Everyone picked up a packed lunch, a canned drink and also a candy bar supplement purchased by Tosh. They had to kick us out at closing time, 10:00 AM. Even then we weren’t ready to leave since some of the girls wanted to have a look around the National Trust shop adjacent to the parking lot. “They may not be open yet,” one of the staff said, “but if you knock on the window and wave money at them, they might open early.”

At about 10:20 we were at last ready to move off. We descended some steps from the parking lot and joined a nice path, the Paradise Walk, along the River Manifold. I led us up to the first footbridge on our left but it was locked and I could see, by checking the location of a nearby Saxon Cross on the OS map, that we had another bend to go round before reaching our crossing. This put us into grassy fields where our way forward depended on finding the correct stiles. Rodney and Nick had this job, assisted by Anna – who was my constant companion this day. It was just as well that I undertook this responsibility. Her competitive smart-aleck side was beginning to wear thin on some of the other girls and there had been words and tears last night, according to Tosh.

We kept below Musden Grange as we made the first of several ascents for the day. The weather was lifting somewhat and though we never had sun, the morning proved to be dry and the views were quite good. We searched about for an escape from our fields onto the Rushley Bridge road, locating a stile in a wire fence not far from a farmyard – with its ubiquitous mountain of tires. We turned away from the river at this point, rounding a bend in the tarmac and continuing northwest for some distance. “We don’t have to go up that, do we?” came the disconsolate cry. We did, but the gradient was really nothing to complain about.

On our right was the Manifold valley and ahead, backed by a farmhouse, the ruins of Throwley Hall. We paused to have a rest and a snack when we reached this spot; it gave the trailing section time to catch up. Eden seemed to be doing quite well on her sore knee; tall Heather had somehow come to an accommodation with a blister; and Beckett had gotten the better of sore hips. Lamya lobbed unwanted fruit into our midst on this occasion; everyone was still in good spirits. I was particularly impressed with Becky Harrison, our only ninth-grader, fourteen years old and never a step behind. Only a few months ago she had been a student at a junior high school in Ann Arbor.

We passed through the farmyard and several stiles as we continued our northwesterly trod up and across fields again. There was not much in the way of a path up here, nor any waymarking, but instructions in the book plus reconfirming details on the OS map gave me confidence. At the crest of the last field the way was clear down to the Beeston Tor Farm road. Anna ran down this hill at great speed and just managed to keep her feet. The Tor itself was before us, on the other side of the river, but there did not seem to be any climbers about.

We passed the farm on our descent to river level. After Weag’s Bridge we once again had the use of an abandoned railway trackbed, that of the Leek and Manifold Valley Light Railway. This was a charming stretch, easy on the feet, level, and dry though gray. On the other side I could see Thor’s Cave, our lunchtime goal. Eden began a long afternoon of storytelling to help pass the time, with three or four of the other girls listening to Greek myths and a synopsis of The Brothers Karamazov. How lucky were we with our student mix this time!

We used a bridge to cross the river and soon thereafter began a very steep ascent to the mouth of the cave. There were quite a few tourists descending against our flow. Steps had been cut to make the way easier but it was still a struggle and I had to assure my charges that this route was not merely my whim. At the cave itself we were rewarded by magnificent views. Many of the kids scrambled around inside; the rest of us turned immediately to our food and drink, perched precariously on wet rocks at the cave mouth. Bridget, as I remarked to Tosh, looked particularly sweet here, her blonde hair curling over the rim of her wool hat.

I had picked this spot for lunch because there was always a threat of rain. Moreover I knew we were likely to get to Hartington too soon if we did not do some resting on the way. This seemed to be an ideal spot for both contingencies and we had Thor’s Cave entirely to ourselves. After lunch I scrambled around inside, even found a narrow fissure to the outside from which to launch a pee. Some of the girls also snuck off to find a quiet place for a wee. It was cold inside, and cold outside and people wanted to get moving.  Eventually, like a bear braving springtime, I gave up on the magnificent views and the circling jackdaws and shot out of the entrance with such speed that I almost went over the edge.

We started down the steps, but we did not have to go all the way back. A sign pointed us in the direction of Wetton and we followed a narrow path until we rejoined a stronger one heading uphill northeast to the village. It was very muddy and slippery hereabouts and I found this out when I fell on my face. My rain pants took the brunt of the mud, but I landed on my camera and carried a nasty bruise on my chest for several weeks thereafter. The blow must have dislodged my film as well for most of the roll, I later discovered, was spoiled and it became increasingly hard to wind it forward. Tosh, seeing my misadventure, responded with the instincts of a true newspaperwoman  – “Somebody come and take his picture quick!”

