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LOCAL WALKS

The end of the road...

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A LOCAL WALK - 180

A Cliff Hanger: Now It Can be Told

Many years ago - in the mid 1980's - a summer Sunday afternoon when we decided to go for a leisurely stroll along the shore below Lester Point.

An uneventful afternoon. The only perceived hazard, the possibility of slipping on a bit of bladderwrack or getting our feet wet in a rock pool. All was calm and still; the air pleasantly warm, not too hot, when suddenly we witnessed a man hurtling through the air from the high cliff above. It was one of those situations when time appears to slow up unnaturally. His landing on the hard rocks below was inevitable and, in the meantime, we were completely helpless to do anything to prevent it.

We just stood and waited with a sense of dread. Eventually, the large man came to rest on the rocky platform at the base of the cliff. There was some moaning but he was conscious and not in obvious pain. We suggested he stay put in case anything was broken. One of us would go to seek help.

Illustrated by: Paul Swailes

A young woman appeared. She said she was a doctor and had seen him earlier on the coast path. She told him he must not attempt to move in case any injuries were made worse. She continued on her way and my companion left to alert the emergency service.

The fallen man was very red faced and sweating profusely. He was irritable because his sunglasses and camera were missing. I searched around and finally retrieved both but the fallen man was exasperated because a bit of the camera was missing. I was sent off again to find the small component.

But I failed and meanwhile the tide was fast coming in and if we didn't move away, we should become cut off.

I propped him up as we made our way awkwardly to the sea front where, as we arrived, a helicopter was about to land and a little crowd of holiday makers had gathered to watch the spectacle. A wag pointed up to the helicopter and then the fallen man asking, "Is this for you?!" A tearful, anxious woman pressed forward greeting him with relief. He seemed reluctant to acknowledge her. We discreetly left.

But a mystery remained. Did he fall or did he jump . . . was he pushed? We'll never know.

Sue H

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WEST COUNTRY WALK - 179

A Head for Heights

At certain times, when travelling towards Marazion from the direction of Penzance, you may witness a strange sight - a procession of people appearing to walk across the sea to St. Michael's Mount. As you get nearer you will realise this has been an illusion for at low tide it is possible to reach the island by crossing a stone causeway. At high tide small boats are on hand to ferry visitors across.

We walked over the large smooth slabs of stone, arranged randomly, to the harbour and row of cottages below the castle. In 1044 a Benedictine monastery was founded there by the monks of Mont St. Michel, Brittany. [The two mounts resemble each other.] From the 12th century its potential as a fortress was recognised and eventually in 1425 the Crown annexed it and the monks were ejected. In 1657 the St. Aubyn family bought it and still have a connection with the castle though since 1954 the island has been owned by the National Trust.

 

Illustrated by: Paul Swailes

We climbed up the winding paths, through the sub-tropical gardens; a vertiginous walk but we enjoyed taking in the wide sweep of Mount's Bay. Many of the people we passed were treading very gingerly, watching their feet. A few years ago, the advert for a new head gardener on St. Michael's Mount stated that as well as horticultural expertise, he or she should have a good head for heights and preferably an ability - or willingness - to abseil.

The lower slopes were sprinkled with sky blue spring squill. The tide still being out, we returned via the causeway stopping at intervals to scan the sea. To the east we observed the stately silhouette of a great northern diver [the loon in North America]. To the west along Marazion beach several whimbrel rested on their spring passage Similar to but smaller than curlews with a slightly shorter bill, the whimbrel can best be distinguished by the dark stripes on its crown.

It is always fun to visit one of the islands off our coast, no matter how small, but there is evidence that St. Michael's Mount was once joined to the mainland as tree stumps have been discovered in the sea around it.

Sue H

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WEST COUNTRY WALK - 178

Black Swans and Trains

It can only be Dawlish where the railway line runs between the town and the sea; trains rattling and roaring by at frequent intervals and the beach can only be reached by passing under or over the line.

In early November I found the sea front underpass was barricaded shut as repair work was still in progress. In recent years, the railway line at Dawlish has suffered considerable storm and sea damage with dramatic news footage drawing national attention to the small resort.

So I continued along to Coryton's Cove, crossing the footbridge and down the steps to the little cove while a good train thundered past and disappeared into Coryton tunnel, both the tunnel and the cove named after Jane Coryton, a local landowner. I had hoped to find turnstones among the shingle but there were just five cormorants gathered together on a little rocky island, one with a white front.

I gazed up at the high, red sandstone cliffs and felt tempted to explore the coast path winding there, but I had come to Dawlish on the Ilfracombe Community mini-bus so could not risk venturing too far and then missing the bus home. I had looked forward to seeing the black swans, the natives of Australia, which have become a proud symbol of the town.

A special feature of Dawlish is the linear park which runs through the middle of the town, perpendicular to the sea and either side of the Dawlish Water. And here in the middle of Dawlish Water was a black swan on her nest delicately rearranging bits of straw. A glamorous creature with a crimson bill and frilly white plumage revealed below like snowy underwear.

Further on, five cygnets were being ferried by their attentive parents, along the length of the 'lawn' as the grassy areas of the park are known locally. The cob walked ahead, stopping at intervals to allow the cygnets to catch up, the pen at the rear. Eventually they settled on the grass under a tree, like a family picnic party; the protective parents keeping the young ones safely between them. The gardens also contain a collection of wild fowl including mandarin and Caroline ducks, pintails, pochards and whistling tree ducks.

Leaving the park, I continued along the streamside path, with views of back yards and gardens until I reached the parish church. Then, retracing my steps to the seaside and more trains. A pleasant day's walking on Devon's south coast with dry, reasonably mild weather. Lucky timing, because the very next day we had hail and thunder!

Illustrations by: Paul Swailes

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK - 177

Holdstone: "Holy Mountain"?! - Strange Encounters

At 1143 feet, it is the highest coastal hill in the South West. That's quite an impressive claim to fame but to some it is a holy mountain.

When we ascended Holdstone Down in mid-September, our mission was threefold. We were hoping to see wheatears before they embarked on their autumn migration.

Secondly, I anticipated catching a glimpse of the dull but scarce grayling butterfly which is only on the wing for a few weeks in late summer until September. It is the largest member of the brown family of butterflies but as it always settled with fawn and grey marbled wings closed, it is very inconspicuous.

And thirdly, we wished to find the heather still in full colour. Happily, that day the moor presented a tapestry of magenta bell heather and mauve ling with golden yellow patches on the Western gorse.

 

An encampment had established itself in the normally quiet car park and I threaded my way between kettles and cooking utensils in order to reach the start of the path.

Half way up the hill I observed a pair of wheatears moving a little ahead of me, pausing very upright at intervals, flitting their tails. They flew off when a runner sped past but I caught up with them on one of the other paths radiating out from the summit.

Beside the cairn at the top I discovered a group of people praying. So, now a word about the Aetherius Society and Holdstone's reputation as a sacred site.

About sixty years ago George King, the founder of the Aetherius Society, claimed to have met Jesus there, having seen a bright blue light over the Bristol Channel which heralded the arrival of a being from Venus - Jesus, who instructed him to pray for world peace and enlightenment.

Followers of George King meet at Holdstone to chant mantras and access spiritual and psychic energy from the site, which they store in a strange contraption called a Spiritual Energy Battery, to be released in the event of disaster.

The very first time we climbed Holdstone Down, long before we had heard about these strange and bizarre beliefs, we met a man running down from the summit in a state of excitement. "Is it true?! he asked. "Is it really true that you can recharge your batteries up there?"

We reassured him this was not to be taken literally, that it was simply metaphorical. Last autumn as we descended, we noticed an elderly couple had emerged from their camper van and were staring intently at a small patch of heather clad ground.

They gave a friendly greeting as we passed and continued minutely to examine the clump of heather. Curiosity got the better of me. Had they discovered some rare insect or wild flower, I wondered. I retraced my steps to enquire. It turned out they were engaged in the popular pastime of geocaching.

Illustrations by: Paul Swailes

Sue H

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Walk 177 - Holdstone Down

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LOCAL WALK - 176

An afternoon with John Ridd, Lorna, Tom Faggus, Jeremy Stickles & All

The hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the publication of 'Lorna Doone' was celebrated in August with a dramatisation at the Valley of the Rocks by the Pleasure Dome Theatre Company. This dramatic setting with the natural sounds of the sea and birds in the background was ideal. It was an appropriate location as well because it was in the Valley of the Rocks that John Ridd came to seek the advice of wise woman Mother Meldrum, when he witnessed a fight between a sheep and a wild goat on Castle Rock.

Illustrated by: Paul Swailes

Although R.D. Blackmore published Lorna Doone in 1869, the story is set in the latter part of the seventeenth century, a time of political and religious upheaval with the restoration of the monarchy, the Monmouth Rebellion and the notorious Judge Jeffreys.

I did not get around to reading Lorna Doone until last year. I had been daunted by the 640 pages of close type.But I found it much more than the romance between Lorna and John.I enjoyed the historical detail and had not expected the radical views expressed, presumably reflecting Blackmore's own.He had little time for lawyers, the clergy or those in authority, regarding them as unscrupulous and corrupt! It is a pleasure, too, for those of us living in North Devon to read his descriptions of places familiar to us on and around Exmoor.

For example, visiting Tiverton it is still possible to enter the courtyard of the original Blundell's School, beside the bridge over the River Lowman, where in 1673 the twelve-year old John Ridd was a pupil when given the news that his father, travelling home from Porlock, had been murdered by the Doones.

At Dulverton we can image John Ridd's great uncle Reuben Huckaback, the 'richest man in town', who had the 'very best shop' there. The first time I walked in the Doone Valley I was a teenager, staying at Barbrook on a hiking holiday.In those days there was a charge to enter the valley.At Malmsmead an elderly farmer stood at the gate collecting the money.

The first part of the walk is through meadows; the buildings of Cloud Farm within sight, is gentle and benign; the route along the river and through oak woods is beautiful but then the atmosphere changes.It's wilder, lonelier, rather sinister, but in an exciting way, as you reach the remote territory of the ruthless Carver Doone and his clan. From Malmsmead it's a short stroll along the lane to Oare Church, scene of Lorna Doon's and John Ridd's wedding.

The National Park has produced a new publication, 'The Lorne Doone Trail', helping walkers to tread in the footsteps of the characters.

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK - 175

'Running across a meadow, pickin' up lots of forget-me-nots'

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK - 174

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose.
By any other name would smell as sweet."

Sue H

Footnote: If you haven't discovered it already, may I draw your attention to Sue Jerrard's regular nature observations, From a Bittadon Garden, in the Coast and Combe Church Magazine.

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LOCAL WALK - 173

James Ravilious: "showing North Devon people to themselves"

You may have seen the work of photographer James Ravilious featured on television on Countryfile recently.

In 1972 John Lane, the founder of Beaford Arts, had commissioned James Ravilious to "show north Devon people to themselves" and eventually this resulted in an archive of seventy thousand photographs depicting farming and rural life, landscape and weather taken throughout the 1970's and '80's.

Seven years ago, the Devon Wildlife Trust and Beaford Arts devised a walking trail around Halsdon Nature Reserve near Dolton [south of Torrington] to explore some of the countryside photographed by Ravilious.

The circular route of about five and a half miles passes through woodland and meadows, alongside a section of the River Torridge and includes the specific locations of some of his photographs.

Halsdon Reserve
Illustrations by: Paul Swailes

A booklet, Dolton as seen by James Ravilious, produced by Beaford Arts, has a map showing the route and incorporated several of the photographs. The walk can be accessed at the north entrance to the nature reserve at Ashwell where there is parking or at Quarry Car Park at the south entrance.

James was the son of Eric Ravilious most famous for his delicate and rather mysterious water colour landscapes. James also started as a painter and taught art in London, later turning to photography when he felt his own paintings were beginning to look too much like his father's!

James Ravilious died in 1999 and from the vast archive [which is housed in the Devon Records Office] he considered seventeen hundred to be his best. However, at Bideford's Burton Gallery there is to be an exhibition of many previously unseen Ravilious photographs, displayed for the first time.

The exhibition entitled "Here: Uncovering North Devon", runs from the 4th May until the 23rd June. Meanwhile, we can explore a sample of the countryside he celebrated with a walk around Halsdon Reserve.

Sue H

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Walk 173 - Halsdon Nature Reserve

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LOCAL WALK - 172

'The Echoing Green' - William Blake

I was glad when a neighbour suggested a trip to Selworthy as I'd never been there. I'd seen pictures of course, of the idyllic village, on calendars and in guide books but in real life it proved to be more picturesque.

Thatched cottages with round chimneys and latticed windows are arranged informally around a little sloping green beside a brook.

 

They were built in the early nineteenth century for Sir Thomas Acland's retired estate workers. He did not employ an architect but used a pattern book, Rural Architecture published in 1823.

Selworthy Green was designed to be an interesting feature in the landscape and to enhance this notion the residents were issued with scarlet cloaks! So it was even a visitor attraction two centuries ago.

Today one of the cottages provides a welcoming cafe and another is a craft shop.

Noting the fifteenth century tythe barn in passing, we reached the church. I had often seen it from miles away and been curious about its white appearance which makes it stand out. Apparently it is periodically coated with a lime mixture to protect the stone from the weather.

All Saints' church has a sixteenth century pulpit with sounding board to help project the preacher's voice; a much admired wagon roof with angels and bosses; a Georgian West Gallery supporting the organ and above the porch an unusual Squire's Pew in the form of a Gothic pavilion which once included a fireplace.

 

Illustrations by: Paul Swailes

From Selworthy Green a maze of paths plunges into the extensive woodland. To celebrate the birth of each of his children, Sir Thomas Acland had planted a block of trees - larch, beech, birch and oak.

We sat on a bench to enjoy the autumn colour and the view overlooking Dunkery Beacon and below, Allerford and Holnicote House and then a succession of jays flew past. To see one jay is always a pleasure, but six . . . !

