Bakewell and beyond

Everyone has heard of Bakewell pies - in Australia it's a brand of meat pies. In England there are Bakewell tarts - my mother used to cook them and serve them with hot custard, a family favourite. Here we can buy Bakewell tarts with thick white icing and a cherry on top - so sweet they sting your throat and you really can't taste the essential almond flavour.

Bakewell Village

In Derbyshire we found the village where all these tasty treats originate from. A delightful village, full of tourists on the day we chose to visit. Apparently we were lucky to have arrived on one of their special days. There were eight gardens open to the public, and for a mere $4 for each garden (donated to Oxfam) we could explore them - there was even a free shuttle bus to take us from one to another.




However, we chose just to wander around the village instead. The ducks and geese were having a lovely time in the river, and there were some beautiful big (really big) trout swimming around that we fancied catching and couldn't understand why no one else was trying to.



There were, of course, several bakeries taking advantage of the presence of so many tourists to sell what they claimed were the original and the best Bakewell puddings ...

They said, there are no "tarts" in Bakewell. Only puddings.

I remember Bakewell tarts with pastry at the bottom, and a little jam, and filled with almond cake. Crosby and Susanne tried one of the "original" puddings, which was filled with almond flavoured custard.

Beyond Bakewell

We noticed on the map a place called "Arbor Low Henge" and another called "Nine Ladies Stone Circle". We had heard nothing about either of them, but decided to go and look for the nine ladies. There were no signposts, we just drove to the hamlet that was marked close to it on the map, and then we had to ask some people we passed. Finally we parked the car in a shady lane, and set off along a public footpath, over a couple of stiles, and through a field of cows.



We weren't the only ones. There were others on the path, and people camping in tents by the circle of dancing ladies. Susanne and I tried to get into the swing of things.

There really wasn't much to see - we found out that the Arbor Low Henge would have been much more spectacular - but the weather was bright and sunny, and the air was clear and cool, and we had a splendid little English adventure.

Just like the famous five ...

Both Susanne and I were avid readers of Enid Blyton's "Famous Five" books when we were children, and so many things we have experienced in the English countryside seem tied to stories we have read.

We have driven along admiring the purple heather on the hills - along with bracken it apparently makes a lovely springy mattress for outdoors sleeping. Finally we found some that was close to the road, and so we had to stop and test it out.



Yep. Definitely springy!

The Peak District

When they first announced this excursion, I thought they said we were going to see the "Pig District" and I screwed up my nose.

Then they explained about the very popular Peak District National Park. So on a Wednesday afternoon we piled aboard the coach with our students - "you don't have to go, you know", we were told - delighted at the opportunity.



Within seconds we were out of the city and driving past the purple heather on the moors. In places the countryside was really rugged.



And then there were farms and fields, and black-faced sheep with long tails.



We were going to the little town of Castleton - very popular because of several caves or caverns that can be accessed here (for a price).



On this beautiful summer afternoon, our large group of foreign students made up a small fraction of the hoard of tourists packing the town. But the local people were, as ever, gracious and friendly.



Up between those hills is the entrance to Speedwell Cavern, where you descend and travel in a boat on an underground river. By the time we made our way up this hill (which is a lot steeper than it looks) there were more than sixty people waiting in line to go into Speedwell.



We joined the queue and waited. After a good twenty minutes - during which time the line had shuffled forward minimally only once - Peter went down the hill and around the corner to the head of the queue and discovered that they take about twenty passengers every twenty minutes ... we would miss our bus back to the Uni if we stayed. So we gave up and decided to maybe come again another day.



Back at the carpark I had time to bond with some of my students. And we puzzled over this sign:



We've heard of "Cow Tipping", and we have seen a Far Side cartoon about "Boy Tipping" (a revenge thing) ... but Fly Tipping - ?

[So we did look it up on the 'Net, and it has something to do with dumping rubbish. I still prefer the image of trying to get those tiny flies to fall over.]