DISLEY AND MARPLE WAY.
So shalt thou keep thy memory green,
And redolent as balmy noon
With happiness, for love makes glad;
Child-natures never lose their June.
S. E. TONKIN.
When the L. and N. W. opened its branch from Stockport to Buxton, June
15th, 1863, every one loving the country had visions of immense delight
among the sweet and then scarcely known hills of Disley and Marple.
Previously, they were no more than an element of the scenery observed
from the Buxton coach. Since then we have better understood the meaning
of those grateful lines,
You gave me such sweet breath as made
The things more rich.
For if the fronts of these beautiful hills be sometimes rugged, there
are none that the western breezes better love to caress, nor are there
any that welcome the sunshine with a more strenuous hospitality.
Disley and Marple count not with the places which the sunshine only
flatters; they are always cheerful and pretty, whether it be the
hottest day of July, or winter, or spring. Even after a storm, be it
ever so vehement, they recover themselves as rapidly as a child's cheek
after the tears. How great and affable, too, their landscapes!--how
bright their lawn-like pastures, where tricolour daisies bloom all
the year round: there are woods moreover, in the recesses, where we
may bathe our eyes in the sweet calm that comes only of green shade,
and that like the airy summits up above, give at the same moment both
animation and repose.
Disley is known to most of us as the first station after Hazel-grove,
and the point from which departure is taken for Lyme Park.
Intermediately there is a delightful walk, reaching the greater part
of the distance, upon the right-hand side of the line, through the
sylvan covert called Middlewood. The wood is not "preserved." It is
semi-private, nevertheless, so that permission to pass through ought
to be asked; it is rare, even then, to hear any voices except our
own and those of the birds. Either to ascend, or to proceed by train
direct to Disley, and enter the wood at the head, is, in its way
advantageous. The latter is, perhaps, the better course, since we then
accompany the stream,--one of the very few so near Manchester still
unpolluted. The water is the same as that which flows past Bramhall,
running thence to Cheadle, where its bubbles swim into the Mersey.
Middlewood, unfortunately for its primitive charm, has recently shared
the fate of Gatley Carrs, so that the path is now very inconveniently
obstructed, and the Bramhall part of this pretty brook, instead of
being the inferior, is to-day, perhaps, after all, the most pleasing.
Comparisons may be spared. The meadows it traverses were never wanting
in any substantial element of pastoral charm, and if a thing be good
absolutely, what need to ask for more? The way to them is _viâ_ Cheadle
Hulme, then to Lady Bridge, as far as Bramhall-green, there crossing
the road, and stepping anew upon the grass, where the path returns to
the water-side. Hence, we go on to Mill-bank farm, told at once by its
three great yews, and for the return may take Hazel-grove.
The broad green slopes and expanses of Lyme Park, though they partake
of the loneliness of the neighbouring moors, are, as indicated above,
pleasant at every season of the year. Nature, in truth, is always
good, no matter what the season is, if the people are so who seek it.
As we traverse them, in the south-west the eye rests upon the great
plain that stretches to Bowdon; upon the left, on a swelling height,
is the far-seen square grey tower called Lyme Cage, clearly intended,
when built, for a huntsman's refuge; and passing this it is not far
to the hall, upon which, being in a hollow, one comes so suddenly
as to be reminded of the adventures of the knights-errant in tales
of chivalry. A very fine quadrangular gritstone building, partly
Corinthian, partly Ionic, some portion is nevertheless of the time of
Elizabeth. The interior is also very various, in many portions stately
and richly ornamented, and literally crowded almost everywhere with
works of art, including a rude picture of the original hall in the
time of King John, with portraits, heraldry, tapestry, stained glass,
and wood-carving enough to satisfy the most ravenous. The rare mosaic
of fact and fiction currently accepted as the family history of the
Leghs is well sustained by the armour and other antiquities, not the
least interesting of which is the font in the chapel, in which for ages
the youthful scions of the house have been baptized. There is very
little timber in the park, though on the borders not wanting. The most
remarkable feature, as regards trees, is an avenue of over seventy
lindens.
[Illustration: Tho. Letherbrow.
Lyme Hall.]
