The images on this page have been copied from http://www.woodhouse-eaves.co.uk/ by kind permission of the webmaster.

To the left of this path are the grounds of the convalescent home where my mother and I recuperated after my birth, in 1939. It was later used for wounded GIs. To the right is the boundary of the vicarage garden. Going over the brow of the hill,

it was on this path that I learned to ride a bicycle. I had not understood how pedals functioned, and believed that my feet would have to turn through 360 degrees, and this fear took some time to allay. Only after I could hear my mother's voice receding behind me: I am still holding you, did I understand that I was cycling. If we turn to the right we come to

the Donkey Slip. The back gate from our garden was about 20 yards on the left behind the child. To the right used to be the vicarage tennis courts. Before I could walk properly I once went missing and was eventually discovered tottering over the court with the white marker machine. The Reverend Hargreaves was very understanding.

Here is the view in the reverse direction. The public footpath was not trammelled by any fence in my day, but went straight down the middle of the Donkey Slip. To the left, up against the boundary wall of the vicarage grounds, was a wonderland of bushes and secret dens, where I spent most of my time as a pirate. I even ventured into the forbidden realms of the vicarage grounds themselves, which seemed as exotic as a tropical island.

At the bottom of the Donkey Slip was our usual path to the shops.

Hidden in the grounds at the right is an old quarry, with a deep pool and a cave; a place of dragons. Children had come to sticky ends there, and we were forbidden to venture in.

The path emerged onto the main road. Of course what in my memory were broad avenues turn out in fact to be narrowish roads.

Up the hill to the right was the Sunday School and the Church.

I had been christened there, though I have no memory of it. My brother's christening I do remember. I had inserted a curious finger into the cage of a parrot in a hotel in Matlock Bath, and had it bitten for my imprudence. As soon as I saw the brass eagle lectern in the church I ran out screaming, and spent the rest of the service sitting on a tombstone in the churchyard.

Down the road, at the central crossroads of the village, was LeFevre's grocery. I once lost my teddy bear there, but despite the fact that the shop had closed, they opened up to give it back to me.

On the left of steep Victoria Road, lived Mr Stockwell. He saved my life once when the brakes on my pram failed, and he caught me as I was catapulted from the hurtling vehicle.

Sweets were not manufactured during the war, but from this white house one could buy bags of broken biscuits, without coupons, for a penny.

On the hill opposite our house was the windmill, where we often went for a walk. One evening it caught fire and burnt down. I looked at the conflagration from our porch through my father's telescope, and afterwards had nightmares about the whole world catching fire.