From a Small Bluebell to a Huge Rock – ‘Amazing’ gawps Private Tutor
In my last post I took you ten minutes walk from my door; this time please accompany me on a 45 minutes drive – keeping within the speed limit, as a law abiding private English tutor should always do. Continuing this mini-series of ‘Where I live’ I will take you to Danebridge.
Danebridge in Cheshire (England) is where the river Dane is crossed by a bridge – see where the name comes from? Clever, eh. The River Dane forms the boundary between Cheshire and Staffordshire. Five minutes walk from the bridge is the most fantastic place for bluebells.
My journey to Danebridge produced one or two other photogenic images that I thought you might like to see.
There is only one small fence to jump over, so that’s not really trespassing is it? One tiny, little, totty fence between my camera tripod and the picture of Paradise below.
The ‘huge rock’ that I promised you in the title is only a short walk away. Up the steps below:
Before seeing Hanging Stone you look over the wonderful surrounding countryside.
As the rock is approached the view is something like this. The view is deceiving because it doesn’t look that big.
On approaching the size becomes apparent – this this is no ordinary piece of stone, it is a millstone grit outcrop.
On the rock a plaque has been placed.
Beneath this rock
August 1 1874 was buried
A noble mastiff
Black and tan.
Faithful as woman
Braver than man.
A gun and a ramble
His heart’s desire,
With the friend of his life
The Swythamley squire.
Near by Swythamley Hall was the seat of the Brocklehurst family. The hall and estate was sold off in 1975. The burial of Burke the mastiff in 1874 would have put Sir Phillip Lancaster Brocklehurst (1827-1904) as the squire mentioned on the plaque.
Sitting close by, eating my sandwiches and drinking coffee from my thermos, the plaque brought a real feeling of history to the place. Sir Philip’s son, Sir Philip Lee Brocklehurst, 2nd Baronet (1887-1975) took part in Ernest Shackleton’s 1907-1909 Antarctic expedition.
On my return, stopping once again to take in the bluebells, I happened upon a gem of picture with sheep’s wool caught up on a twig.
When visiting special places such as this, I wonder if the day job of being a private English tutor should go the way of all flesh and I should while away my final days being in awe of the awesome.
What do you think?