Day Nineteen

Saturday 6 February 2010 – Belper to Matlock.

Saturday shopping was in full swing in Belper. But I headed out of town, passing a huge mill and crossing Belper Bridge to the West bank of the Derwent. A narrow, trafficless lane petered out to become a track, and then a footpath struck half left, up the valley side into the fog.

Fog or very low cloud (if there’s a difference) covered the valley tops all day, frequently spilling down towards the river. There was no sign of the sun, but also no rain. Another quiet lane, and then a soggy woodland path, led back down the valley to a bridge crossing the river into Ambergate. The cricket pitch was a sorry sight, a lake occupying the square. A friendly café was the chosen meeting-place for a large contingent from the BBC – the Belper Bicycle Club. But there was room for a walker to enjoy coffee and something, while the brightly-clad cyclists waddled about in shoes which are made for cycling rather than stylish walking! Cheerful banter continued as bacon rolls and mugs of tea were polished off.

A short way along the main road, I turned to cross the railway and find the towpath of the Cromford Canal. Originally built to connect Cromford (of which more later) with the midlands canal network at Langley Mill (near the Notts/Derbyshire border), its building was attended by all the usual manoeuvring for advantage by supporters and opponents. The need for a tunnel added immensely to the cost.

What is left today is a sleepy, weedy shadow of its former self, but a very pleasant route for my walk. It was never quite peaceful – traffic noise is incessant. The reason is clear. Wedged between the Derwent and the steeper upper slopes of the valley are the main road, the railway and the canal, with the canal tens of feet higher than the railway and the road lower still. A leak in the canal would be very inconvenient. Notices warned of closures to the towpath and, although the path was fully open today, there was evidence of recent work. Vehicle tracks had churned up the surface of the path in places, and trees had been felled. According to more notices, Nanny had decided that the trees were threatening other wildlife in and around the canal. I thought trees were wildlife, but what do I know? At Cromford the canal ends in a small basin, the area dominated by a large car park. One of the canalside buildings is an excellent café which provided my lunch. Across the road from the canal basin are Arkwright’s mills.

The Derbyshire UK website tells me that “Richard Arkwright and his partners established a mill in Cromford in 1771 and without delay set about perfecting the machinery and production methods for water-powered cotton spinning. The first mill was modest in size, but in 1776 a second and very much larger mill was established using the same water supply. Soon after, the mill site expanded again and massive engineering work was undertaken, to create the system of ponds and underground culverts which maintained Arkwright's increasing need for water to drive his machinery.”

The rise and fall of the mills is well covered elsewhere. Thirty years ago, when they were acquired by the Arkwright Society, the buildings had been used for everything from brewing to paint manufacture. The society is intent on restoring the mills to their former glory. After all of which, I found a visit disappointing. If you don’t book for a tour (and I was lacking time, quite apart from my allergy to tours), you can admire the outsides of the handsome buildings, pop into the visitor centre, and then you are left with a series of retail opportunities. So I walked up the hill to the village itself.

As a website I glanced at put it, Cromford is "not at first sight a pretty village." Indeed. It has a rather sombre pond at its centre. Without a long diversion, the only way to Matlock Bath was along the main road (it’s not always the same main road, you understand – I use the term generically). A few minutes from Cromford I passed Masson Mill, another of Arkwrights mills, which today includes a textile museum and a shopping village. I’m not against shopping – I can shop with the best of them – but retail does tend to eclipse history round here. Matlock Bath was “developed, in the 1800s, as a spa town and still thrives on tourism. It is often said that Matlock Bath is like a seaside town without the sea due to the number of fish and chip shops and amusement arcades.” Thanks, Wikipedia – you’ve nailed it. It’s not unpleasant (bearing in mind that I walked through on a foggy February day), but it’s clearly more kiss-me-quick than stylish spa resort. Hidden mercifully somewhere up in the hills is Gulliver’s Kingdom, a theme park.

The cable-car ride to the Heights of Abraham was not operating on this wintery day. A pity, really – a trip up into the clouds would have been tempting, although possibly only to me. I walked past the Swiss chalet-style cable car station to climb up to High Tor, a noted local viewpoint. It used to be privately-owned, with a charge to enter, but now it’s owned by the council and is free. I don’t blame the council for the view I got: I have never seen a more impressively thick fog bank. I could just about see the road below and a few houses lining it, but that was it. A gentle descent and another short but steep climb took me to Pic Tor, with its ponderous war memorial. Dropping down again, I entered Matlock through what was, in the fog, an atmospheric graveyard. While Matlock Bath is given over to frivolity, Matlock is its serious older brother, home to the county council, with decorous gardens by the river for those who insist on enjoying themselves.