Photography over, a hand was offered and I regained my feet. We plodded up the hill as a genuine drizzle descended and we were in rain by the time we reached the unenchanting village of Wetton. According to the guidebook we had next to look for the Manor House Farm and Tea Room. I found the Farm but there seemed to be no tearoom in evidence. Some of our group had wandered down the hill and there they had spotted the local pub. Tosh did a reconnaissance and emerged to invite us all into the welcoming atmosphere of Ye Olde Royal Oak. We had a back room all to ourselves, a much appreciated haven from the drizzle. Tea and coffee soon followed and bacon and scampi crisps. Everyone had a drink and a visit to the loo. I stood next to a fire in the main lounge while Tosh wrote a check for the bill. Then, at 2:30, it was time for us to put on the wet gear and move on.

Gradually, the drizzle disappeared. We walked behind the Manor Farm where a sign pointed in one direction (Back of Ecton) while we were shunted along a sewer of a track heading in another. Anna and I kept close count of the many walls we squeezed through or climbed over as we headed northeast. A long line of colorfully garbed walkers snaked behind us. As we reached the end of the next-to-last field I decided to call a halt so others could catch up. Lamya now recalled that a life-long ambition had been to jump into a large fresh cow-pie. And here at last there were a number of opportunities for her to realize this goal. On the first occasion we all took out our cameras; on the second we just ducked.

There was plenty of opportunity for boots to be stomped clean as we reached a road and turned left. A short time later we approached a crossroads. Unfortunately a sign pointed to our destination, Hartington, but I assured my curious charges that no doubt the road would be far steeper (though not longer) than the White Peak Way we would follow along the Narrowdale Road. We reached a farmyard and selected the right track to begin a descent down to the Dove. There seemed to be an extra gate on this stretch and some of the kids left the track too early, searching for the path that was to be our continuation to the river. This was found at last, quite muddy and overgrown. I sent the kids ahead to the bridge and Tosh and I followed slowly.

We crossed over to the far bank of the Dove, yesterday’s spectacular river now in more pastoral, though still lovely surroundings. A second footbridge put us back on the west bank for a while; finally we crossed to the Derbyshire side for the last time. Tosh was certain the river was polluted with detergent, but I wasn’t sure that every bit of foam was suds.

We now began an ascent away from the river and toward the village of Hartington itself. There was a little uphill across open fields but no complaining as we dropped down a hill next to the public loos at 4:45. Hartington was a sizable village with many shops and pubs. We were looking for a food shop and found two, the second on the corner of our next turnoff. Here “vegetarian” Lamya bought the ingredients for her own mushroom soup. Tosh disdained all the tabloids, though dying for news. While we were waiting for kids to emerge from the shop the vicar of Hartington engaged us in conversation; he proved to be an avid walker and we compared notes about the recent weather. From him we learned that another religious group was on its way to our hostel but, after climbing a last hill, we found Hartington Hall to be almost empty.

There was a boot and drying room across from the main entrance and here we were unshod and de-robed. As usual it took me the longest to get my act together, but I was in no hurry. I was very pleased with myself, having brought our group in at exactly 5:00, everyone in one piece and in reasonably good spirits. I checked in and yielded my YHA card, then hefted my pack up to a dorm on the first floor. There must have been space for thirty but we four guys were alone, and everybody got a bottom bunk at last. I did change my original location because I didn’t like my mattress and wanted something a little firmer and less slippery. Then, while the others were downstairs showering, I sat quietly on the floor for five minutes, enjoying the complete silence.

I unpacked, made my bed, and had a shower. I called Dorothy and sat for a while with a tired Tosh in the common room. We debated changing our bus pickup time for tomorrow from 1:30 to 2:15, but at last decided not to do anything. When we sat down at dinner I reminded everyone that we needed an early start and that all packs would have to be down before breakfast.

Dinner was fish fingers, chips and peas. I did my famous pea trick, smiling with a mouthful, to great applause. As usual, there was confusion over Lamya’s order, but, for once, the cheeky young man in charge of the kitchen had the last word. After dinner I went to the games room with Anna. Nick and Rodney were playing table soccer, a process that require them to upend the machine more than once. I played three games of pool with Anna, winning each – to her great chagrin – though both of us played terribly again. It was quite cold in the game room, and I was happy to escape it to return to the warmth of the common room. Someone had started a fire. At 10:00 we all watched Golden Girls on TV. I went to bed then, lying in my bunk and listening to Bruckner while the wind howled outside.

To continue with the next stage of our walk you need:

Day 4: Hartington Youth Hostel to Earl Sterndale