In the eighteenth century, the Aland's Holnicote Estate was so large that it was aid they could cross from the Bristol Channel to the English Channel without leaving their own property.

In 1944 Sir Richard Acland gave the estate to the National Trust. He wrote, "Would it not be rather wonderful to get away from 'this is mine', 'this is yours', 'this is the other fellows' and look out on everything we saw and say 'this is all ours'.

Sue H

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Walk 172 - Selworthy

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LOCAL WALK - 171

'Ireland's first woman politician': The Ilfracombe Connection

Our walk takes us to the churchyard of Holy Trinity in Ilfracombe and an unusual event that took place there in September.

You may have read an article in the church magazine, by Rev. John Roles, about Anna Parnell or seen the report in the local paper about the gathering around her grave to commemorate her life and work.

In his speech that day, the Irish Ambassador to London, Adrian O'Neill said that although Anna Parnell had been a major figure in Irish history, campaigning for land reform at a time of great poverty and injustice, like other women her contribution had until recently been overlooked.

He said, "It's wonderful to see here in Ilfracombe that she is still being remembered and honoured 107 years after her death."

In the 1880's in Ireland, she had organised the Ladies' Land League to assist the tenants in rural areas who were being turned off the land and left homeless and destitute.

So successful were the women in the practical help they gave, that her more famous brother, Charles Stewart Parnell wanted the league to be disbanded and for the men to take over.

This led to a disagreement between brother and sister; Anna moved to England and eventually settled at Avenue Road in Ilfracombe, using the name Cerisa Palmer.

Anna was a keen swimmer, and on the 20th September,1911 she went to bathe at the Tunnels Beaches. She had been warned that conditions that day were not ideal and unfortunately. she drowned. There was a rescue and attempts to save her life but these failed and she was buried at Holy Trinity.

Mary McAleese, a former President of Ireland, has called Anna Parnell 'Ireland's first woman politician and in 1881 Anna herself said, 'Perhaps when we are dead and gone and another generation grown up ... they will point to us as having set a noble example to all the women of Ireland.'

As you walk about the churchyard, and make your way to Anna's grave in a far corner, you may notice the variety of herbs and wild flowers growing informally. A group of dedicated volunteers takes care of the churchyard and their work was commended by the visitors from Ireland.

A visit would not be complete without entering the church to admire what is considered one of the finest wagon roofs in the west country, dating from the 15th century. Take time to sit in a pew and gaze up at the richly carved bosses, corbels, gargoyles and figures of angels. There's a lot to see. But the last word goes to Anna Parnell who said, 'The best part of independence - the independence of the mind.'

Ilustrations by: Paul Swailes

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK - 170

Sylvia and Cynthia at Baggy Point but no sign of Scilla

There was a thin but persistent drizzle as I walked out to Baggy Point in mid-July and more joggers than walkers. Til then there had been a long dry spell and the steep slopes above and below the coast path were parched tawny brown.

A harsh, scratchy call drew my attention to three whitethroats, perched on brambles and thorns. Some Latin names are easier to remember than others. The whitethroat is Sylvia communis. A throaty kronk was heard as a raven passed low overhead; in from the sea. 'Kronk' was Henry Williamson's name for this magnificent corvid.

Turning the corner at the end of the headland I paused to take in one of the best views in North Devon; ahead the sweep of Woolacombe Bay and Morte Point and in the other direction Croyde Bay and Saunton Sands.

Illustrated by: Paul Swailes

It had stopped raining and the sun had come out and as I turned back I was surprised to find sixty black sheep, with huge horns, had arrived and were basking near the cliff edge below the coastguards' climbing pole. Not a single bleat came from this solemn assembly, just a cool stare. A cargo vessel of the Swedish/Norwegian shipping line, Wallenius Wilhelmsen, had appeared on the horizon past Lundy.

An easy downhill stroll along the track where tangles of thin red threads of the parasitic plant dodder draped over the gorse bushes with here and there clusters of little pale pink flowers. The sun was now blazing and painted lady butterflies - Cynthia cardui - were on the wing. I was delighted when a hummingbird hawkmoth flew by. Smaller and less showy than a lot of the hawkmoths, it nevertheless has its own charm, making an audible hum as it hovers in front of flowers to feed.

Macroglossum stellatarum has brown and yellow wings and a mouse-like face. Later I was able to observe another hummingbird hawkmoth opposite Baggy House. What a treat.

Once on the cliff top at the end of the headland, I found a single example of the pale blue flower, Spring squill [Scilla Verna]. I have looked out for it whenever I have returned to Baggy Point, between March and May, but I have never discovered it there again and have not seen it anywhere else in North Devon either. Yet Scilla Verna is very common on the cliffs of West and North Cornwall, in similar habitats to North Devon. Autumn squill [Scilla Autumnalis] is similar but has straight leaves and no bracts, whereas Spring squill has bluish bracts and curly leaves.

Sue H

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Walk 170 - Baggy Point

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LOCAL WALK - 169

'Singing the Blues'

A giant hogweed towered above me. A yellow Labrador was enjoying a paddle in the harbour. But, as I walked along The Warren on a sunny summer's day, I was wondering, "Where have all the butterflies gone?" A couple of velvety dark ringlet butterflies with their subtle pattern of tiny cream circles appeared in the shadier sections of the path, but so far this year sightings of blue butterflies have been sparse.

Hope Bourne, the writer and artist who lived at Great Ferny Ball, Exmoor, wrote in A Moorland Year:

". . . a host of blue butterflies flutter and shimmer in the strong sunshine . . . like fragments of sky descended to earth. I watch them entranced as they fly about my feet and amongst the flowers, transported back to childhood when such a flight of butterflies was more frequently to be seen than nowadays."

Vladimir Nabokov, more famous for Lolita and other novels, was also a professional lepidopterist, specialising in the study of blue butterflies and writing several books on the subject.

Illustrated by: Paul Swailes

I reached the Martello tower and a gorgeous view of the sea; an intense blue with, closer to the shore, clear turquoise green water creating a rippling pattern over the rocks below. I witnessed a fly past of cormorants and gannets. A clump of tiny mauve storkbill clung to the base of the tower. As I continued, a neat brown silhouette flew by - a kestrel - a brief hover and she dropped from sight. I retraced my steps to see where she might have landed. Instead I heard a cheerful trill but it took some time to locate the goldfinches balanced on the thistles. Then a female stonechat landed beside them.

On a walk it pays just to stop and listen, tracing any small sounds and movements. At the end of the path, opposite the island called Sexton's Burrow, a scurrying in the undergrowth and a glimpse of small rodents. A wild rockery of centaury, sheep's-bit scabious and lime-green flowered wood sage. [Unlike the similar devil's-bit scabious, sheep's-bit is not a true scabious but a member of the campanulaceae family.]

Returning to the tower I found the peace had been broken by the arrival of speed boats. Helmeted intrepids were hurling themselves off rocks and into the sea. Although the weather was wonderful and the boat cafe was doing a good trade, I had the entire route along the narrow promontory to myself. Perhaps the slightly hidden, dark and overgrown entrance to The Warren appears uninviting. But it does make a lovely local walk.

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK - 168

A Tour of the Torrs

There are many points of access to the Torrs, but the most spectacular and arduous is the steep zigzagging cliff path above White Pebbles Beach. But you are rewarded by wonderful sea views and there are strategically placed benches to break the upward trek into manageable chunks and to allow you to survey the passing sea birds. Beside the path in spring and early summer is an abundance of wild flowers: bluebells, thrift and the graceful sea campion with its mauve veined bladders behind white petals.

Finally, you emerge among blackthorn bushes. A few steps lead to a view point and there's a glorious sense of space as you descend to the coast path. The scene was further enhanced for us by the Oldenburg coming into view.

Two shallow streams cross the path. A party of linnets came down to drink; the males with their pink breast plumage just beginning to show. Wheatears and stonechats may be seen on the nearby stone walls and tops of bushes.

A short climb up from here, a slight detour from the route, leads to a hidden sheltered hollow [where I once found a fairy ring of toadstools] and a rocky platform, where you can sit and look down upon a cliff which is a favourite perch for peregrine falcons. But it had started to rain - a late April shower on the first of May - so we kept going. As the path narrows and swings round the corner, it is worth pausing to scan the little cove far below. We have sometimes seen a seal swimming between the fingers of rock there. It was too soon to see one of my favourite butterflies, the green hairstreak. It is small; the upper sides of its wings are a dull brown but the undersides are a bright apple green. It is only on the wing for a short time so if we reach the end of June without having spotted one, I know I shall have to wait another year at least.

Illustrations: Paul Swailes

One summer we were returning from a walk on the Torrs, having failed to come across a greenhairstreak, when we stopped to chat to a dog walker who was stooping to photograph some flowers. She mentioned she had earlier found a butterfly and wondered what it was. Did we know? She showed us a picture she had taken of it on her mobile 'phone. It was the elusive green hairstreak!

We continued our circular route along Langleigh Lane. Jack-by-the-hedge or garlic mustard grew about the high banks. A flock of jackdaws took off suddenly from an adjacent field. The surface of the lane had become eroded and watery in places and as we completed our walk it stopped raining. There used to be an admission charge for walking on the Torrs, which despite complaints, was not abolished until 1959. In 1856 George Eliot stayed at Ilfracombe for seven weeks to pursue an interest in natural history.

Sue H

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Walk 168 - Torrs, The

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LOCAL WALK - 167

"Goodbye to all that": The demise of Horsey Island

So it's a sad farewell to Horsey Island, its wildlife and the walks it provided: the level circular stroll around Horsey itself or as a route towards the delights of Crow Point, the sand dunes and the beach. There was a breach in the outer bank of Horsey Island before Christmas. Attempts to plug the breach using local marine clay failed when this was swept away by the rising tides.

Severe flooding during the January storms caused Horsey Island to disappear under water. The historic Great Sluice was damaged and there were concerns about the inner bank holding and a threat of flooding extending to further parts of Braunton Marsh. Because of high tides anticipated for February, the toll road was closed, in the interest of public safety, as there was the possibility of water coming over the top of Horsey's inner bank and flooding the road.

Funding has been promised by the Environment Agency and the Marsh Inspectors' Board but this will be confined to repairs to the sluice and the bank around it. The outer bank, however, is the responsibility of the landowner. So the future of Horsey Island - if it has a future - is far from certain.

Braunton Marsh and Horsey Island were once one large continuous salt marsh regularly inundated by tidal waters. The first stage of reclamation was completed in 1815 and in 1854 when the land, which became Horsey Island, was considered sufficiently fertile, the Great Sea Bank was constructed from the White House to Braunton Pill.

Over many years it has been one of our favourite walks. It was from the embankment path that we first saw little owls lining up on the exposed rafters of a barn roof and watched kingfishers diving from boats.

There were two grey seals we used to see so often we gave them names, Solomon Seal and Grace Seal. This was a completely fanciful bit of whimsey as we had no idea whether they were male or female, but we could distinguish them by their patterns of blotched and spotted markings. They would hang around men fishing from the shoreline or sun themselves on sandbanks. Happy days!

Owl and Seal by: Paul Swailes - Illustration by: Peter Rothwell

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK - 166

Bete Noir

We don't hear so much about the Beast of Exmoor these days. There used to be regular reports of sightings in the Journal and Gazette. A few weeks ago, I heard a natural history programme on the subject in which it was claimed that a big cat [or cats - there may well be more than one] is still often seen by people who live and work on the moor. But they keep quiet about these sightings because they have adjusted to their presence and do not want the cats interfered with. People have not only learnt to tolerate them but are fascinated, even enchanted by them and the slight frisson of risk.

Some years ago, near the entrance to Titchcombe, between Goat Hill Bridge and Simonsbath, we witnessed crossing the road a large panther like animal.It had a long stride - steady, not running - strong muscular shoulders and the top of its head and back made a continuous straight line.It was about four feet in length.

Time seemed to stand still as we watched and afterwards my companion and I compared notes in case we had deluded ourselves.We thought about all the animals, wild or domestic, that could be on the moor, but what we had seen did not resemble any of these.

 
  Illustrated by : Paul Swailes

Not long afterwards, we were walking along the River Taw at Yelland and got talking to a man who was viewing wintering wild fowl through a telescope at the edge of Isley Marsh.After a while he lowered his voice, looked a bit sheepish and said, "You won't believe this, but . . ."

He went on to say that as he had arranged to lead a group of ramblers for a hike on the moor near Simonsbath, he'd decided to walk the area beforehand to check out the route and had been astonished to encounter the exmoor Beast. His description fitted exactly to what we had seen.I have since learnt that what we thought was a black panther or puma is most likely to have been a melanistic leopard.

Apparently in some lights [and if you can get close enough!], the outlines of the spotted markings may be seen beneath the short black fur. The leopard is regarded as 'the ultimate cat'.There is a Cult of the Leopard and pound for pound it is one of the most powerful of animals. It is naturally solitary, cautious, shy and secretive;stealthy and intelligent;ideal characteristics for surviving so long on Exmoor. We feel fortunate to have observed this handsome and impressive but elusive animal.

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK - 165

More often heard than seen

I've never seen a nightjar. This elusive summer visitor spends the day crouched motionless on the ground or along a branch. Cleverly camouflaged;its grey-brown plumage resembled a piece of bark making it difficult to spot. But at dawn or dusk it takes to the wing to hawk for insects, mainly moths. It appears long-winged and narrow tailed, its flight agile and buoyant.

Heath and moorland and clearings where conifers have been felled are its typical habitat. It arrives from Africa late April 'til May and departs from mid-August 'til September. Each summer North Devon bird enthusiasts meet at Welsford or Bursdon Moor near Hartland, for an evening field trip, hoping to see a nightjar or at least to hear its distinctive 'churring' call.

