Tuesday 28th February 2017
Notts County 1: Teversal
Well, it’s the last day of February… already. I can’t quite believe it. Contrary to what the forecast said yesterday, it’s snowing right now, quite heavily. I’m heading to Teversal in Nottinghamshire. I’ve never been before – or even heard of it – so I’m looking forward to it.
It’s a nice drive through the Peak District, at least it should be, strangely there seems to be less snow here than there was at home and instead of that winter wonderland vista that fresh snow usually brings, the Peaks looks rather flat and dull and colourless.
It’s taking ages to get to Teversal; it involves going down countless lanes that are so narrow that they are probably someone’s driveway. I have to keep stopping to check the route in the road atlas; I eventually give up and programme the Sat-Nav with the camp site details. (My father-in-law gave us the sat-nav. I was very suspicious, because he was very, very keen to palm it off on us... for reasons that may become clear.)
Anyway, I still end up driving down narrow lanes, but now the Sat-Nav is shouting out directions. She’s quite old, past her prime, so she’s a bit doddery and isn’t always right. In fact, she’s seldom right; she’d be rubbish on a pub quiz team. “Turn left in 0.3 miles.” she says. She’s quite posh and quite haughty, yet she never says “Please turn left in 0.3 miles.”
“Turn left now.” she adds, with a bit of an attitude. So, I turn left, because she sounds like she means it. Then she says. “Recalibrating. Make a U-turn.” How can she get it so wrong? How is it possible? Then we’re trundling along and she says: “Take the next left turning in 0.2 miles… Turn left now. Turn left. Turn left! Turn left!” When I fail to do so, she definitely mutters something under her breath, but I don’t catch it. The problem is, there isn’t a left turning. So, she recalibrates again and many U-turns and much swearing – on both sides – later, we arrive in Teversal, a small village on the edge of Nottinghamshire. It was owned at one time by the Earls of Carnarvon (sic) of Tutankhamen fame. They lived in Teversal Manor, which is reputed to be inspiration for the home of Lady Chatterley in the (then) steamy novel by Nottingham writer, D.H. Lawrence.
It is a pleasant little village with a sleepy mediaeval church and quiet lanes. It’s hard to believe that not too long ago it was the site of several coal mines and was criss-crossed with railway lines, shipping trucks of coal away.
I park up at the campsite and head out for a walk to explore the area. Straight across the road is Silverhill Wood, a reclaimed area of former mine spoil, planted with trees by the County Council in 2005. They’ve done a fantastic job of bringing this industrially scarred area back to life. Silverhill itself is just ahead, an artificial hill, originally a slag heap, but it has been landscaped and made higher. The intention was to make it the highest point in Nottinghamshire, but after careful checking with GPS, it was found to be slightly lacking and is officially the second highest point in the county.
Crowning the top of the hill is an impressively realistic bronze statue of a miner holding a Davy lamp. The detail is stunning. It is to commemorate the miners from the former 85 Nottinghamshire collieries. (The last colliery in the county to close was Thoresby in 2015 – ten years after this sculpture was unveiled.)
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The lady at the campsite told me it hadn’t snowed here at all. Possibly because it’s too cold; there is a biting wind on this exposed summit. There are views in all directions of fields and trees. From here you can apparently see five counties. I spot an interesting looking building in the middle distance, something like an abbey. I have no idea what it is, because I have no map for this area. (I later discover it is Elizabethan Hardwick Hall, a National Trust tourist attraction, just over the border in Derbyshire.)
I am always bereft without a map. I had decided to try and manage without one, as I don’t want to keep forking-out the best part of a tenner for a map of somewhere I may not come back to again, but I feel lost without one. I feel displaced. I hate not knowing exactly where I am, and what’s down that lane, and what’s on the other side of the trees, and what the name of that hill is. And I worry that there will be amazing things around the corner and without a map I’ll never know, I’ll go home and find out later what I missed. I decide if I don’t have a meal out tonight I can justify buying a map.
It’s so nice when an industrial site, like this, is reclaimed by nature. Well, it’s been considerably helped on its way, but nature would have got there in the end. I get a bit of a shock when – at the loneliest spot – around a bend come two figures who appear to be Klansmen, dressed completely in white. I see a long white gown and a pointed hood. For a moment I think I must have stumbled across some clandestine ritualistic site. I stop in my tracks, unsure what to do. The pair continue to draw nearer and gradually it becomes clear it is an elderly couple. The woman is wearing a bizarre, long, floor-length white raincoat and a weird pointed bobble hat. The man is actually wearing cream trousers and jacket and a beige flat cap. Even once I know this, they still look like KKK members at first glance. It's quite bizarre. I want to take a sneaky photo of them, but it isn’t possible to get one without them noticing… and if people spot you photographing them they get all worked up and call the police, issue restraining orders and so on… and we don’t want all that again.
Back at the site, I succumb and buy a map from the shop. Immediately, I feel all secure and happy. I can see where I am and what’s on offer in the area, which is actually a great deal. It was money well-spent.
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