The next morning, I even had time to help Dad put together a garden bench I’d bought for him back when God was a lad.
We had spent the night on the driveway, very odd somehow, but we used up Dad’s yearly water allowance by filling our tanks, and had the lunatic fridge on mains hook up during our stay, so things were looking good.
The afternoon saw us take a beautiful, if somewhat challenging on the driving front, route through Derbyshire and the Peak towards Yorkshire. We stopped off in the beautiful tiny hamlet of …… where Miki set about sketching the surrounding area, rich in motifs, a babbling brook, an old stone bridge, and delightful cottages and gardens on the riverbank.
Then, we visited Youlgreave, and Miki located my Grandma’s grave in All Saints Churchyard there. It was a poignant moment, and we collected some wild flowers to leave by her headstone as it enjoyed the newly appeared summer sunshine.
Then it was on to the fascinating village of Eyam, the inhabitants of which selflessly sacrificed themselves by voluntarily quarantining themselves off from the rest of the country, after a resident contracted the bubonic plague from a bolt of cloth delivered to the village from London. Only 85 of nearly 400 inhabitants survived.
1666 seems a long time ago, but when you see the plague cottages and the names and ages on the headstones in the churchyard, this extraordinary village’s bravery in the face of certain death is heart rending and seemingly only yesterday. Some of the graves are in other places in the village, near the houses of those who succumbed, and their simple headstones have been walled off with dignified reverence, creating tiny, sad, little graveyards. As you walk through this village, you can plainly see that it wears its heart, and its past, proudly on its sleeve.
Nearing Wakefield, I was racking my brains trying to think of a safe place to lay over for the night. We tried the services on the M1. They only wanted £14 for the privilege of occupying a piece of their shoddy tarmac. Instead we gave them two fingers. I suddenly remembered the Wakefield Junction 41 industrial estate, situated quite near where I used to live. It had a myriad of
service roads where lorry drivers would sleep for the night before their journeys. We found a nice quiet corner, made the “Spag Bol”, and the night was ours!
Text by Kev Moore
Drawing & Photos by Miki
Both on Planet Goodaboom
No comments:
Post a Comment