Showing posts with label Buxton. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Buxton. Show all posts
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Fate & the weather
I have to write about the weather again.
By Monday evening the last vestiges of snow had disappeared from the hills, washed away by light rain or melted by sun & temperatures well above zero for the first time since the blizzards came. All the high roads were finally open.
The winds had swung right round to the west & by Tuesday they were strengthening into sharp, but mercifully short-lived gusts. By Wednesday it really was not very pleasant being outside, wind picking up & clouds racing in from across the Atlantic at a rate of knots – at least this presented an interesting & relatively unthreatening spectacle, after all the icily undifferentiated masses of grey which have been our lot for so long; but they were strong enough to close some of the high roads to high-sided vehicles.
By early evening the sky was black & shopping bags swung like pendulums in my hand.
Thursday was really cold again, had to put some heating on in the evening & restore the extra blanket to the bed.
All was clear again by Friday afternoon, & this morning the man who gave us the forecast on local radio was able to tell us it was a great day for hanging out the washing – sun, light breeze & temperatures all the way up to 15°.
I fear our local MP - by organising a celebrity cricket match to be held on the anniversary of the match which was famously snowed off in 1975 - may be tempting the weather gods to give us more unseasonal surprises this year.
Link
Andrew Bingham MP organising Celebrity Cricket Match in aid of DLRAA
Related postJune 2nd 1975
Monday, March 25, 2013
And we did have snow
Well …
I put Sunday’s poem in the queue for publication (on this blog) on Friday, during a brief foray to the library, & was I glad I made the effort to brave snow & icy winds & go out. The whole weekend has been spent in confinement, all because of the weather. People have been talking about the worst for over 10 years, but I think its more like quarter of a century at least.
The snow has not been all that bad, in itself. I noticed no heavy falls, certainly no white-outs, during the hours of daylight, more just a continuing, unrelenting cross between drizzle & haar, no snowflakes of any size. But it settled, inches deep, fine & powdery, for the wind to do its worst on. The result has been deep drifts, even at low levels, in any & all areas exposed to the relentless blast from the east.
Many roads have been only intermittently passable – the labour of the snow-ploughs turned as ineffective as that of those clearing the Augean* stables; high level roads have just remained resolutely closed. Sporadic attempts were made to run a bus to the airport along at least part of the route – not a journey for the faint-hearted, especially as those announcements were soon followed by a radio warning that services had been suspended once again.
Buxton was almost completely cut off, even the main A6 impassable in both directions, though Radio 2 announced at 7pm on Sunday that it had finally been cleared, giving at least one through route. To some extent however life carried on as normal inside the town, with local radio announcing that many facilities would merely close earlier than usual.
Remarkably the trains continued to run, until defeated temporarily by snow drifts around Sunday lunchtime. The last I heard was that two extra snowplough trains had been sent out.
I had been optimistic about the prospects for Sunday since, after darkness fell on Saturday, we witnessed once again the phenomenon of a partial thaw where we nestle; the wind died down, precipitation ceased, some of the snow slid off hedges, gutters were dripping, dark patches appeared on the flagstones in the backyard.
Obviously it was not to be. The chill wind from Russia stirred itself once again, putting at least a temporary stop to our activities.
Makes us a bit like Cyprus, in a way.
*the Word spellchecker suggested amending this to Aegean.
I put Sunday’s poem in the queue for publication (on this blog) on Friday, during a brief foray to the library, & was I glad I made the effort to brave snow & icy winds & go out. The whole weekend has been spent in confinement, all because of the weather. People have been talking about the worst for over 10 years, but I think its more like quarter of a century at least.
The snow has not been all that bad, in itself. I noticed no heavy falls, certainly no white-outs, during the hours of daylight, more just a continuing, unrelenting cross between drizzle & haar, no snowflakes of any size. But it settled, inches deep, fine & powdery, for the wind to do its worst on. The result has been deep drifts, even at low levels, in any & all areas exposed to the relentless blast from the east.
Many roads have been only intermittently passable – the labour of the snow-ploughs turned as ineffective as that of those clearing the Augean* stables; high level roads have just remained resolutely closed. Sporadic attempts were made to run a bus to the airport along at least part of the route – not a journey for the faint-hearted, especially as those announcements were soon followed by a radio warning that services had been suspended once again.
Buxton was almost completely cut off, even the main A6 impassable in both directions, though Radio 2 announced at 7pm on Sunday that it had finally been cleared, giving at least one through route. To some extent however life carried on as normal inside the town, with local radio announcing that many facilities would merely close earlier than usual.
Remarkably the trains continued to run, until defeated temporarily by snow drifts around Sunday lunchtime. The last I heard was that two extra snowplough trains had been sent out.
I had been optimistic about the prospects for Sunday since, after darkness fell on Saturday, we witnessed once again the phenomenon of a partial thaw where we nestle; the wind died down, precipitation ceased, some of the snow slid off hedges, gutters were dripping, dark patches appeared on the flagstones in the backyard.
Obviously it was not to be. The chill wind from Russia stirred itself once again, putting at least a temporary stop to our activities.
Makes us a bit like Cyprus, in a way.
*the Word spellchecker suggested amending this to Aegean.
Tuesday, February 05, 2013
Whatever the weather
I am writing this on my laptop at home, having decided by mid-morning that there is no point in trying to go out today. This unsettled & unsettling weather has thrown a surprise snow storm at us – unforecasted, as far as I can tell. The local councils cannot have known, since no roads were gritted. So, although the snow does not amount to all that much, there is traffic chaos, including on the main A6 all the way to Stockport, & some schools are closed.
Yesterday was cold with a blustery wind, plus heavy rain in the late afternoon/early evening. Even stronger winds, gale force in some places, were forecast for today, with scattered wintry showers, (longer spells of snow & sleet possible over Scotland). As ever, it was hard to tell what we should expect in our corner of the world, but it was only the prospect of high wind that was of the slightest concern.
