North of Hargatewall, the country has an austere quality, a high limestone plateau with a tracery of walls the colour of old bones dividing oblongs of pasture. The hamlet’s name has nothing to do with gates or walls. It’s derived from Old English words meaning “herd farm by the spring” – a clue to the deep roots that farming here can draw on. Wildlife today was limited to the ubiquitous crows and rooks silhouetted against the milky blue sky or else resting on those white walls.
Cycling north, my attention was fixed on the horizon, where, in contrast to the green fields around me, the broad bulk of Kinder Scout was heavily frosted.
