Derbyshire

Dad's good friend (long-ago ex-girlfriend, in fact) Annie arrived at our B & B at 9.30 today, and bundled us into her tiny car. Annie is originally French, but has lived in Sheffield for 45 years or so, where she has taught her native language at Sheffield uni (which is where she and dad met). As a result, she has an accent that is a beautiful mix of French and Yorkshire. She is also totally irreverent, swears like a sailor, and is a LOT of fun.

Basically, she's the kind of woman I thought I'd like to be, before I met Pat (go on, laugh) - happily single and defiantly independent. She goes hiking and traveling a lot, when she's not working.


Anyway, today she drove us out of Sheffield and into Derbyshire to take us on a ramble (like a bushwalk, only uniquely English, and involves more mud. The American equivalent is a hike; in Peru it's a trek... you see?). We parked on the side of a highway near Ladybower reserve, and set off up the Derwent valley, along the river. The area is truly beautiful; we followed a public footpath that lead through woodlands and past farms. The ground was carpeted with yellows and oranges because it's the tail-end of autumn... there were beech trees and oak trees lining both sides of the path. Part of me kept expecting to see Aslan peering out of the trees at me... or an entwife.


Part of the trail led past the site where Derwent village was drowned when the dam was constructed. Rather like Jenolan, back home; Derwent's church tower used to stick up above the level of the water until someone knocked the rest of it down.

We kept on, past fields of molehills and sheep until quite suddenly we rounded a corner and could see the Derwent dam. It is enormous, and water was cascading down our side of it. The trail took us around the bottom of the dam, and along to a kiosk and carpark area that on a Sunday (even in winter) is inhabited by hundreds of ducks and even more picnickers, walking their dogs. The picnickers' dogs, not the ducks'.


Pip and I indulged in a jacket potato each - traditional English fare, perhaps. Hers was tuna-filled and mine was topped with cheese and beans. Not bad at all, despite appearances! And very nice to hold in cold hands. We sat and ate while watching tiny birds flitting in the feeders across the road. I only recognised robins, and some sort of bird that was in September's picture on one of our calendars, once. Specific, I know. I keep seeing "Septembers", now.

Around midday we continued up the valley to the top of the dam. This is actually the place where the famous "Dambusters" practised their flightpath in WW2, and one of the dam's towers is set up as part-memorial, part-museum. Brings home how incredibly brave these men were when you see just how low they had to fly to avoid radar detection... and I had had no idea many men died in the attempt. Of course, there is no mention of the German victims, unless you count Squadron 617's motto... "Après moi le déluge". Hmm.

We left the dam, and carried on along the upper part of the valley, where we stopped for a picnic lunch Annie had packed for us all. Sandwiches, bananas and mandarins, and we'd had no idea she was carrying it all in her pack. The five of us sat overlooking the reservoir, through the pine trees.


The walk back down the other side of the valley and river was very muddy, but just as beautiful as the morning's walking. More sheep and more molehills; Annie was bemused by our delight in the molehills, but mum and I are die-hard "Wind in the Willows" fans, and finally had something to relate to Moley.

We arrived back at the long line of parked cars in the late afternoon, as the sun was beginning to dip behind the hills. It is quite remarkable to go on a nature walk with so many other people on the trail; it certainly demonstrates how crowded England is when compared to Australia. Fun fact: England does not actually possess any "wilderness" as internationally defined, because there is nowhere in the entire country that has not been altered by human activity. Even the New Forest was planted by King William. One of dad's friends maintains that there are a few square feet of English wilderness left in a bog somewhere, but I'm unconvinced. It's as though an entire country's landscape had been changed from wolf into dog.

Annie drove us back to her house in Sheffield, by way of the high moors. The hills were russet with the dead bracken in the light of the sunset, and a lot of people had turned out in their cars to see the last sunrays disappear. It was a bleak scene, but marvellous.

Annie's house is a tiny semi-detatched (heck, that type of building is always tiny)... but she has filled it with all her books and "treasures" from her travels. While she was getting dinner ready, she told us an elaborate story about the violin she had inherited from her mother, which had been thought worthless and sat in the attic for decades... but which turned out to be a 1721 Steiner. Annie then produced said violin, and asked me would I play it for her!

It was a beautiful instrument, and once I'd got it tuned relative to itself, the sound it made was gorgeous - even in my hands. The lowest notes in particular were so deep and resonant, they sounded like aural chocolate. (Err... I know what I mean, anyway). Alas, I had no sheet music with me, so I was limited to the short folk pieces I could remember... which really didn't do such a remarkable instrument justice. Nevertheless, it was incredible to be allowed (encouraged!) not only to hold something nearly 300 years old, but also to make music on it. I put it down quite quickly after I realised the varnish was flaking off on my hands!

Dinner was a beef stew, followed by a Breton dessert involving prunes in a sort of custard-y sponge - as Annie said, to "get us used" to the food in Brittany when we borrow her house there after Christmas. We spent the rest of the evening with Annie updating dad on all the people they'd worked with at the uni, and regaling us with tales of her travels, arguments and acquaintances. Annie tells every story with panash, so it was unfortunate that I fell asleep on her couch towards 9.30. She drove us all back to Coniston, and we were asleep by 10 pm.