I got a surprise when I went to put out the rubbish for collection last night; as I bent to tie up the bag bits of something kept falling out of my hair. I assumed my head must have brushed against the philadelphus, to which a few leaves still cling, until one of the frozen snowflakes caught the light. None of them was settling on the ground however & the wind was still blustering.
Another surprise lay in wait as I caught the tail end of Tony Livesey’s programme on Radio 5 Live – broadcast from Manchester – where colleagues were teasing Tony about the problems he would face on his drive home after 1am. Even Rhod Sharp joined in when he came to give his plug for Up All Night, astonishingly saying that anyone trying to drive to Buxton would be facing a real challenge, & he would be keeping listeners updated on his own programme. I still assumed they must be talking about high winds.
Sleep came before the promised elucidation.
Even before those late night excitements I had been beginning to mentally draft a post for today on the unsettling weather, inspired by thunder & lightning. We had had more of this around 8 or 9 in the evening, a few long rumbles rolling around the hills, not too close, the lightning imperceptible from inside with the curtains drawn, except for one flash which briefly made the lights flicker & the radio stutter. This makes the 4th or 5th such episode since the first snow began to melt, all very similar except for one in the early hours of Sunday morning which was loud enough to wake everybody up & with lightning which must have been sheeting across the whole sky, lighting up the room even through the curtains.
All while having an argument with myself: not another post on the weather.
The seductive power of writing about the weather I have come to recognise only since starting this blog – gives plenty of free rein to description & the use of adjectives, something frowned upon in official & academic writing. But it’s my blog, I can do whatever I like, nobody else has to read it – I used to skip all those bits myself, especially when attempting a Victorian novel with pages of the stuff. For heaven’s sake, all you need do is establish that ‘twas a dark & stormy night, no need to go on so.
However, sometimes language itself can lead you to weather science. Language Log provides some very useful links to discussions of how the pattern of rain has changed (in Britain at least), just through a discussion of how we should name, which word we should use for, this ‘new’ kind. One option is ‘convective rain’ since it is thought to be produced by processes similar to those which produce thunderstorms. I find that curious, since its frequency in these parts seems to be correlated with a fall in thunderstorms, suggesting something else is going on as well.
Perhaps it’s the bacteria in the clouds. Some of which have a pink pigment which acts as a sunscreen, enabling them to resist death by ultraviolet ray, even thousands of feet up & so much closer to the sun. Although it remains a mystery how they get up there. One speculation is that hurricanes & violent winds help create a kind of hovering effect which sweeps them up into the storm clouds. (I paraphrase all this from an intriguing Weather Eye column by Paul Simons in Monday’s Times). So I expect the jet stream is ultimately to blame – one way or another it always seems to end up getting the blame for our current unusual weather ‘events’.
Links
Georgia Tech: Study Finds Substantial Microorganism Populations in the Upper Troposphere
Research on Airborne Ice Nucleating Species (RAINS)
Can Bacteria in Clouds Influence Global Weather Patterns?
Live Science: Earth's Clouds Alive With Bacteria
National Geographic: Rainmaking Bacteria Ride Clouds to "Colonize" Earth?
Yesterday was cold with a blustery wind, plus heavy rain in the late afternoon/early evening. Even stronger winds, gale force in some places, were forecast for today, with scattered wintry showers, (longer spells of snow & sleet possible over Scotland). As ever, it was hard to tell what we should expect in our corner of the world, but it was only the prospect of high wind that was of the slightest concern.
I got a surprise when I went to put out the rubbish for collection last night; as I bent to tie up the bag bits of something kept falling out of my hair. I assumed my head must have brushed against the philadelphus, to which a few leaves still cling, until one of the frozen snowflakes caught the light. None of them was settling on the ground however & the wind was still blustering.
Another surprise lay in wait as I caught the tail end of Tony Livesey’s programme on Radio 5 Live – broadcast from Manchester – where colleagues were teasing Tony about the problems he would face on his drive home after 1am. Even Rhod Sharp joined in when he came to give his plug for Up All Night, astonishingly saying that anyone trying to drive to Buxton would be facing a real challenge, & he would be keeping listeners updated on his own programme. I still assumed they must be talking about high winds.
Sleep came before the promised elucidation.
Even before those late night excitements I had been beginning to mentally draft a post for today on the unsettling weather, inspired by thunder & lightning. We had had more of this around 8 or 9 in the evening, a few long rumbles rolling around the hills, not too close, the lightning imperceptible from inside with the curtains drawn, except for one flash which briefly made the lights flicker & the radio stutter. This makes the 4th or 5th such episode since the first snow began to melt, all very similar except for one in the early hours of Sunday morning which was loud enough to wake everybody up & with lightning which must have been sheeting across the whole sky, lighting up the room even through the curtains.
All while having an argument with myself: not another post on the weather.
The seductive power of writing about the weather I have come to recognise only since starting this blog – gives plenty of free rein to description & the use of adjectives, something frowned upon in official & academic writing. But it’s my blog, I can do whatever I like, nobody else has to read it – I used to skip all those bits myself, especially when attempting a Victorian novel with pages of the stuff. For heaven’s sake, all you need do is establish that ‘twas a dark & stormy night, no need to go on so.
However, sometimes language itself can lead you to weather science. Language Log provides some very useful links to discussions of how the pattern of rain has changed (in Britain at least), just through a discussion of how we should name, which word we should use for, this ‘new’ kind. One option is ‘convective rain’ since it is thought to be produced by processes similar to those which produce thunderstorms. I find that curious, since its frequency in these parts seems to be correlated with a fall in thunderstorms, suggesting something else is going on as well.
