The Great Outdoors – August 2019

Journeys of a German in England in 1782,
as recounted in Roly Smith’s book A Peak
District Anthology, he described entering
the Devil’s Cavern: “We were enwrapped
in twilight. And when we had gone a few
steps forward, what a sight I saw. Glancing
to my right I caught sight of a complete
village under the huge wall of the cavern!”
He saw families involved in rope-
making, comparing it to Greek
mythology’s own version of hell: “It was
as if I were gazing upon the wheel of
Ixion and the interminable labour of the
Danaides”. Grim it may have been, but
the nickname of the Devil’s Arse comes
from the flatulent noises echoing around
the cavern when water drains away. The

reference to the name dates as far back as

1586. It was renamed Peak Cavern in 1880
      so as not to offend Queen Victoria during
      a royal visit.
      It’s no less impressive to our modern
      eyes, with the vertical walls rising high
      above you, and the scene fading to black
      as it tumbles down towards the centre of
      the earth. I turn back through the town
      to make my way through the delightful
      Cave Dale – which, despite dozens of
      visits to this area, I’d somehow missed.
      The 11th-century Peveril Castle sits in a
      commanding position above Hope Valley,
      looking down into Cave Dale. I imagine
      the scene as a Romantic-era painting; the
      skies are suitably dramatic. Walking up the

dale is to walk through an ancient reef and

over the Devil’s Arse itself. Mines pock the

walk, none currently in use, but the ghosts

of the past are easily imagined, especially

on this quiet Tuesday.

I’m alone as I walk higher through the

dale and out onto open farmland along the

Limestone Way, heading through sheep

fields, up to Mam Tor and back down into

Castleton. The fast-moving clouds split

open to shine a light across the vivid green

moors. OS maps of the area are peppered

with the legends ‘Mine (dis)’, ‘Shafts (dis)’,

‘Quarries (dis)’, reminders of the industrial

history of the region – and a warning to

stick to the paths. I pause on the stone walls

I clamber over, imagining the hands that

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