But it is possible that nightjars occur closer to Berrynarbor. Last year an attractive and informative book, The Birds of Exmoor and the Quantocks, was published and one of its authors, David Balance, told me nightjars had been recorded on Trentishoe Down in the past but there had been no records recently because he did not think anyone had gone in search of them. [The last record was in 2012.]

So, he suggested I might like to go there just after sunset or just before dawn. Tempting! But although we frequently walk over Trentishoe Down, we confine our visits to daylight hours. It would be nice though to know whether Trentishoe Down does still host the nightjar. A challenge for next summer perhaps?

Illustrated by: Paul Swailes

A historical note:The Reverend Gilbert White was intrigued by the usually cryptic bird and in his 'The Natural History of Selbourne' published in 1787 described an encounter with a nightjar [which he also called a churn-owl].

Up a steeply wooded hill he had made a zig-zag path leading to a place for holding summer picnics. He wrote: "An uninvited guest one evening was a nightjar. As my neighbours were assembled in a hermitage on the side of a steep hill where we drank tea, one of these Churn-owls came and settled on that edifice and began to chatter and continued his note for many minutes. "We were all struck with wonder to find that the vocal organs of that little animal, when put in motion, gave a sensible vibration to the whole building."

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK - 164

In Search of Little Green Men

We had gone to Kings Nympton to look for little green men. Not visitors from outer space but the faces carved on the oak ceiling bosses at the church there.

We were inspired by Roger Deakin's book, Wildwood A Journey Through Trees. In the chapter The Sacred Groves of Devon, he describes going to Kings Nympton where he had an 'appointment with the Green Man' at St. James church, then lying on his back along a pew, peering up into the half light of the nave roof at the 'gingham' of beams, each joint finished with a decorative boss about a foot square.

He commented, 'with the Green Man concealment is everything, hiding high in the church roof . . .adjusting to the dimness I began to make out the leaf masked face of the Green Man looking back in half a dozen shapes.'

'He is a reticent figure,' wrote Roger Deakin, 'always half hidden in the woodwork or carved stone like a wren in a hedge.'

This description so intrigued me I felt I wanted to see for myself. We took a torch but it was not needed as sunshine flooded through the windows that day. Binoculars though enabled us to see the detail and variety of the Green Men.

With its copper spire; 18th century box pews and reredos;fine 15th century rood screen [here, also, faces may be found among the leaf carvings];Jacobean panelling and chancel ceiling oddly painted in the early 19th century with sky and clouds, St. James is an interesting church well worth a visit. In keeping with the plant theme, the hinges on the doors of the box pews are in the form of acorns.

From the large car park beside the Parish Hall at the edge of Kings Nympton, we had a pleasant walk through the attractive village, entering the churchyard near The Grove Inn.

Several villages in the area have Nympton or Nymet in their names, derived from Nemet, a Celtic word meaning a sacred grove.

We entered the South Porch, with its staggering total of thirty-six roof bosses, and crossed the granite threshold, which was originally part of a Celtic cross and looking up soon found the Green Men staring down.

The face may be surrounded by or entirely made up of leaves. Or branches or vines may sprout from eyes, nose and mouth The former type is called a foliate head;the latter a disgorging head.

The origins are mysterious but pre-date Roman times and examples have been found in many cultures around the world.

The Green Man may symbolise a close interdependence between man and nature. The Celts had a veneration for sacred trees and believed the head was the repository of the soul.

In time, the Green Man provided a bridge between Christianity and a pagan past, but the heyday of the Green Man occurred between the 12th and 15th centuries which coincided with the building of a lot of churches. Eventually he became more of a decorative motif than a symbolic one.

Closer to home two small examples may be found in Combe Martin's St. Peter ad Vincula - one carved on the rood screen and more unusually, a Green Woman in Mediaeval headdress at the top of one of the stone pillars. Although I know they are there, it always takes me a while to find them. Roger Deakin was right when he said the Green Man tends to be hidden 'like a wren in a hedge'.

Illustrations by: Paul Swailes

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK - 163

Warbling Free: Woolacombe Warren to Putsborough Sands

Warblers - chiffchaffs and blackcaps - were vocal but elusive on Woolacombe Warren apart from the whitethroat. Their harsh chatter alerted us to their presence as they perched on top of bushes puffing out their throats.

 

Recently I heard some surprising research findings concerning blackcaps. Like most warblers they used only to be summer visitors to Britain, but since some have overwintered here it appears that their wings have become shorter and beaks have become longer so that the overwintering birds could become recognised as a sub species.

The theory is that these altered characteristics are an adaptation to using garden bird feeders. I did not realise evolutionary changes could happen that quickly and visibly.

I first saw blackcaps in the wintertime in December 1991 in a garden in South Somerset. The following winter they appeared in Berrynarbor, feasting on berry bearing shrubs, after which they became a regular sight.

But back to the Warren: a lovely place to wander in June or July where we were in pursuit of flowers, especially the exquisitely fragranced burnet rose. The small creamy white flowers with little crinkly leaves and round purple-black hips form widespread patches over the dunes.

In The Flowering of Britain, Richard Mabey recalls "..watching the burnet rose flowers opening in the sun as their pure soft scent blew over us in the breeze."

A plant we were not expecting to see in such massive quantities was black bryony. Usually one stem, resembling a length of flex, may be found twining up through a hedge but on the Warren black bryony had climbed up and over banks and bushes taking them over. The only British member of the yam family it has large shiny heart-shaped leaves and no tendrils.

A battalion of tall mulleins marched along the floor of an old quarry and on the steep path above, scarce yellow wort rose up from a bed of hop trefoil and milkwort. We disturbed a pair of bull finches, their white rumps flashing as they flew ahead.

We continued along the track and across the field to Vention. At the site of a derelict vegetable plat and abandoned green house, we were pleased to observe a spotted flycatcher in a rowan, at North Cleave, near Trentishoe, presenting its fledgling with a gatekeeper. The young bird struggled to ingest the butterfly.

Pale mauve gladdons [also called stinking iris] lined the lane leading to Putsborough Sands. We walked along the beach to view the art deco houses and the Grey House overlooking the sea where American journalist, Negley Farson, entertained Henry Williamson, Kenneth Allsop and various literary luminaries.

Illustrations by: Paul Swailes

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK - 162

"Blooms Berry":Wild Orchids in the Parish

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LOCAL WALK - 161

Twelve swans a-swimming

Last year a new riverside walkway was constructed at Barnstaple linking the Long Bridge to the Tarka Trail. Access to it is between the end of the bridge and the former Shapland and Petter building.

In the newspaper photograph, just before it officially opened, it looked rather bleak and stark but when we walked there a short time afterwards, patches of biting stonecrop had already pushed up between the concrete and tarmac and there were even the broad fleshy leaves of a sea kale plant. It is intended that the outer wall of this new six hundred and seventy-five-metre long promenade will act as a flood defence. It certainly affords a good view of the river. As we arrived an elegant line-up of a dozen swans passed by.

 

The new track ends at the area of rough ground with its original informal path leading to the Tarka Trail below Anchor Wood. Turn right for Penhill and beyond or left for a short circular walk back to the town.

On a previous Walk in the Newsletter, I had been very disparaging about the dull section near the underpass but in June what a transformation. It had burst forth with blossom. There were wild roses and two types of wild viburnum bushes; foamy cream clusters of the wayfaring tree [viburnum lantana] and flat white umbels of guilder rose [viburnum oppulus]; the arrangement of true flowers at the centre with the false flowers around the edge resembling a lace-cap hydrangea.

We returned in March. Weeds had been kept at bay along the new track where we encountered just one cyclist, one walker and one dog. Redshanks stood at regular intervals along the water's edge. As the river broadened out there was the odd curlew and great black-backed gull.

Blackthorn and broom were in bud on the more established stretch of the trail. Tortoiseshell and ginger cats perched on walls and banks frowning in the early morning sunshine.

A word about the old industrial buildings which dominate the new walkway. Controversy has raged in recent times concerning their future. They have suffered neglect and become an eyesore but they were hurriedly given listed building status to prevent their demolition.

 
Illustrations by : Paul Swailes

However, in their heyday high quality furniture, in the Arts and Crafts and Art Nouveau style, was made there which found a global market. J.H. Rudd, the designer at Shapland and Petter was a friend of Barnstaple born William Lethaby, the famous architect and designer. An influential advocate of the Arts and Crafts principles, Lethaby founded an important school of design in London.

If you end your walk by crossing the Long Bridge and entering the Museum, you will find at the top of the stairs, on the first floor, a small display of examples of Shapland and Petter's furniture. It is worth taking a look.

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK -160

"If you go down to the marsh ... "

. . . you may have a big surprise. Braunton Marsh is one of North Devon's greatest assets for walkers and nature watchers and last October the Gazette ran the headline, 'Rare pelican is spotted on marsh.' An exotic creature indeed. The word 'spotted' in this context may have been the headline writer's witty pun for it was a Dalmatian pelican, more usually found between Greece and Mongolia but now reported in the vicinity of the White House. So, we headed for Horsey Island. En route .. had they seen the pelican? No, but it had been spied by the fishermen's huts, near where the River Caen meets the Taw. A passing jogger wondered, "Did the Dalmatian pelican have spots like the dog?" No! But with its eleven-foot wing span and distinctive bill, the big white bird would be difficult to miss.

It was a lovely, balmy day to be on the marsh, more like summer than mid-autumn. Some wintering waders and ducks had arrived - we counted forty lapwings - but a few painted ladies and dragonflies were also still on the wing.

The dyke known as Boundary Drain and the adjacent pond had joined forces forming a more extensive lake with clumps of rushes. We watched a kingfisher diving repeatedly from a twiggy bush; another landed on a post. Two little grebe bobbed up in their winter plumage.

Further off among more than a dozen little egrets we were surprised to see a tall slender bird, with a long

downward curved bill, stalking slowly through the shallow water, between the rushes, sweeping its bill from side to side. It was dark with a purplish bronze sheen. It was a glossy ibis. Its official Devon status - 'very rate vagrant'. Our quest to find the pelican was unsuccessful but unexpectedly coming across the ibis was a great delight.

Three weeks later we returned and found that part of the path around Horsey Island had been closed due to a landslip. A man wielding a telescope told us the pelican was still around and had been seen the previous day.

It was a quiet day; not many people or birds about. As we walked along the causeway we noticed a small brown bird jabbing the grass with its bill, searching for ants. We had a wonderful view of it as it seemed quite unconcerned about our presence even flying a little closer to where we stood. With its grey and brown mottled pattern, streaked with black; fawn v-shaped markings and dark eye stripe, it resembled a piece of bark. A clever camouflage.

It was a wryneck, an uncommon passage migrant. Our field guide says it is an elusive bird more often heard than seen, so we considered ourselves very fortunate to have chanced upon it. It has a rather attractive Latin name - Jynx torquilla. Yet again we did not find the pelican and in November when four cranes appeared on the Braunton Great Field near Marstage Farm [opposite Velator Quay], we failed to see those too! But what a fine sight those elegant, grey, four feet tall visitors must have been.

 

Horsey Island
All illustrations by: Paul Swailes

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK - 159

The heart of Exmoor: A village and its hill

With its thatched cottages and inn; ancient packhorse bridge and attractive green at its centre, Winsford is considered one of the prettiest of Exmoor's villages.

There is a total of seven bridges as the Winn Brook as well as the River Exe flows through the village. From under one of these bridges darted the lemon-yellow flash of a grey wagtail.

Nearby stands the solid, four-square house which was the birth place .in 1881 of Ernest Bevin who was Foreign Secretary from 1945 until 1951 in the post-war Labour government when he was instrumental in the formation of NATO.

Earlier in his career he had been a farm worker, founder of the Transport and General Workers' Union and was the Minister of Labour during the Second World War.

Beyond the ford over the Winn and occupying an elevated position is the church of St. Mary Magdalene with its tall ninety-foot tower, Norman font and Jacobean pulpit.

We were fortunate that our visit coincided with a lady tending the flowers who pointed out a small remnant of fourteenth century stained glass depicting the Madonna and Child and showed us a book which had been compiled with pictures and biographical details of all the parishioners who had had an involvement in the two World Wars.

She told us about one former Winsford resident, a psychologist called Doctor Meyer who, at the time of the First World War, had identified and named the condition 'shell shock' [which we now know as post-traumatic stress syndrome]. In this way he sought to save the lives of soldiers.

We left the village to climb Winsford Hill via Spire Cross where we watched a female redstart flitting among stunted hawthorns; a small, brown, inconspicuous bird until you notice its brick red tail - the start - which it moves up and down on perching.

Nearby is the Caractucus Stone, amid mauve flowered ling, tormentil and bilberry. Accounts of its age and origin vary [as does the spelling]. Some guides suggest it was erected by a local Celtic chieftain during the time when Roman power in Britain was in decline. The leaflet available in the church considers the stone to be an early monument to British Christians pushed westward by Saxon invaders in the fifth century.

Winsford Hill is about a mile south-west of the village; 1,399 feet above sea level it provides a 360 degree viewpoint. On its northern flanks is a deep hollow known as The Punchbowl. By the trig. point at its summit are three Bronze Age Barrows, burial chambers called Wambarrows. Cotton grass and eyebright grew round about.

A group of ten Exmoor ponies with two foals came over the brow of the hill, frisky and lively, their manes and forelocks lifting in the breeze.

Sue H

 

Illustration by: Paul Swailes

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WEST COUNTRY WALK - 158

A Walk Through History

I'd never been to Tolpuddle so when I saw, in the local paper, that a coach was going from Barnstaple, it seemed an ideal opportunity. The village, six miles east of Dorchester, is of course famous for the Tolpuddle Martyrs, the six agricultural workers who in 1834 were sentenced to seven years' transportation to Australia. In 1830, the farm workers' wage had been nine shillings a week. This was reduced to eight shillings and then in 1833 to seven.