Perhaps it’s the bacteria in the clouds. Some of which have a pink pigment which acts as a sunscreen, enabling them to resist death by ultraviolet ray, even thousands of feet up & so much closer to the sun. Although it remains a mystery how they get up there. One speculation is that hurricanes & violent winds help create a kind of hovering effect which sweeps them up into the storm clouds. (I paraphrase all this from an intriguing Weather Eye column by Paul Simons in Monday’s Times). So I expect the jet stream is ultimately to blame – one way or another it always seems to end up getting the blame for our current unusual weather ‘events’.
Links
Georgia Tech: Study Finds Substantial Microorganism Populations in the Upper Troposphere
Research on Airborne Ice Nucleating Species (RAINS)
Can Bacteria in Clouds Influence Global Weather Patterns?
Live Science: Earth's Clouds Alive With Bacteria
National Geographic: Rainmaking Bacteria Ride Clouds to "Colonize" Earth?
Thursday, December 08, 2011
Water
After a long planning battle, Nestle is investing £35 million in a new bottling plant for Buxton water which will more than double the current capacity of 330 million bottles a year.
Increased demand has seen sales rise nearly 10% since 2007.
New technology will mean lighter bottles which use 25% less plastic.
There will be no significant increase in the number of jobs (currently 100). There will however be 300 new Nestle jobs in the south of the county, making posh coffee.
UK consumers drank over 2 billion litres of bottled water in 2010 – this is expected to rise to 2.3 billion by 2015 as mothers are expected to opt for water rather than sugary drinks for their children.
Nestle also owns Perrier, San Pellegrino & Vittel.
Buxton water is produced from 5,000 year old rainfall that has been forced up through 1,500 metres of bedrock before emerging at St Ann’s spring. It is possible to take your own bottles & fill them up for free at the Well in the centre of town – though you may have to join a long queue.
The taste of the bottled variety always puzzles me; I drank water from the well only once I think, when I was very young. It tasted sulphurous, but the grown ups said that meant it was doing you good.
There was also a petrifying well at Matlock so I think I was afraid I might be turned to stone if I ever drank well water again.
I liked the well dressing though
Increased demand has seen sales rise nearly 10% since 2007.
New technology will mean lighter bottles which use 25% less plastic.
There will be no significant increase in the number of jobs (currently 100). There will however be 300 new Nestle jobs in the south of the county, making posh coffee.
UK consumers drank over 2 billion litres of bottled water in 2010 – this is expected to rise to 2.3 billion by 2015 as mothers are expected to opt for water rather than sugary drinks for their children.
Nestle also owns Perrier, San Pellegrino & Vittel.
Buxton water is produced from 5,000 year old rainfall that has been forced up through 1,500 metres of bedrock before emerging at St Ann’s spring. It is possible to take your own bottles & fill them up for free at the Well in the centre of town – though you may have to join a long queue.
The taste of the bottled variety always puzzles me; I drank water from the well only once I think, when I was very young. It tasted sulphurous, but the grown ups said that meant it was doing you good.
There was also a petrifying well at Matlock so I think I was afraid I might be turned to stone if I ever drank well water again.
I liked the well dressing though
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
From monks to millers
For me the death of Osama bin Laden will not resonate, have the same sort of memories associated with shock, as did the deaths of John Kennedy & Princess Diana. Perhaps that just reflects age – you can have only so many memories like that – or perhaps the fact that, for me, Osama has always been an almost mythic character, like the man who sat stroking his cat in that James Bond film, never too sure if he wasn’t just a figment of the imagination of spies.
At least for just today my memories of this event in Abbottabad are strangely linked to a very precise smell & some water colour pictures.
The smell, of old railway carriages, is made up principally of coal dust plus the musty fusty smell of upholstery that has hosted myriad tweed-clad human backsides.
These were old-fashioned carriages. In a train without corridors each had its own narrow slam-door with a dumbbell-shaped brass handle & a window which could be opened via a broad leather strap like a belt with holes to hold it open to the required depth. Passengers sat side by side on long couches under an overhead luggage rack made of string netting. Above the back of each seat was a poster showing a yellowing water colour poster of a local scene.
This was the London Midland & Scottish Railway service from Millers Dale to Buxton, a local service which linked with the main line service from London’s St Pancras to Manchester & which I used to take to visit my grandparents – often travelling & changing trains all on my own.
I loved those pictures, would pore over them in detail, was disappointed when the carriage didn’t have them.
Millers Dale was also a popular destination for one of our Sunday picnics, especially when the weather was sunny. There was one particular spot, the site of a derelict stone mill which we could scramble through & over. I always rather assumed it must have been a cotton mill, but now think perhaps it might have milled wheat. Probably been turned into a highly desirable holiday cottage by now.
Millers Dale, Monks Farm, Abbot’s Abode, Abbottabad.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Every little helps
Heard on the radio that the council owns the rights to Buxton water.
So if you ever buy a bottle just think that you will, in a very small way through the royalties, be helping us out in these straitened times of government cutbacks, rallying round to provide the money to keep our bins emptied, our drains mud-free & our pavements clear of ice & snow.
Link
Our Peaks
Related post
Snow lottery
Our Peaks
Related post
Snow lottery
Wednesday, June 02, 2010
June 2nd 1975
Thirty five years ago today snow fell in Buxton & famously, stopped play in a cricket match.
For some reason I always think that it was the West Indies who were playing Derbyshire that day*, but no, it was just a routine county cricket match against Lancashire.
I have also been trying to check if 1975 was the year that West Indies lost to Ireland in Dublin, but, frustratingly, have been unable to persuade Google to guide me to that information.
Of course The West Indies toured England in 1975 & again in 1976, when they began their climb to world domination after the humiliation of losing to Australia in 1974.
