A Peek at the Peak District
I may have to quibble about the classification of the “Peak District.” I know things are relative, but given that I come from the Rocky Mountains, this really only qualifies as the Slightly Bumpy District. Nonetheless, it was beautiful! I spent an amazing holiday here with Tom and his parents, Ruth and Trevor (who I know read this, so ‘hi!’).The landscape was gorgeous: rolling fields stitched together with ancient stone walls, meadows of colourful wildflowers, and shady forest paths with babbling brooks. It even felt a bit like home with all the pastures, canola fields, and cows. Amid all the walks and pub visits, it was a very relaxing holiday.
We had glorious weather! It was so warm and I got my first sunburn of the year. I was very thankful when there were a few spots along the walks where we could wade into some cool clear water, even if that inevitably turned into a water fight. He started it. I’ve discovered that I have a special affection for stone bridges over running water, and my camera and I can happily be left in proximity to one for a considerable length of time.
I don’t know the names of all the places we walked but I remember a few. We walked up the Cave Dale, which was apparently used as a location in Princess Bride (We were originally going to go to Haddon Hall, which is the castle they used, but that will have to wait for another day since they don’t open until July.) We also walked up Mam Tor which gave lovely views of the whole valley. Ruth was our very reliable guide, well equipped with her map book in an ever-present bag around her neck. The castle in the first picture is Peveril Castle, built in the 11th century and later used by King Henry II (the guy who may or may not have ordered the death of Thomas Beckett) when his sons were starting up all kinds of pesky rebellions.
We were staying in a small village called Eyam, which seemed contemporarily fitting once I learned about the town’s history. During the outbreak of the Black Death in 1665, a trunk of infected cloth came to the village and within a few days people began dying. Rather than evacuate, the entire town quarantined themselves, which became a death sentence for 260 of the 700 residents. Reading the personal letters and family stories of the people who lived through it showed the heartache and the horror of an inexorable and unrelenting disease. In this small village, every death was personal. Jane Hawksworth lost 25 members of her extended family. The Thorpes were completely wiped out. Throughout this time, the people did not leave the town, receiving food and supplies left at the boundary stone from surrounding villages. One of the most heart-breaking stories in the museum was that of Emmott and Rowland. Emmott, a young woman living in Eyam, was engaged to Rowland, but the town’s decision to quarantine separated them. Throughout the winter, they would meet in secret on either side of a river, until spring when Emmott stopped coming. Rowland continued to make the trip to the river, not learning until many months later that Emmott had died in April.
The village has been left largely unaltered since this time. Each cottage has a plaque that tells which family lived there during the plague, their occupations, connections, and their fates. Obviously, a story of lockdown and quarantine has contemporary connections given that Britain is coming out of our Covid lockdown, however, the scale and the surrounding terror were on a completely different level. With Covid, we have statistics and explanations, daily briefings to keep us informed, internet to keep us entertained and connected, and an overall understanding of how the disease works and how it can be prevented or treated. These people were helpless, and their collection of cures seems little more than a desperate clutching at hope or nearest animal carcass.
A serious and powerful story that did get slightly undercut when they were selling plague rats puppets in the gift shop.
On one of the days, Tom and I went to Speedwell Cavern, an underground boat tour into an abandoned mine. It was like the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland but a lot more claustrophobic. What used to be a vast tunnel system had been flooded, leaving a few inches of clearance above us and barely a hand-width on either side of our boat. My helmeted head would gently knock against the rocky ceiling while the boat would bump along the sides, sending echoing thuds emanating down the tunnel. The faint electrical lights strung along the passage created quivering reflections on the inky water and the murmuring from the boats ahead became ominous whispers by the time they reached our hearing. Once we got to the other end, we walked around the cave for a while. It reminded me of the caves I’ve been in in Costa Rica and Iceland. We didn’t have a chance to get complete darkness down here, but Tom and I both estimated that if abandoned, it would take approximately 3 days before insanity would set in.
It was a wonderfully relaxing time, and the perfect jumping off point for my last 3 weeks of my PGCE program. It’s been amazing seeing the country start to open up and to have life feeling a bit more normal. It’s even been refreshing writing this blog again, even if I should be doing lesson planning right now.
More Peaks District photos have been added to my England page in the Travel section of my website if you want to go look at those.