When in 1834 the men were threatened with a further reduction to six shillings a week, they tried to negotiate with their employers, under the leadership of George Loveless and with the vicar acting as an intermediary. Promises were made but not kept so the men formed a Friendly Society of Agricultural Labourers to further their cause.

A local magistrate sought guidance from the Home Secretary, Lord Melbourne, and the six men were arrested and imprisoned at Dorchester. At the Assizes they were tried under the Mutiny Act of 1797, charged with administering an illegal oath. But their real offence was uniting to defend their livelihoods. The jury was made up of local farmers and the sentence of seven years in the penal colonies of Australia provoked a great outcry. There were protests and demonstrations in their support and a petition with a quarter of a million signatures. Eventually, the Tolpuddle Martyrs won free pardons and returned home after serving less than half of their sentences.

I started my walk at the western end of the village where in 1934, a hundred years after the notorious trial, a row of six cottages was built in memory of the Martyrs. It is a long, attractive building in the Arts and Crafts style with a series of gables along the front and between them deep roofs with a dozen dormer windows. It is set back from the main road by a green swath and incorporates a museum.

Next I headed for St. John's church where in the churchyard studded with self-heal and ladies' bedstraw, can be found James Hammett's grave. He was the only one of the six Martyrs to settle in Tolpuddle on his return from transportation. In 1934 a headstone carved by Eric Gill was added to the grave. In the centre of the village is a three-hundred-year old sycamore known at The Martyrs' Tree, under which the men gathered for some of their meetings.

Further along on the opposite side of the road is Thomas Stanfield's cottage where the friendly society met - a neat white cottage typical of the village. His son John was also one of the six Martyrs. George Loveless and his brother James [another Martyr] were both Methodist lay preachers and at the eastern end of the village is the Methodist Chapel with its elaborate memorial arch. But before that, lies a much more recent addition to the village. About ten years ago, after an acre of land had been set aside for use as public open space, a group of villagers under the acronym TOSCA [Tolpuddle Open Space] created a picnic area, adventure playground, orchard and wild flower meadows.

Gatekeepers and small skipper butterflies homed in on the field scabious, meadow cranesbills, knapweed and ox-eye daisies. There are gnarled old apple trees, red current and spindle bushes. The restored village pump stands under a huge bay tree.

In 1630 sluices and weirs had been constructed to manage water from the chalk springs and River Piddle and to produce there these water meadows. And now in the twenty-first century thanks to TOSCA's thoughtful landscaping they provide a delightful feature.

Should you ever find yourself in this part of Dorset, I would recommend a walk through this interesting village.

 

Illustatrated by: Paul Swailes

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK - 157

A Swift Walk to Saltpill Duck Pond

We were pleased to see the swifts flying over the pond as each year we notice fewer and fewer of these summer visitors. Green-veined white butterflies and a solitary speckled yellow moth flitted about pale blue flax flowers, growing among patches of bird's-foot trefoil and bush vetch. There were mussel shells and fragments of tiny crabs underfoot.

Saltpill Duck Pond is now part of the Gaia Nature Reserve, following the philosophy of scientist and environmentalist, James Lovelock who originated the Gaia concept.

 

The pond can be reached easily via the Tarka Trail from Fremington Quay in the direction of Isley Marsh and Yelland. Three new stiles have been erected between the Trail and the path. With the estuary on one side and the pond on the other, this provides a short walk with two distinct habitats to enjoy at once;the cry of the curlew from the Taw side;the sound of stonechats and chiffchaffs in the bushes around the pond.

 

Illustrations by: Paul Swailes

The old iron railway viaduct over Fremington Pill was undergoing major renovation work and had, according to the information boards, been 'encapsulated' by scaffolding covered by some sort of tarpaulin. Walkers and cyclists were still allowed to cross the bridge and the effect was that of passing through a tunnel.

As we had approached Fremington Quay the viaduct's unexpected transformation had been striking. It resembled one of the covered bridges of Madison County, Iowa, as featured in the novel by Robert James Waller and filmed starring Meryl Streep and Clint Eastwood.

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK - 156

A Devon Belle

A few years ago we were walking along the coast below Trentishoe Down when we spotted a tiny pale blue flower at the edge of the path. Just the one plant in the vicinity of North Cleave.

I did not know what it was but when we returned home I identified it, with the help of my trusty field guides, as the Ivy-leafed Bellflower. [Some of the smallest flowers have the longest names.]

The Ivy-leafed Bellflower - Wahlenbergia Hederqacea - is a scarce plant of damp moors, heaths and peat bogs. Flowering in July and August, it is a modest cousin of the Harebell but nevertheless described as 'a little gem'.

Illustrations by: Paul Swailes

I have a rather charming book [a jumble sale find] published in 1946, Flowers of Marsh and Stream, in which its author Iolo A. Williams considers it one of the 'most exquisite small bog plants, a miniature beauty'.

He explains,

"This is one of those flowers which takes some spotting, even when you know it is there, and you may often not find it till you have knelt down on very wet turf to search for it at short range "But once found it reveals a slender grace that is entirely captivating. Among British bog plants I would rank this small blue campanula as one of the very choicest things ..."

In subsequent summers when walking that way, we always look out for Wahlenbergia Hederacea but have never found it there again.This stretch of coast path has suffered a lot of erosion and we assume that has caused the loss of this uncommon flower.

However, some years later we were walking up the hill from Landacre Bridge, heading for the area beside the River Barle between Sherdon Hatch and Ferny Ball, where Bog Asphodels grow, when we were surprised to find patches of delicate Ivy-leafed Bellflowers creeping about the roadside bank.

The Bog Asphodels we were expecting "sole reason for visit" as Oscar Wilde said when he arrived in America and was asked by a customs official if while in the US he intended to incite insurrection and overthrow the state], but the Bellflowers were a complete surprise.

Ferny Ball was the home of author and artist, Hope Bourne who lived frugally in a caravan there, writing books on self-sufficiency and the natural history of Exmoor. Regular Newsletter readers will recall PP of DC featured Hope Bourne in her Movers and Shakers series in August 2011.

N.B. If you visit the churches at nearby Withypool or Hawkridge, you will find Hope Bourne's sketches on the covers of the church leaflets.

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK - 155

Spoon-fed

A Spoonbill marched with long strides along the water's edge. We had been watching it feed, sweeping its huge black, yellow tipped bill in curving movements through the water. We were close enough to see that its legs had been ringed with yellow, red and green rings. The ringing could have been done in Holland, Spain or Portugal.

On the opposite bank of the river, on the Pottington side, stood another Spoonbill resting alongside Godwits and Lapwings. Once a scarce passage migrant, since the late 1980's Spoonbills have been regular visitors to the Taw between August and April. Although also present on the Exe, a greater number usually appears on North Devon's estuary than elsewhere In the county.

Some of the spoonbills occurring in Devon have been sighted as far afield as Morocco and Mauritius.

The route along the river from Barnstaple via Anchorbank and Penhill Marsh towards Fremington Quay used to provide a quick and easy walk when visiting the town. However, since improvements to the Tarka Trail, following the opening of the new bridge, access to the river has become more arduous and involves a dull stretch of path and rather hostile underpasses, garishly painted, before a view of the river is gained.

Nevertheless, once you reach Penhill Marsh you never know what you might see. In 2002 among Brent Geese and Shelduck, gathered on the saltmarsh we saw a similarly sized goose with a distinctive pattern of bold red-brown and black patches outlined in white.

It was a Red-breasted Goose, a species which breeds in Siberia and winters mainly on the Black Sea coasts of Romania and Bulgaria. Although it would have been nice to think it was a truly wild bird that had travelled far, this gorgeous looking goose on the banks of the Taw was more likely to have been an escapee from a private collection. But it was lovely to encounter it in a natural setting in the company of other wild fowl.

Once we witnessed a memorable and macabre event on Penhill Marsh. It involved a Peregrine Falcon and a Little Egret, neither bird at all unusual there of course, but what happened was unexpected.

There was a very strong wind that day. A Little Egret flew past and fluttered down into a gully. Soon a Peregrine flying low and slow landed in the same gully.

Illustrations by: Paul Swailes

After a few minutes the falcon emerged on the edge of the gully, dragging out the Little Egret. Anchoring the dead body with its Feet, the Peregrine then plucked and at the Egret, looking warily from side to side and finally leaving the feet, wings and head. This happened to coincide with a spring half term so there were families of cyclists on the Tarka Trail who took in the scene.

Ed Drewitt, a west country naturalist and broadcaster, has made a special study of Peregrine Falcons over many years, identifying their prey items. It is a long list but at that date it did not include the Little Egret. It could be that this particular Egret was a weak bird, struggling with the strong wind and therefore more vulnerable.

All this within sight of human habitation and industry.

Sue H

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Solution to the Only Connect Question:

In the last Newsletter I asked what is the connection between the dunnock and self-heal. The name of the actress who played the wife of Basil Fawlty was a clue.

• PRUNELLA MODULARIS is the dunnock
• PRUNELLA VULGARIS is self-heal
• PRUNELLA SCALES played Sybil Fawlty

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LOCAL WALK - 153

Mystery of the White Rabbit

I have three questions. The first concerns a white rabbit; the second, a bull - real or mythical.

The season of 'mellow fruitfulness' and nutfulness had drawn me back to the Cockhill fields. At the edge of one of these fields, beside a little spinney, I was surprised to see a white rabbit. It appeared to be grazing quite happily. No other rabbits were in the field.

I was curious as to whether it was a wild albino rabbit or an escaped or abandoned pet but I was not able to get near enough to find out the colour of its eyes. It occurred to me that Berrynarborites who regularly walk their dogs along that route may also have seen the white rabbit and know if it is wild or not.

It was late September and I was pleased to spot a Silver Y moth on a bramble leaf as I had seen so few this year. The grey moth is a late spring/summer visitor and flies by day or night.

Wild clematis sprawled over the hedges. With its greenish-cream flowers in the summer it is known as Traveller's Joy but when the conspicuous feathery grey fruits appear in the autumn it is more commonly called Old Man's Beard.

Patches of purple-blue self-heal grew among the grass. The loud 'yaffle' cry of a green woodpecker could be heard but there were surprisingly few birds despite all the wild berries and seeds available to them.

On crossing the footbridge one is greeted by an unwelcome sign warning that there is a bull in the next field. It is an old looking sign so maybe no-one got around to taking it down when the bull was moved out or perhaps it has been deliberately left there to deter walkers.

So my second question is - is there really a bull in that field? I'm reluctant to risk entering to find out.

Thirdly, I have an Only Connect question: What connects the DUNNOCK [formerly but inaccurately known as a hedge sparrow] and the flower called SELF-HEAL? Here's a clue: the name of the actress who played the wife of Basil Fawlty.

P.S. Look out for the little spindle tree near the entrance to Claude's Garden, which is covered in pink parcel-shaped capsules which split open to reveal shiny orange coated seeds.

Illustrated by: Paul Swailes

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WEST COUNTRY WALK - 152

"When I set out for Lyonesse"

Castle Boterel, St. Juliot and 'A Pair of Blue Eyes'

These lines are from Thomas Hardy's novel 'A Pair of Blue Eyes' which is set in and around Boscastle and St. Juliot church at Hennett a few miles inland.

In 1870 while working for a firm of Dorset architects, Thomas Hardy had visited St. Juliot to make preparations for the restoration of the church which had become very dilapidated. There were cracks in the 14th century tower; the carved bench ends had rotted and ivy hung from the roof timbers where birds and bats had taken up residence. It was a visit which changed Hardy's life. As the rector was ill with gout it was his sister-in-law, Emma Gifford, who greeted Hardy and showed him around the church. Four years later they married and Emma persuaded him to give up architecture to be a full time author.

From blustery and busy Boscastle I took the path inland along the River Valency towards St. Juliot church. It was a very pleasant walk through little water meadows of yellow hay rattle and southern march orchids; banks of bugle and ox-eye daisies, flag irises at the water's edge.

Then on through woodland, a little boggy underfoot after a morning of heavy rain but now the sun had come out and with it a great abundance of butterflies; common blues, wall browns, orange tips and speckled woods.

Illustrations by: Paul Swailes

On Hardy's visits to supervise the work on the church, he and Emma would often stroll down this path to the sea, Emma described the route:

"Often we walked to Boscastle harbour down the beautiful Valency Valley where we had to jump over a low wall by rough steps . . . to come out on great wide spaces suddenly ... "

In 'A Pair of Blue Eyes', Boscastle is given the name Castle Boterel much as in Hardy's Wessex Dorchester becomes Casterbridge and Barnstaple is Downstaple. St. Juliot is in an attractive, secluded setting. The church contains a memorial to Emma, which Thomas Hardy designed, on the wall of the north aisle and in 1928 a tablet was installed recording Hardy's association with the church and the neighbourhood.

More recently a three panelled engraved window, commissioned by the Hardy Society, was placed there. It includes a line from his poem 'When I set out for Lyonesse'.

Unfortunately, the ancient chancel screen is not there. Hardy had left instructions for the screen to be retained and its damaged tracery to be renovated but was shocked to find that due to the misplaced generosity of the builder it had been replaced by a new and "highly varnished travesty". "I'll give 'em a new screen instead of that patched up old thing", the builder said.

Emma wrote: "scarcely any author and his wife could have had a more romantic meeting, with its unusual circumstances in bringing them together . . . at this very remote spot, with the wild Atlantic Ocean rolling in with its magnificent waves and spray, its white gulls and black choughs and puffins, its cliffs and rocks and gorgeous sunsettings in a track widening from horizon to the shore."

Sue H

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WEST COUNTRY WALKS - 151

"Some of the ponies have been known to bite"

Warned the Captain of the Oldenburg as we were about to disembark on Lundy Island - together with other safety instructions like "Don't go too near the edge of the cliffs" and "If you're not back at the landing stage by five-thirty the boat goes without you."