Although summer 1975 started so badly, it turned hot later on & the West Indies won the first World Cup on a glorious day at Lords.
We were all just being given a practice run at what it would be like during the long hot summer of 1976 when West Indies returned for a test series proper.
*Perhaps because Clive Lloyd was playing for Lancashire.
Links
Dickie Bird The legendary cricket umpire talks about the June snowfall in Buxton 35 years on
Snow in June
Weather Eye
For some reason I always think that it was the West Indies who were playing Derbyshire that day*, but no, it was just a routine county cricket match against Lancashire.
I have also been trying to check if 1975 was the year that West Indies lost to Ireland in Dublin, but, frustratingly, have been unable to persuade Google to guide me to that information.
Of course The West Indies toured England in 1975 & again in 1976, when they began their climb to world domination after the humiliation of losing to Australia in 1974.
Although summer 1975 started so badly, it turned hot later on & the West Indies won the first World Cup on a glorious day at Lords.
We were all just being given a practice run at what it would be like during the long hot summer of 1976 when West Indies returned for a test series proper.
*Perhaps because Clive Lloyd was playing for Lancashire.
Links
Dickie Bird The legendary cricket umpire talks about the June snowfall in Buxton 35 years on
Snow in June
Weather Eye
Related posts
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Of horses and men
I enjoyed this worthwhile Canadian initiative which asks the question: If it happened to horses why couldn't it happen to humans?
"There is nothing that makes it impossible for new technology to destroy the demand for the labour of humans …. What's surprising, or what ought to surprise us, is that it hasn't happened yet. Will human versatility always be enough to dodge and weave around all possible changes in technology, forever? I doubt it. Forever is a long time."
“What will become of the horses?” was the cry which went up as the railways came to England. But the horses thrived – the demand for their services to pull goods & passengers to & from the railway stations saw to that. But then came the internal combustion engine, & the doomsayers were proved right after all. And my great grandfather had to find another trade to provide an income for his family - there was not much call for wheel wrights any more.
I do not myself worry about the future for humans. Either we will continue to find ways to make ourselves useful – whatever happened to all those who used to be employed in producing statistics by hand? – or we will not. There is nothing else we can do about it unless you think going into reverse is a better idea.
"There is nothing that makes it impossible for new technology to destroy the demand for the labour of humans …. What's surprising, or what ought to surprise us, is that it hasn't happened yet. Will human versatility always be enough to dodge and weave around all possible changes in technology, forever? I doubt it. Forever is a long time."
“What will become of the horses?” was the cry which went up as the railways came to England. But the horses thrived – the demand for their services to pull goods & passengers to & from the railway stations saw to that. But then came the internal combustion engine, & the doomsayers were proved right after all. And my great grandfather had to find another trade to provide an income for his family - there was not much call for wheel wrights any more.
I do not myself worry about the future for humans. Either we will continue to find ways to make ourselves useful – whatever happened to all those who used to be employed in producing statistics by hand? – or we will not. There is nothing else we can do about it unless you think going into reverse is a better idea.
Related posts
Forecasting technology
Forecasting technology
Friday, February 12, 2010
Territorial dispute
A lady called Karen Bradley has written to The Times, compelled to pass on the intelligence that they had wrongly located the village of Flash in Derbyshire when it is, in fact, in Staffordshire.
Well yes, but. Only just.
Flash is 4 miles from Buxton, which is indubitably in Derbyshire; the village has a Stockport (SK) postcode & a Buxton postal address. Buxton is the town where many Flash residents do their shopping, visit the doctor, etc; they were among those who lost out most when bus passes did not allow free travel everywhere outside your own local authority district or county, since a hospital visit might, for example, involve crossing from Staffordshire to Derbyshire to Cheshire.
People also sometimes get Flash confused with Flagg, another village high in the hills, a similar distance south of Buxton but east rather than west & most definitely in Derbyshire.
A confusion which I myself was making until sorting it all out yesterday. It used to make me cross that I couldn’t remember the proper name of what I assumed was a single village - an early sign of Alzheimer’s?
Sigh of relief, just muddling up the memory what must have been perfectly clear in my youth.
Well yes, but. Only just.
Flash is 4 miles from Buxton, which is indubitably in Derbyshire; the village has a Stockport (SK) postcode & a Buxton postal address. Buxton is the town where many Flash residents do their shopping, visit the doctor, etc; they were among those who lost out most when bus passes did not allow free travel everywhere outside your own local authority district or county, since a hospital visit might, for example, involve crossing from Staffordshire to Derbyshire to Cheshire.
People also sometimes get Flash confused with Flagg, another village high in the hills, a similar distance south of Buxton but east rather than west & most definitely in Derbyshire.
A confusion which I myself was making until sorting it all out yesterday. It used to make me cross that I couldn’t remember the proper name of what I assumed was a single village - an early sign of Alzheimer’s?
Sigh of relief, just muddling up the memory what must have been perfectly clear in my youth.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Snow flash
Local radio this morning played an interview with a lady from the village of Flash (not all that far from Grindon)
The snow has, finally, almost gone & after more than a month villagers can get about freely without benefit of four wheel drive or tractor.
It was when she spoke about ‘going down’ to Leek or Buxton that it came home. For us Buxton, at 1000 feet above sea level, is really ‘up there’, up where they have ‘two overcoat weather’ as the old people used to say. To get to Flash you have to climb half as high again. Two overcoats plus the duvet I should think.
Mind you, if the interview was recorded earlier things might have gone backwards a bit. Yesterday was very cold but mostly sunny. I got to town just after what must have been a really sharp shower of rain – no sign of it on the road in – but the black clouds were moving well away to the east. In other words the wind had veered right round from the day before when it was coming from the Steppes to the east.
So it came as a shock when we got about half way home last night to see snow lying thick on the pavements.
