22nd September 1935
It was a day of thick wet cloud when we stooped to enter a hencoop looking structure, on a wild and lonely hill top. There in the middle of the floor was a small square opening, beneath which a dark cavity yawned.
While waiting one’s turn to descend, one peered down into it, trying, rather anxiously, to imagine what it would be like. A tiny gleam of light winked at one from far below, by no means at the bottom, only the first of a series of candles to encourage the lonely descender. And some climb! One had to turn from one side to the other of a rope ladder (itself a shabby object), in some places slithering through narrow cracks with very little idea where one’s feet would land next. Yet why worry, with a life line round one’s waist worked at the top by the stoutest and safest of fellows.
After what admittedly, seemed a long time, the last part in pitch darkness, one stepped off onto soft deep clay, the next order being to crawl in it through a low passage for an indefinite distance (clay incidentally, which was put to artistic use on the wall leading to Firbeck Hall). Lunch was served in the basement. In other words, one even lunched via rope ladder – and all for a shilling. The noble cook provided a rare feast. Soup, meat pies, sandwiches and coffee, all ‘a la clayeuse,’ a delicate flavouring known only to cave men, though surprisingly disdained by a dozen of the party.
After lunch on again, a longish way, consisting of loose rocks and water, not forgetting the clay. At the end were some clean and very attractive stalactites, but this borders on description, so back we will go to the 170 ft. shaft. A much weightier problem, this return journey, not only lunch within, but clay and water without, adding to the difficulties. But did the men on top fail? No. One rose like a bird, though in places maybe, only a fat goose. Cheers or curses greeted one’s advent into the world again, according to one’s easy and light, or difficult and heavy ascent. There issued at the top, for subsequent arrivals, a final triumphal language of unrestrained character, wafting aloft or sent down from above – and curious too it is, how words beginning with the 2nd, 4th, & 6th letters of the alphabet will carry up a pot hole!
But good heavens! Someone’s trousers can bear the weight of clay no longer, and have dropped off, while the owner is left anything but speechless. Has he courage to proceed? He has, and what an entry he makes. Again the stout fellows above respond, a frayed rope end, the latest in sporrans, is produced and all is well, apart from a remark made to the effect that a certain club should change its badge from a rose to a fig-leaf.
No other mishaps of serious nature occurred, only one or two ropes breaking and rocks subsiding – all of which seemed to be taken as a part of the day’s work.
Finally we collected our valuables, such as watches, money and false-teeth, and returned to our various destinations, to a glorious tea after a glorious day.
Derbyshire Pennine Club 