On getting lost

On April 28, 2025 By SteveIn People, Prehistory, Road users, Walks and walkersLeave a comment

It’s difficult to get lost today. Google maps will display every street in the city, and spell out your quickest route, while in the country apps such as OS Maps will tell you exactly where on the path you are standing. The appeal of this technology is obvious – not just saving time, but also removing the fear that you’re heading the wrong way, into the unknown. In Derbyshire and the Peak District, with thousands of miles of footpaths, this reluctance to risk being lost results in crowds of visitors heading for the same honeypots such as Dovedale, Mam Tor, or the Cromford Canal, with predictable results.

It has been argued that the experience of getting lost can be valuable for our development, and we can cope better with that fear if we develop a strong sense of direction. Moreover, research has shown that the more children are allowed to roam freely, the better sense of direction they acquire. Although there must be marked individual variation, it seems that children today are restricted to a much small radius of ‘free movement’ – perhaps a few hundred yards – instead of the miles that children wandered away from home in previous generations. Of course, it can be argued that there is good reason for the restriction, but if children are barely allowed out of sight of their home they have little possibility of feeling lost – and then finding their way back.

How do we get a sense of direction? Moving through a landscape we notice and memorise a series of landmarks, while the position of the sun should provide an additional bearing (provided it’s at least partly visible). To return, the landmarks are revisited. The second time you make the journey, the landmarks are stored in your memory, even after a gap of months or years, as most walkers have found. Our nomadic ancestors, travelling through an unmapped countryside thousands of years ago, must have achieved an advanced ability to find their way, using perceptions unknown to us.

The Farley Moor megalith

On April 4, 2025 By SteveIn PeopleLeave a comment

*The two metre-high gritstone on Farley Moor*

A recent Time Team programme reports an excavation on Farley Moor north of Matlock, where a single standing stone is thought to have possibly been part of a larger Bronze Age site. The researchers were able to date the site to 3,700 years ago, on the strength of radio carbon dating of charcoal fragments. But what is not clear is whether other stones in the vicinity were part of the monument or just erratic boulders. The stone is in a recent clearing in the Forestry Commission’s Farley Wood, which was planted about 50 years ago. One significant discovery was that below the stone there is a natural spring, so that the stone could have been a marker of this useful source, which might have been more significant when the water table was higher.

Although a good number of stone circles have survived in the Peak District, there is evidence that others have been lost, either through stone robbery or deliberate destruction by landowners who felt they were pagan symbols. However, it does not follow that every standing stone was part of a circle. Others were simply waymarks, such as the stone above Wirksworth on the route of the Portway. It is difficult to imagine the landscape in this area before the conifers were planted, but the ‘Moor’ name suggests an open and fairly treeless area in which a waymark would have been valued, especially if it also marked a spring. There was an ancient route which crossed the Derwent at Darley Bridge and headed up the hillside towards Chesterfield – was this connected?

Despite centuries of speculation we really have no idea of the purpose or use of stone circles. Theories range from astronomical temples to assertions of tribal land ownership. Whether the Farley Moor stone is a circle or a solitary waymark, it is curious that in the vicinity are other named stones, such as The Cuckoo Stone on Matlock golf course or the Wire Stone half a mile to the north. While these both appear to be natural rock outcrops, the fact that they are named suggests that traditionally they were important landscapes features.

See: Youtube/ Time team/ Farley Moor

Rambling with Ewan

On March 12, 2025March 13, 2025 By SteveIn People4 Comments

The Mass Trespass at Kinder Scout in 1932 is commonly described as the impetus to the subsequent access movement. Yet this mythical event, involving perhaps 400 people and organised by the Young Communists, must be seen against the long history of defending walkers’ rights against bullying landowners, going back to the early 1800s. The subsequent fame of the event may be due to the harsh prison sentences handed out to a few protesters. But one definite outcome was to inspire Ewan MacColl to write his first successful song, The Manchester Rambler:

I’m a rambler, I’m a rambler from Manchester way
I get all me pleasure the hard moorland way
I may be a wageslave on Monday
But I am a free man on Sunday

Since then the song has become part of the folk repertoire; covered by many musicians such as the Dubliners. Part of its success may be down to the light-hearted approach:

I once loved a maid, a spot welder by trade
She was fair as the Rowan in bloom
And the bloom of her eye watched the blue Moreland sky
I wooed her from April to June
On the day that we should have been married
I went for a ramble instead
For sooner than part from the mountains
I think I would rather be dead

Whatever the truth about the Trespass, this was not the Duke of Devonshire’s finest hour. The owner of tens of thousands of acres of Derbyshire, and these grouse moors in particular, he appears to have encouraged his gamekeepers to rough up the walkers: hardly in keeping with the Cavendish family’s liberal traditions.

