The right move

My mother moved house last week.

After living in Berkshire, North East Fife and, for a brief period, Cumbria, my parents settled in Thorpe, a tiny hamlet near Ashbourne, Derbyshire, in May 1980.

I spent a couple of months there between graduating at Aberdeen and moving to London but I never thought of it as home. I always enjoyed visiting, though.

Thorpe is just inside the Peak District and I never tired of the views. From my parents’ house it was a short walk to Thorpe Cloud, a steep hill from the top of which you can see four or five counties (on a clear day).

Behind Thorpe Cloud lies Dovedale, a wonderfully picturesque spot that attracts visitors from far and wide, especially on public holidays.

Thorpe itself is set well back from the winding country road that leads to Dovedale so it was always wonderfully quiet because there was never any passing traffic to disturb the peace.

My parents lived there very happily until my father died six years ago.

My mother is 89 now and although she still drives she knew that living somewhere with no shop or regular bus service would be asking for trouble eventually.

Winters too could be problematic. I once had to abandon my car overnight in a nearby lane after it got stuck in snow.

On another occasion the cul-de-sac in which my parents lived turned into a skating rink. That too made it impossible to drive.

(If gritting lorries ever came to Thorpe they never visited Woodland Close.)

Anyway, while the removal men were busy packing I spent our final moments in Thorpe walking around the village taking photographs.

Primarily though I was there to offer my mother moral support but she didn’t really need it. She knew the time had come to move on and was remarkably unsentimental about it.

Her new home is a small apartment in Chester, where my sister lives, overlooking the River Dee. I am currently in Scotland but will pop in to see how she’s settling in on my way home later today.

One thing that intrigues me is how she intends to accommodate her collection of glasses, some of which date back to her wedding in 1956.

I think we were all surprised by how many there were, not least the two very patient removal men:

“Are there any more?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“You’ve got about 300.”
“I’m very sorry about that.”

Below: Thorpe, January 22, 2020