Christmas Holidays (in the UK),

December 2010

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Move the clock on 42 years to 2010 and here I found myself at this hallowed ground on Boxing Day, along with my brother Gordon (out on a visit from South Africa), his daughter Michelle and grand-daughter Micaela, to watch a Premier League game between Manchester United and Sunderland. Owing to Michelle's perseverance, we secured the tickets for the game, intended as a surprise birthday present (a few days later). We had struggled to maintain the secrecy, it has to be said and finally broke the news on Xmas Eve, after weeks of planning. Our seats were located at the top of the north stand of Old Trafford, costing £38 for the two adults, £33 for Michelle (as a member) and £15 for Micaela, as a minor. We left Bromley in south London around 08h30 on the Sunday morning and reached Manchester in good time, able to find parking in the grounds of a school at a cost of £10, some fifteen minutes walk from the stadium.

It was touch and go up to that point as to whether we would actually get to see the game. Icy wintry conditions in the preceding weeks had brought much of Britain and its transport networks and systems to a virtual standstill. A game in Blackpool the previous day (Saturday) had been called off due to the pitch being unplayable. United's game, scheduled for a three o'clock kickoff, went ahead however, due to the underground heating system 10 inches (25 cm) under the pitch, composed of 23 miles (37 km) of plastic pipes. Fortunately, it had proved an entertaining game which United comfortably won 2-0, thanks to a glorious performance from Bulgarian Dimitar Berbatov, who scored both goals, one in each half.  We had thoroughly enjoyed the game and the atmosphere had been terrific, the crowd responding to any measure of creative play with appreciative applause. Having said that, from the upper reaches of the north stand, we were far removed from the sections of the ground, notably the Stretford End, where the crowd spontaneously bursts into song in an effort to spur the team on to greater heights. This is by no means a vintage United side in the creative sense (compared to previous sides), having curtailed their spending on new players, yet they found themselves leading the Premier League race come Christmas.

We left the ground and made our way back to the car and able to slip into the traffic with ease. With no trains running on Boxing between London and Manchester on Boxing Day, we had made the decision (as part of the surprise) not to travel back to London but to spend two days in the Peak District, about an hour's drive away. Having been there on numerous occasions with our hiking club, it was the first time I would visit this part of the countryside when covered in snow. We had booked relatively cheap accommodation at Parsons House Farm just outside Hathersage, which, though somewhat primitive, proved adequate for our needs. Micaela was immediately sold on the table tennis table in the pool room and we played one another on the occasions we did not find ourselves outdoors. Upon arrival and being shown to our room which we shared by hostess Debbie, we offloaded our luggage before driving into Hathersage for dinner around eight in the evening. Being turned away at several pubs no longer serving food at that hour, we found ourselves in a cosy Indian restaurant.

Hathersage, The Peak District, Derbyshire

Being keen as mustard for a walk in the snow the next day, which wasn't greeted with delight by one or two folk in our contingent, I felt that the time would be wasted, besides which, I wasn't prepared to spend the time indoors or drive around for hours doing the tourist thing. Though I had had Mam Tor between Edale and Castleton in mind as a possibility, it was Debbie who provided a feasible alternative for a ramble across the countryside. Billed as an outdoor pursuits centre, the farm is within reached of Stanage Edge, which I had walked with the hiking club some years before. Decision taken after an English breakfast, armed with an Ordnance Survey map, we headed out in the direction as indicated, via a rear gate to the farm, as snow continued to fall. Though not as cold as expected, the crisp, clean air proved refreshing and we kept up a cautious yet steady pace towards Burbage Rocks on the edge of Burbage Moor, the snow crunching delightfully beneath our feet. Using a distinctive outcrop of forest located to our left as was replicated on the map, we reached Upper Burbage Bridge, just where the path, located on higher ground, merged with one from the valley below.

The wind had picked up and aware of the fact that the girls, not accustomed to regular hiking, had already been pushed to the limits of their comfort zone, we decided not to proceed to Stanage Edge but to pick up a return path on the opposite side of the valley and on the other side of the forest which would see us reach (lower) Burbage Bridge on the A6187. Unfortunately, the path we were on did not take us precisely to where we needed to be, so we trudged up a fairly steep incline of snow-covered grass to reach a path higher up, much to the consternation of Michelle and Micaela, before making our way up towards Higger Tor. Here we met a group of people walking in the opposite direction. To the astonishment of everyone, one of the women in the group carried a baby wrapped in warm clothing, putting our effort into perspective somewhat. Another group of senior citizens passed us by just before we reached a second outcrop of rock which provided a tricky descent over sections which proved quite slippery. This finally led us down to the road. Gordon, in chasing after Micaela carrying a handful of snow, managed to pull a hamstring and was promptly told off by daughter Michelle for failing to "act his age" responsibly.