On arrival I followed the track along the eastern side of the island as far as the ruins of Quarry Cottages near the Quarter Wall. There was a strong cold wind that day and I'd passed a group of pigs huddled together to keep warm, half buried in a pile of straw and looking quit cosy.

As the Quarter Wall point I crossed the island heading for Jenny's Cove on the western side where I hoped to see puffins.

Perched on a boulder, finishing her picnic lunch, a helpful lady from Okehampton patiently pointed out where three puffins stood on a cliff ledge among the more numerous guillemots.

"See that gull standing by itself? Well, below that, to the left of that clump of sea pinks and to the right of the rock covered with yellow lichen."

I looked and looked but could find no puffins. She explained again. Eventually I located them: their red legs making them stand out from the other auks. I had 'til then been looking at the wrong gull and the wrong lump of rock and sea pinks!

Mission accomplished I continued southwards enjoying the sight of the Soay sheep, pretty and primitive, with their lambs trotting about the grassy cliff slopes.

As visibility was good I decided to treat myself to the view from the top of the old lighthouse. On our last visit to Lundy the rain and low cloud had been so dense that we could not see the lighthouse until we were actually touching its granite walls so there had been no point climbing the hundred and forty-seven steps.

It is a magnificent building ninety-six feet high constructed in 1819 at a cost of thirty-six pounds. Now used to accommodate visitors - Anthony Gormley stayed there recently when his sculpture, commemorating fifty years of the Landmark Trust [which administers the island] was installed.

A ship of the Grimaldi Line was on the horizon and I pondered how it was fine to go to sea for a few hours once in a while but how grim and hard a life it must be working on a merchant vessel for months on end, a long way from home, covering vast distances of ocean.

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK - 150

Going Nuts in May

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK - 149

SWIMBRIDGE STREAMSIDE GARDEN

'Quiet Waters by'

Four years ago a derelict piece of ground in the middle of Swimbridge was transformed to create a streamside garden. It occupies a part of the churchyard of St. James' church, which had never been used for burials as it was too close to the stream.

Behind locked gates it had become overgrown with brambles. Villagers who were children in the 1940's and '50's remember squeezing through the railings to pick blackberries there. Forty years ago during the national 'Plant a Tree in '73' campaign, the parish council had planted trees and shrubs on the land. [You may recall the subsequent slogans 'Plant some more in '74' and 'Keep them alive in '75'.]

Unfortunately, by 2006 many of the Plant a Tree Year trees had died. The railings had rusted and the gates were still locked when the church and parish council decided to turn it into a public open space for everyone to enjoy, and thus Swimbridge Streamside Garden was born.

Work finally began in 2011. Designed by landscape architect, Peter Leaver with advice from the Devon Wildlife Trust, the garden incorporates plants which provide flowers to attract butterflies and bees or bear berries for birds. The hedges include native species such as hawthorn, spindle, holly, guilder rose and field maple. Mazzard trees have been planted - the wild cherry peculiar to North Devon.

An old granite roller from a local farm creates an unusual seat. Sculptor and mason, Gabriel Hummerstone has carved on it words from Psalm 23: ' In pastures green he leadeth me, the quiet waters by.' Sturdy benches have been made from a beech tree, blown down in a gale at Chittlehampton - called spalted beech referring to a pattern of dark markings caused by a fungus. A poem by pupils of Swimbridge Primary School has been carved into stepping stones along the path.

The stream itself is the Landkey Stream, also known as the Venn Stream. It rises on high ground to the north of the village, near Gunn, and flows via Riverton along the valley to Swimbridge and on to Landkey; then by Venn Quarry to join the River Taw at Bishops Tawton. It once powered several mills and a tannery.

When we walked along the stream last April a dipper sped past, with whirring wings, alerting us with its 'tsitt tsitt' call. Its flight is fast and direct, just above the water. It landed on a large stone with its characteristic bobbing motion, flicking its short tail.

A dipper [cinclus cinclus] can appear black and white when only glimpsed fleetingly but viewed at close quarters the head is dark brown shading to a grey-brown back and wings. Underneath it is bright chestnut brown. The most conspicuous feature is the large white bib across its throat and chest.

We watched it plunge into the water. It has the ability to swim under water using its wings. It can walk along the bottom of a river foraging for invertebrates. Its diet includes aquatic insects and their larvae, small crustaceans, molluscs and worms.

Swimbridge's streamside walk provides a gentle, level stroll at the centre of one of North Devon's most attractive villages. The last line of the children's poem carved on the stepping stones: 'mythical paradise, lush and green.'

Illustrations - Dippers by: Paul Swailes

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK - 148

Henbane: "A Strange but beautiful plant."

Throughout the three mile stretch of Braunton Burrows there is only one specimen of henbane, a plant which has become quite rare.

We usually access the Burrows via the toll road or Sandy Lane but this time we had come to the Saunton car park because it was near there that henbane was discovered growing about ten years ago and we hoped to find it, only having seen photographs of the plant.

Henbane [Hyoscyamus niger] has creamy white flowers almost an inch across, purple at the base with a network of purple veins. The plant can be up to four feet high, has toothed leaves and sticky white hairs. It occurs mainly near the sea in sandy waste places.

It is a member of the Solanaceae family which includes deadly nightshade and it is very poisonous. However, originally a Mediterranean plant, it was cultivated by medieval monks in their herb gardens and regarded as an important medicinal plant, a 'hypnotic'. All parts of the plant contain a narcotic drug called hyoscine.

We skirted the area known as Chalet Valley, a scattering of various little wooded dwellings randomly placed among the dunes, half hidden.

We battled with the brambles as we crossed Strawberry Ridge. The paths are less defined this end of the Burrows, more overgrown. Still no sign of the elusive henbane.

The books I'd looked up described henbane as evil looking and evil smelling yet in her comprehensive guide to the wild flowers of the Braunton Burrows, Mary Breeds dubbed it, 'a strange but beautiful plant'. I was intrigued.

In the area of Hollow Hill we trudged up dunes only to find on reaching the summit, a long and steep drop on the other side. We slithered down, our shoes filling with sand.

It was a relief to enter Wintergreen Slack, a huge natural amphitheatre, enclosed by high dunes where the flat area was covered in water mint, fleabane and red clover; a carpet of fragrant mauve, yellow and pink and no-one but us to sit and enjoy it because everyone else had gravitated to the beach.

There were Michaelmas daisies and a lot of the furry, pinkish haresfoot clover. There was also an active flock of small heaths; modest little ginger-brown butterflies.

Eventually we admitted defeat and as we reluctantly returned to the car park we witnessed a helicopter coming to land next to the Saunton Sands Hotel. We had failed in our quest to find the henbane, but the highlight of the walk had been being surrounded by the gorgeous blend of colours of Wintergreen Slack combined with the scent of mint and wild thyme.

Recommended reading: Wild Flowers of Braunton Burrows by Mary Breeds.

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK - 147

Foraging: a ramble with brambles

 

A warm September morning in the big steeply sloping field which carries part of the footpath linking the Sterridge Valley to Slew Hill.

Hazel bushes at the top of the field. Around its lower border, a tangle of brambles. This year there was an abundance of berries and nuts so I had chosen to walk there with the dual purpose of gathering hazel nuts and blackberries while enjoying this open, airy viewpoint.

There were sufficient low branches to make the nuts easy to reach and not too many stinging nettles. The clusters of shiny ovoid nuts looked attractive encased in their light green deeply lobed husks.

Also called cobnuts, filberts [22nd August is St. Philibert's Day], hales or baskets, they are available from late August until October. When pale green and soft they are edible but with less flavour than when ripe with brown shells and if not eaten soon after picking, they can wither in their shells.

Richard Mabey of 'Food for Free' fame recommends late September for picking hazel nuts. That's if the squirrels and jays have left any by then.

There had been plenty of sunshine to draw out the full flavour of the blackberries. Their sweetness had also attracted red admirals, a comma butterfly and speckled woods.

A straggle of walkers on footpath above waved a greeting. A jay screeched. Its harsh cry has been likened to the sound of a piece of silk being torn apart. I heard a light tapping coming from the little spinney beside the stream and witnessed a nuthatch wedging an acorn into a crevice in the bark of a tree.

   

Illustrations by: Paul Swailes

 

In his poem 'Blackberry Picking' Seamus Heaney describes how as children they had picked large quantities of blackberries, hoarding the fruit in a bath in the barn and the disappointment when returning to find 'a fur, a rat-grey fungus glutting on our cache.' He felt like crying at the sight of the rotten, fermented fruit. The poem ends: 'Each year I hoped they'd keep, knew they would not.' Food for free but too good to waste.

This year I had noticed more people than usual out blackberrying. Richard Mabey thinks the attraction is that blackberry picking 'carries with it a sense of season and abundance and just enough discomfort to quicken the senses.' I just think the appeal lies in anticipating the jam or bramble jelly and the rich variety of puddings and desserts.

Finally, homeward bound with a supply of nuts and berries; purple stained fingers peppered with prickles, pausing to buy tasty, home grown tomatoes, sold in aid of the hospice, from the roadside stall at Higher Rows.

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK - 146

"Pleasantly the old town stands fanned day and night

by the fresh ocean breeze."

CHARLES KINGSLEY 1819 - 1875

Charles Kingsley, clergyman, poet, novelist and radical, wrote part of Westward Ho! while staying at what is now the Royal Hotel, East-the-Water, Bideford, and in 1944 the Chiefs of Staff of the armed forces met there to plan the Normandy landings.

They probably held their meeting in the conference room on the first floor, famed for its ceiling which made architectural historian, Nikolaus Pevsner swoon, the hotel's current facade being something of an enigma. It was built around an earlier house dated 1688 and parts of the original seventeenth century building survive including that ceiling.

Pevsner claimed it is "one of the most gorgeous plaster ceilings in Devon with a wreath of flowers in the most daring relief so that whole fruits and flowers are completely detached from the wall and also with cherubs and birds." It really is very remarkable.

A few years ago the North Devon Journal published, side by side, a photograph of the buildings along The Quay, viewed from this end of the old Bideford Bridge, with a photograph of Curacao off the coast of Venezuela in the Caribbean. The two places, so far apart, bore an uncanny resemblance to each other.

Whereas Barnstaple largely turns its back on its river, Bideford embraces its River Torridge with gusto. The Quay is a bustling place. People promenade along it; sit outside cafes and chat or watch the fleets of lorries unloading Peters Marland clay into the large foreign vessels moored there. Bideford's Newsletter, the "Buzz", includes a page of Shipping News with details of ships, cargoes, crews and registered flag owners at Bideford and Yelland as well as details of ships observed in the Bristol Channel.

At the end of The Quay we find Charles Kingsley himself; an imposing statue and just around the corner, one of North Devon's greatest assets - the Burton Gallery, a pretty Art Deco building at the entrance to Victoria Park. As well as housing the town's museum and permanent art collection it hosts a changing series of exhibitions, some of national and international importance. It is an attractive and welcoming place and even includes a popular French cafe - Cafe du Parc. Look out for Robert Paterson's beautiful stained glass window at the end of the craft gallery. Another example of his work is in Combe Martin's St. Peter ad Vincula Church.

Originally marshland which was drained, Victoria Park is a lively place enjoyed by all ages. As well as all the usual features of a park it incorporates a Sure Start Children's Centre and in the former municipal greenhouses, a Jig Saw horticultural project.

From the park there is a riverside walk which leads to council offices whose design must have been inspired by the architect Sir Basil Spence. It is a pleasing example of 1960' architecture, light and airy and featuring an elegant stairway. Opposite the gallery and park, off Kingsley Road, is The Strand with an interesting variety of buildings. At one end a house with an unusual elevation is the subject of a painting in the gallery's local collection. At the opposite end the former Northdown House was once the home of Charles Kingsley. In more recent times it was the Stella Maris Convent. Nearby, Bridgeland Street has a fine collection of late seventeenth century houses built for wealthy merchants at the height of the tobacco trade with Virginia.

A winter visit could include Kenwith Lakes to observe the wildfowl or a walk along the saltmarsh southwards from the town. Bideford, so much to see, so much to do. Whenever we have spent a morning or afternoon there we feel as if we have been on a brief holiday.

P.S. Have you discovered yet the White Moose Gallery, hidden away in the old Moose Hall in Trinity Street, near Barnstaple's square and bus station? It is a pleasant modern space and from the 7th November until the 3rd January, it will be showing the photography of Chris Chapman. You may have seen his television films about Exmoor's landscape and people. Open Monday to Saturday, 10.00 a.m. until 5.00 p.m.

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK - 145

Not a bored walk on the boardwalk

We were heading for the boardwalk from Broadsands Car Park but first made a favourite detour through a little damp meadow flanked by a spinney. Since parking was restricted to one end of the former car park area, several small clearings and the tracks leading from them have become very overgrown. We pushed through the brambles and nettles and were rewarded by a flurry of common blue butterflies with bright orange-brown small heaths among them.

There was an array of ragged robins, southern marsh orchids and yellow flag irises. Several of the female common blue butterflies were of the brown form which resemble the brown argus with orange dots around the margin of the upper side, but with a shading of blue close to the body.

As we cross the boardwalk we always look out for lizards basking on the wooden slats, the least vibration and they disappear. There are the less common and declining sand lizards on the Burrows but we have yet to see them. When a common lizard seems greener than usual, I hope it might be a sand lizard but it's only wishful thinking. There was yellow hay rattle in flower, eyebright and a few seaside pansies. Linnets perched on bushes along the way and I spotted a lone painted lady. This summer migrant is always a welcome sight.

At the end of the boardwalk at the edge of the sands were sea stocks; woolly grey stems and leaves and mauve flowers but no sign of the rare sea rocket.

We sat on a lump of concrete at the site of the old lighthouse and looked across to Irsha Street and Kipling Tors and a distant, hazy blue Hartland Point; a flotilla of sailing boats.

