Charlie has downloaded some information leaflets and walking routes and guides us through the village and up to a gate, where we obey the sign and put Betty on the leash. I swear she looks at us with disapproval.
We walk down a steep hill, covered with rocks and grass, scattered with grazing sheep. It is still early, and we are alone apart from one man and a Labrador going in the opposite direction. As we near the bottom of the hill, we all stop and stare, not quite believing what we are seeing.
The stream gurgles along and expands at the bottom, bouncing over large boulders toward a kind of basin. Surrounding it is a huge cliff of white limestone, curving and enormous, its sheer face veering hundreds of feet into the pale blue sky. It is breathtaking, and alien, and like nothing I have ever seen before.
“Wow,” says Luke, standing and staring, hands on his hips, “now that is impressive. Do you think it was a waterfall?”
“It was,” says Charlie, after looking at his phone, “but not now, unless there’s been huge rainfall. It was formed at the end of the last Ice Age, whenever that was... It’s amazing, isn’t it? It’s like the cliffs at Dover but mashed up a bit and plonked down in the middle of the country. Can we walk down?”
We go through a small gate and find ourselves surrounded by rocks and water. It’s been dry for days now, but we still need to pick our way across the floor of uneven pebbles and slippery plants, edging closer to the cliff itself. I peer up and see a climber dangling from the side of it, yellow helmet bright in the sun.
It is an incredible place, silent apart from the cries of circling birds and the sound of the water. It feels ancient, somehow holy, and completely magical.
“This is the best thing I’ve ever seen,” announces Charlie, taking some pictures with his phone. “I can’t believe we’re still in England.”
He is a teenager, and prone to exaggeration, but he is right—it’s so strange and eerie and beautiful, it is hard to describe.
We eventually tear ourselves away and make the climb up a steep range of steps at the side, which leads us to the top of the cliff. The ground is made up entirely of irregular white blocks, and Charlie tells us it is called a limestone pavement and gets momentarily excited when he finds out that one of theHarry Potterfilms was shot here. I’m not surprised—it feels otherworldly, and we are all silent as we sit and gaze out at the views of the village, the lush green dales around us.
“Where next, Captain?” says Luke after a while, and Charlie informs us we can do a circular walk to a place called GordaleScar and on to a waterfall called Janet’s Foss before we loop back to the car park.
It takes a while, but it is so worth it. The Scar is strange and stunning, reached after a short hike through a field and another lively stream, which I am told is called a beck. We let Betty cool her feet in the water and, as we turn a corner, are yet again faced with another unbelievable sight—a huge gorge that has been cut into the limestone, waterfalls tumbling dramatically down over the rocks.
“This place actually looks a bit familiar,” says Charlie, gazing around. He looks at his phone, and after a few minutes a huge smile appears on his face. “The Witcher!” he says triumphantly. “They filmed some ofThe Witcherhere!”
“What’sThe Witcher?” asks Luke, shrugging when Charlie stares at him in horror. “What can I say? I don’t watch a lot of TV!”
“It’s a fantasy show on Netflix,” I explain, “and it’s pretty good for all kinds of reasons. I can’t believe I’m actually walking in the footsteps of Henry Cavill...”
“Who’s Henry Cavill?” Luke says, frowning.
“Actor,” replies Charlie, grinning. “She thinks he’s hot and has an embarrassing mum crush on him.”
“This is true,” I answer, “and I refuse to apologize for it. Henry Cavill is a god among men. I might be a mother, but I’m not actually dead.”
“A god among men...,” says Luke as we make our way back along the path. “I feel quite emasculated.”
“You shouldn’t,” replies Charlie. “You’re pretty hot too, you know, for an old man!”
He bounds ahead with Betty, and Luke laughs.
“I don’t know whether that was a compliment or an insult,” he says as we follow on, heading to the footpath to Janet’s Foss.
“Possibly both,” I explain, avoiding his face. I have been noticing Luke’s hotness a little too much for comfort, and it unsettles me. I find myself thinking about him in ways I don’t want to think about him, ways that I haven’t thought about a man for a long time. This new arrangement we have is working just fine without me developing another “embarrassing mum crush.” He is fast becoming a friend, and that is enough. That is a win. We reach the foss after an adventurous downhill walk, clambering over rocks to reach yet another magical spot. It is tucked away in what feels like a fairy glen, secluded and shady despite the warmth of the day. There is a central pool, a pretty waterfall flowing into it, surrounded by rocks so big you can sit or lie on them.
“Can we go in?” asks Charlie, as Betty takes the plunge. “I think this might be my new thing, wild swimming.”
“Better than heroin addiction, I suppose—but we don’t have swimmers or towels with us. I can offer you bottled water, half a croissant, and a small first-aid kit, but no trunks.”
He stares at the clear water longingly, and Luke adds: “It’s a hot day. We could take a dip in our undies and dry off in the sun.”
I opt out of that, as, for some reason, a woman in bra and knickers seems a lot weirder than a man in boxers. Maybe just to me, I don’t know. I am happy to get my feet wet, wading into the chilly water up to my knees to cool myself off. I deliberately avert my gaze as they strip down, and wait until they are submerged before I look back up.
Sometimes in life, you have those rare moments of perfection—moments that you know you will remember forever, frozen like a photograph in your mind, stored to revisit in more challenging times. This is one of them: sitting in the sun-dappled morning light, my toes wet, watching them enjoy themselves. They splash and dive and swim; they stand beneath the white frothof the waterfall; they laugh and they clamber out and jump back in.
Not so long ago, I thought my life was damaged beyond repair—now I can’t keep the smile off my face. I say a small and silent prayer of thanks to whoever might be listening, because in this place, in this unearthly beauty, it feels entirely possible that someone is.
When they finally emerge, shaking themselves free of water, droplets golden in the sun, Charlie says: “You look blissed out, Mum. What are you thinking about?”