Even odder when we got to the village. Some pavements seemed completely clear, others covered with snow. Hard to tell about the road which has anyway developed a whitish grayish bloom on the surface from all the salt.
Turned out, in part, to be a trick of the light. I walked down the hill over a very thin scattering of crunchy crackly stuff. Not exactly snowflakes – rather very coarse salt or micro hail stones. Some of it was still lying this lunchtime, maintaining its grainy shape, in sheltered patches & in gutters.
We have had a real lesson in all the different kinds of snow this winter. We’ll be developing a whole new set of words for them soon. That will spare the embarrassment of those trying to explain what is wrong about the kind that brought their trains to a halt.
The snow has, finally, almost gone & after more than a month villagers can get about freely without benefit of four wheel drive or tractor.
It was when she spoke about ‘going down’ to Leek or Buxton that it came home. For us Buxton, at 1000 feet above sea level, is really ‘up there’, up where they have ‘two overcoat weather’ as the old people used to say. To get to Flash you have to climb half as high again. Two overcoats plus the duvet I should think.
Mind you, if the interview was recorded earlier things might have gone backwards a bit. Yesterday was very cold but mostly sunny. I got to town just after what must have been a really sharp shower of rain – no sign of it on the road in – but the black clouds were moving well away to the east. In other words the wind had veered right round from the day before when it was coming from the Steppes to the east.
So it came as a shock when we got about half way home last night to see snow lying thick on the pavements.
Even odder when we got to the village. Some pavements seemed completely clear, others covered with snow. Hard to tell about the road which has anyway developed a whitish grayish bloom on the surface from all the salt.
Turned out, in part, to be a trick of the light. I walked down the hill over a very thin scattering of crunchy crackly stuff. Not exactly snowflakes – rather very coarse salt or micro hail stones. Some of it was still lying this lunchtime, maintaining its grainy shape, in sheltered patches & in gutters.
We have had a real lesson in all the different kinds of snow this winter. We’ll be developing a whole new set of words for them soon. That will spare the embarrassment of those trying to explain what is wrong about the kind that brought their trains to a halt.
Links
Flash, Staffordshire. The highest village in the Peak District
Flash Bar Stores and Coffee Shop Homepage
Flash Bar Stores and Coffee Shop Homepage
Monday, January 04, 2010
Snowbound
This picture from the Times Archive was published in the paper on December 29. I scanned it first for reasons of pure nostalgia – remembering what it could be like to be ‘trapped by snow & ice in the unforgiving country of the Derbyshire Peak District, around Chapel-en-le-Frith.'
Even the address on the back of the coach – The Quadrant, Buxton – brings back waves of nostalgia.
Those were the days – 1958 to be precise – when such was a regular occurrence. We used to look forward to visiting our grandparents for February half term because there was a good chance we would have to extend our stay, unable to go home in time to return to school.
It was not good news for grown ups however. When this picture was taken it was only a year after the Train Crash at Dove Holes, in which the driver died as the result of a great act of heroism. The trains lay on their sides, at the side of the track, amidst the snow & ice for what seemed like forever.
Another time my sister & I were on a bus going home – the rail line must have been impassable, since by that time we preferred to make the journey to our grandparents by train, an exciting journey involving two changes at Millers Dale & Buxton, where we had to cross from the now disappeared Midland Railway station to that of the London and North Western, whose line travelled to the north. Despite the snow & ice the bus was still running but as we went over Long Hill, a beautiful scenic route now barred to heavy traffic, the radiator boiled over.
It was not good news for grown ups however. When this picture was taken it was only a year after the Train Crash at Dove Holes, in which the driver died as the result of a great act of heroism. The trains lay on their sides, at the side of the track, amidst the snow & ice for what seemed like forever.
Another time my sister & I were on a bus going home – the rail line must have been impassable, since by that time we preferred to make the journey to our grandparents by train, an exciting journey involving two changes at Millers Dale & Buxton, where we had to cross from the now disappeared Midland Railway station to that of the London and North Western, whose line travelled to the north. Despite the snow & ice the bus was still running but as we went over Long Hill, a beautiful scenic route now barred to heavy traffic, the radiator boiled over.
Some way down the snow covered field to the side of the road a stream was still running, so it cannot have been all that cold. The driver invited my sister & me to accompany him on the scramble down to fill up a can with water to replenish the radiator.
It is only in recent years, with all the scares over child protection, that it has occurred to me to wonder about his motives; not in any way to impugn his – there was not much he could have done, in full sight, in the empty snowy waste – but perhaps he thought we might not be safe left unsupervised on the bus. Or perhaps he just thought we would enjoy the excitement of the adventure.
The last snow related adventure I can remember was in the early 1970s when I had visited, for what was almost the last time, my grandparents for the weekend. The snow made the journey to pick up the London train very difficult, so much so that by the time I made it to Stockport the last train had left, but a very kind man locked me in the Ladies Waiting Room (complete with a well filled bucket of coal for the fire) to await the Milk Train.
That is until Saturday January 2 2010.
The last snow related adventure I can remember was in the early 1970s when I had visited, for what was almost the last time, my grandparents for the weekend. The snow made the journey to pick up the London train very difficult, so much so that by the time I made it to Stockport the last train had left, but a very kind man locked me in the Ladies Waiting Room (complete with a well filled bucket of coal for the fire) to await the Milk Train.
That is until Saturday January 2 2010.
They were forecasting bad weather, with outbreaks of snow, just as the last lot had pretty much melted away but we pretty much got through the earlier bout unscathed & things did not seem too bad, early on.
By late morning local radio was informing us that all bus services, including the one to the airport, were suspended, not just those which have to negotiate the hilly local roads. Within a very short time they were relaying a Police message that all roads in the county, even the main ones, were closed.
