Focal points

Sometimes, rather than nature being the focal point of my walk, very occasionally it is the people I meet along the way.

This time it was while walking to work. I say walking to work; my new job is 3 miles away by car so I thought I'd see what the walk was like, using local footpaths and trails at the weekend and so without having to rush. It's almost a mile extra walking on the paths than by the road, but integrating nature and having the outdoors sandwich my working day is very appealing!

So I set off from home and walked through the village, passing wonderfully perfumed lilac and cherry blossom to join up with a section of the Trans Pennine Trail (TPT), the central 65 mile section running from Chesterfield up to Leeds. The first section was very familiar to me, having walked it many times en route to a local park, and I struck off on the next section heading south towards Chesterfield, guided by a not very subtle post.

There is no question now of Springtime; it's most definitely here! Emerging out of the woodland corridor I had tantalising glimpses of fields between industrial estates, edged with white foamy blossom, and then the industry fizzling out as the TPT headed south. The first Hawthorn in bloom was a fantastic sight to see, with accompanying Cherry and Apple blossom, simple flowers with delicate scents attracting insects and bees.

It was interesting to see pockets of countryside, giving lie to the fact that this area just used to be self contained villages in Derbyshire, before gradually increasing in size and, when the county borders changed, becoming part of the 'Peoples' Republic' of South Yorkshire.

Continuing on the route past further remnants of industry, I came upon an interesting area, evidently an old railway station with a clear platform running for some distance along the trail. Opposite was the cordoned off remains of Killamarsh Central Station, one of three railway stations in the village as different lines diverged to serve different parts of the country. What on first glance looked to be a burned out shack was actually one of the old station properties, the wrought iron work still intact but with a dilapidated beauty. When I look at something, whether it's organic or something man made like this, I am attracted to the shapes between, contrasts in hue and tone, shadows and recesses and then more obvious ironies; the Fire Exit sign, walled in with plywood and the building having been burned down. Even the barbed wire preventing access to an area that most people wouldn't really look to even try to access.

Further along the TPT I passed a useful information sign about the station, with black and white photographs of trains such as the Mallard that had passed through here. A middle aged couple out for a Sunday ride on their bikes were already at the display, and we briefly chatted, marvelling at where we could go. Hornsea for fish and chips anyone?

Reminding myself I was supposed to be doing this to see how feasible it would be to walk to work, I pulled myself away, gaining ground on a small figure dressed in a dark blue suit with a wooden walking stick and a baseball cap. As I was about to pass I was struck by the light in this old man's eyes, that thin translucency of the skin on his cheeks and the energy of his step. We exchanged greetings and I remarked on the beauty of the station. This led to our walking together for the next 3/4 of a mile or so, talking about history, society, his cycling, life in the war, life in the local pit, the railways, his family. He had been an enthusiastic cyclist well into his retirement but felt that now his balance was a little too off for him to chance a fall, in case he broke something which would put the end to the mobility he had. I asked if he minded me asking his age. He said ninety five. It seemed incomprehensible that he was only five years off one hundred and yet he was walking along very ably. It was actually a bit of an eye opener that someone could be that fit and healthy at that age, with so much vitality. Something for me to consider. In his life he had walked three miles to work each way, spent much of his working life underground in the coal mines, his limited leisure time on a bike.

The spirit of history ignited by the train station was brought to life by walking with him. He told me stories about how in the old days people did their shopping on a Friday night, after they left work at 2 or 3, waited until they got paid an hour or so later and then the Mother and all the children would go to the bakers where the children would each receive their loaf of bread. It wasn't allowed for the Mother to collect all the loaves; the children had to be presented with their own bread. Then, taking 7 loaves home, Mum would put them all in a half barrel to keep through the week, each of the children having 4 slices of bread for sandwiches at lunchtime. It got a bit muddled when childhood ended but by age 14 they were working in the pit. I think about my niece who recently turned 11 and wonder that in the old days a boy would be going down the pit in three years time, to work for hours in the dark, rats scurrying around on the floor. Compare that to nowadays in the age of Xboxes and Playstations, adolescence extending into peoples 40s and beyond...

We passed the point I had planned to turn off so I continued with him for a while, leaving the trail and up a bit of an incline. At the top we parted ways. I followed his directions to where I'd be able to cross the trail and head south west to Eckington; unsurprisingly he knew all the paths in the area. But before that happened I found a tree where I could sit, eat my lunch and just contemplate my day and that wonderful old man I'd met; Les was definitely the highlight of my walk.