A good way to start the day, I took this shot on my way to work this morning; delicious blue sky, spring grass and sexy curvy dry stone walls, the last time I mentioned sexy curvy walls, I had an email from a reader who said I needed to get out more.
I reckon it must be the best part of three decades since I last climbed to the top of this hill, I was no older than the young couple ahead of me.
But with a canceled appointment, a couple of hours to kill before the next and a very definite need for a breath of fresh air, off I went, (the undulating ground is the result of lime burning in the 17th and 18th century.)
Well if it was fresh air I wanted there was plenty of it, it was wild; at the top of the folly I could barley stand, so it seemed wise not to linger, inside the folly wind was howling and whistling up the spiral staircase, not the brightest of days, but here’s the view looking down towards the town of Buxton
The large blob of a building is the Buxton Mineral Water bottling plant, how did that get past the town planners? it sticks out like a sore thumb, ugly and most definitely not in keeping with the roof lines and building materials of the rest of the town. This is the view from the other side, towards the open moors and from where the wind was whistling in
Coming off the top it was more sheltered, and I came across some farmers working on a dry stone wall, we had a chat and they kindly offered me a cup of tea from their flask, I declined as it seemed like they might need all the warm tea they could get!
There was a lot of work to be done;
Not only does it look good, the finished wall does the job and will last more than the next three decades, till I’m passing that way again.
An edit following on from Sarah’s comment, this postcard came from the depths of my mums sideboard as did other images, it was posted on 19th August 1933
it reads
Dear J
Did not get to Cleveleys after all, so now staying at the ‘Bedford’ for a few days, We are thoroughly enjoying Buxton, Mrs Hammond is meeting me tonight and we are going to see Edward Dunn, a favorite.
Betty
May be they went here to watch the film,
I was so entranced by the stones, they’re limestone,
with chunks of fluorite, quartz and fossils in them (but not as many as fossils as this blogger found) that I didn’t hear anyone approach.
‘CAN I HELP?’ came a voice from behind me, I turned to be faced by a some what cross looking lady farmer, one hand on hip and the other holding her up her wet hair in a coiled towel; her body language led me to conclude my interest in these fine lumps of rock was not welcome.
‘I was just admiring these lumps of rock, they are beautiful’ phew, I’ve said the right thing, the lady farmer relaxed a little.
‘Do you like them? they are for my rockery’, she enthused, ‘I was just washing my hair, when I saw you by the gate, I thought you were from the council, I was already to tell you they are on private land and to clear off’
She went on to explain that they had been excavated by a friend who was making some alterations to some farm buildings, (now if I had lumps of rock this big any where near the foundations of my property I would leave them there, especially as the the geology of the area means that it is riddled with old mine workings and huge natural caverns.
We went on to discuss what make a ‘nice’ lump of rock, dry stone walls and parted, despite the initial hostility as friends, by mutual interests.
To see the floods of snowdrops but most importantly, as this is a private home and garden to have a rare chance to see how the restoration and development of the gardens has progressed
I have fond memories of working at this house a few years ago, we had to decorate a marquee with flowers, for a scene in a TV drama, it was a treat of a job, ‘It’s a party scene make it look splendid.’ no other brief or budget constraints, I was as happy as a pig in muck, not only could we have free rein creatively, it was working in such a wonderful garden, they were long days, I was there when the dew was still on the lawn and I was leaving when the bats were swooping down at night, the Brogden family who own Hopton had just started out on their plans to restore the gardens to their former glory.
The walled garden was derelict then, but not now, Spencer and his assistant Steve have planted 2,500 roses and 3,500 box plants
I have a particular passion for this wall, its known locally as the ‘Crinkle Crankle Wall’ it was built in about 1700 I think, I am sure Alice the Architect could tell us lots about it, it’s purpose is to provide warm sheltered spots to grow delicate fruit trees, figs, peaches and such like.
To get a sense of the true sexy curviness of this wall, you have to look from outside the grounds,
See, I risked life and limb against the tourist traffic to show you.
Of course none of this restoration can happen with out the vision of the Brogdens and the graft of Spencer the estate manager, who looked after us when we were ‘dressing’ the marquee, no doubt he spends a lot of time in here ( coincidentally Hedgewizzard tells today ‘how to clean your poly tunnel)
It was busy on Saturday, but then the weather was exceptional for this time of year, the whole place felt very photogenic and I’ll post some photos on my Flickr site, (click on the sidebar.)
Hopton Hall has been around since the 12th centaury and what I love about the building is that it wears it’s history on it’s face, you can trace it’s development over the centuries, changes in doorways and windows, different styles of brick work and stone. As a ‘Hall House’ the wealth to fund such building would have come from the lead mining in the area as well as farming.