MacColl went on to have a remarkable life, heavily involved in theatre workshops, and marrying Joan Littlewood the theatre director first and later Peggy Seeger, the half-sister of Pete, and had a close working relationship with both. His songs include The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face and Dirty Old Town.

Listen to The Manchester Rambler:

The Coldwall bridges

On February 20, 2025 By SteveIn PeopleLeave a comment

Only a mile from the honeypot of Dovedale are the impressive arches of Coldwall Bridge, a relic of a forgotten turnpike set up in 1762 linking Thorpe with Blythe Marsh. This fine stone structure is today only navigable by farm machinery, though only fifty years ago it was used by cars, a reminder of how quickly a route can become disused. Now it is part of the Limestone Way path, and crosses the River Dove, linking Derbyshire, to the east, with Staffordshire.

It is difficult to date bridges, since they have often been repeatedly modified, either due to flood damage or increased traffic. This bridge may have been a wooden structure in the sixteenth century, but was probably rebuilt in stone in about 1726 and later widened to its present form when it was incorporated into the turnpike system.

The bridge can be the focus of a circular walk, starting from the car park near Lady Low, then on the road to Blore, turning left at Blore Hall, and taking the field path to the left. From here there’s a steady descent to the bridge, which looks most impressive from above. At the bridge the walker can either follow the Manifold Trail to Ilam, staying on the Staffordshire side of the river, or for a longer walk, cross the bridge and follow the river path up to Dovedale, then behind the Izaak Walton Hotel to Ilam.

Our romantic royal captive?

On February 12, 2025 By SteveIn People1 Comment

When Mary, Queen of Scots escaped from the rebellious Scottish lords in 1568 to find shelter in England, she could not have imagined that she would spend the next 18 years as a prisoner of her first cousin once removed, Queen Elizabeth. The Earl of Shrewsbury had the misfortune to be chosen as her jailer, and he found himself caught between Mary’s complaints about the quality of her prisons and Elizabeth’s (justified) suspicions of her cousin’s intentions. For most of her imprisonment she was kept at his houses and castles in Sheffield, Hardwick, Chatsworth, and Wingfield, with regular visits to Buxton, but initially she was confined in Tutbury Castle, just over the River Dove in Staffordshire.

Tutbury was seen as a suitable site, being sufficiently remote from both Scotland and the coast, and she arrived there in February 1569. She didn’t travel light, being accompanied by an entourage of 60, including doctors, ladies in waiting, chaplains and cooks, travelling from Yorkshire via Chesterfield and South Wingfield. You wonder how a small village was able to accommodate and feed so many, although it was common at the time to carry household items like sheets, pillows, and cooking utensils in carts from house to house. Shrewsbury was only allowed £45 a week to feed everyone, which added to his difficulties. In addition to complaining about the cold and the draughts, she also plotted with fellow Catholics to escape either to the Continent or Scotland, so he must have been relieved when he found reasons to cut back her followers and take her to the more convenient Chatsworth.

*Wingfield Manor, looking into Nottinghamshire*

Mary was moved from place to place during her confinement, including Wingfield Manor, until the exposure of the Babington Plot led to her trial and execution at Fotheringay Castle in 1586. The stress of being her gaoler may have contributed to the breakdown of the marriage of Bess of Hardwick with the Earl of Shrewsbury. Today Mary is still often portrayed as a romantic heroine, but it was her scheming that led to the brutal killing of her fellow plotters. Coincidentally, both Tutbury Castle, managed by the Duchy of Lancaster, and Wingfield, run by English Heritage, are both currently closed to the public on rather flimsy excuses, despite their importance in the national narrative.

Mystery stone

On February 2, 2025 By SteveIn Roadside featuresLeave a comment

Any offers?

Walkers in the Peak District come across standing stones of various types. The banal gatepost often remains after a wall or hedge has disappeared, and can be identified by the hinge posts which were often fixed in their holes by molten lead. More ancient, crudely shaped stones appear to have been route markers (see previous blogs). Eighteenth century guide stoops are clearly distinguished by the names of the towns carved on each of the four sides. But the stone above, which I found just 100 metres off the Limestone Way, in between Harthill Moor Farm and Youlgreave, is none of these.