Driftwood, bleached silver and forming beautiful shapes and textures lay on the sand. Informal sculptures.

At Crow Point we were shocked to see the extent of erosion of the sand dunes but it was around the corner on the edge of Broadsands that we eventually found one sea rocket plant, a healthy looking specimen, its leaves a similar shape to ragwort but shiny and fleshy.

Further along we looked in vain for the yellow horned poppy, the only example of it in the whole area of the Burrows. It may have been lost to erosion. A notice by the White House warned that the path around Horsey Island had been 'compromised' due to erosion. There were some deep holes and dips which were not there before and by the end of the summer through lack of use the nettles and brambles will have effectively closed it.

But in early June, fragrant Rosa Rugosa with ox-eye daisies flanked the path.

Illustrated by: Paul Swailes

Sue H

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WEST COUNTRY WALK - 144

'In ancient times . . .'

Hidden in countryside between Penzance and St. Ives are the remains of Iron Age settlements. One of these, Carn Euny, was built more than 400 years BC and was still occupied during the fourth century AD.

We visited Chysauster [seven miles east of Pendeen], a village last inhabited at the time of Roman Britain.

From a quiet lane in the parish of Gulval we climbed up to the path across the fields to reach this fascinating relic of 'ancient times'.

Both Carn Euny and Chusauster consisted of cluster of round stone walled rooms grouped around a central courtyard, with an outer wall forming a circle around each homestead.

This pattern of dwelling is peculiar to West Cornwall and the Isles of Scilly.

At Chysauster there are the remains of nine of these courtyard houses and we were free to spend an absorbing morning roaming among the carefully excavated dwellings; wandering in and out of the circles of low stone walls; the round rooms which would have been roofed with turf or thatch.

During the course of our visit there was a light drizzle. A kestrel hovered above and underfoot was a dazzling array of wild flowers. Bluebells with wood anemones and wood sorrel, but also lousewort, milkwort and tormentil.

In North Devon I should not expect to see all of these species occurring together in the same place - bluebells in woodland and on cliffs. Sorrel and wood anemone also in woods but the latter alongside rivers too; whereas pink lousewort, milkwort [blue, mauve or pink] and yellow tormentil would be largely confined to the moor. Perhaps it is the presence of the granite which gives rise to such a rich and varied flora.

At Chysauster the houses were alighted in pairs along a grass fairway or 'street'. With minor variations, the usual pattern consists of a main entrance facing away from the prevailing south west winds.

A paved passageway leads through the thick outer walls to an open space, the courtyard, about twenty-five to thirty feet wide. To the left a lean-to bay was used as a shelter for livestock.

Opposite the entrance is a large Round Room; on the right is the narrow Long Room and in some dwellings there is a Small Round Room. In the Round Rooms a stone with a hollow in it would have held the upright timber which supported the apex of the roof.

In some rooms there remains a stone hearth and stone querns had been found which were used for grinding grains. Water channels, lined and covered with stone slabs, connected to a sump for the storage of rainwater.

Once forested with oak and hazel, by Roman times these granite uplands had been cleared of trees.

The excavation of Chysauster took place at various times from the 1870's until the 1930's. It is understood that in the early 1800's, Chysauster was used as a venue for Methodist preaching and known local as the Chapels.

Illustrations by: Paul Swailes

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK - 143

"So here's to you my rambling boy
May all your rambles bring you joy."

by Tom Paxton

... and sung and made famous by the legendary Pete Seeger 1919-2014 who died earlier this year.

At great expense and after weeks of traffic delays, heavy plant manoeuvres and hard labour in all weathers, we have a new footpath. No longer will we be dependent on the tides for determining the route between Watermouth and Widmouth Head.

On the first of March, a rare dry day, we decided to try out the new path. The condition of the existing fenced in path, alongside the road opposite Watermouth Castle, has been poor for some years so it is advisable to walk along the road to the harbour and emerge on to the main road via the gate between the sailing club and the harbour master's office.

This brings you directly to the pristine new tarmac path running beside the road for a short distance before a new flight of steps leads down to the original coast path. A little further on the previous entrance to the path has been cordoned off and a notice states that further improvements are planned.

The path was quite muddy and had been churned up by cyclists. Not a suitable route for bicycles. There are pleasant views of the harbour through the trees; of The Warren and Sexton's Burrow. Owners were working on their boats. Men were fishing from the cliff below the Martello tower.

On a tree trunk lying along the edge of the path, I found a colony of scarlet elf-cups [Peziza Sarcoscyphs coccinea] - a very attractive fungus. The inner surface of the round cups is bright red with a smooth, shiny texture. The outer surface is whitish with a chalky texture. The cups can be between two and six centimetres in diameter and appear from January until April.

Arranged in clusters, there were more than I have ever seen in one place. My field guide says they are 'widespread though seldom numerous' and are thought to be declining. They are most frequent in the west of England.

They grow on fallen and decaying wood, attached by a very short stem. They can appear to be growing from the ground but investigation will show that they are actually on a branch or twig which has become partially buried.

There were banks of dog's mercury. Although the green flowers are small and insignificant I am always pleased to see it because it coincides with the beginning of spring.

Illustrations by: Paul Swailes

The lambs in the field below Widmouth Farm looked strong and sturdy. Nearby, the path became a sticky quagmire beside the stile, above where the coast path crosses the track leading to the private beach in its own tiny cove.

There were plenty of ivy berries but no blackbirds feasting on them - in fact an absence of birds altogether. In January 2010 when there was widespread snow in North Devon, except on the coastal fringe, we had walked out to Watermouth and found the camping fields full of redwings. This last winter I have looked out for the winter thrushes but have not seen a single redwing or fieldfare.

On the way back I glanced wistfully at the 'forbidden land' on the outer edge of The Warren where we are not allowed to roam and remembered the abundance of wild flowers on the cliffs there in springtime. The decision favouring the landowner following the public enquiry four years ago was a surprise and disappointment.

Perhaps we villagers should have descended en masse, in an act of civil disobedience, like the ramblers walking in protest on Kinder Scout in the Pennines before the war.

I'm sure Pete Seeger would have approved!

Sue H

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WEST COUNTRY WALK - 142

'And all things draw toward St. Enodoc. Come on! Come on!'

John Betjeman

It was a sunny Sunday one September when we walked from Polzeath along the Camel Estuary to Trebetherick, to visit St. Enodoc church, half hidden amid the dunes.

The coast path took us along The Greenaway where former poet laureate Sir John Betjeman spent his childhood holidays. In 'Summoned by Bells', the blank verse autobiography of his early years, he describes gales slamming the bungalows and rattling the doors when 'enormous waves house-high rolled thunderous on Greenaway, flinging up spume and shingle to the cliffs.'

He recalled his fear of falling when climbing these steep, smooth cliffs, with only a narrow ledge to rest his feet and clutching a clump of sea pinks. The cliffs which had appeared so tremendous as a child but to the adult Betjeman seemed small.

From The Greenaway there are views across the estuary to Stepper Point and below, the beach where before breakfast he had 'run alone, monarch of miles of sand . . . and walked, where only gulls and oystercatchers had stepped before, to the water's edge.'

Here still were the shells, lumps of driftwood and heaps of bladderwrack like those observed by an Edwardian childhood more than a century ago.

We rounded Trebetherick Point to reach Daymer Bay, a popular beach sheltered by Brea Hill to the south and then on to the lane in 'whose ferny ramparts' were pennywort, toadflax, fennel and periwinkles. In his poem Betjeman referred to the honeysuckle hedge; mint around the spring; the coconut smell of gorse and the thyme scented links.

The lane ended abruptly and we followed a path for about a quarter of a mile to reach St. Enodoc surrounded by tamarisk and rabbits - and strangely, by golfers for the little church is on a golf course and it is necessary to keep a lookout for flying golf balls.

It was once known locally as 'sinkinny church', the sinking church after it had become buried in the sand, which had drifted against the walls and when the roof gave way the sand found its way inside too, so that entry could only be made through the roof.

Eventually the church was restored in 1864 when all the sand was removed and the Norman font recovered. There is a holy water stoop near the door and the remains of a fifteenth century carved screen between the chancel and the nave. Flanking the path to the church door are some medieval stone mortars once used for grinding corn.

St. Enodoc has a short thirteenth century tower bearing a leaning spire. It has a bell taken from an Italian ship wrecked off The Greenaway in 1875. It was the site of many burials of unknown sailors whose ships were wrecked on the Doom Bar while seeking shelter in the Camel Estuary.

Between the church and the sea are the remains of a village which had to be abandoned in a hurry when it was overwhelmed by a sand storm.

It was hard to imagine the turmoil of ship wrecks and sand storms during our visit to St. Enodoc. All was peaceful and calm and we could appreciate why John Betjeman had such happy memories of the place and wished to be buried there. His grave is in the churchyard, near the lych gate.

[Quotations taken from 'Summoned by Bells' and the poem, 'Sunday Afternoon Service in St. Enodoc Church, Cornwall' by John Betjeman 1906-1984.]

Illustration by: Paul Swailes

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK -141

Bats in the Chancel

Described by the nineteenth century clergyman and historian, Sabine Baring-Gould as 'picturesquely seated in a nook', the small and remote church of St. Peter at Trentishoe is about half a mile inland from the rugged Exmoor coast.

In early autumn we walked to it along Trentishoe Lane, a level and straight road for most of the way until it does a sudden right-angled turn and dips down to reveal the narrow tower beside a farm with a trickle of cottages and barns further down the hill.

At a field gate along the lane, with no human habitation nearby, trays of eggs had been placed for sale. Very trusting but can there be much passing trade here we wondered?

I remembered that when I had visited the church last summer swallows had been nesting in the porch. There was evidence that they had been back this summer too; a little mound of bird lime on the threshold. We turned round to see above the doorway three empty nests.

Inside the little church a large cloth had been spread on the floor before the altar and on it was a scattering of droppings. We looked up and saw, in a neat row, equal distances apart, twelve pipistrelle bats roosting on the chancel ceiling.

The church contains a compact organ in the form of a wooden rectangular box, which was salvaged from the Mauritania. Strange that this artefact from an ocean liner should find its way to this lonely spot on Exmoor.

A special feature of Trentishoe church is its eighteenth century musicians' gallery, a narrow wooden structure at the back of the church reached by some stairs. A hole has been cut in the parapet to accommodate the bow of the double base. It is unusual to see one of these galleries preserved because so many were removed during Victorian restorations when organs replaced the bands of village musicians.

There is a good portrayal of these church bands in Thomas Hardy's charming early novel, Under the Greenwood Tree. In a lot of Hardy's novels tragic events occur due to misunderstandings, missed opportunities and failure to speak or act at the right time, but Under the Greenwood Tree is a gentle study of rural life and rustic characters.

Hardy's original title for the books was The Mellstock Quire and in 1896 he wrote of his regret for the passing of the 'orchestral bodies' of up to a dozen players who provided the music in churches. He believed the result of their displacement by an organist or harmonium had been to reduce the direct involvement of the parishioners in the life of the church.

He pointed out that, 'the zest of these bygone instrumentalists must have been keen to take them on foot every Sunday, after a toilsome week, through all weathers to the church, which often lay at a distance from their homes.'

The gratuities they received barely covered the cost of fiddle strings, repairs and manuscript paper for them to copy out their music. Seeing a rare gallery like the one at Trentishoe is a poignant reminder of their dedication.

As it had started to rain and become darker in the church I'd switched on the light so that my friends could see to sign the visitors' book. Soon there was a barely perceptible, faint rustle. Foolishly, I had unwittingly disturbed the bats. I quickly switched off the light; the bats settled again and we went out into the drizzly churchyard to leave the creatures in peace.

Illustrations by: Paul Swailes

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK - 140

The Artists' Cabin at Bucks Mills

Perched above the beach at Bucks Mills is a tiny one-up one-down stone cottage called The Cabin. For many years, from the 1920's to the 1970's, it was the studio and summer home of the artists Judith Ackland and Mary Stella Edwards.

Examples of their work can be seen at the Burton Gallery's permanent exhibition. They specialised in landscapes and dioramas and devised a method of model making called Jacaranda; intricate figures made from cotton wool and then painted.

Now owned by the National Trust, The Cabin's annual Open Day was held on the first of June when many admirers flocked to see inside the tiny furnished rooms with crockery and cooking utensils still arranged on the shelves.

To reach Bucks Mills you can either walk, about a mile and half, down the wooded road from Bucks Cross on the A39 near Clovelly, or start from the car park on the edge of the village.

From there it is a pleasant walk to the sea past pretty cottages and gardens. Welsh poppies and lily of the valley flowered by the stream beside the road.

On the slipway to the beach is a collection of old fishermen's huts with heaps of lobster pots and there are magnificent Elizabethan lime kilns, one castellated and resembling a castle. In 1811 J.M.W. Turner came to Bucks Mills and sketched a scene around the smaller kiln with Clovelly in the background.

At a short distance along the beach to the east is a waterfall. We stood on the beach to enjoy the view across Bideford Bay and to watch the fulmars flying past. To the west we were surprised to see, silhouetted against the horizon, the dark pyramid formation called Blackchurch Rock.

In the sixteenth century Richard Cole of Woolfardisworthy built a harbour at Bucks Mills. The remains of the old quay, a pile of massive boulders, are visible at low tide. Richard Cole is believed to be the original Old King Cole.

The following poem was written by Stella Mary Edwards and included in a volume of verse called 'Summer Tide' published in 1965.

Illustrations by: Paul Swailes

Sue H

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WEST COUNTRY WALK - 139

Edwin and Gertrude's Idyll

It was a happy collaboration between architect Edwin Lutyens and gardener Gertrude Jekyll which created the unique garden of national importance at Hestercombe, near Taunton. In 1909 they were invited to design a garden on a sloping ground below Hestercombe House, a mansion that has been described as a Victorian monstrosity. Lutyens was responsible for the formal structure, a series of terraces around a sunken plat and rills bounded by a long pergola. Gertrude Jekyll devised a planting scheme which softened the edges of walls and paths and incorporated typical cottage garden flowers.