Dash along and see the snowdrops if you can, you’ve got till March 2nd
If not you could always book a holiday in one of the estates holiday cottages,(with access to the heated swimming pool) it’s a rather a nice ‘neck of the wood’ the locals are very friendly.
But at the weekend I made a bit of an effort, I went to look at the snowdrops at Hopton Hall, in Derbyshire (and I’ll post on that in a day or so) but rather than bowling down the A roads, I pointed the car south and followed the lanes. If you don’t have a route plan, you never know when you are lost and in any case I don’t do lost, only ‘geographically confused’ but it makes it more of an adventure. The landscape I drove through is very different to home, its a lot more down dale than it is up hill, the stone is different, it’s limestone which gives the landscape a different colour palette,
it’s softer but I am a ‘gritstone girl’ at heart, my personal preference is more moorland. I stumbled across this place
Magpie Mine its a lead mine , records date back to 1740, but its probably older, I knew nothing about it,or of its existence, I was unlucky, as in reading up about it when I got home it seems there is usually some one around at the weekends from the Peak District Historical Society to explain it’s history, but it was early in the day and there was no one about, in fact it felt a little eerie, so it was no surprise to read of it’s troubled and murderous history and it’s ‘widows curse’
I’ll come again, perhaps linking it to having a look at Arbor Low stone circle which is not very far away, but no time today, as I wanted to get to Hopton
Edit 19/02/08
In response to ‘gunner’s’ comment, I’ve added a photo, of the ground around, the mine,
I imagine a lot of the undulations to be old workings and spoil from the mine, (I think that’s known as a bing,) but I was taking no chances, I’d been warned,
so I didn’t wander around as much as I wanted too.
I should have engaged brain though before I set foot out of the house and put my thermal leggings on under my trousers, it was cold out there. The new chickens weren’t sure what to make of it all, having never seen snow before, they were hopping around as though on hot coals rather than snow
The snow didn’t last long on the south facing slopes, as the morning got brighter, little by little.
You could see where the snow had been blasted through the dry-stone walls, by the high winds
The wind made it feel so cold up here it made my eyeballs ache and it was difficult to see what was in focus because my eyes were watering so much.
I was glad to get down off the exposed hill, a clump of gorse provided some colour
And I’ve got my eye on this fungi, I’ll try and follow its progress, over the next few weeks.
After a warming cup of tea, I took a turn around the field, I was being watched and it was getting brighter.
A few bright days, all be it extremely cold and very windy (shame I can’t share the wind chill with you)
After so many wet and miserable weeks it’s brought everyone out and about: it was late afternoon when I came across this chap, scampering up the rocks.
Free climbing without ropes or helmet, and on his own, I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he were to fall (little miss anxious, that’s me!) I just had visions of him being found the next day at the foot of the rocks, as stiff as a board with a carrion crow sat on his chest; but I am sure he knows what he’s doing and maybe some one was expecting him home for tea.
He didn’t seem to mind being photographed, (I’d never make a photo journalist, I feel far to self conscious taking photos of people.) He even paused to pose before his descent,
What this shot doesn’t show (and this is another reason I’ll never be a photo journalist) is a that gust of wind that nearly tipped him over the edge, he regained his balance with a some windmill arm movements, and confessed when he got down ‘I was trying to look cool, it didn’t work did it?’ no, but he was a good sport. I wondered how he managed to keep enough dexterity in his fingers to hold on the rock, he acknowledged he had to spend a few some time warming his hands in ski gloves, before being able to climb back up again.
But as for the perceived danger of the sport, I have to confess it’s me that’s fallen flat on my face twice, whilst out and about with the camera in last the few months, so maybe its me the crows got its eye on.
That was the tail end of last week, today the weather is not so bright and beautiful, the wind is gusting over 40mph, rain in being blown under the back door, the bathroom curtains are swaying in the draught and rain is leaking in around Tom’s bedroom window, snow is forecast for tomorrow. (edit 08:23 add to that list, thunder lightning and hail)
It starts when I turn off the main road and see the store, the store that our local planning authority should never have given permission for; we were sold a pup. The site deserved a better quality build, real stone and a proper roof, not a flat pack shed. It is in a picturesque location and adjacent to an important site of industrial archeology, it was a cop out.
Why have they sited the recycling area in the most congested part of the car park? on a bend and next to the entrance to the filling station, there are no parking spaces nearby, so everyone parks on the road, gridlock.
In store the yogurts are so tightly packed in to the shelves, I cant get any out even the assistant can’t get at them and he concedes it maybe wasn’t such a good idea to stack them like that.
In the fruit and veg’ aisle I am elbowed out of the way by an assistant who is more intent on waving his little bar code gun thingy, over the coleslaw and beetroot than letting a customer reach for a product, sod it I won’t bother, shame I like beetroot.
I abandon ship, I’m out of here, ‘fridge food’ and fruit replenished the rest can wait till another day.
