Buxton, Derbyshire.
We pulled over Monkey Brew hill and I looked down towards my Grandparents' house at the bottom. It had been 5 years since I had last visited, and the last time my Grandad had still been alive. I knew it would be an emotional return. But you know what, it wasn't actually. Nana was there, looking healthy and well, and the old house still looked the same, albeit with slightly different wallpaper and a different settee. But it was still my family home, still the same place where many a childhood memory had been formed - days of playing in the garden, and having sleepovers with cousins. And most importantly, Grandad was still 'with us,' in spirit. It was a happy home-coming.
Buxton is an old roman spa town, at the foot of the penine ranges, in the Peak District national park. It's a pretty little town, cold and bleak, even in summer! - but pretty none-the-less.
My whole family come from the Peak District, mums side and dad's, with the majority of them living in or around Buxton (which makes for easy visiting!). Some of our family live a little further afield, but most of my immediate family (as in aunties and uncles and cousins) live there. In my humble opinion, it is one of the most beautiful parts of the whole country. Exquisitely green (due to the heavy rainfall!) and beautifully rugged - a land of moorlands, green, brown, and purple; bursting rock faces; dense forest; endlessly rolling hills; roman walls; and quaint villages with character from all the ages past. The northern folk of the Peak District are rosey cheeked and friendly. They are a humble, hard-working lot, who make good grub and a decent brew. The people of the Peak District hold a piece of my heart.
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Karlos and I had a good time together, up north. I showed him around - pointing out the usual spots of potential interest to tourists... Like, "this is the oldest hotel in England, where Mary Queen of Scots was once under house arrest and, incidently, where I once worked!"... and so on.
We caught up with family, had meals out, and meals in, and walked about towns with jackets on - with summer temperatures not quite reaching 20 degrees. I went to visit the headstone of my Grandad - John Trevor Baines - whose ashes rest in peace in a small church in Fairfield, Buxton. A reminder to those that knew him of the void in our lives, with him no longer here. But also reminding us, in the back of our minds, that he will never be far.
The week culminated with a family wedding - my cousin Jo, getting hitched to her longterm boyfriend, Dan. It was a great day - an uncharacteristically sunny day, and a wonderful day that I could be surrounded by family that is all mine. A rarity.
There really isn't much I am able to write about my time in the Peak District. It was a wonderful time being with loved ones, after so long apart. Something precious.
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After a week, I felt extremely sad about leaving my Nana, the rest of my family, and the Peak District once again. I felt sad that I wouldn't see them for some time. But I also felt sad that - this is where I was born, where my roots lay, and yet it will never be my home. Because... I never want it to be. I have left this place. These days I belong to New Zealand, and I felt sorry for the Peak District. Like my leaving was in some way saying that there is something wrong with the place - when there really isn't. I felt like I had been unfaithful. Like I was saying goodbye to a lifelong friend, because a better friend had come along to play with. All of the other times I have left, I have only felt sadness for leaving my family, but this time it was deeper than that. Perhaps because, this time, I knew for certain... life with my new "friend" is better. And my heart broke, for a time that has gone.
But you will always be the most special to me.
'til I see you again x
~ Comet xo
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