Bakewell

Following the wedding we headed for Dovedale via Bakewell, the latter town famous for its tarts. Not only was this the hottest May Bank Holiday (a mondayised May Day celebration of all that Karl Marx has done for England) on record, unbeknown to us it was Show Day at Bakewell. SO there were traffic jams, followed by traffic jams and lots of heat! It took us an extra hour of travel. But the extra time also gave us opportunity to stop for a break at one of the mill towns that dotted this beautiful countryside: the huge ugly, characterless, towering mill factories and their chimneys, now stilled, hinting at the dark, smokey condition these valleys must have exhibited at the height of their industrial progress.


Once there it was time for me to atone for my sins. We had been to Bakewell almost 42 years ago ... about the third day of our married lives. Priscilla had meticulously planned our honeymoon so that we would arrive at Bakewell for morning tea and the famous Bakewell Tart. Not only did I have no idea of this (it was to be a surprise), I had never heard of Bakewell tarts, nor had I learned to read my wife's hints. Consequently when arrived in Bakewell a bit earlier than expected and she suggested we stop for morning tea, I thought we should carry on a bit further. And a bit further on I found I had not done well as a new husband.


So despite the heat and traffic we persisted in grinding our way to Bakewell where we enjoyed delightful Bakewell tarts for morning tea! Marital harmony!


By the time we had finished, the Show traffic had thinned and we enjoyed a relatively clear run to Dovedale. For this journey however, we silenced Mrs Google, and Priscilla navigated the old-fashioned way from the AA Travel Guide (a printed road map book of the UK) in the manner in which we had once been accustomed to traveling. Keeping us off the main roads, we wound our way through narrow country lanes and quaint villages in the best journey of our present travels.

© 2020 Michael L Drake