October 25, 1986: Hartington to Earl Sterndale
A lonely road in the Dove Valley, north of Hartington
It was a grey morning when I decided to get up on this Saturday, the 25th of October. I soon had the boys up and had knocked once at the girl’s door. A sleepy Tosh responded and I opened the door a crack and turned on the light. There was a bitter cry of protest at this moment, and I relented. The girls were soon up anyway. Everyone had instructions to bring packs down to breakfast – which was served at 8:15. I was extremely anxious for us to finish up our simple chores as soon as possible – for I wanted a quick getaway. There was very good cooperation and at 9:30, our boots and wet suits recovered from the drying room, we were ready to begin our last day of walking.
I headed us down the hill and returned to the village. It took me just a second to realize that we were meant to round the duck pond and head out of town on the tarmac road going north. There was very little traffic to worry about and we were able to make fast progress on a route that had very few ups and downs. There were a number of gates and at each one the first members of our group had to remain at least long enough to advise the trailers that the gate needed to be refastened.
On our left we were accompanied by the Dove. It was actually quite a lovely valley, though unspectacular. Every now and then the sun almost made an appearance and I had high hopes that we would escape a final day’s drenching. After reaching the hamlet of Pilsbury we continued in the same direction along muddy lanes but at Pilsbury Castle we encountered a real ray of sun to cheer us up. Rod and Nick here performed the last of their anti-rain dance rituals. This involved the sprinkling of cookie crumbs and the sacrifice of some candy pellets called Skittles. Unfortunately there were too many unbelievers in our party – for as we walked down a rutted farm lane and continued across several fields the skies began to darken ominously. We persevered until rejoining a lane that led to the village of Crowdecote. As we neared its line of trees the first drops began to fall and there was no doubt about it – there was real rain by the time we had rounded the village pub to continue again in a northerly direction along a sodden track.
Another Dove Valley Road
I was now having major map problems. The OS map, folded into yet another cracked plastic sleeve (my third), needed turning – but the wind was now whipping the rain into us and there was no shelter. To deal with such contingencies I had painstakingly xeroxed this map and had, somewhere in my top pocket, stuffed a small, expendable version of what I now needed to see. Unfortunately, under the strain of the gale and the anxiety about falling behind on our rendezvous schedule, I now utterly failed to remember anything about this brilliant plan. I tried to utilize the guidebook alone, having placed this in the front pouch of my blue sweater. Haslam does not include compass points very often and I was unsure how far we needed to go before making a critical turn off away from the Dove Valley. One direction – that we join a farm road – was particularly ambiguous because we were at a crossroads where roads headed in two different directions. The wet kids, charging ahead just here, elected the softer option and headed north on tarmac. I had to call them back, with Tosh’s assistance.
It was absolutely necessary for me to compare the guidebook description with the OS map. Opposite a cottage I had Tosh hold my rain cape away from my wet body so that I could remove the map from its case and get it refolded. It got quite wet in the process but I somehow managed to get it back under plastic. Lamya was complaining about her arthritic knees, but most of the group were standing meekly in the rain while I got myself sorted out. I could now see that we had turned off too soon and that we had to pass Underhill farm before looking for a turnoff. We had to retrace our steps a bit and continue in a northwesterly direction once again. Had I really had the opportunity to study my maps I would have elected to use the tarmac road after all. It lead precisely to the village we were seeking – though only a purist would note that this was not the White Peak Way.
Opposite a cottage we found a sign and a stile indicating our turnoff to Earl Sterndale. We were directed across a field full of cows, but the instruction “then climb Hitter Hill” made no mention of any means of doing this. We followed a track for a bit but it led to a padlocked gate that was obviously not for walkers. A further instruction, to aim left once above the trees, lead me to conclude that we were meant to get above a line of trees perched on the steep hillside above us. I decided to do a little scouting and disappeared for a while. When I got above the trees, I indeed did discover a small path heading in the right direction. I gave a loud blast on my whistle, confidant that Tosh would recognize this as a signal to follow. Eventually I could see the first of the kids climbing between the trees to get up to the path. I turned away at this point, quite worried about the time – with so many delays making it ever less likely that we could make our 1:30 rendezvous and killing off any hopes of stopping in the village pub, a rest we all so desperately needed. As I climbed up on the wet rocks of the path I slipped and fell heavily on my right knee!
