We make our way up Mawstone Lane. This is another name change from the Ordnance Survey map, this time from Moss Stone Lane. The farm under the trees is Mawstone Farm with its usual complement of trucks and tractors dotted around the field. It looks old and established and isn't going to be moved whatever the weather which by now is cold to freezing. The wind chill factor doesn't come into it. That went home long ago to put a top coat on. I have a feeling it will come out to play again.

The remains of old quarries are to be found here aside Mawstone. To our right, in the valley below, lies Hopping Farm now acting as a caravan site. We climb the road and, since we left Bradford Dale, a cockerel has crowed his head off. I wish he would. I check my watch, it's nearly half past three but the cockerel will insist it's quarter to four. Apart from the chimes from Big Hen its a wonderfully quiet stretch of road.

Someone has erected a seat at the top of the hill, obviously someone's favourite resting spot and they have picked a lovely view. We look towards Middleton and Smerrill, the fields which are dotted with the occasional sheep and cows, look as if they are waiting to burst into Spring mode. The roadside hedges and walls are now replaced by posts and wire fencing giving a much more open environment. Stone posts along the road tell us this was once gated but now open all the way.

The quietness is interrupted by the approach of a motor car. It will be the first and last we encounter on our way to Elton. It is totally quiet again, a large unpopulated wilderness. We stand still just to stop and stare. It's something you must do and we don't do often enough. Our busy lives crush it out of us some times but you must do it. Just stop and look. It's wild, it draws you. It's calm, it almost sedates you.

Suddenly, from out of the barrenness, a figure in the distance is spotted. He seems to be carrying a water container and we can only assume he took a wrong turn at Timbuktu. He is the only moving thing for miles, the animals are so small in the valley bottom that you can hardly tell they are moving. He disappears where to we do not know. Maybe it's a mirage. Maybe we are in Timbuktu?

Without warning the wind chill returns. It is not a mirage. Across the valley roads leading to farms stand out in contrast against the green fields, moving as they do up and onto flat top countryside. We see a sign written on a circular stone that has Spout Farm carved into it but then another sign, not so grand, painted on a piece of wood saying it's really Rock Farm. It's an old friendly building with tiny windows and a nice little pond and a trickle of a waterfall in the garden. We know about the pond because we have taken a wrong turning into someone's garden.

We retreat and make our way up a muddy track, through gates, over stiles and into a spell of torrential rain. The wind is howling the place is called Windygap Plantation. The wind is there but the plantation has been half blown away in former times. We shelter for a while under the few remaining trees but the caves in the hillside look a better bet.

We press on climbing to near nine hundred feet. The place is strewn with huge boulders and is dotted with gorse bushes. The ground underfoot is so wet we debate if we should use a snorkel, not having packed it, we use the canoe instead. That's how wet it is.

We cross a very dodgy stile, it sways as soon as you stand on it. I see millions of malicious molecules of H2O gathering underneath waiting for the poor unsuspecting walker to fall, a bit like the crocs and the wildebeest at the Mara river.

Below us lies Gratton farm and the small group of buildings and houses that stand at the entrance of the steep sided and wooded Gratton Dale. We now come out of Bury Cliff Wood and onto the road to Elton. A series of four stone troughs stand here, no doubt used by the horses that carted the stone from yet another quarry just inside the Wood.

We make our way down Cliff Lane and past an old building propped up by masses of ivy. In the farmyard stands a Lamborghini, the fastest tractor in Elton. Just before Bury Cliff Farm is an ancient well, the walls surrounding it covered in moss. To our left on the hillside the tops of the houses of Elton can be seen peering Chadlike towards us. The large complex that makes up Oddo House Farm stands to our right as we take an old path that brings us into the village itself.

At the end of Elton the tiny Primitive Methodist Chapel, bearing date 1843, stands close by to a long barn that has seen better days but it still manages to prop itself up. The wind whistles through the rafters which are easily seen because the tiles are few and far between. It as a feel of belonging and acceptance even though it is in a sorry state. It's been around for a long time and it's a friend of the family. You would miss it if it upped sticks, well bricks and rafters and left.

The Elton Methodist Chapel dated twelve years earlier than the Primitive one has now become the village hall. We pass Well Street and opposite stands the Duke of York public house. It is a big building, looks the part and many a weary traveller must have took some nourishment here. Robert JOULE looked after in 1829 and one can imagine the horse and carts that would pack the yard in the front of the pub back then. It is still open today, late evenings and on Sunday lunch times. A welcome stop for many a walker.

