Petrifying wells and percolating sink holes

The karst scenery is unusual in this part of the world. The river runs over carboniferous limestone for the whole of its length, and is said to be one of the last English rivers still depositing tufa. Tiny invertebrates act on calcium particles in the water, causing apparent petrification. Matlock Bath, on the nearby River Derwent, is famous for its petrifying well. The Victorian tourists were keen to transform everyday articles into strange stone shapes by leaving them in water there. When I worked for English Nature, as it was known then, the offices were based in Manor Barn, Over Haddon, a village above Lathkilldale, just over half way down the dale. Working there widened and deepened my understanding and appreciation of this amazing river valley. There was always something happening. School groups visited to learn about environmental education. Researchers from the University of Huddersfield were working to find out why the river disappeared each summer. The favourite theory was that the lead mining activities of the mid 19th century had altered the flow of the river with their clay lined soughs, attempting to take water from the lowest lead mining workings. As the clay degraded over the decades, water that should flow down the Lathkill was taking a course into the next valley, flowing into the River Wye near Ashford. Some claim that an underground explosion, a potholers’ attempt to clear an underground obstruction, changed the water table. The flow of water percolating through limestone creates what is reputedly the cleanest and clearest water possible. In the summer it disappears through sink holes, re-emerging downstream as if it had never been away. It’s surprising that it has never been bottled and sold.Nearby Ashbourne and Buxton are both home to successful brands of Derbyshire spring water.

Did Bonnie Prince Charlie lose his waistcoat here?

In the late eighteenth century Monyash was home to important Quaker families, and there are some lovely photographs and artefacts from the Bowman family on display in the Old House Museum in Bakewell, celebrating their lives. There is a Bowman family patchwork quilt in the collection. The centre piece is an old fragment of silk, said to have come from one of Bonnie Prince Charlie’s waistcoats. He travelled through this area of Derbyshire, and is reputed to have slept at Hartington Hall. Who can say whether he accepted brief hospitality in Monyash? Some say the name Monyash means ‘many ashes’. The trees are less obvious now, and with the bad news about ash disease, may become a thing of the past. There are hay meadows, cultivated in the traditional way and managed by Natural England. The traditional hay mix would include plants and herbs with properties that would improve the health of the grazing animals and the flavour of their meat and milk. Flowering hay meadows are also a wonderful sight. On one side of the dale is One Ash Grange, originally a grain store for the monks of Roche Abbey. In medieval times the dale was managed for sheep and wool, timber and forestry, stone and lead, creating wealth for the monasteries and a building boom in churches and cathedrals. After the dissolution of the monasteries wealthy estates took over the riches of this part of Derbyshire, and later still in the nineteenth century speculative fortunes were made and lost in the lead mining industry.

Looking for Moominvalley

Next to the spoil heap of rocks from Ricklow Quarry, rejected by the quarrymen in the 19thc, protected by its SSSI status in the 20th, the valley narrows dramatically. The path becomes uneven, as it scrambles over rocks, made slippery by rain and mud and the polishing of an army of walking boots. The dale then starts to resemble scenes from Lord of the Rings. Not so much the New Zealand landscapes of the films, but my childhood fantasies, based on early illustrations for Tolkien’s books as they caught the sixties mood and imaginations. Moss covered trees add to the other worldly atmosphere. Even on a sunny day it feels cool. On a wet day it’s dark and dank and dripping. Perspective and mood change in every section of this walk, a kaleidoscope of feelings. One stretch is dark and mysterious; the next is open and clear. This dale doesn’t present a stable or cohesive personality. The sky, the weather, the landscape and the vegetation are ever changing along its short length. It is only six and a half miles long. At this point the river that gives the dale its name isn’t visible. Limestone bluffs and buttresses tower over each side of the valley. Rocks lie around, thrown by giants. It’s a Narnia landscape, with Aslan’s sacrificial table. My favourite books from childhood come to life. It could even be Moominvalley. Parson’s Tor rises up on the left. In 1776 the vicar of Monyash, the Reverend Robert Lomas, rode his horse over the cliff on a dark and stormy night. I know a Robert Lomas, a joiner who did a lot of work in my house. It must be a local name. Some say the eighteenth century Reverend had been drinking in Bakewell, still a popular pastime. The horse survived but he didn’t, perhaps it fell on him. It is said that a glass jar holding a tuft of grass used to be on display in St Leonard’s Church in Monyash. The grass was removed from Reverend Lomas’s clenched fist when they found the body. How macabre. Why are local legends like this remembered and shared? I’m adding to the process now as I write, but who thought displaying such a strange memento mori? Was it to remind the parishioners’ that all flesh is grass? Or that we know not the day or the hour. Perhaps it was a prop for a contemporary sermon and no-one then had the heart to throw it away.

