Country Diary: Staffordshire Moorlands

It is hellish to realize we have now passed the longest day! But, naturally, the days will not appear diminished for quite some time yet. Certainly high summer seemed well established as we crossed the broad, green acres of the middle Manifold valley, heading across the tree-dotted turf of Warslow Hall parkland and over the footbridge across the river before the ascent to Sheen village on its ridge-top.

The carboniferous limestone underlying this area certainly suits the pasture land and the meadow buttercups that adorn it from early spring. Looking across the slope towards Sheen all we could see of a herd of cattle was a dozen ears twitching in that golden carpet because all the animals were lying down, chewing the cud in the hot sunlight. The banks of the Manifold here are steep soily cliffs - maybe 10 feet high - and would seem an ideal place for sand martins to make their summer homes, but I've never seen them here. Apart from an aircraft descending from the south-east towards Manchester, there was no sound louder than the swirling eddies as the river moved on down towards Hulme End before entering the more dramatic confines of its lower valley.

Here, though, the green vale sweeps up gently towards Sheen and, lurking behind a fringe of trees, the roof of long vacated Buttsend is just visible. Who last inhabited the farm cottage I don't know, nor do I know the reason for its abandonment. I imagine all sorts of romantic explanations but the truth may be more prosaic. We lay in the sunlight up the slope nearer Sheen and eventually espied a distant party of Duke of Edinburgh Award aspirants. They rested by the footbridge near the buttercup fields; they were the only humans we saw during that long, midsummer's afternoon.