Glides the Derby Dilly

Peak District part VI

‘So down thy hill, romantic Ashbourn, glides the Derby dilly, carrying six insides’. So opens Walter Scott’s The Heart of Midlothian. I glided down the hill less romantic now and only three insides: me, Jack and Rosie. They dropped me in Ashbourne. It’s a pretty town. Bunting hung in jagged loops. Red, white and blue this way and that in the breeze. Their shadows were like shark tooth necklaces, jangling on the tarmac.

Straddling the street near the centre is the longest pub sign in the world. The Green Man has hosted esteemed guests like James Boswell and an uncrowned young Victoria. ‘Green Man & Black’s Head Hotel’ it read in serifed gold capitals. To illustrate, one side had an image of a man in green, the other a man with a dog and a shotgun.

For most of its life, it also had a bust of the head of a black man, smiling at the road beneath. In 2020, after George Floyd’s death, a protest swelled to remove it. So swelled an anti-protest that somewhat counter-intuitively raised a cherry picker and removed it themselves. It’s said to be hiding from the prying council in a secret location, waiting for the day of its reinstatement, “with a lick of black paint,” according to one of the sinister cherry pickers.

Further up the hill, another pub hosted a crowd for the Manchester derby. It had just kicked off. From the top of the steep incline to the north, through the narrow funnel of the high hedges beside the road, you could see pale hills in the distance. The Peak District at last.

I found a driveway to stand in. The sun fell gently on the double gate, a tranquil scene. In the field behind there was a trailer, suspended in the air by a pair of feeding troughs full of sandbags. It advertised Ashbourne Heights Holiday Park - perhaps the elevation a play on words? Holiday homes for sale, it said, by a picture of a stationary caravan. ‘Turn left in 5 miles,’ if you fancied one.

A tractor rattled past and hooted me. Then someone hung out the window of a Ford Mondeo and filmed me. Their eyes focused on the screen, firing their gaze through the phone’s tiny three circles.

I saw Serena coming down the hill from a distance. The golden afternoon sun was streaming through the open windows into her Landrover. I watched the blazing lantern draw nearer with minor amazement. It stopped, I got into the golden carriage, and we drove on.

Serena had been seeing friends. She spoke quickly and laughed a lot, saying she’d hitchhiked before and knew the score. There were two dogs in the back who turned around each other with excitement. The collie jumper up to nussle a wet snout in my neck.

The other, a husky lay on its back. She said it was surprising to learn that dogs could have as many conditions as humans really. Arty had epilepsy. The first couple of times she took him to hospital but she didn’t any more. She’d just give him a diazepam to relax his body. It has to be inserted rectally, difficult while he’s spasming, but it’s much quicker that way. Epilepsy is very common in dogs she now knows. Worth remembering in case I ever got one.

We talked about her son. He was awaiting his A level results and wanted to study shipbuilding. They had courses at Southampton or Glasgow but it was competitive. There were only eight places on either course. No doubt there were many more once. In the 19th and early 20th century, one in five ships in the world was built on the Clyde. 30,000 ships. The 40 yards are almost all closed now. The last went into administration a decade ago but was saved to build the two infamous CalMac ferries. The fiasco that ensued is often used as a metaphor for Britain’s deterioration. A summary of our decrepitude. Many blamed the SNP, hoping no doubt that they alone were the issue.

Serena had gone to the open day with her son recently. There were models of the high tech sail ships they were designing. Huge white fins and magnificent sleek hulls. Sail ships have always been works of minute engineering. It’s amazing to think where you can go on wind alone. It was still rushing through the open windows, ruffling our hair. The sun caught the strands and made each one a thread of gold.

Buxton didn’t take long to reach. I went to find a pint. The Manchester derby had gone to penalties.