We entered the garden via a flight of Lutyens' trademark circular steps, to the Rose Garden which was intended as an outdoor room for enjoying afternoon tea under the shade of an arbor with the scent of old fashioned China tea roses and the sound of rippling water.

I headed for the Grey Walk; the first area to be restored in 1974 after the garden had been neglected since the war when American troops had occupied the house. [In the 1970's Gertrude Jekyll's planting plans were rediscovered in a potting shed.] I sat on a bench to enjoy the views to the south over the Vale of Taunton to the Blackdown Hills beyond and must have become invisible because, to my delight, I was surrounded by small birds.

Hestercombe House
Photographs by : Judie Weedon

It felt as if a spell had been cast by the serenity of the garden; the mellow old stones giving their stored warmth and shelter. A blackbird sang. Goldfinches landed on the santolina beside me. Pied wagtails flitted at my feet and martins dipped to the water below.

Here Gertrude Jekyll had wanted plants which provided scent and texture so there was lavender and catmint cascading over the walls; rosemary and pinks and for touch, furry grey lambs-ears, one of her favourites. Consideration of these senses was important to Gertrude who had only transferred her attention to garden design when her sight began to fail.

Previously she had been a painter and produced intricate craft work in several different media. Friendship with John Ruskin and Burne-Jones had led her to the belief that 'painting was not enough' and encouraged by William Morris no less, she had taken up metal work, embroidery and wood carving. A long rill with raised terraces runs down each side of the garden. The West Rill is mainly planted with shrubs and roses; the East Rill dominated by herbaceous plants such as irises, poppies and red hot pokers with sedums and euphorbia. Jekyll used citrus fragranced choisya a lot, the masses of white blossom 'lighting up' corners.

The water features are beautiful. A recessed wall forming a semi-globe with a pool forming the bottom half of the sphere. Water flows along narrow channels - the rills - planted with arrowhead, water plantain and forget-me-not. Ribbon like loops of stone act as little weirs to control the water levels and form planting holes for deeper rooted plants.

Throughout the garden the rough grey stone quarried from behind the house, is used extensively for walls with balustrading and dressed stone for ornamentation carved from golden ham stone, from the quarries on Ham Hill near Stoke sub Hamdon. The West and East rills are linked by the 230 feet long pergola; honeysuckle and clematis clambering up the alternating round and square pillars; greenfinches and coal tits enlivening the scene. The idea of the central Great Plat was to take the eye away from the ugly facade of the house! The paths follow a geometric pattern around a sun dial.

This contrasts with the small enclosed space called the Rotunda. Lots of interesting stonework and a circular mirror pool in the centre designed to reflect the sky. Here the colours were blue, white and grey but nearby is the Victorian Terrace, which pre-dates the Lutyens/Jekyll garden, still laid out with regimented rows of bedding plants in clashing oranges, reds and pinks, so different from Jekyll's anarchic drifts of subtle shades. The Rotunda leads to the Orangery, a neo-classical building designed by Lutyens, now used for weddings. The young architect first met Gertrude Jekyll when he was twenty. She was forty-six. They went on to design many wonderful gardens together. He called her Aunt Bumps.

In the 1990's a much earlier landscape garden was restored; originally created between 1750 and 1786 in a combe to the north of the house with forty acres of woodland, lakes and temples, an octagonal summerhouse, mausoleum, Chinese Bridge and magnificent waterfall called the Great Cascade. A walk around the full circuit of this garden takes about two hours. Hestercombe is two miles north of Taunton just outside the village of Cheddon Fitzpaine.

Acknowledgements and thanks to Sue Neale and her Ilfracombe Floral Art Club for arranging the visit to Hestercombe and for throwing the outing open to non-members - and for publicising this in the Berrynarbor Newsletter.

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK - 138

Herner and Hall

Herner and Hall. It sounds like a double act and in a way it is. The Ordnance Survey map showed a large house on a hill with woodland around it and nearby a weir and a church close to water meadows beside the River Taw. It looked like an interesting place to explore.

The mansion is simply called Hall and the church is at Herner, barely a hamlet, two and a half miles south east of Bishop's Tawton. But we decided to start our walk at Chapelton railway station which faces Herner church from the opposite side of the Taw.

Leaving the little station car park we crossed the railway line and soon reached a foot bridge over the Taw. The river is quite wide at this point and the bridge is imposing, borne on a series of broad stone piers. There is a lozenge-shaped island where a pair of grey wagtails bobbed about the gravelly shore. A fisherman stood in the middle of the river casting his line.

The right of way over the fields takes the form of a firm and level track and after about half a mile it brought us to the lane leading to Herner where a disused chapel still retains a large bell above its roof bearing the date 1817.

Opposite, a barn of cob with circular pillars to the front, has its earlier thatch roof still showing beneath the corrugated iron and just around the corner is the church with its fifteenth century tower embattled with crocketed pinnacles. The nave and chancel were rebuilt in 1888.

The church is set above the road in a little garden, rather than the usual churchyard. We climbed the slate steps and walked past hedges of mahonia japonica and shrubs bursting with white and pink cameliasl.

A bicycle was propped against the porch. This church is classified as a 'chapel of ease' and appropriately an elderly cyclist had sought sanctuary in the porch to enjoy a cigarette, his newspaper and flask. As I tried the door, I said, "I suppose it's locked." He confirmed it was and added, "You haven't missed much!

One of the guide books I'd consulted beforehand agreed with him stating, 'The church has little to offer the visitor' and other guides had ignored it altogether. However, if we'd been able to enter we should have found wagon-roofs throughout and a carved Jacobean pulpit. Worth a visit I should have thought.

Another disappointed would-be visitor had posted on the wall of the porch a notice of complaint about being excluded from unwelcoming locked churches. In response, the key holder had put beside it an indignant riposte accusing the author of 'boorishness'. Oh dear!

On leaving, harmony was restored by the variety and quantity of wild flowers along the roadside. Among wood sorrel and stitchwort, archangel and alkanet, a single early purpose orchid.

Now the mansion could be seen up on its hill, with sheep and lambs grazing before it. We passed a high curved wall with a gothic arched doorway set in it but the public right of way to Hall is past Herner Bridge with its little weir, via a steep driveway through a bluebell wood where peacock butterflies flitted.

We rounded a bend and found ourselves at the side of the mansion and a walled garden. Of the original building only a large barn with buttresses survives. The present house was rebuilt circa 1850 in the Neo-Tudor style with a baronial hall at right angles designed by Philip Hardwick in collaboration with Gould of Barnstaple. Along the front are bell-shaped gables and wide mullion windows. It is Grade 2 Listed.

The site has been occupied by the same family - descendants of the Chichesters - for the past seven hundred years. On a gate post is a figure of a heron - symbol of the Chichesters - like those at Arlington Court.

The route continues through a fascinating collection of barns and outbuildings in a mixture of cob, stone and brick, some with gothic windows and carved doors or sporting a fox weather vane or ornamental cupola.

In the middle of the yard is a quaint old granary, raised off the ground by cylindrical supports, Some pretty red-legged partridges appeared in a field behind the barns. A hare raised its head above a dip in the field and a green woodpecker landed close by; the only sign of human activity, a post van rumbling down the stony drive.

Chapelton to Hall via Herner is a walk I should recommend highly to anyone who enjoys old buildings, wild flowers and quiet, gentle landscape.

Illustrated by: Paul Swailes

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK - 137

"Butting through the Channel in the mad March days"

John Masefield

Downend is a headland of low cliffs at the southern end of Croyde Bay. On the road from Saunton, just beyond the third layby, a narrow opening beside a derelict lookout station, gives access to the coast path. The castellated lookout station is a bizarre building with wooden outshots supported by brackets and stilts. This is the only steep section of an otherwise level walk.

Below is a wave-cut platform of rock, formed in the Ice Age and known as a 'raised beach'. Although the rocks are grey and black the patches of sand between them are pinkish cream and in one area of beach, almost pure white.

From here in the winter sea going ducks may be observed. I was told that in mid-December a large flock [more than a hundred] of common scoter was seen off Downend and just two eider duck.

But as we scanned the shore in early March all we found were 'the usual suspects' - cormorants diving, a curlew flying past, a few active rock pipits, great black backed gulls and most plentiful of all, oyster catchers noisily announcing their arrival as they landed to join those already on the rocks.

This was the location of the wreck of the Ceres; a ketch built at Salcombe in 1811 to take supplies to Spain where the Duke of Wellington's troops were fighting in the Peninsular War. In 1852 it was bought and enlarged by a Bude ship owner. But in 1937 the Ceres foundered off Croyde and its crew was rescued by the Appledore lifeboat.

In several places the edge of the coast path had been severely eroded but is still passable. The neat yellow flowers of coltsfoot sparkled along the cliff top. The dandelion-like blooms appear before the large leaves. The stems bear overlapping fleshy, purplish scales.

These stems were boiled with brown sugar to produce a cough syrup. The plant was also used as a herbal tobacco. Coltsfoot's Latin name is Tussilago farfara, tussis being Latin for a cough.

We descended to the beach where the sand was firm underfoot and resembled a colourful mosaic with the fragments of blue mussel shells mixed with tiny orange and red pebbles. The bulky white shape of a cargo vessel of the Grimaldi Lines loomed on the horizon; an Italian shipping company based in Genoa.

At the stream which dissects the beach we found, in the company of pied wagtails and a male stonechat, a small plump wader, a sanderling - Calibris alba. Alba because in winter plumage it is the whitest of the smaller waders having a white head and underparts, pale grey back, straight black bill and black legs. Darting back and forth along the water's edge it feeds on molluscs, insects and crustaceans and travels to breed in Greenland and Siberia. We scrambled up over the sandhills, following the coast path route, to reach the track leading to the village.

Sue H

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WALK NO. 136

A "sleepy" little village?

Returning from the sawmill at Pennymoor and seeking a short cut back to the main South Molton road we chanced upon Puddington. There's a journalistic tendency to attach the adjectives "sleepy little" to any village being reported on, regardless of size and often when the village community is far from sleepy with a variety of lively activities, events and clubs being organised.

However, as I walked around Puddington I saw no sign of human life; no traffic, no dogs being walked, not even a cat on a window sill. It felt like a deserted village.

Although it was only the third week of August there was already an autumnal air with a lowering grey sky and the swallows gathering on the telegraph wires; Dartmoor on the distant horizon looked dark and forbidding.

Puddington's church, dedicated to St. Thomas a Becket, was rebuilt in 1838 by W. Bowden. The churchyard appeared neglected; paint peeled on the door but the church held some surprises - some of them macabre. There is an octagonal font in the perpendicular style and some late 15th/early 16th century bench ends

More unusually, there is a 'memento mori' memorial plaque, with skull and crossbones, which had been saved from a fire at Honiton's church in 1911.

Two bells on display at the back of the church were removed there when the tower was declared unsafe. According to the information board, in 1935 the sexton hanged himself on a bell rope.

On a more cheerful note, Puddington had been the home of a once famous humourist who called himself Jan Stewar and specialised in telling witty anecdotes in the Devonshire dialect.

Photographs by: Judie Weedon

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Recommended read: 'Wild' by Cheryl Strayed

A young American's account of her solo 1,100 mile hike along the Pacific Crest Trail; California to Oregon through the Mojave Dessert, forest and mountainous terrain with heavy backpack, lack of water and inadequate boots. Born in 1968, Cheryl made the hike in 1995 at the age of 26.

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK - 135

Fauna among the Flora at Marwood Hill Gardens

Our esteemed editor had kindly given me a voucher for entry to Marwood Hill and as most of our previous visits had been in Spring or Summer, we decided to delay our visit this time until the Autumn. I was curious to see what colour might remain in late September - especially after the soggy Summer - and before the russet and golden tones of Autumn leaves had got underway.

On arrival we headed for the quarry garden and soon discovered on a path, beside the ericaceous border, a dead mole. It is unusual to see these industrious and beautiful creatures above ground alive so although regrettable to find poor Moldy Warp like this, it did provide a rare opportunity to observe the special features which adapt it for a life underground, excavating its system of tunnels; the large muscular 'hands' with shovel-like palms and strong claws, the long flexible snout, club shaped tail and coat of dark velvety fur.

We went down to the middle lake where a secluded seat enabled us to pause to enjoy the view of the little island with its fine sculpture of a mother and two young children by John Robinson.

When we first visited Marwood Hill in the 1980's there were mandarins on the lake; the neat little ducks which looks as if they have been carved out of wood and painted in bright colours. They are no longer there and now there are mallards with moorhens and a few Canada geese. Grey wagtails flitted to and fro across the lake.

The rabbits we encountered among the eucalyptus trees were not at all timid. At the top of the hill is a spiral seat inside a circle of six silver birches.

In late September there were still a lot of flowers blooming in the bog garden; alpines flowering in the scree beds and in the Summer Garden, beyond the folly, the herbaceous plants were attracting red admirals and small tortoiseshells.

But the greatest number of butterflies were around a large shrub near the walled garden. The shrub was unfamiliar to me so I asked one of the gardeners what it was. She told me it was a clerodendron, also known as clerodendrum or glory tree. The fragrant flowers in August and September are followed by turquoise blue berries.

It was here I found the only painted lady butterfly I have seen all year. I like its Latin name Cynthia cardui. It is a migratory butterfly which cannot survive the British winter. I imagine the painted lady in a love triangle with the small and dull grizzled skipper jealous of his much larger and more colourful rival, the red admiral.

A curious plant caught my eye. I was surprised to learn it was a member of the pink family. Dianthus superbus. With its shaggy pink, deeply fringed petals it resembled a ragged robin.

