Leaving Alstonefield I’d just commented how I always enjoyed the start of walks when a large bull came into view. Crossing the field was nerve-racking even though the threat had moved further from the stile. It was less fraught on Ecton Hill from where views were excellent. The descent was to a curving valley that led eventually to Wetton Mill, a most attractive spot by the river Manifold. Families were relaxing on the river bank and a toddler wearing only wellies was paddling . Two of the group reminisced about their childhood visits.
Our guide had pronounced at the beginning that she wouldn’t be climbing up to Thor’s Cave but would happily wait for those who did wish to make this short but steep detour. Nothing was said but in the event folk simply voted with their feet and ignored the cave. Towards the end of the afternoon the source of clapping was difficult to identify until the path opened out. It was like walking onto a film set. Against a backdrop of brilliant blue sky were cricketers in immaculate whites and the green and cream pavilion looked newly painted.
The path was at the edge of the pitch and I stopped mid-way to read a list of scenarios for which the authorities would decline responsibility. Looking up I saw the bowler directly opposite preparing for action. A safety screen allowed little margin for error so it was unwise to linger.
Helen Royle.