The supreme part of Disley is that which lies on the contrary side of
the station, consisting in the green and lofty crest called Jackson
Edge. This is reached by going a short distance along the Buxton
road, then mounting a steep ascent upon the left, cottages on either
side, and eventually through a lane upon the right. Due west from the
summit, like a garden viewed from a balcony, the plain seen from Lyme
Park is displayed even more variously. When satisfied, we may curl
round by the stone-quarries, then through the fir-wood, and so back
into Disley village,--a little tour just enough for those who not
being very strong of limb, still go shares with the strongest in zest
for mountain breath and extended prospects; or we may leave Disley
again behind, and, crossing a few meadows, mount glorious Marple
Ridge.[17] Here the prospect becomes wider and more varied still:
filling one also with astonishment that so much can be commanded at the
cost of so little labour. The fact is that the railway does half the
climbing for us, the line from Hazel Grove to Disley being almost a
slope. Standing with our backs to Disley village, on the right towers
the great green pyramid called Cobden Edge; then come the hills that
rise above Whaley Bridge and Taxal, Kinder Scout resting upon their
shoulders. In front are hills again, Werneth Low, always identified by
the sky-line fringe of trees; Stirrup-benches and Charlesworth Coombs,
and the three-hill-churches always remembered by their corresponding
initial, Marple, Mellor, and Mottram, with Chadkirk and Compstall in
the valley. Southwards, Lyme Cage and Lyme Hall, the latter half-hidden
among its trees, are discoverable; and due west is the great plain now
familiar,--that one which includes Vale Royal, and reaches to Chester.
Let all who make a pilgrimage hither remember, as when they visit
Gawsworth, to bring their opera-glasses, which however useful when
there is curiosity as to a cantatrice, have nowhere a more excellent
use than on the mountain-side. Cobden Edge, from its greatly superior
altitude, overlooks even Marple Ridge! To reach it, after leaving
Disley station, cross the wood a little beyond the hotel, and go down a
steep lane, arriving presently at a slit in the wall upon the right,
through which it is necessary to sidle as best one may. The canal has
then to be crossed, and the river Goyt, after which there is a little
glen leading the way to the path up the hill. On the top, all the
grandeurs of Marple Ridge are renewed five-fold. Alderley has nearly
subsided into the plain. Beeston Castle is conspicuous. Some say they
can descry the great Ormes-head. Pursuing the road along the crest of
the hill, we soon arrive at Marple village; or descending from it,
upon the right, get almost as soon into the beautiful valley of the
Goyt. Both, however, since 1867, have been rendered so much more easily
accessible by means of the Midland railway, that they may be left for
another chapter, the more particularly since a few miles' continued
ride from Disley brings us to another charming neighbourhood--that one
which comprises the above-mentioned Whaley Bridge and Taxal.
The most manageable of the many pleasant walks within reach of the
latter, is that one which leads to Taxal church, following the high
road till a white gate upon the right opens into meadows descending
into a dell, where the swift and limpid waters, if they do not exactly
make "shallow falls," at all events invite the birds to sing their
madrigals. Quitting the dell, the path is once again upwards, soon
reaching the church, and after leaving this, through the grove of
trees and along the foot of the reservoir, the overflow from which
often seems a rushing snowdrift. This fine sheet of water is one
of several similar storages prepared for the Peak Forest Canal, and
supplies an admirable illustration of the service rendered to scenery
by business enterprise, which if it sometimes destroys or mutilates,
as in the case of Gatley Carrs, compensates in the gift of broad and
shining lakes. An excellent characteristic of the great Lancashire
and Cheshire reservoirs is that ordinarily, when in the country, like
this one at Taxal, they resemble, as nearly as possible, natural
meres. Established, as at Lymm, by damming up the narrow outlet of
some little valley through which a stream descends, the water, as it
accumulates, is allowed, as far as practicable, to determine its own
boundaries; hence, excepting the one inevitable straight line required
for the dam, though this can sometimes be dispensed with, the margin
winds, the banks become shore-like, and the landscape is exquisitely
enriched. No landscape is perfectly beautiful without water, and
nowhere has so much been done undesignedly for scenic beauty than in
our two adjacent counties. The same is true of the addition given by
noble railway-arches to hollows filled with trees. Scenery impregnated
with the outcome of human intelligence and human skill must needs,
in the long run, always take deepest hold of our admiration, for the
simple reason that human nature is there; just as the most precious and
delightful part of home is that which is superadded by human affection.
From the high grounds above the water the outlook is wonderfully
romantic; when upon the crest of the hill there is an inviting walk
also under the trees. For the vigorous, the best part of Taxal is
after all upon the Derbyshire instead of the Cheshire side of the
river, mounting continuously for two or three miles, and so eventually
reaching Eccles Pike--a grand, green, round hill in the middle of a
huge green basin. Beyond Whaley Bridge come in turn Doveholes and
Buxton.
At Buxton, once the _El Dorado_ of local naturalists, the visitor
finds picturesque beauty and historical associations, even if he be
not in search of the recruited health which this celebrated old town
is supposed to be always so willing to supply. Plenty of exhilarating
rambles may be found within the compass of an afternoon, the hills
being lofty, while for those who cannot climb there is the romantic
valley of the Wye, called Ashwood Dale.
[Illustration]
Footnote
[17: It may be permitted here to note that when on Jackson
Edge we are close to the home of the accomplished authoress of the
well-known and always welcome letters "From the Lyme hills."]
[Illustration]