The Delf, a pretty clough with many tall trees, opens at some little distance from the quaint colour-washed inn, and climbs up to Eyam, which, from its historical and literary associations, may be regarded as Peakland’s most interesting village. There, from a gloomy ravine called the “Salt Box”, a rillock creeps and soon loses itself in the grass.
THE CASTLE AND THE CAVES
Sir Walter Scott never visited Peakland; therefore his descriptions are devoid of topographical value. In the period which he has chosen for his Peveril of the Peak the chief families of the district had degenerated into small squires who probably never stirred more than twenty miles from home in their lives.
Castleton is oddly situated at the end of the Hope valley, where the great hills seem to bar all farther progress. Of old the only way of crossing these hills was by the “Winnats”, a romantic pass that starts impressively but soon becomes dull and uninteresting. The “Winnats” would be greatly improved by a brawling stream; as it is, the very sight of the place in summer excites one’s thirst. Long ago a romantic tragedy occurred here: two young eloping lovers were murdered by ruffians who hid amongst the rocks. I remember as a child seeing the blood-stained pillion from which they fell.
Peveril’s Castle surmounts a steep hill, which one climbs by a rough, curving path. Nothing of much interest remains—there is a buttressed keep and a broken wall—architecturally it is inferior to many a Border peel; but its situation is amazingly well-chosen. On one side is the precipice descending to the “Devil’s Cave”; on the other the deep and narrow ravine of Cave Dale, a parched and solitary place not devoid of a certain charm. Little is known of the castle’s history, and in all likelihood it was from the first a stronghold of very minor importance.
But in bygone days the country, if tradition may be believed, was once covered with forest so dense that a squirrel might travel twelve miles without once descending to the ground. Now there are very few trees, and none of any great size. The hamlet of Peak Forest itself is exceedingly bleak and desolate—a small tract of woodland there gives a faint impression of how the country appeared in long-past centuries.
PEAK CAVERN GORGE, CASTLETON
Castleton is famous for a pageant which is performed every Royal Oak Day. Then gaily-dressed children dance what survives of the morris, and the village band plays its best; whilst King Charles and his lady wife, acted by two Peaklanders of the sterner sex, ride in state through the quaint streets. His Majesty, in cavalier costume, has the upper part of his body covered with a gorgeous bouquet, in shape not unlike a beehive, which, towards evening, is drawn up to the top of the church tower, and left to wither upon a pinnacle. The play dates from Restoration times, and on the twenty-ninth of May Castleton is seen at its best.