The stone is about four feet high and rectangular, with a square hole cut right through, and the suggestion that it might have been taller, with a piece broken off the top. The inscription is only on one of the narrow sides, and might be the date 1888. Lower down there appears to be a ‘W’. The parish boundary runs along a nearby stream (Bleakley Dike), which may offer a clue as stones were often used as boundary markers, though it’s still not clear why anyone would go to the trouble of cutting the hole. I’d be glad to see photos of anything similar, or suggestions about the function of this one!

Lord Byng pays a visit

On January 26, 2025January 30, 2025 By SteveIn People1 Comment

John Byng (1743-1813) was born into a family of soldiers and sailors, the younger son of the 3rd Viscount Torrington. He bought his commission in the Grenadier Guards when he left Westminster School, and retired as Colonel of the Regiment in 1780. Having no landed estate to look after, he decided to spend his early retirement travelling, and between 1780 and 1791 he rode thousands of miles around England, keeping an extensive record of his travels in a series of diaries. He had married, at the age of 24, Bridget Forrest, the daughter of an admiral, who went on to have 14 children with him, all but one of whom (unusually) survived infancy. Presumably Bridget was accustomed to having a semi-absent husband from his military years?

There is clearly a sarcastic element of class consciousness in Byng’s comments on Richard Arkwright’s Willersley Castle when he visited Derbyshire in 1779:

‘Went to where Sr R.A. is building for himself a grand house in the same castellated stile (sic) as one sees at Clapham, and really he has made a happy choice of ground, for by sticking it up on an unsafe bank, he contrives to overlook, not see, the beauties of the river, and the surrounding scenery. It is the house of an overseer surveying the works, not of a gentleman …’.

Byng’s tone must be connected with his position as the younger son: he had inherited no castles, and in the aristocratic world of this period anyone who had actually worked for their fortune was worth a sneer.

*Cromford Mills as were. Note the distant tower on Crich Stand, the predecessor of the war memorial*

Needless to say, John Byng was equally unimpressed by the nearby mill: ‘Every rural sound is sunk in the clamour of cotton works, and the simple peasant is changed into the impudent artisan’. The fact that the ‘simple peasant’ had chosen to work in the mill, as a welcome alternative to lead mining or worse, may not have crossed his mind. But Byng’s reaction was typical of the many tourists who were beginning to scour the Peak District for the romance of wild scenery and Gothic views. His diaries, however, do give the flavour of travel 250 years ago: his servant often rode ahead to reserve rooms at an inn, and would carry a set of sheets so that his master didn’t have to sleep on the damp or dirty bedding often provided by the house!

Watery ways

On January 13, 2025 By SteveIn People1 Comment

*The Derwent Valley* – *backbone of the county*

When the rains come the streams fill, and we become suddenly aware of the network of waterways that surround us. Normally just half visible, these then threaten to flood the roads and menace our houses. The most fundamental feature of the landscape, brooks and rivers have been flowing in their current courses for over ten thousand years since the last ice age, and have had a dominant influence on our history, as water sources, barriers and boundaries, and also as liquid energy.

The meanings of river names are remarkably impenetrable: unlike most village names many seem to be pre-Saxon, and some even hint at a pre-Celtic language. Kenneth Cameron[i] had a hard time explaining Amber, Dove, Wye, Noe, Lathkill, Derwent and Ecclesbourne (this one of the few ‘bournes’ in the county). Of course there are several River Derwents in England, and it appears to mean something like ‘oak river’. But when does a brook become upgraded to river? And when does the tiny sic (pronounced ‘sitch’) gain the status of a brook?

Due to their permanence, rivers have historically been used as convenient boundary markers, as with the Dove as the Staffordshire border or the Erewash marking part of the Nottinghamshire boundary. Within the county, streams may also mark parish or hundred (wapentake) limits. In lowland counties rivers were often navigable, yet in Derbyshire most were barriers rather than aids to travel. In wet winters larger rivers were often impassable, except where rare and expensive bridges had been built, such as at Cromford or Whatstandwell. Early routes avoided river crossings where possible and kept to ridgeways, above the thickest woods on the river banks. Seasonal flooding was so bad in the lower Dove valley when Daniel Defoe visited in the 1720’s that he abandoned trying to reach Ashbourne from Derby.

*The River Amber floods South Wingfield church – again*

It is believed that in pagan times water spirits (or gods or whatever) were worshipped; water being seen as the source of life. There is substantial archaeological evidence of votive offerings (such as money or jewellery) being found at sites of wells or springs. So this may explain a Derbyshire mystery: why were some medieval churches built so close to frequently flooding rivers? All Saints at South Wingfield is regularly swamped by the Amber, and is well away from the main village, and the same goes for Duffield’s St. Alkmund’s, built right on the banks of the Derwent, as is, further upstream, St. Helen’s at Darley Churchtown. Were these built on ancient sacred sites, or were these locations convenient for baptisms – or both?