We battened down the hatches, thankful that, although I long ago managed to train myself not to greet Christmas as an occasion for laying in food as for a siege, the uncertainty about being able to get out in the run up to the holidays had persuaded me to make sure there was plenty of all essentials in the house.
We battened down the hatches, thankful that, although I long ago managed to train myself not to greet Christmas as an occasion for laying in food as for a siege, the uncertainty about being able to get out in the run up to the holidays had persuaded me to make sure there was plenty of all essentials in the house.
Today, after a very severe frost, conditions are treacherous everywhere under foot, though the main roads have been gritted & if you can reach them, the traffic runs normally.
I was astonished to find that town looks as if almost nothing has happened. The gritters have made a good job of all the pavements, but there is not the deep encrusted icy snow lying in the parts they do not reach. Since we have not even tried to go anywhere since Friday I cannot say whether that is just because they had less in the first place, or if it just never settled the way it does in the country, or if it is because the frost has just been so much sharper away from the heat generated by all the traffic & centrally heated buildings in town.
In any case, I blame The Times Archive editor. They put the hex on us by publishing that photograph.
Links
Thursday, December 10, 2009
On not using one's bus pass
Whew! Free bus passes seem to have survived the PBR – well they would, wouldn’t they, with an election still to be fought over.
Much angst among the better off about this handout they do not need. All those dreams of on the road trips from London to the Lake District on a Freedom Pass – at the cost of several times what would have been the bus fare spent on hotels for the unavoidable overnight stays along the route.
Much angst among the better off about this handout they do not need. All those dreams of on the road trips from London to the Lake District on a Freedom Pass – at the cost of several times what would have been the bus fare spent on hotels for the unavoidable overnight stays along the route.
This is a fine example of one of the unavoidable dilemmas of publicly-funded services: means tests are humiliating, possession of a pass a stigma. But the better off benefit disproportionately from universal benefits (except for those they do not want, such as the attention of social workers or prison officers), simply because they consume more of everything.
Matthew Parris has even ‘flipped’ his residence from Derbyshire to London so he can have a Freedom Pass which entitles him to free travel on the tube – his Derbyshire go-anywhere pass which would work only on the buses in London is not good enough.
Well, I suggest he takes a half-day out from his busy schedule & uses his Freedom Pass when he next visits his second home - that's if the bus drivers have been trained to recognise 1t (though now I come to think of it, I do not think there is any reason why he should not also apply for a bus pass from his local Derbyshire council, as this will not entitle him to any extra travel privileges. Nor will make a difference to which council pays the bill.)
Matthew Parris has even ‘flipped’ his residence from Derbyshire to London so he can have a Freedom Pass which entitles him to free travel on the tube – his Derbyshire go-anywhere pass which would work only on the buses in London is not good enough.
Well, I suggest he takes a half-day out from his busy schedule & uses his Freedom Pass when he next visits his second home - that's if the bus drivers have been trained to recognise 1t (though now I come to think of it, I do not think there is any reason why he should not also apply for a bus pass from his local Derbyshire council, as this will not entitle him to any extra travel privileges. Nor will make a difference to which council pays the bill.)
Catch the green Manchester bus to Buxton, then change to the red airport bus which takes a more leisurely route through the villages. Talk to his fellow passengers about the difference free travel across local council borders has made to their lives.
There is actually a simple way for the well off to do their bit to save unnecessary government expenditure in these straitened times; there is no law, no automatic fine, for not using your pass, so just leave it in your wallet (when you get it back) & pay the fare.
There is actually a simple way for the well off to do their bit to save unnecessary government expenditure in these straitened times; there is no law, no automatic fine, for not using your pass, so just leave it in your wallet (when you get it back) & pay the fare.
Links
Ticket to ride
Ticket to ride
Related post
Friday, June 05, 2009
Cowslips
I find this picture of commercially grown cowslips strangely upsetting
Of course it is great to see them & to know that farmers are being subsidised to plant this now rare species
I do not think of it as a meadow plant at all however, & not as one which enjoys being a crowd either
It was one of my real favourites as a small child, coming into flower as early as it does. Pale, tall & slender, dainty & demure, not brassy & blousy, like buttercups
But it grows scattered in sunny limestone areas, happy in its own company
The dale where I spent those early years is now abandoned by its human inhabitants - no room for more than a single track lane, no good for a modern property-owning, car-owning democracy - & has been declared a Special Site of Scientific Interest, left to nature with many botanical surprises, & even locally rare species
And it is thanks to searching for cowslips on the web that I found out that last bit of information
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
The power of music
I just happened to catch Tales from the Vienna Woods on the radio the other day
I was slightly taken aback by my reaction – at that time of the morning!
When I was a teenager & grown ups were appalled by young people dancing the new fangled rock ‘n’ roll, & spoke of Elvis the Pelvis in shocked tones, we used to retaliate by reminding them that once upon a time mothers thought that the waltz was indecent & refused to let their daughters take part – & now what could be more respectable than Victor Sylvester
The Buxton Festival had, for at least a couple of years, a Viennese evening, with the Halle orchestra conducted by none other than Sir John Barbirolli. Some people refuse to believe me when I tell them that the evening ended with a Viennese ball – still with Barbirolli conducting, or so the programme said (I cannot find any confirmation of this on the web)
My mother did not like classical music but my father took me to the regular concerts in Sheffield from when I was about 10 years old. We went to the Buxton Halle concert earlier in the evening but the ball was far too late for me. I longed to be able to stay & dance with my father
Listening to Vienna Woods I began to wonder if that had not been all too, well, a bit, you know, Freudian
Well no, I don’t think so. The really shocking thing in those days would have been to go to a dance with a young man – as opposed to being chaperoned to one where people of all ages would have been present. And my father was one of the very small number of men I knew who were actually taller than me. Unfortunately he had two left feet & only ever shuffled a lady around the dance floor when bounden duty called. The Viennese waltz & the polka would have been well beyond his capabilities
But anyway, who cares. Just enjoy the music
I was slightly taken aback by my reaction – at that time of the morning!
