July 2025. Drone Valley. Dronfield.
Sheffield is a drinkers walkers paradise, seven hills, edge of the Peak, endless exploration.
Except, well, I sometimes feel I’ve explored it now. But a 10 minute train trip south will take you to Dronfield, the Glossop of the east, a town with places called Summerley and Cartledge which have never had a GBG entry to entice you with.
Dronfield itself flits seamlessly between faded grandeur and castings factories,
and a turn off Callywhite Lane leads you to a 20 minute scramble through the woods on what’s basically a horse track (I see the evidence),
to a view over the Drone Valley that’s actually inspiring.
Yes, it really is.
A nice place to be naturally buried if that’s your thing.
But I’m alive, and need the pub across the road which I last visited 20 years ago.
Apperknowle has a cricket club and a private airstrip and probably a polo club but such a small resident population that Wiki doesn’t record it, so the Travellers Rest’s impressive 3pm custom comes by afar, and seems to favour dandelion and burdock (from unopenable bottle) and cider,
and cheese.
Best pub cheese selection in a while, wish I’d skipped lunch.
Good mix of custom, too, in an unfussy allrounder with a friendly landlady.
Old Boys on stools just away from the bar, couples, a group of ladies here for a late lunch. Enough trade for six pumps ? Possibly not, but the Ashover Stout was cool and chewy if not crisp (NBSS 3+).
Astonishing accents on display. You haven’t lived till you’ve heard a Northerner pronounce “baby shower”, “I knoooo” and “pho-to”.
Lots of laughter, always the sign of a good pub. As are knitted hats on pegs.
retiredmartin 