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A milky sky, a cold wind, and the chaffinches going crazy in the trees around Castleton. Maybe it was the promise of a long-delayed spring implicit in the tender leaf buds sprouting at the tip of every twig, or perhaps they were just getting their mating chops together. Whatever about the birds, the nip of the wind and the scud of the morning sky had Jane and me stepping out sharply enough as the church clock chimed half-past eleven.
Castleton lies cradled in a natural amphitheatre of hills whose rocks are seamed with rich deposits of lead. The mineral was mined from a series of caverns along the line