*Well and spring below St John the Baptist’s church at Matlock Bath*

Watermills were common before the Normans arrived, but it is noticeable that many in Derbyshire were located on minor rivers rather than on the Derwent. Presumably the large rise and fall of the Derwent made it more difficult to harness the river’s power. Some of the sites, for example on the Lea Brook at Smedley’s in Lea, seem today to have too little flow to power a mill wheel, but most had millponds to provide reserves of water during dry spells. When Arkwright built his first mill at Cromford he used the water from the Bonsall Brook rather than the nearby river. Later mills (e.g. at Milford and Darley Abbey) which did use the river required massive engineering works to create their weirs and leats.

[i] Cameron, K. (1959) The Place Names of Derbyshire Vol. 1

Farey’s footsteps

On January 5, 2025January 5, 2025 By SteveIn People1 Comment

John Farey (1766-1826) was a geologist and mathematician who wrote an extensive report on agriculture in Derbyshire, early in the nineteenth century. To research the subject he clearly had to travel widely, and this experience led him to produce a shorter report on the roads of Derbyshire in 1807. Finding his way around was clearly a concern, as he writes scathingly about the state of the milestones (‘too much neglected’) on account of the lack of maintenance: instead they are ‘shamefully defaced’ by ‘idle and disorderly persons’. Similarly the ‘way-posts or finger boards’ (i.e. signposts) ‘are entirely defaced’ with ‘scarcely a single inscription legible’. Despite this anti-social behaviour, Farey also notes the use of Latin on some ‘wayboards’, notably Via Gellia in Bonsall Dale and ‘Equus Via Longford’ near Shirley.

He does, however, approve of the ‘many excellent Inns’ on the county’s turnpikes, and mentions the Rutland Arms at Bakewell, the Eagle and Child at Buxton, the King’s Arms at Derby and the New Inn at Kedleston, among others. As a geologist he notices that Peak Limestone is hard and so good for road building, but that Magnesian Limestone is easily crushed into a ‘gritty mire’. This was probably the first time that a such scientific approach to road construction had been made.

Farey also approvingly describes a feature of roads in the horse era that few historians have noted. He sees that ‘throughout the County’ cottagers’ children, women and old men are seen ‘perambulating certain lengths of the public Roads’, which they patrol regularly ‘carefully picking up every piece of horse-dung that falls’, and then carry their collections in baskets on their heads for sale to local farmers. Apparently shepherds on the few remaining commons did the same. Farey does not provide details of the going rate for a basket of horse dung, but the practice is an indicator of the depths of poverty in the pre-industrial world. He goes on to complain of the practice of turning cattle and horses out into the lanes to feed on the verges, saying that his horse had been upset by these semi-feral creatures. However, despite his criticisms, Farey rates this county’s roads positively: ‘… after paying a good deal of attention to this subject in most parts of England, I think few of the counties excel Derbyshire as to its roads …’ .

A cold coming

On December 23, 2024December 23, 2024 By SteveIn PeopleLeave a comment

The image of a laden stagecoach arriving at a snowy inn has decorated millions of Christmas cards, along with robins and holly. The card above contains all the elements: the rural setting, icy roads, mine host on his doorstep to welcome the travellers, with the postern blowing his horn to announce (unnecessarily) their arrival, while the lady in the blue cloak is waiting to board. This kind of scene may have become popular because people wanted to travel at Christmas to visit their families, though in practice few would have gone by an expensive coach.

In practice most Christmas coach journeys must have been anything but romantic. Even without snowdrifts, the inside seats would have been both cramped and stuffy, while the cheaper seats on top would be bitterly cold and quite dangerous, as frozen fingers tried to hold on as the coach bounced over the ruts. In ‘Snowed Up’, above, the men have climbed down from the roof while the women passengers stay on board, no doubt hoping they won’t have to push. The scarlet coachman seems about to whip the horses, which are busy eating snow.

The Christmas card was invented in 1843 by Henry Cole (director of the V&A) and drawn by John Horsley, who has signed this example with a tiny self portrait (bottom right). It portrays the Cole family enjoying a seasonal meal, flanked by scenes of charity: feeding and clothing the poor. These form an interesting link with modern cards, which are often sold for charities. A financial comparison with today’s cards is also fascinating: Cole sold his cards for a shilling and they would have cost a penny to post, but translated into modern values the cards would be £5.37 each, while the postage would be just 44p. And not a robin, snowman or stagecoach in sight!