Dew ponds, sea creatures and water closets

Dropping down from the village of Monyash, following the road towards Bakewell, the footpath is on your right. There is a welcome toilet block, partly paid for by Severn Trent Water. This isn’t meant to be a guide to the amenities of Lathkilldale, and I don’t mean to dwell on the mundane, but for many groups of walkers, and visiting school children, this was something that transformed their experience of the walk. City children don’t go behind bushes, especially with their class mates nearby, and with the number of walkers enjoying the Dale, the bushes would soon be unable to cope. There’s a dew pond on your left. These ponds, lined with clay and then paved with small stones, are a feature of the limestone landscape. English Nature and Peak Park restored many of them in the late 90s. At this point you walk across fields, with perhaps a few cows in the distance. The way is level and dry, and there’s no sign of the river. There are low limestone bluffs to your right, and a scramble up a footpath on your left would bring you to the now deserted Ricklow Quarry. Crinoid limestone from this quarry was a prized building material all over the country. The limestone polishes into decorative ‘grey marble’ full of Derbyshire screws, the tiny fossilised crinoid sea creatures, a little like sea anemones, that make up the rock. Ricklow was a thriving quarry, with piles of waste stone thrown down into the dale at one point, where the old trackway for transporting the stone terminated. I was once asked to play the role of a Victorian quarryman’s wife for a living history day in the dale, organised by English Nature. It was the first hot day of that summer, a Saturday in early May. I dressed in a blouse and long skirt, with boots. I put my hair in a bun, and took a clay pipe, bought in a charity shop. I had an old wicker basket with a glass bottle of water, and some bread wrapped in a white cotton napkin. Further down the dale I knew there was a Stone Age hunter gatherer and a medieval monk. I spoke to anyone passing by about my life and my quarryman husband. Some people got it, and others obviously thought my pipe contained exotic substances. There had been a time when a small stand of cannabis plants had been discovered in a secluded part of the dale, but this was not an aspect of its history I was there to share. It was my first excursion into storytelling and I loved it.

Make your way to Monyash

If you can persuade a friend to drive you to Monyash and drop you off, or if you manage to catch the Hulley’s bus, then you can walk the length of one of the loveliest rivers in Derbyshire. Some would say one of the loveliest rivers in the country. Monyash is a small village set round a village green in the White Peak area of Derbyshire. Before you start your walk you can visit the Bull’s head pub or the Smithy café. The buildings in the village are constructed of limestone. Take a close look at the threshold of the pub. It’s grey marble, polished crinoid limestone from Ricklow Quarry, a stone’s throw away. I used to work for the government conservation agency who manage this environmentally important area. Geology underpins the agriculture and the settlements around Lathkilldale, as it does everywhere, but here it’s impossible to ignore. The education officer once explained crinoid limestone to me with the help of polo mints, pipe cleaners and pasta shells. It all made sense. You also have to imagine coral reefs, tropical lagoons and smouldering volcanoes, and that’s difficult on a frosty day in December, but a wonderful image. The Smithy café serves the perfect breakfast to fuel your walk. The small dining room still has Ed Driscoll’s musical instruments hanging on the walls, in memory of a man who died too young, and loved his music, his family, his home and his café. His widow and his boys have kept it going, and bikers, hikers and cyclists appreciate it. There were some memorable folk nights there back in Ed’s day, great food and company and entertainment.