My jaw muscles start to relax, and my shoulders stand at ease, at the prospect of getting out of here, the checkout is going tickety boo, and the young guy on the till is nice enough, till its time to pay, and if its one thing that really gets me going; it’s when the next customer behind you is so ‘in your space’ you cant get back from loading your trolley, to the credit card machine to pay.
I am not in the mood; ‘EXCUSE ME SIR, I would like to get to the machine to pay for my shopping’ I expected him to step back, but no he steps around; me I am now sandwiched between the man, and his wife who is pushing the trolley against my hip.
The young guy on the till, pulls his head down into his shoulders, like a turtle retreating into its shell, he fears a scene, and braces for impact. I bite my lip, just, and glare at the offending shopping trolley, grudgingly the wife moves the trolley back and I can at last stand square on at the machine, all I have to do now is remember my PIN number………
My foul mood travels home with me (I warned you that trying to be all things to all people was not a good idea) retelling my tail of woe to Mr Uhdd he helpfully suggests that maybe I should have gone to Morrisons’ instead, he looks at the expression on my face, declares I ‘look scary’ and retreats ‘to sort the laundry’
Rant over I feel better now!
There are many more reasons why I hate Tesco stores, but this is enough for today.
We have been away for the weekend, to the Lake District, here to be exact
The Borrowdale valley, to put it in to context, is in the north lakes between, Keswick and Buttermere, the weekend had something for everyone, there were more than forty of us in total, some folk went ‘extreme shopping’ in Keswick or fell running, (the route of the ‘Borrowdale Fell Race’ for Mr Uhdd) others chose, expertly supervised climbing, abseiling , gorge walking or archery; others chose to climb Green Gable, others walked a more leisurely route, that took in a stop at the tea rooms at Yew Tree Farm (which I can not recommend to highly for its excellent scones and banter! (my only regret is that I chose a mug of tea and not a hot chocolate with my scone.)
This route gave me chance partake of my favorite hobby, of rock spotting (how sad am I?) those that chose to go higher on to the fells, soon lost any view of the rocks in low cloud.
So here in my humble opinion, is a handsome rock, definitely one to work, with not against.
And a fine slither of slate crafted into a gate post, working rock; now modified to take a modern galvanized gate, the original holes, would have been used to slide pole into, to provide a stock proof barrier.
Down the lane from Yew Tree Farm, the work, that keeps the landscape looking the way it does, was in full swing
Back at the farm this dog was not best pleased, that it hadn’t been taken out, to drive the sheep.
if you want to round up sheep, you can here, (Inspector G this is one for you, just like an average sort of shift really)
If you read my previous post about stone, you can see just how much, traditional dry stone wall vary up and down the country, because of the differences in the local stone from which they are built crafted, here in the Borrowdale valley the stones are rounded (is this because they are constructed from glacial moraine? please, some one help me out here, my GCSE geography was a long time ago.)
Knit one pearl one; a wall as smooth and even as fine knitting.
The weather closed in on the Saturday afternoon, (you can’t have a Lakeland landscape with out the wet weather, sorry, but the two are inseparable.)
Mr Uhdd and I were here, at the Honister Slate Mine, there was so much rock it made my heart sing, sadly we didn’t have time to go down the mine, but we will, next time we are in the area and it really was just toooooo wet to get the camera out for any more than this shot!
When we got back the kids were still climbing a large sycamore tree, they were all kited out in waterproof’s, ropes and harness, abseiling from the trees crown. It is testimony to the skills of the guys instructing them that despite the weather you could still hear them shrieking and laughing above the sound of the torrential rain and the water gushing down the beck. A good time was had by all.
To add to the weekends excitement, when we got back home, it was snowing.
Some Georgian buildings in ‘near by market town’ were restored recently, and the new, replacement stone was scrumptious , like blocks of cinder toffee, delicious. However I still love to see a nice bit of new stone and traditional materials used in a contemporary design.
I had intended to include this link in my ’stone post’ of yesterday,
but I failed completely, (that will teach me to try and write a post and watch Kevin McCloud ’Grand Designs’ at the same time.) it’s a link to blog about a stunning bit of new stone at the summit of Snowdon, and what a building site to work on, and what a commuter train to take to work!
Now you can debate to your hearts content, wether or not such a building should be there, (it is becoming apparent that there are a few crag rats amongst the readers of this blog.)
And the fact that the summit of many of the countries most popular mountains are now as paved as the average high street.
But you can’t deny that there is some sexy looking stone,
How ever I was sad to read they were importing some of the stone from Portugal
Nice work if you can get it.
(Back to Grand Designs, what a wonderful hunter gather house ”love nest’ in the woods, the house was; Joe age 10, was so inspired he has declared he will build one when he older, in the meantime his tree den could be in for a bit of a make over)
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