When I was a teenager & grown ups were appalled by young people dancing the new fangled rock ‘n’ roll, & spoke of Elvis the Pelvis in shocked tones, we used to retaliate by reminding them that once upon a time mothers thought that the waltz was indecent & refused to let their daughters take part – & now what could be more respectable than Victor Sylvester
The Buxton Festival had, for at least a couple of years, a Viennese evening, with the Halle orchestra conducted by none other than Sir John Barbirolli. Some people refuse to believe me when I tell them that the evening ended with a Viennese ball – still with Barbirolli conducting, or so the programme said (I cannot find any confirmation of this on the web)
My mother did not like classical music but my father took me to the regular concerts in Sheffield from when I was about 10 years old. We went to the Buxton Halle concert earlier in the evening but the ball was far too late for me. I longed to be able to stay & dance with my father
Listening to Vienna Woods I began to wonder if that had not been all too, well, a bit, you know, Freudian
Well no, I don’t think so. The really shocking thing in those days would have been to go to a dance with a young man – as opposed to being chaperoned to one where people of all ages would have been present. And my father was one of the very small number of men I knew who were actually taller than me. Unfortunately he had two left feet & only ever shuffled a lady around the dance floor when bounden duty called. The Viennese waltz & the polka would have been well beyond his capabilities
But anyway, who cares. Just enjoy the music
Link
Friday, November 28, 2008
Isolated families
I grew up in North Derbyshire, on the west side of the Pennine hills which run through the county like a backbone, from the dark millstone grit of the north to the limestone further south
Apart from a few small 19th century mill towns it is an area of dales & moorland, isolated farms, small villages & hamlets. And, a feature which puzzled me even as a small child, here & there a row of not more than a half a dozen houses squeezed at the side of a narrow road, pushed up against the hillside. I guess they were probably built to house the families of men who worked the quarries or the small scale mines
Most of these places now fall inside the National Park & are desirable commuter villages for Manchester or Sheffield
But before the age of mass car ownership they were isolated & lonely, especially in winter when they could be completely cut off
The people were reputedly suspicious & wary of outsiders
Some of the novels of John Buxton Hilton capture this atmosphere & Val McDermid’s A Place of Excecution gives a modern take
And, in the old days, ‘everybody knew’ that incest was common
So we were perhaps less surprised than some by the story about incest in neighbouring South Yorkshire
Even my jaw dropped however, at the thought that 2 women could between them notch up 19 pregnancies without any health professional deciding to intervene
But then we have been living in an age when medical professionals in particular are supposed to be non-judgemental in sexual matters
And so they should be
And if nobody makes a complaint, or owns up, what do we propose? Enforced DNA tests for all possible fathers?
Apart from a few small 19th century mill towns it is an area of dales & moorland, isolated farms, small villages & hamlets. And, a feature which puzzled me even as a small child, here & there a row of not more than a half a dozen houses squeezed at the side of a narrow road, pushed up against the hillside. I guess they were probably built to house the families of men who worked the quarries or the small scale mines
Most of these places now fall inside the National Park & are desirable commuter villages for Manchester or Sheffield
But before the age of mass car ownership they were isolated & lonely, especially in winter when they could be completely cut off
The people were reputedly suspicious & wary of outsiders
Some of the novels of John Buxton Hilton capture this atmosphere & Val McDermid’s A Place of Excecution gives a modern take
And, in the old days, ‘everybody knew’ that incest was common
So we were perhaps less surprised than some by the story about incest in neighbouring South Yorkshire
Even my jaw dropped however, at the thought that 2 women could between them notch up 19 pregnancies without any health professional deciding to intervene
But then we have been living in an age when medical professionals in particular are supposed to be non-judgemental in sexual matters
And so they should be
And if nobody makes a complaint, or owns up, what do we propose? Enforced DNA tests for all possible fathers?
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Guyana Not Ghana
I love this evocative poem by Marc Matthews, with its rich recitation of the things that remind him of home
Buxton, Fyrish, Cove-an-John, Bush Lot, Mahaica,
no, ah said Guyana, not Ghana.
Pompeii, Tanta d`oux, Bhagwandeen car for hire
Sai John, Saturdee night, sweet shop, gas light,
shinin on shame-face in de trench water.
No, ah said, Guyana, not Ghana.
Black puddin, corn pone, swank, cuss-cuss an sugar
jinghi seeds, back-dam mettagee,
buxton spice, no mango sweeter
when you eat passion fruit don’ drink wine nor water
is in Buxton, ah say, de first girl ah love,
five years old; she was from Africa
Pass Plaisance? ah ask, no, she say, further
Georgetown was far
she say pass dat
days an nights she spen’ on de water
Africa to de Brazilian border
ah believe her
Pardon, said de English school teacher
I was dreaming of las’ lick, jamoon, rum and coconut water
to John Bull potagee daughter
ah said: Guyana could a’been Africa
but for Brazil and a heap o’ water.
No, ah said, Guyana, not Ghana
I was intrigued by the existence of a town called Buxton - could there be a Derbyshire connection?
Well, only a distant one, if that
Buxton, Guyana was named in honour of Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton who piloted the bill for the Emancipation of Slaves through the House of Commons. He was a member of one of those great East Anglian Quaker families who did so much for 19th century social reform.
