Day 4: Ashbourne to Bakewell

An early start today - 06:45 rise for a quiet Mass at 07:15. Then breakfast, packing and loading. Several people decided not to walk after the exertions of the past two days; the rest of us set off through the tunnel under the town on the Tissington Trail (a former railway which we were to follow for much of the day).

The initial pace was storming, smooth surface, gentle gradients, only 2 stiles, the sun shining, boots drying in the warmth. We were ahead of schedule at Tissington where we were due to pray at St Mary's.

The Lambs, father and son, discussed this unusual occurrence.

Maurice (and others) persuaded the tea shop to open early - they did a roaring trade. (Funny looking ale, Maurice!)

Some used the opportunity to study the map.

Tissington is one of the parishes that "dress" their wells in this area, as reflected by this banner in the church.

After the church, and before we rejoined the old railway, we had a fair helping of stiles. Milly proved that she could glide through them.

Back on the track, yours truly suddenly felt a sharp insertion in his chest - a dead bee was found on the ground. Luckily the "Three Graces" (self styled) - Milly, Mary and Joan - were close behind. Mary (the nurse)- cool, calm and professional - screamed "Oh my God!" while Milly got down to extracting the offending sting. I survived - thanks ladies.

The railway was impressive and gave great views over the increasingly rugged countryside - limestone breaking through all over the place. There were some magnificent items of railway architecture - bridges (under and over), embankments and cuttings through solid rock, a signal box. Oh Julian, where are you?

Off the tracks and down into Biggin, a brief prayer at St Thomas' Church - Andy on the left had joined us on his day off. Our prayers and good wishes go to him as he prepares for his ordination to the priesthood in a months time.

And so on to the Waterloo Inn for a welcome lunch. Goodness only knows what Joan was offering Dennis and Andy...

Meanwhile, John was taking the Three Peaks Challenge.

Clare (taxi driver from Monday) was back with her daughter Fran - her three sons were walking. Oh Fran, get out your boots tomorrow or there'll be a visit from a tall, dark, ugly stranger. (As in "Stranger than this you cannot get")

Back onto the railway for a while (run over by bikes but not trains) then up and over the top to One Ash Farm - an old monastic farm. Patrick was seen leaving the mediaeval piggeries - now stop complaining about the accommodation!

Shortly afterwards the path was officially closed - it had been washed away by winter storms. All crossed safely - pilgrims mucking in to assist their less agile companions.

And then, as we descended into Lathkill Dale (visit it - it's beautiful) the rain came.

Down the dale a bit, the mist rose from the water, setting a magical scene.

But the pilgrims were still walking. And we had to climb (via a drink stop) up out of the dale...

to St Ann's Church for prayers

and another view back over Lathkill Dale.

And so just a mile or so to Lady Manners School, above Bakewell. Joy and rapture. A big school. Showers. A toilet each. And Frances back in her element.

And I can now vouch for the output from the kitchen - great scoff Frances! And for dessert - you guessed it, Bakewell Tart (I'm not brave enough to tell Frances that they call it Bakewell Pudding).