Ashbourne 25th April 2017

Ashbourne: April Showers

Day 1. Tuesday 25th April 2017

I got up this morning, surprised by how mild it felt. I had decided to explore Ashbourne in Derbyshire, in times past famous for its mineral water, but bottling ceased in 2006 due to competition from other brands, notably Buxton.

My first stop, after an hour of driving, was Rudyard Lake in Staffordshire. It was still sunny, but when I got out it was freezing cold and there was an icy wind. Rudyard Lake, a couple of miles from Leek, is a long, slim body of water surrounded by trees. As natural as it looks today, it was actually a man-made reservoir constructed in 1797 to supply the local canal network. It looks very similar to parts of Windermere and always makes me feel like I’m on holiday. In its heyday it was quite a tourist attraction. It developed in the late Georgian era and remained popular with the Victorians, as the newly opened North Staffordshire Railway along the eastern shore brought them in droves. It was, at the time, known as “the Blackpool of the Potteries”.

After the war years, the tourist trade began to decline and then went into freefall after the railway closed in the ‘Sixties. Today though, it is again a visitor attraction and popular venue for water sports. The Rudyard Lake narrow gauge railway runs along the track-bed of the former main line.

Rudyard Kipling’s parents met here and it is from here that he takes his name. It is really a very beautiful spot.

There are boats on the lake. I love boats. I like the look of them; I think they enhance any waterway and I love the rhythmic chinking they make as the bob on the swell. And there was plenty of swell in the brisk, icy breeze.

I walked across the dam at the southern end of the lake and along the wide, flat path on the eastern shore. The views across the water are stunning. There are attractive boathouse properties – boathouse below, dwelling above – which must cost millions. I would love to live by water. Walking along there was just wind, lapping water, birdsong; no human sound at all. That’s quite rare these days.

I love spring and its constant changes. The trees weren’t in full leaf yet and many were still bare. The daffodils had passed their best and were dying off, making way for the next wave of nature.

It had remained sunny all morning until the moment I got my camera out it, when it clouded over. At twelve noon it started raining. Before long this turned into snow, then the sun came out again, then repeated the formula for most of the day.

I stopped in Leek for lunch – a lovely, historic market town, then pitched up at my campsite, a few miles out of Ashbourne. It rained on and off all afternoon, but it stopped completely in the evening and the sun returned. I went for a walk to check out the area; the views over the surrounding countryside were breath-taking, hedged fields bathed in golden evening sunlight, iridescent fields of yellow rapeseed and a soundtrack of birdsong. It was spectacular.

Of course, the rain eventually came back. I love to sit in my van as the landscape darkens, rain pattering on the roof and speckling the windows, the heater keeping me nice and warm and someone else paying the electric bill.

Day 2. Wednesday 26th April 2017

Another sunny morning, which I wasn’t expecting. I sat drinking my early morning tea watching the birds in the hedge which made up my side view. People always say birds need so much food to survive and have to eat several times their own body weight every day – a little something I’ve taken on board – so for them getting food is a priority and a full-time job, but one joyful robin sat preening himself for a good, unhurried ten minutes. So, I think the lesson there, folks, is it’s always important to look good, even when you’re on the breadline.

I left the campsite on foot at eight-thirty. It was sunny but very cold. I had to walk a short way along the main road, which wasn’t pleasant as it was busy and there was no pavement and virtually no verge. As soon as possible I turned off along quiet, high-hedged country lanes, with bluebells, forget-me-nots, white campion and a bit of pink campion, as well as the other usual hedgerow “weeds” growing along the grassy banks. I saw a pair of ecstatic blue tits wheeling in the air – never seen that before.

I walked past a field full of solar panels, a huge field, so this was on a commercial scale rather than someone powering their train set. It doesn’t enhance the landscape, but I don’t find it offensive. The same with wind turbines. They can be removed if not needed and it is important that we start to seriously look into a realistic supply of green energy, so it’s a thumbs-up from me.

It was a beautiful landscape of fields, a curling tree-lined brook, fringes of woodland. It was a lovely walk… until I had to pass through a field that had just been sprayed with liquid manure as a fertiliser. It stank, but I just hoped it didn’t impregnate my clothes – I didn’t want to be forcibly ejected from premises once I arrived in Ashbourne on account of a farmyard fug.

The latter stages of the footpath were poorly signed and I ended up crossing a sports field where a school party were playing football. It felt like it was private property and I was trespassing on a school, which you don’t want to do. I was actually in the right place and ended up cutting through a very nice little park and then coming out into the town centre.

There are car parks and supermarkets, of course, as there are in any town but the old part of Ashbourne is very attractive, largely Georgian, as the town became fashionable with the wealthy in Georgian times, as six coaching roads met here. In fact, Church Street is supposed to be the finest Georgian street in Derbyshire. It is certainly filled with fine, stately town houses, though there is a range of architecture covering an eight-hundred-year period.