Across the road the parish church stands. In its grounds lie Mary daughter of Francis and Hannah MILNER of Dudwood Lane, who died 29 September in 1864 aged thirty. Henry and Elizabeth WATTS are also here he died 1869 aged fifty six and Elizabeth was seventy one when she joined him in 1895. The four year old son of John and Mary Ann POTTER, William, died in 1833, while Samuel and Mary STONE, a well known Elton surname, lie together he died August 28th in 1836, Mary died ten years later on the 30th of July. Her age seems to read 82 but the weather has played it part in weathering away the stone.

Elton School like so many of these villages has it's school bell at the ready. For whom the bell tolls? Well, in 1889 -1890, the likes of John J. HARRISON then aged 13 and 16 year old, Percy CHARLESWORTH, Clement SMITH was eleven at the time. I don't know if he was related to Joshua SMITH but he had an attendance record that would make the school bobby tear his hair out. Out of a possible 116 attendances Joshua decided he could make do with just forty five. On the other hand, Arthur STONE, fell just three short of the maximum.

A large building called Homestead farm is set back off the road it looks as if it has had an important past. There's still a farm just before it right next to the main road. Across the street an old pump still stands as a reminder of another time. The houses do their bit as well. Lovely old cottages with cobbles before them. The glow of a fire in a nearby house reminds us what warmth was.

We are now approaching the new end, the East End of Elton. Here we find a new phone box. We give Den a call, earlier he had asked where we were, and we told him to get a map to try and find where we were on it. We then thought does he think we need picking up. We hope not for today's journey would be a brisk walk if he did.

"Den," I said, "I hope you aren't going to pick us up."

"No," he said, "I'm sat here in front of the fire having a cup of tea, no chance mate." Den knows how to make you feel good.

Across the fields the two pillars of Robin Hood's Stride make you wonder how big his bow and arrows were. It makes you think what a brave man the Sheriff of Nottingham was or what a fool he was. A friend had once told us how he could see his mother striding out in the distance marching across the fields to fetch him in when he was late. He could see this diminutive figure way in the distance walking with purpose as he awaited his fate. It's true, the fields here are open, not many trees to block the view. There is no chance of a surprise attack, you just know as a young lad what you are going to get long before you get it!

We pass Dudwood Lane which leads down to Dudwood Farm and on down Chadwick Hill. A couple of barns either side of the road seem to be keeping each other company, trying desperately to huddle together to keep warm. They say Elton is a top coat colder than anywhere else. If I could speak I would ask for one. Within a matter of a few hundred yards we have descended some 150 feet and crossed the boundary into the almost tropical climes of Winster.

On approaching Winster we were greeted with what is now becoming a familiar sight, thirteen dead moles hanging on a fence! Their handiwork still to be seen in the field over the wall.

On the 6th April 1779 Joseph DUNN committed himself to 21 servitude in catching the moles of Winster parish. Perhaps there were none in Monyash where he was from, or maybe he had done such a good job there he was head hunted by the likes of George BLACKWELL, George HAWLEY, Anthony FOXLOW, Isaac HOLMES and Thomas ROBERTS just some of the many signatories to his contract to clear Winster farms of the little man with the velvet coat. He received the sum of five guineas a year for his legalised work.

Just round the corner is a drive to the former home of William BRITTLEBANK who, in 1821, killed the surgeon of Winster, William CUDDIE. A sketch records where CUDDIE was standing on the sloping lawn, at the front of Bank House, when he was shot and how the bullet passed through his body and lodged in the tree behind him.

The churchyard recalls that Thomas SMITH died on the 28th of February 1851 at Dong Dong in China, while serving in the 59th Regiment of Foot. He was twenty eight. Thomas STONE is also buried here, his grey slate tombstone stating he died in 1855 on the twelfth of May aged twenty one. He was born too late and died too late to hear Caleb WILCOCK the designated organist appointed 30th May 1775 play his funeral march

Winster is a typical Peakland village, with hidden corners and something to see at every turn. It attracts people from all over the place and not just now. In 1698, on the 26 Mar, Samuel GAMBLE, a webster, from Stanton in Youlgreave parish made the journey to set up home there as did Anthony FOXLOW who came from Taddington in 1700. The INGMAN's also came from Baslow. Edward GODBEHERE, his wife Anne, John and Thomas their sons and daughter Grace made the journey from Cromford in 1731. One year later Thomas and Katherine SLATER came from Alsop en le Dale and in 1732 William and Ann SLATER came from Chelmorton.

