Sunday, May 6, 2018

Bakewell, Sheldon, Magpie Mine, and Over Haddon

A visit to Magpie Mine today, my first visit to the mine for probably two years - with plenty of time to take photographs today.

I started and finished the walk at Bakewell; public transport is good with two buses an hour from Sheffield, even on a Sunday in the summer months.

I took a few photographs on my way through the streets to reach the footpath at the back of the church.







The walk across the fields to Sheldon is pleasant enough, typical White Peak countryside of grass fields and limestone drystone walls...but nothing particularly interesting.



I've walked through the village several times and noticed the lane leading to the church but never stopped to investigate. Today I had time to investigate, and was glad I did. The building was open and the spectacular roof timbers are reason enough to visit the church if there's nothing else that might interest you. I should think some complicated geometry and mathematics was involved in the construction.









The village pub, the Cock and Pullet, had just opened when I passed it so I popped in for a glass of Diet Pepsi before setting off for the short walk across the fields to Magpie Mine.













I met several groups of fellow walkers as I walked over to Over Haddon. There was quite a large group of people in the field in front of the Lathkill Inn there - picnicking, sunbathing, or playing games...people taking so much joy in doing just the simplest things. It's a lovely spot.

There are two attractive chapels in the cemetery at Bakewell.











I arrived back at Bakewell at 2:45 and it was busy - the busiest I've ever seen it. Surprisingly, there was plenty of room on the bus going back to Sheffield though.





As I was standing on the platform at Sheffield Railway Station waiting to get on the Newcastle train many of the people getting off the train warned us not to get on; they looked hot, flushed, sweaty...and had removed most of their clothes. When I boarded I discovered that it was like an oven; fortunately the journey home to Doncaster took less than twenty minutes and so I didn't get roasted alive.









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