Giving the street its name is the church of Saint Oswald, considerably older than Georgian, mainly built in the 1200’s. It has a very impressive spire and a nice graveyard. Close by is the former grammar school, founded by HRH Elizabeth I in 1585. It has now been converted into apartments. The architecture is nice, but vernacular rather than featuring the typical Tudor trademarks you might expect. Opposite the Grammar school is The Mansion, built in 1680. It’s here that Doctor Samuel Johnson visited his friend, so they could talk about dictionaries and things. The Mansion is not open to the public. If you find yourself wandering round its rooms wondering where Dr Johnson may have sat, you are probably committing a crime. Ashbourne is quick to boast that Bonnie Prince Charlie stayed over here on the way to and from Derby.

I was surprised by how quiet the town was, but found out that many places closed on a Wednesday. It’s always a surprise when you find these old customs still in place.

There were various little courtyards and cobbled passages to explore, many overpriced antique shops to browse in… or through the window, as most were closed. There was a barber’s called “Boyz” with an old man sitting in the window having his hair cut. In fact there were lots of barbers. I passed a shop down a snicket called Around-a-Pound, which had a stack of dog baskets outside for a tenner. I’d say a tenner was quite a bit more than around a pound.

The lovely old market place, right in the centre of town is ruined – in my opinion – as it is used primarily as a car park, as so many squares are. It should be the hub of the town, a focal point, an attraction in itself, filled with vibrancy, a place to meet, a place to sit and watch life. I felt it was an attractive space very badly used.

I got very cold wandering around the town too slowly to generate any heat. I needed to go somewhere and warm up and decided on a pub. Ashbourne has many pubs for a small town; some were high-end wine bars and I didn’t think they’d appreciate my muddy boots – I’d forgotten about the potential smell of manure at that point. Other pubs looked seedy and unwelcoming. Several were dedicated sports bars with all the fixtures on boards outside. After much deliberation, I chose a pub I thought looked nice, traditional and welcoming, but I couldn’t get in. The door was locked. The lights were on but there was no one home and the opening times weren’t displayed anywhere. I transferred to my second choice which at least was open, was comfortable enough and it had a real fire and a tiny dog, who was so close to the carpet that he was virtually a draught excluder. He asked to remain anonymous, so I’ll call him “Reuben”. (That’s his real name – I didn’t agree to his request for anonymity.) Reuben, if you’re reading – low five!

The bar maid was nice enough, efficient and polite if not exactly friendly. I was the only customer at first and the landlord just paraded up and down in his tracksuit and seemed to have me under surveillance, which very quickly started to get on my nerves. (I now wonder if I stank of cow shit, but I couldn’t smell it at the time.) The landlady started faffing around with the tables, arranging flowers in vases and made me feel like I was getting in the way of her task. It got quite busy later on, but neither of them helped the poor, struggling barmaid at any point, they just carried on with their aimless wandering and flower arranging. Neither of them made any effort whatsoever to engage with the patrons either, not even looking up to say goodbye when someone left. They served no useful purpose at all. Judging by some of the reviews on Tripadvisor they really ought to start trying harder.

A Motorbike man strode in, helmet in hand, swaggered up to the bar and ordered an orange and passionfruit J2O, which made me chuckle. All the time there was insipid pop music blaring away, a compilation album I would guess, but I had never heard any of the songs before. After a few tracks it really started to grate, because every song was lyrically identical: “You left me, I was sad, because I loved you. Yeah.” They were all striving to be mediocre, but failed miserably.

Four old dears came and sat on the table next to me. One of them made such a performance of inspecting me before she sat down that I couldn’t help but become aware of them. Their ages ranged from about sixty to Neolithic. There was the prrriiing of a text alert and each of them automatically reached for their phone to check if it was them. (I can’t knock them, so did I.)

They started with some relaxed chat, which seemed to involve each of them giving everyone else some firm advice about how to deal with an issue in their life. I heard their bolshie leader saying: “If you don’t get married in a church you’re not married.” I could picture her daubing a newlyweds’ house with the word WHORE in bold white paint because of a registry office abomination – she seemed the sort. The ding of the bell from the kitchen had everyone diving to check their phones again.

On the long walk back through the valley it rained intermittently. I realised these were April showers and were to be expected in April, or they’d have called them something else. The cows were lying down in their verdant pasture, and they know all about the weather, so I quickened my pace to avoid a real soaking.

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The cows were lying alright. The liars. It didn’t rain again all afternoon. The temperature soared and I sat in my van with the windows open baking on a moderate heat and turning myself at twenty minute intervals. I had a cup of tea and then a snooze. I had walked a dozen or so miles, so I felt I’d earned it.

Oh and my van stank of liquid manure, probably from my boots, or possibly from my clothes, either way – not nice.