It wasn't just from Derbyshire the people came Joseph and Jane LEES came from Oldham. Their Settlement certificate was signed by one Oswald MOSLEY. They all had papers that were in good order, however one survives from 1737 that is anything like the real thing but served the same purpose. Written on a scrap of paper about two inches by six inches and no doubt treasured until handed to the Overseers of Winster who carefully placed it with all the other official documents is a Settlement Certificate from South Wingfield.

It reads: This is to satisfi the overseeor of the pore of Winster that wee will take care of John BALL wife a cordin to Law from the over seeor of South Wingfield John NUTTALL overseeor - 27 Sep 1737

What also attracts people is the habit the folks from the village have of running through the street with a pancake in a frying pan. It takes a brave man to recall the runners back to the grid in case of a false start. A flat cap on the head of an official is no match against a frying pan in the hand of a competitor! Yet every Shrove Tuesday these brave people, year in year out, put their whistles in their mouths and potentially their head under a frying pan.

Winster Hall has a balustrade around it's top making it look very grand but not lovers leap proof, for legend has it that a couple forbidden to marry leapt to their deaths from the roof.

Perhaps Winster's most famous building is the Market House that opens, according to one guide, on Saturday afternoons, which is good because we can go and get some shelter from the now biting wind which seems to follow us from Elton.

Winster, it seems, feels aggrieved its near neighbour is one coat colder and is doing its level best to beat that. Unfortunately, the small print says the Market is only open in Summer. We are in luck though when we see a shop open, we decide to stock up with firelighters, hurricane lamps, thermal gloves, scarves and those big Russian hats that have the bits that hang down the side of your face to keep your ears warm. That was the plan but instead we decide to go for a quarter of Winter Mixture instead. We can't carry that lot and the canoe!

We come to the school at Winster, now with a full array of playground materials; how much different today than from the early days of school education. Walks around the village, nature walks being the means of recreation for many schools. Some children, or their parents, decided school was just too far to get too. So it was that some children from Grange Mill and Ible decided just that and left. What time would they have to leave to get to school on time? I don't suppose the journey home was much better because by the time they got home it would be almost time to set out again!

John DURDEN, in 1835, was a carrier that every Saturday made his to Chesterfield, we could have done with him now. Not only is it cold but it decides a drop of hail wouldn't go amiss. Thankfully it doesn't last long but we wish the BURTON boys were back in town, they were the blacksmiths in 1835 and a cosy chat by the fire with Tony and Joshua would do nicely.

The Land Tax of 1779 shows an Anthony FOXLOW at Bright Gates, Daniel INGMAN had a house, David LOXLEY had a shop, Jacob HALL was described as a miner and Thomas ROBERTS as The Barmaster, showing the strong links with lead mining in this area. Jacob MORTON had a share in School farm along with Micah WILLCOCK. George ROWLAND's widow held Lord Scarsdale Farm along with Robert HALL and a Mr GOODWIN. A Mr John BRADLEY had a part of Repton School farm along with George BLACKWELL. In the same year, George BALL, was assessed at four pence for his house. Was he related to John BALL who carried that scrap of paper with him from South Wingfield forty two years before? Richard DALE was also listed then the compiler adding "or widow". So had he recently died? The Executors of Richard MARCHINTON were also mentioned.

Whose houses had we passed, whose had been pulled down, that's another story in itself. What mattered now was to get to Wensley. The crafty cockney had phoned to say he would pick us up opposite South Darley school which is just below the hill in Wensley.

We set off at a brisk pace along a road that, if ever they close Silverstone or the Daytona race track, it would serve as a perfect substitute. You can't imagine great great grandad thrashing it on the old cart, besides there is too much to admire.

The fields leading down to the valley is dotted with lead mines. Cambridge and Clough Woods hide pleasant walks and small deer. It's beautiful and peaceful. We carry on, the Red Lion appears on the horizon as we approach Wensley. It's getting dark, Den is waiting we hope at the bottom of the road. Twice we have approached Wensley, twice circumstances have stopped us from recording it's history. It's now too late to see anything properly apart from the frost glistening on our eyebrows!

Wensley will wait for another day. A journey all to itself.