2nd March 2017
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Creswell Crags: Ancient Cave Dwellers, Cave Art and Gift Shops
I’ve wanted to visit Creswell Crags for years, but never got round to it and stupidly, I didn’t realise quite where it was, but thanks to my brand new trusty map I’ve found it’s only a short drive away, across the border in Derbyshire.
The SatNav takes me on a complete detour, not the way I would have chosen, but I’m not complaining, because she gets me to my destination eventually.
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Creswell Crags was famous for many years, as being the only place in Britain where Stone Age cave art had been found, then some was discovered on the Gower Peninsular, even so, the caves contain the Northern-most cave art in Europe. Understandably the site has been designated a Site of Special Scientific Interest. It is certainly very special.
The visitor centre is run by a charity and is modern and bright. The actual crags are a short walk away. My plan is to get some information on what’s on offer first, pick up a leaflet or two and peruse over a coffee. There is an elderly lady on reception. She completely ignores me at first, because she’s trying to have a personal telephone conversation and gossip won’t wait, so I patiently browse through the giftshop items: Creswell Crags pens, Creswell Crags pencils, Creswell Crags pencil sharpeners, Creswell Crags bookmarks and all the usual tat that you get in every gift shop for gullible people to fork out for. (I bought a pen!)
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When the old lady finally hangs up, I ask her if there are any maps of the site or any leaflets about what’s going on and what tours are available. She looks at me, then points to a red leaflet on the counter.
“Just that.”
I know it isn’t the type of thing I’m looking for, but I take one anyway, out of politeness. That’s how I punish rude people. I want maps and info about the tours that are available, but she just wants rid of me. I decide she’s lost a customer and I’ll guide myself.
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I have a coffee in the bright and modern café; it’s “modern-good”, not “modern characterless carbuncle”. It’s mainly glass and must be like a furnace in the summer. An elderly couple have unwisely chosen to sit in the window in the direct sunlight and seem to be enjoying a leisurely cremation.
Using my own map, I work out a route along the river to the Crags. Creswell Crags is an enclosed limestone gorge, partially ivy-covered, with overhanging trees. It looks like a pre-Raphaelite painting, dramatic and atmospheric.
There is a coach full of small school children on a field trip. They seem very engaged and aren’t noisy or obnoxious.
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I wish we’d done trips like this when I was at school. We didn’t do very many at all; the last one I remember was to Warrington, to show us how not to build a New Town. I suppose they reckoned the brightest pupils may go on to be builders, but most would probably end up in prison, so why waste the money on field trips?
The stream is the border between Derbyshire and Nottinghamshire; as there are caves on both sides the site is technically in both counties. This hidden ravine isn’t accessible by road, which is probably why it has remained intact and unspoilt. It is a beautiful and impressive location, for its geography as well as its history; formed when a glacier melted and the flood water rushed down, carving through the rock and creating the cave systems. The small lake in the bottom of the valley was made by the local Duke, who owned the surrounding area and used one of the caves as a boathouse.
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The limestone cliffs are riddled with caves. All the accessible ones are covered with gated-railings now; access is only via a guided tour from the visitor centre, but you can look through the iron work and get an idea of the cave inside. Many of these were occupied by Nomadic tribes during the last Ice Age (between 43,000 and 10,000 years ago). This would have been a spring or summer residence.
Church Hole was one of the most occupied and contains the most artwork, with approximately eighty engravings, the most famous is of a bison, carved into the rock using a simple flint tool. It is estimated to be 13, 000 years old. It was found in 2003.
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Many flint tools have been discovered here and there are indications that Neanderthal man may have lived here on occasion, up to 60,000 years ago. These kind of numbers just make me dizzy.
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As I wander along looking at the caves on the Nottinghamshire side of the lake, over in Derbyshire the school party, complete with junior hardhats, are being given their guided tour. The female guide asks them: “What animals might the people who lived here have been frightened of? Anyone? Think of an animal that howls.”
Instead of answering the question, twenty children simultaneous howl. It echoes along the ravine and startles the cruising mallards on the lake. It makes me laugh. (The answer is wolf by the way.)
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The museum, back in the visitor centre is well-worth a visit if you enjoy looking at mummified hyena droppings. What an archaeological find that must have been! Seriously though, the museum is a great little treasure trove of remains and provides much insight into the area. Of special interest is a computer simulation of how the ravine might have looked throughout the millennia, with woolly mammoth, woolly rhinos, hippos and hyenas milling about. It's fascinating.
There are interactive sections where you can see if you can spot the cave engravings and trace their outline on the screen. To be honest, I wouldn’t have spotted anything in the caves, they just look like natural scratches and indentations, so don’t be expecting the Mona Lisa or anything. It’s still very exciting to think people, our ancestors, created these images all that time ago. History, which technically means written records, only began about 4BC/BCE. People lived here in pre-historic times, before history began, up to 60,000 years ago. That’s over ten times the length of history. It’s mind-blowing. An awful lot happened BF. (Before Facebook.)
Here’s a thought. In a post-apocalyptic situation, in the far distant future, with no electricity – all our current history that is recorded digitally and seldom ever printed, will be inaccessible. To the explorers of the future, it might well look like time stopped at the start of the 21st Century.
In the afternoon, I set off for a walk in the opposite direction, across the border back into Nottinghamshire, to try and get a glimpse of Wellbeck Abbey, the ancestral home of the Dukes of Portland. All I get to see are some lofty spires over the trees. At one point, I get my foot caught in a bramble and trip, staggering mid-fall for several yards, trying to regain my balance, only to fail and plunge head-first into a patch of brambles and nettles. My right arm is stung and scratched and I seem to have pulled a muscle in my right leg, but I bravely soldier on.
The footpath crosses between two lakes; the one nearest the hall is formally landscaped, laid out with tended lawns, willows weeping by the water’s edge and manicured avenues of trees. The other side is wild and rough, overgrown and natural, as nature intended. I have to say, the manmade landscape is coming out on top here, as it is so well done.
I journey back to the campsite in the rush hour traffic. I have chosen what I consider to be the most direct and logical route, but I decide to see what the SatNav has to say. Bizarrely, she agrees with me.
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Note: The Wellbeck Abbey Tunnels.
In the evening, over a can or two, I did a bit of Google research on the Abbey and discovered that the area I walked along has miles of tunnels underneath it and there is evidence, in the form of skylights, if you know where to look… which I didn’t.
It led me to read about the “mad Duke of Portland” as he was sometimes known, the fifth Duke, who lived in the 1800s. There are many stories, a lot of them contradictory and fanciful, everything from the Duke being horribly disfigured and having a terrible disease, afraid of being seen, afraid of sunlight, possibly a vampire. He had tunnels built all over the estate, one of which ran to the local railway station, many big enough to drive a carriage and horses through. He also built an underground ballroom, chapel and library.
The Duke was, by all accounts, somewhat reclusive, but he was also known as a caring benefactor and a deeply kind man. The main reason for these underground rooms and tunnels was supposedly to provide labour for the local people, who knew him as “the workers friend”. For his funeral, there was genuine, heartfelt mourning from the villagers.