Following the Woolly Mammoths

As soon as I saw this walk in the programme I knew it was not to be missed. Not only are Creswell Crags world famous but the route included the little known village of Welbeck, deep in the estate formerly owned by the eccentric aristocrats of the Portland family. Moreover the leader was David Snodin, botanist, politician and raconteur, steeped in local folklore.

The crags mark the southerly extent of the ice sheet some 10,000 years ago, creating the limestone gorge and allowing the formation of caves in which the prehistoric drawings are found. The bones of numerous
animals, including hyenas and woolly mammoths have been found, and the site is regarded by the worlds' scientific community as being of major importance.

The caves are now protected by iron grills, but locals with long memories can recall school holidays spent exploring in the caves, which were then open. Is it possible, I wondered that some contribution to the cave dwellers art was made by some ragged trousered scallywag? I do hope not.

After a brief introduction by our leader, off we went across the flat Nottinghamshire plain. Soon we were crossing the black moonscape of the former Whitwell Colliery with the occasional silver birch struggling to establish itself on the spoil. We passed the hamlet of Belph and skirted the oddly named Bismarck Plantation, entertained at intervals by short addresses from David on items of interest.

Suddenly we encountered a boarded-up entrance to a tunnel built by an earlier Duke. It ran for over half a mile under a field, with skylights at intervals, now overgrown, and it could accommodate a horse and carriage. Our leader then explained how the Duke was suspected of having another family in London in addition to the Duchess and children at Welbeck and the tunnel enabled him to travel to Worksop station in secrecy. When the duke died, co-incidentally so did a Mr Druce in London and when suspicions were aroused Mr Druce's coffin was exhumed, to reveal a pile of rocks.

By now we were all agog, hanging on every word. South Derbyshire softies, now abed, would think themselves accursed they were not here! (Apologies to the Bard). But soon events took a sinister turn. As we crossed Shrubbery Lake and came in sight of Welbeck Abbey, a loud speaker mounted on a tall pole demanded to know, in a metallic Orwellian tone, what we were doing there! Our leader quickly informed the pole that we were the Derbyshire Dales Ramblers and had written permission to be there! The pole quivered at this impertinence and fell silent. Ten minutes later a van screeched to a halt in a cloud of dust, driven by a white shirted goon shouting " Papers!" While we were wondering whether we should shout "Sieg Heil", David drew himself up to his full height, and waving the letter under his nose, said "Here you are my man, now go away", which he did. How lucky we were to be led by a man such as he. We would have followed him anywhere.

On we walked across fertile fields crossed by concrete tracks built for tanks in WW2, and entered Welbeck village. The buildings were quite imposing, built of local limestone in a spacious setting - but it was almost deserted. Before WW2 the village was solely for the convenience and support of the Duke and his family, and in addition to housing his staff, provided facilities including a school, a walled garden, laundry, a motor yard for 16 cars, a poultry yard and an indoor riding school. The village clock was always set 5 minutes fast ever since the Duke missed his train. During WW2 the army occupied the whole estate but now the village is lonely and quiet, awaiting proposals for its future.

A short stroll through a wood brought us back to the Visitors' Centre, now being re-developed as befits its historical importance. So ended an eventful day.

Gerald Oscroft