Before we go any further into this blog entry, let me offer my apologies for the lack of activity here recently. Flu – the real, unpleasant, knocking at death’s door and asking for a priest to administer extreme unction type of flu – followed by the unwelcome intrusion of ‘real life‘ had curtailed my archaeological and historical musings of late. I have done a bit of research, identified a whole pile of fun things to blog about, done some poking about for more interesting sherds… but none of it is quite ready yet.

And so, I present to you, a bit of a cop out! A very short, and quite interesting cop out, but a cop out nonetheless.

As I may have mentioned before, I am obsessed with boundaries.

I love the idea of a start and an end to a physical place or space, and in particular I am fascinated by the ‘liminal‘ areas that make up the join between the two sides of any boundary. These are the ‘dangerous’ places, which are neither one thing nor the other, but somewhere in between, and it this space that has such significance in archaeology. This is where outcasts – the witch, the murderer, the suicide, the excommunicated – are buried, where dangerous activities take place, where the veil separating this world and the other is perceived to be the thinnest, and communication with the ‘beyond’ can be achieved.

One such liminal place is the junction of two rivers or streams, long held to be magical, and in some cultures believed to be a very powerful space.

Waterways themselves make great boundaries – they are by and large immobile, and they are very clear in their separation of the land (one does not overlook a stream, or one ends up with wet feet) – which is why, traditionally, they were used to define parishes and such. Indeed, it has been said that my own parish, Whitfield, is actually an island: it is completely surrounded – and thus defined – by streams.

Glossop Brook is the boundary between Whitfield and Glossop, and it is formed by the confluence of two brooks – Shelf Brook, which flows through Manor Park from Mossy Lea and beyond, and Hurst Brook which comes through the Shirebrook Estate from the Snake Pass and beyond. They join here, at the bottom of Bank Street just before the footbridge that takes you to Manor Park

So, a liminal boundary that is formed by the joining of two brooks. Anthropologically, this is a powerful place, and one wonders what, in the deep and distant past, occurred here, or at least what marked this place.

This is the first in a series of posts that I’d like to do about Glossop’s waterways. Through their use as power for mills, they are quite literally the foundation upon which the modern town was built, and yet they are sadly often overlooked.

I shall be more attentive to the blog in future, and keep up the posting. Thanks for reading, and if there is anything you’d like to share, any comments or corrections, please drop me a line.