The pain was quite intense. I rolled over on my back but there was nothing I could do to reduce the throbbing. I just had to lie there, with the rain pelting me in the face – waiting for the first of the kids to catch up. This happened before long. I explained my plight. A worried Tosh rushed forward, fearing the worst – that is that I would not be able to move from the spot without assistance. I assured her it was just a knock and shock. I asked for a drink of water. At last, with assistance, I struggled to me feet. The famous cane was returned to me and I really needed it to get going: three weeks later the knee was still sore. We were almost at the top of the hill and Earl Sterndale was soon in view below us. Tosh and I had a quick conference. All things considered, how much better it would be if we could have Mr. Sutton pick us up at the Quiet Woman here. Tosh now rushed forward to see if she could telephone him in time to make this request.
When I reached the village the kids were taking off their wet clothing and boots in the entryway to the pub. There didn’t seem to be much hope of getting them back into this gear after they had gotten dry but Tosh was still having trouble with the phoning. At the pub they had suggested using the pay phone across the street. Unfortunately, British Telecom had just come to repair it. So she tried the pub again and this time got through. Mr. Sutton said he knew the Quiet Woman well and would pick us up here at 1:30, as scheduled. It meant we would miss out on the last two miles of walking but I was not at all bothered. We had covered enough to make a short day possible to reach Ravenstor on the next Alternative walk. I couldn’t have been more gratified by the performance of my kids, everyone of whom had walked all of the close to 40 miles covered on this trip. What a contrast to our trip of two years earlier!
A group photo featuring all the participants of our successful 1987 outing
The staff at the Quiet Woman could not have been nicer. They made no objection to the swamp we soon made of their floor. They lit an extra fire for us. They made sandwiches. It was a lovely end to our trip. Gradually I followed everyone else in shedding almost every item of wet clothing. I was particularly glad that I had saved an extra clean t-shirt, for the one I was wearing was soaked through. Tosh and I sat with a few of the kids in front of a coal fire. The rest were playing pool and other games in the rear. Finally I heard someone say, “Hello, Bert.” He was speaking to our Mr. Sutton.
It took me some time to get my gear ready. Some went into my pack, some, like my sodden boots, went into a plastic bag. We left Earl Sterndale shortly after 1:30 – it was still raining. I addressed the kids for the last time as a group, again thanking them for their good behavior. I had spoken to each one individually in the pub. We had an hour’s ride, via Ashbourne, to Derby. There was a good deal of traffic because Derby County were playing a home game. At the railway station Tosh gave Mr. Sutton his check while I went inside to reconfirm our departure time. We had an hour till train time. Some of the kids called their parents to arrange pick-ups at St. Pancras.
Most of us then went across the street to a greasy spoon – where we had a final snack. Tosh and I had hot dogs; the kids had burgers. Heather agreed to share her plate of chips with the unhungry Lamya but when the latter took more than her share there were words and Lamya abandoned her pal for a more congenial table. It was time for the trip to come to an end.
We left Derby at 3:40. I sat next to Anna on the train. We played a few games of Categories, then Twenty Questions. Soon everybody was imitating us. The time passed quickly. At 5:30 we rolled into St. Pancras. I said hello to several of the parents, gave Tosh a goodbye kiss, waved to kids as they were heading for other platforms of the underground. Many of them thanked us for a wonderful time. On my train to Paddington a loud drunk swayed about and drained a small bottle of spirits. Welcome back to the big city.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: