Dead And Buried

High above him, bright red embers were floating like fireflies against the bank of black smoke, and Cooper could see for himself that the fire was heading westwards.

Just away to the west was Kinder Downfall, a cascade of water falling vertically among shattered rocks. It was the highest waterfall in the county, where the River Kinder hit the edge of the plateau. On blustery days, the water seemed to flow upwards as the wind caught it in mid-air and hurled it back over the edge.

Below the downfall, the dark waters of Mermaid’s Pool were reputed to be haunted by a spirit who could either grant eternal life or pull you under the surface and drown you. Myth said it was a site of ancient human sacrifices. He remembered looking down at the pool from the rocks and realising how obvious it was that it used to be much larger. You could make out the original shape from the slope of the ground, and from the beds of reeds standing where the shallower parts of the pool had been. It must have covered three or four times the area it did now, but its edges had retreated, the body of water shrunk to little more than a pond. It would be very difficult now to imagine anything living in there except a few small fish and the odd frog, let alone a water demon. Luckily the people of Hayfield didn’t go in for human sacrifices as much as they used to.

He became aware that the ranger had finished conducting an agitated conversation on his radio and was cursing.

‘What’s the problem?’ asked Cooper.

‘Our temporary reservoir on the moor has been sabotaged.’

Cooper knew what he meant. He’d seen the big orange tank sitting in the middle of the moors. Because of the risk of fire, every year the national park rangers sited one of the water tanks out on Kinder. They held more than fifty thousand litres of water, and were large enough for a helicopter to lower its dipper bucket into, if necessary. Due to the remote nature of the moorland sites, tanks were often vital to prevent a fire from spreading. They usually stayed up there throughout the summer, and could be refilled from bowsers towed by rangers’ Land Rovers.

‘We had reports that the tank was empty, and when it was checked we found that somebody had cut the side of it with a knife,’ said the ranger. ‘The original cut was only about eighteen inches long, but the force of fifty-four thousand litres of water ripped a ten-foot hole. That’s impossible to repair. We’re just left with a big collapsed balloon.’

‘What does that mean for Kinder?’

The ranger followed Cooper’s gaze up the hill.

‘The consequences of losing that tank could be devastating. They helicopter is using Ladybower Reservoir instead, but it takes a lot longer. We were hoping to stop the fire in its tracks, but that won’t happen now.’

‘A few more square miles destroyed, then.’

‘You can bet on it.’

‘And it’s Kinder, too.’

‘Yes, Kinder. What can I say?’

Kinder Scout had its own unique history. Britain’s national park movement had started right here in the 1930s, when four hundred ramblers from Manchester staged a mass trespass on to grouse moors owned by the Duke of Devonshire.

The 1932 Kinder Trespass was the turning point in the campaign to open up access to the countryside. Five young ramblers had been jailed, and the resulting waves of support had ensured that Kinder was included when the first national park was created in the Peak District after the Second World War. Eventually, a later Duke of Devonshire had apologised for his ancestor’s actions. How times changed.

It was an episode recorded in Derbyshire Constabulary history, too. About a third of the force had been deployed around Hayfield to intercept ramblers taking part in the trespass. One hiker convicted of assault on a gamekeeper had protested his innocence right into his eighties. It had taken an enlightened chief constable to make amends for that one.

Cooper went back to his Toyota. He had to accept that there wasn’t much he could do, short of grabbing a beater and going up on the moor himself. Being here was just tormenting him, and he might even be getting in the way. He wished the ranger luck, and left.

Near Upper Booth, a couple of cars had been turning in a field entrance, and came slowly past him down the road. A silver Mercedes and a pale blue VW. As they passed, Cooper saw that their paintwork was covered in black specks, a shower of oily soot from the moorland fires they’d been watching with such enjoyment.

It looked as though the ranger’s prayers had been answered. The wind had changed direction after all.

At West Street, Cooper sat down at his desk and tried to get his thoughts in order. It was taking a bit of an effort this morning.