Robert Crampton picked up on this point recently:
Cadbury, Rowntree, Fry's, Clarks shoes, Barclays bank, Huntley & Palmers, the great state of Pennsylvania, Oxfam, Greenpeace, all set up in whole or in part by Quakers, they've got to have something going for them
Thinking about it, evocation is an important element of the work of many Guyanese writers - Pauline Melville, Roy Heath, Edgar Mittelholzer, Martin Carter. Or thinking about it even further, of most writers from the Eastern Caribbean - including Nobel prize winner Derek Walcott
Buxton, Fyrish, Cove-an-John, Bush Lot, Mahaica,
no, ah said Guyana, not Ghana.
Pompeii, Tanta d`oux, Bhagwandeen car for hire
Sai John, Saturdee night, sweet shop, gas light,
shinin on shame-face in de trench water.
No, ah said, Guyana, not Ghana.
Black puddin, corn pone, swank, cuss-cuss an sugar
jinghi seeds, back-dam mettagee,
buxton spice, no mango sweeter
when you eat passion fruit don’ drink wine nor water
is in Buxton, ah say, de first girl ah love,
five years old; she was from Africa
Pass Plaisance? ah ask, no, she say, further
Georgetown was far
she say pass dat
days an nights she spen’ on de water
Africa to de Brazilian border
ah believe her
Pardon, said de English school teacher
I was dreaming of las’ lick, jamoon, rum and coconut water
to John Bull potagee daughter
ah said: Guyana could a’been Africa
but for Brazil and a heap o’ water.
No, ah said, Guyana, not Ghana
I was intrigued by the existence of a town called Buxton - could there be a Derbyshire connection?
Well, only a distant one, if that
Buxton, Guyana was named in honour of Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton who piloted the bill for the Emancipation of Slaves through the House of Commons. He was a member of one of those great East Anglian Quaker families who did so much for 19th century social reform.
Robert Crampton picked up on this point recently:
Cadbury, Rowntree, Fry's, Clarks shoes, Barclays bank, Huntley & Palmers, the great state of Pennsylvania, Oxfam, Greenpeace, all set up in whole or in part by Quakers, they've got to have something going for them
Related posts:
Monday, August 04, 2008
Autre temps
After the seminar at Eindhoven the director of research handed Max Delbruck a piece of metallic uranium the size of a finger. Max put it in his pocket, returning with it to Germany. From the point of view of radioactivity, carrying the piece was quite harmless because the radiation was very weak. But the incident shows how informally such matters were handled in those days [1936]
Fischer & Lipson: Thinking About Science
So one day I went by train to Manchester & was taken by car to the Blue John Cavern.
Down I went over slippery ladders & through narrow, muddy passages to a slightly larger cavity where, incongruously, there was a laboratory table with a lot of glassware on it, bulbs & tubes & stopcocks, rather like the equipment I had used in Hamburg.
That was the plant for 'milking' the radium, for extracting the radon & compressing it into a small glass capillary, no longer than half an inch. At Oliphant's request the radium had not been milked for a whole week so that a large amount of radon had accumulated.
Less than an hour later, when the local technician had done the work for me, I walked out with my little suitcase containing a heavy block of lead at the centre of which was this tiny capsule full of radon, equivalent in radiation to about ¾ of a gramme of radium.
Any safety officer today would shudder at the thought that I walked out with that thing, protected by only a couple of inches of lead, & that I travelled within a few feet of that radiation source first by car & then by train. Today that would be considered an unacceptable radiation hazard both to myself & to other people in the compartment
Otto Frisch: What Little I Remember
I was looking for those quotes a little while ago when there was a scare about radiation leaks, but only managed to track them down at the weekend.
The second is doubly interesting to me because the Blue John Cavern is local – a popular visitor attraction. I assume there are no remaining traces of the wartime activities.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Let there be light
So the days are getting shorter already. We have had so little light this year that we have barely noticed the long evenings
And to make it worse, the longest day was also cold. I should have worn two sweaters under my jacket. As it was the Raynauds came on when I went outside & I ended up having to hand over my purse in M&S so they could take the money out
But further confirmation, if needed, that Raynauds is a response to relative, not absolute, temperature came when I finally got warmed up & hands stayed normal for the rest of the day
I am sure that it was not the coldest June day I remember. In 1975 I wore my (fake) fur coat for the Aussie Test at Lords. In Buxton a match was even abandoned because of snow
Perhaps 1976 offers a more hopeful example. That Saturday of the Lords test (W Indies) was the last grey, miserable, rainy day of that long hot summer
And to make it worse, the longest day was also cold. I should have worn two sweaters under my jacket. As it was the Raynauds came on when I went outside & I ended up having to hand over my purse in M&S so they could take the money out
But further confirmation, if needed, that Raynauds is a response to relative, not absolute, temperature came when I finally got warmed up & hands stayed normal for the rest of the day
I am sure that it was not the coldest June day I remember. In 1975 I wore my (fake) fur coat for the Aussie Test at Lords. In Buxton a match was even abandoned because of snow
Perhaps 1976 offers a more hopeful example. That Saturday of the Lords test (W Indies) was the last grey, miserable, rainy day of that long hot summer
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Cavendish Grammar School, Buxton
I should like to think that this school was named after Lady Frederick (Lucy) Cavendish, but I have been unable to find any information about the schools origins. With Buxton's close relations with the Dukes of Devonshire there are of course many reasons why the school should have been given that name
Related post: Lady Frederick Cavendish
Related post: Lady Frederick Cavendish
Friday, November 23, 2007
Princess Elizabeth
Sometime after their wedding Princess Elizabeth & Prince Philip undertook a nationwide tour.
We walked all the way down to the other end of the dale where she was due to make a brief stop in her progress along the A6.
I was wildy excited at the idea of seeing a real live princess
I couldnt believe that she was in a car. And had only ordinary men in suits with her. Princesses travel in coaches!
But she did wear a very pretty shade of pink
Picture credit: North East Midland Photographic Record
It looks to me as if this photo was taken at St Ann’s Well in Buxton; in which case I am standing about 40 yards to the left.
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