218

Thornbridge Hall near Bakewell - has a long history

that dates back to the twelfth century

Shirley and I used our senior citizen bus passes today. We caught the number 218 bus at 9.54 from a bus stop that is just a three minute walk from our house. Three Chinese people had bagged the prime front seats on the top deck but even so we had a great view.

The bus took us via Totley, Owler Bar and Baslow to Bakewell in the Derbyshire Dales - a journey of some forty five minutes.

I was there to undertake a long circular walk but Shirley had come along to check out the shops and mooch around in the little market town. We expected that she would return to Sheffield long before me and so it transpired.

Telecommuications engineer up a pole in Bakewell

My most pleasant summer stroll took me three and a half hours to complete. It took in the village of Ashford-in-the-Water as well as Thornbridge Hall and part of The Monsal Trail - an old railway track that ran from Derby to Manchester via Bakewell.

It was a lovely, varied walk on which I had three or four conversations with strangers. The longest chat happened to be with a drystone waller called Simon. What a coincidence - given yesterday's post! He seemed to appreciate my curious questions but he would not let me snap his photo. He said he was too shy for that. Fair enough.

Cracknowl House

South of Cracknowl Wood, I came across an isolated house that has no track to it. Fortuitously, arriving from a long sheep pasture, I met a woman with a sheepdog who knew all about the man who has lived at Cracknowl House for thirty years or more. She has conversed with him several times.

Seems he lives "off grid" without mains electricity, gas or water. He collects rain water and forages for firewood in the adjacent woods. The woman reckons that he is something of an artist and has occasionally sold pictures to make a bit of money. 

We shared some envy about the fellow. There's something very appealing about his free lifestyle. Apparently, the authorities never bother him. Seasons come and seasons go and years go by.  I could find nothing on the internet about the man and his hermit-like existence.

After a pint of bitter shandy and a vanilla ice cream cone in Bakewell, I caught the 218 bus back home at 4pm. Again the inscrutable Chinese had bagged the front seats on the top deck. Somebody should impose tariffs upon them!

Betty Lane in Ashford - this is not a drystone wall as mortar has been used.

from Yorkshire Pudding https://ift.tt/HJSz9oc