Day 3. Thursday 27th April 2017

It was a breezy day; the clouds were grey and low and full of rain. I drove to Carsington Water, which is England’s ninth largest reservoir. It took some time to come into being, as planning began in the ‘Sixties, building began in the late ‘Seventies, then in the mid-Eighties part of the dam collapsed – fortunately prior to the water stage – and the whole dam had to be rebuilt from scratch. It was eventually opened by the Queen in 1992.

Carsington Water is only a few miles from Ashbourne, but it feels very far away from everywhere and quite isolated. That might be partly due to the dark, foreboding weather. I had selected a quiet car park on the south shore, far away from the visitor centre, cafes, ice cream kiosks and interactive displays and so on. Looking across the reservoir it looked vast, mainly because the land around it was relatively low.

Although this is only a short distance – as the crow flies – from Rudyard Lake, they are miles apart in similarity. Where Rudyard is picturesque, Carsington is severe. Rudyard is sheltered, Carsington is open. Rudyard is enclosed, Carsington is expansive. Rudyard looks natural, Carsington looks manmade with its with stone banks and beaches of chippings. Rudyard feels local and part of a community, whereas Carsington feels far away from anywhere, it feels isolated and alone.

None of these things are real, they’re just how Carsington made me feel at that moment. Even though it was probably colder on Tuesday at Rudyard, it looked and felt colder here. It is a larger stretch of water, it is open, unsheltered, breezy. The water was very choppy, slate-coloured. There are trees around the lake, but they are mainly young trees, not mature woodland like at Rudyard.

This isn’t a bad place at all, I just prefer Rudyard, but this has a certain open, rugged beauty to it.

There was an island which was covered with sea birds, some sort of gull, it was difficult to tell from this distant, but I was pretty sure I saw a common tern flying overhead.

I walked briskly along the lakeside path and came across a stone hut which housed a series of wooden sculptures of everyday furniture; an armchair, a standard lamp, table and chairs, a fine old upright piano and a TV. It seemed a curious subject matter; usually at somewhere like this you’d expect a nature or water theme, but it was quirky and fun.

Once I was safely back in my van it started to rain. I had a view across the wild water and decided this was how Carsington should best be viewed, all dark and moody. I loved the atmosphere and stayed for three hours.

In the afternoon, I drove into Wirksworth, where I’ve never been before. I didn’t know anything about it, I went simply because it was there. The sign at the boundary claimed Wirksorth was the “Gem of the Peak”. I’m not too sure why. It was a nice enough little town with solidly built houses, some old stone cottages with bulging walls and tiny terraces up steep 45 degree angle hills. It felt authentic and part of its landscape. It felt old, a little dusty, but very real; an old town where real people live. But “Gem of the Peak” is pushing it a bit. There was nothing here to see really, except look at people’s houses… which I’m more than happy to do, but I wouldn’t have thought it would appeal to most visitors. There was little for the tourist – and I’m not saying there should be, but the sign implies otherwise.

Wirksworth was originally a lead mining town, today its chief industry is based around limestone quarrying. A market has been held here since 1306 and it is one of the oldest towns in the area. The church is 13th Century; it has an elegant tower with the addition of an unusual small lead spire, possibly to increase its height and therefore visibility. It is hidden between the shops and houses of the main street. There are the interesting remains of a cruck-framed medieval cottage, which provide a cross-section of the structure of the building, which is fascinating.

I had a long drive through the countryside, just to see what was there – I’m not overly keen on the Dark or White Peak areas of Derbyshire, as I find they can be quite barren, but I love the gentle Derbyshire Dales. This is by far my favourite part of Derbyshire, it is rich and green and quite stunning. Virtually every view in every direction could be a picture on a calendar. I was sorry I was driving, because I just wanted to be out, walking, enfolded in the landscape.

In the evening the schizophrenic weather was up to its tricks and it was again sunny and warm, a gorgeous evening and too nice to miss. I walked from the campsite along the sleepy lanes with their views, their grazing horses, little cottages, daffodils, soft lighting and long shadows. It is a beautiful part of the world.

Day 4. Friday 28th April 2017

I wanted to give Carsington Water a second chance in better weather. So I parked at the same quiet car park again and walked over the dam, which was interesting and offered views over the whole reservoir and the surrounding countryside. There were several boats out today and the water was noticeably calmer.

The Visitor Centre was full of interactive displays which explained the treatment of our tap water and helpfully told you what you should and shouldn’t put down the toilet, sometimes in too much detail. They made a big point of how bad it is to put fat and grease down the toilet as it clogs the sewers. Ironically, the whole place smelled of grease.

I went in the small café for a coffee which tasted of hot brown nothing. The girl in the café displayed a fine indifference, just this side of plain rude. I was the only customer at that point, so it wasn’t like she was stressed.

Desperate to get a sense of what Carsington is all about I went for a walk along the shoreline. I’d tried it in better weather, but it just doesn’t float my boat. I’m glad Carsington is there, but it’s just not for me. Even in sunshine. In fact, in all seriousness, I preferred it in the rain.