Country diary: Silence, a mine with a vein of secrets and rowdy tales

Great Hucklow, Derbyshire At the derelict mine all is not quiet as the sound of birds cuts through the muffling snow and the ruins speak of a riotous noisy past

The broad track down to Silence Mine was muffled with snow, the more slender boughs of its modest avenue bowed under inches of it, sporadic puffs of wind pushing drifts into the air. Perched halfway up Hucklow Edge, among the ruined mine structures, I could look across the broad, walled pastures above Foolow, dazzling in the bright sunshine, the sky a milky blue, a creamy knot of sheep standing to attention in a distant field.

Sunlight pierced a thick stand of hawthorn just behind me, the haws blood-red against the brilliant white. Just below, the choked pit shaft, as so often in Derbyshire, had been plugged with an ash, the snow around it dotted with rabbit prints.