Day Eighteen

Friday 5 February 2010– Shardlow to Belper.

The overnight rain had passed on, leaving another dank, foggy day. From Shardlow a quiet lane ran North to Ambaston, hardly a village. The only interest came from an off-white, boxy new house under construction, a stark contrast with the brick cottage next door. An alley between gardens took me to a footpath across soggy fields to the bank of the Derwent.

So just to recap: I had followed the Soar as it flowed North to its junction with the Trent, crossed the Trent at Shardlow, and had now picked up the Derwent to walk North against its flow for the next four days. Got that? Good.

Across the river, near Borowash Bridge, another big power station brooded in the fog, A constant dull roar of traffic indicated just how many busy roads cris-cross this plain, linking Derby, Nottingham, Leicester and their satellites to the rest of the country. My non-busy route was heading West and slightly North towards Derby.

They guard their fishing rights jealously in these parts – thousands of pounds must be spent on warning signs. A new bridge (not on my map) and a small army of diggers pushing earth around indicated a new development – too early to tell whether it is to be residential or commercial. In fact a large percentage of Derby seems to be in the process of moving around in the buckets of diggers or dumper trucks. The wreckage of old factories, warehouses and offices is being cleared, the ground prepared for the new.

The river and the path snake around Pride Park, home to Derby County Football Club, but mostly consisting of offices and warehouses. Although it has been a major commercial centre for centuries, Derby only got city status in 1977, as one of a batch promoted to mark the 25th anniversary of the Queen’s accession. And yet All Saints Church became a cathedral in 1927. How does that work? The river flows very close to the centre, providing me with the chance to divert fifty yards to the arthouse cinema for lunch. The cinema (and mediateque!) is housed in an ultra-modern building which contrasts rather provocatively with the older buildings in the main square, including a magnificent market hall which is like a smaller version of the train shed at St Pancras (this is not surprising – they were opened within two years of each other).

After lunch, I set off up the river again, past the cathedral, towards Darley Abbey. Little remains of the abbey itself. The only standing building is now a pub. Since it is thought to have been the guest house for pilgrims in the 13th Century, there is a pleasing continuity here! The park leading to the village of Darley Abbey sweeps rather majestically down to the river bank. The hall of which the park once formed the grounds has gone, but the mill which provided the wealth of the hall’s owner, William Evans, survives. It is now divided into business units and flats. By the mill I crossed the river to the East side and trotted across a series of waterlogged paths.

One stretch of my intended route was being ploughed up as I approached, but a satisfactory alternative led me to a tunnel beneath a cross-river main road. Annoying, there was no easy alternative to a mile-long slog along a cycle track by a road into Little Eaton. Here things looked up. A back lane led to – gasp! – a hill! I tried to remember the last hill I had climbed on this trip, but in vain. As usual, the climb came with a reward of views, this time across the river valley. Chimneys poked up through the trees, the fog lingering despite the sunshine.

A lovely amble across water meadows led to Duffield Bridge, and then back on to a quiet road which climbed (again!) diagonally up the valley side. Leaving the road at Makeney, I started to collect serious amounts of mud on my boots and trousers as I made my way across a series of especially-gooey fields to Belper, which I reached, rather depressingly, through a large car park. The usual snarl-up of traffic spoiled the street scene, and a handsome square was littered with cars abandoned just anywhere. But two superb churches within a hundred yards of each other were a much more cheerful sight in the now strong sunshine.