A small rodent shot out from under the dianthus, crossed the path and disappeared among shrubs. It was a bank vole; its back being a rich reddish brown. A field vole would have been greying brown. This is the easiest way to distinguish between the two if you only have a glimpse.

Other differences are the length of tail. The bank vole's tail is about fifty per cent of the length of its head and body, whereas that of the field vole - alternatively named short-tailed vole - is only 30 per cent of the length of the head and body and all one colour. The bank vole's tail is bicoloured, dark on top and pale below. Both voles have very small ears but the field vole's ears are less visible than those of the bank vole.

Our autumnal walk of discovery around the gardens demonstrated that there's more to be enjoyed there than trees and flowers.

Footnote: A big thank you from the staff and volunteers at the Garden for the support received for their Macmillan Fund Raising Event which raised over £1700 for this worthy cause! £491 was raised on the day but a fantastic amount of £1,244 came from Sage, the Eurasian Eagle Owl's collecting box throughout the season.

The Gardens are now closed for the winter but will welcome you all again from Friday,1st March 2013.

Illustrations by: Paul Swailes

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK - 134

We Saw Meshaw

In a hollow where six roads converge, lies the small village of Meshaw, seven miles south-east of South Molton; a cluster of thatched cottages and pretty gardens packed with traditional cottage garden flowers.

This is reflected in the choice of house names. I saw at least three with the word 'rose' in the title. Apart from the main road to Witheridge, the other roads rise steeply out of the village giving the impression of a compact and sheltered little settlement.

Lavender and pale yellow rock roses grew near the church gate and tight rubbery clumps of stonecrop hugged the ground; the yellow flowers so luminous that an old country name for the plant was 'Welcome Home Husband Be Ye Ever So Late'.

The steep path through the churchyard was bordered by ox-eye daisies, cat's ears and orange hawkweed - the latter a naturalised garden escape. I like its alternative name Fox and Cubs referring to the bright flowers grouped closely together, several to a stem.

The church of St. John the Baptist was rebuilt in 1838. The architect was R.D. Gould of Barnstaple who was also responsible for Butchers' Row, Bideford Town Hall and the rebuilding of Arlington church. The tower, however, is much older, dating from 1691, castellated but without pinnacles. The outer door of the porch was closed which often indicates yet another locked church. There is always a brief moment of suspense as you turn the handle but this time the heavy door yielded. It is a simple, modest church; an all-in-one nave and chancel with no side aisles. Some nice stained glass windows in the chancel but no elaborately carved bench ends or other ancient features. Even the guide books have little to say about Meshaw church. However, there were two features which impressed me, both unusual in their different ways and which said a lot about the village, suggesting a generosity of spirit. The door of the bell tower was ajar and bore a notice ; 'Welcome to Meshaw Book Exchange' with an invitation to swap or buy books. The small space had been fitted out with book cases crammed with a good selection of contemporary fiction such as A.S. Byatt and William Boyd whilst classics available included Marcel Proust!

There was seating, a square of carpet, even a kettle. I bought a copy of The Pilgrim's Guide to Devon's Churches with details and illustrations of all 618 Anglican churches in Devon. Now there's a challenge - to visit all of that lot! A useful reference book, well presented and modestly priced.

In a prominent position in the nave, next to a copy of the famous painting of Jesus saying, 'Suffer the little children to come unto me', was a large picture frame entitled 'Meshaw Evacuees 1939-45' containing photographs of the children with names, ages, dates of arrival to the village; a record of outings and activities, a sketch of the village and a Prayer of Thanks.

One hears accounts of the callous, even cruel treatment of evacuee children by their 'hosts' but here they seemed to have happily enjoyed the presence of the evacuees among them, drawing them into the life of the village and continuing to remember them.

When travelling less frequented routes in North Devon it is interesting to stop off at unfamiliar villages along the way, to have a wander and visit the church. There are always discoveries to be made.

Illustrations by: Paul Swailes

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK - 133

Three heads better than one

Three giant wicker heads had been suspended from trees along the Tarka Trail between Torrington and Weare Giffard as part of a national 'Giants in the Forest' project to encourage people to visit the Biosphere Reserves in North Devon, Dumfries and Galloway and the Dyfi Valley in Wales, and to help raise awareness of the Biospheres' Nature Improvement Area work.

So, having read reports about the wicker heads in the Journal and the Gazette, naturally we were curious and set off from the Puffing Billy near Torrington to track down the 'giants'.

Tangles of mauve bush vetch and yellow wood avens grew alongside the track. A grey heron waited motionless beside the weir and then, just beyond the third of the old railway bridges which cross the River Torridge, we discovered the first of the wicker heads. We almost missed it. Though enormous we had not noticed it as we walked past because it was located high in a tree and by chance we just happened to look up at the right moment. It was impressive; simultaneously comic and sinister.

We continued along the Tarka Trail scanning the trees for the other two heads. A few more benches had been added since our last visit, some quite sculptural like the sturdy three-breasted bench opposite a gap in the trees which gave a view of Weare Giffard Hall and church tower. Up a flight of steps a large shelter had been constructed from old railway sleepers. Near Annery, in the narrow strip of land between the track and the road, there was a smallholding with ducks, hens and rabbits and an old fruit cage. A viewing platform overlooked the river and a family of swans with cygnets.

The wicker heads were placed along the Trail in May and will stay until November. As they have been seeded with grass they will grow and chance with the seasons and the organisers hope people will photograph the heads over the summer and autumn to create a record of these changes.

But we still had not found the remaining heads. Disappointed we retraced our steps. We had asked cyclists and other walkers we met en route if they had spotted the heads None of them had known about them either. The cyclists remarked that if they craned their necks to look for them up in the trees as they cycled they would have toppled off their bikes.

We paused to admire the view of the Beam Aqueduct also known as the Canal Bridge. It no longer carries water but was part of the Rolle Canal opened in 1827 to carry agricultural produce and imported coal and limestone until 1871 when it was superseded by a branch of the South Western railway which used part of the canal's route for its track bed.

In their book 'West Country Waterway Heritage : Discovering Inland Waterways in Cornwall, Devon and Somerset', Jean Hall and Joy Yeates claim that the Beam Aqueduct is 'one of the finest and most impressive canal features in the South West.' It is in a very beautiful setting spanning the River Torridge.

 

The Canal Bridge c. 1830
Public Domain, via Wikipedia

The canal had been the idea of Denys Rolle of Torrington and it was engineered by James Green, the Surveyor of Bridges for the County of Devon. It was intended to form part of a network of canals in North Devon and to link up with the Bude canal, but the six mile stretch to Bideford was all that materialised. James Green pioneered a system of raising and lowering boats by means of inclined planes and lifts in hilly country, instead of using locks, thus saving time and water.

Suddenly, not far from where we had started our walk, two giant heads stared down at us, with more prominent noses than the first head; the wicker entwined with ivy, moss and polypody ferns. They were rather gorgeous. We greeted them with surprise. According to the Biosphere organisers the heads were supposed by 'combining art, technology and the natural environment to inspire people to think about their surroundings and how they are changing' and 'to reflect on their relationship with the environment and the seasons.'

Well, I don't know about that. Those lofty aims certainly had not been realised by all the people who had walked or cycled past the giant heads without even realising they were there. However, they are fun and I would recommend hotfooting along to the Tarka Trail at the Puffing Billy sometime between now and November to see them while they are still there.

Sue H

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LOCAL WALKS - 132

'It's a shore thing.'

When walking North Devon's wonderful variety of coast paths I often try to work out the attraction of being within sight of the sea; whether gazing out over the vast expanse of water from the high cliff tops of Exmoor or standing at a sandy shoreline.

Crossing the Burrows on a calm and sunny day, the first view of the sea is always a revelation as if seen for the first time. The smooth pale sand and the sheer beauty of blue sea meeting blue sky; the intensity of the colour blue. On days like that the sight of the sea is simultaneously soothing and exhilarating.

The film 'A Matter of Life and Death' made in 1946 [by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger] includes a scene filmed at Saunton Sands. An airman, played by David Niven, lands in the sea having jumped from his burning plane. As he walks up the beach, looking around in awe, he assumes he must have died and gone to heaven.

Adding to the strangely surreal atmosphere, a young boy sits at the edge of the dunes playing a pipe and surrounded by goats! Happily, Sixty-six years after this memorable scene was shot, that spectacular stretch of shore remains unspoilt.

Even on days when the sea is rough and pewter grey it still exerts its magnetic pull. At Windy Corner on Ilfracombe's sea front it can be difficult to remain upright as the wind tries to force you back inland.

It was from there one late Sunday afternoon in April, as the boats 'Osprey', 'Kingfisher' and 'Jay Jay' were doing a brisk trade in fishing trips, that we noticed a large number of herring gulls circling over the sea - but not around the fishing boats. Their attention was concentrated on something round in the water close to the shore; the head of a grey seal. We watched it diving, catching and eating fish.

Illustration by: Paul Swailes

In his fascinating book, 'Land's Edge : A Coastal Memoir', the Australian author and environmentalist, Tim Winton, muses on his liking to be near the sea; to see it each day if possible, despite not feeling any great restless need to travel on it. He concludes, 'The sea is as disturbing as it is reassuring'.

Winton has a theory that west coasts tend to be lonely, wild and remote; that they are often the final frontiers whereas east coasts tend to be civilised, sociable and sensible. This he considers applies to the western and eastern coasts of Australia but he believes this contrast can also be seen in west and east coasts elsewhere. So glory be to our wild and remote coastline - our 'final frontier'.

Sue H

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WEST COUNTRY WALK 131

Far From the Madding Crowd at Maiden Castle

Last year in early May we were passing through Dorchester when I was surprised to see from the map how close Maiden Castle was.Only a couple of miles from the town it was worth a detour. We walked along the track leading to the ancient monument.It loomed impressively ahead, much bigger than I had expected.

 

Illustration by: Paul Swailes

The guide book claimed not only is it the best example of a prehistoric fortress in Britain, with enormous earthworks, but Maiden Castle is also one of the finest Iron Age hill forts in Europe.

The short turf was studded with cowslips and the air was full of linnets and skylarks.Several stonechats perched on bushes at the side of the track.I turned my head in the direction of a harsh churring sound and caught sight of the mistle thrush responsible for it.

As we reached the hill fort a bright orange butterfly; a small heath, fluttered past slowly and low to the ground. There was a view, somewhat incongruously of Prince Charle's Poundbury development, looking rather like a Toytown version of how a housing estate should be. Well, at least the inhabitants of Poundbury are able to enjoy a wonderful view of Maiden Castle.

It is about three-quarters of a mile long. The Romans built a temple at the eastern end.From a distance it had appeared to be a smooth and solid mound but we found ourselves in a complex system of earthworks folding and circling about us like hills within a hill. What a feat of engineering those Ancient Britons achieved.

My companion had gone a little way ahead and was soon out of sight.When I saw him on top of an escarpment, which dropped steeply only to rear up just as steeply on the opposite side, I felt a sense of deja vu although I had never been there before.

I recognised it as the location for the scene in the film version of Thomas Hardy's Far From the Madding Crowd, in which Sergeant Troy [played by Terence Stamp] impresses Bathsheba Everdene [played by Julie Christie] with his swordsmanship.

Having assured her first that the sword is blunt Troy, brilliant in brass and scarlet, shows off his prowess, charging up and down the slopes, brandishing his sword ever closer to the watching Bathsheba until finally he uses it to cut off a lock of her hair. "But you said that it was blunt and couldn't cut me!" she protested. "That was to get you to stand still, and so make sure of your safety. The risk of injuring you through your moving was too great not to force me to tell you a fib." Troy explained. Bathsheba shuddered, "I have been within an inch of my life and didn't known it!"

These were the images that popped unexpectedly into my head as we wandered about the strange landscape of Maiden Castle. Although Bathsheba marries Sergeant Troy, the marriage is a disaster and she finally settles with the dependable shepherd Gabriel Oak. He tells her, "Whenever I look up there you shall be and whenever you look up there shall I be." I wondered what Bathsheba and Gabriel would have made of Poundbury or what their creator Thomas Hardy - an architect before he found fame as a writer would have thought of it.A carbuncle on the face of his beloved Casterbridge?

Illustrations by: Paul Swailes

Sue H

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LOCAL WALKS - 130

"Spring in the air Mrs. Jones?"
"No! Why should I?"

As I write on the third day of the new year, there are reports of winds gusting to 84 mph in parts of the west country whilst Edinburgh has experienced winds exceeding 100 mph.

But it is mild, whereas I see from my old diary that last year on the third of January we had snow. On the same day there was an earth tremor in North Yorkshire, registering 3.6 on the Richter Scale, which could be felt in Lincolnshire and Cumbria. The following day there was a partial eclipse of the sun. So, a lot of drama!

Having seen primroses in mid-November and the first celandine in December, I decided to extend my trip to the village shop by going up Castle Hill and down Ridge Hill looking for signs of spring.

On the roadside banks - goose grass, the dark green leaves of lungwort blotched with pale green and the heart-shaped leaves of archangel with their silver chevrons; patches of violets flowering among them.

On top of a grassy bank the white bells of snow flake, which usually follows its relative the snowdrop, had been putting on a fine display for a few weeks. With them a lone grape hyacinth which would normally flower in April.

At the bottom of Rectory Hill the wall valerian was blooming and the yellow sowthistle. I surprised a weasel crossing the footpath over the field. It soon vanished in the undergrowth carrying a rabbit bulkier than itself. Growing with holly by the gate is Butcher's Broom, a strange shrub with bottle green branches. The tips of the oval leaves are deceptively sharp because despite their appearance, they are not true leaves but modified and flattened stems.

At the top of the path were clumps of wild chives which have a more garlicky flavour than the garden variety. They are useful as a stopgap and by the time the garden chives are ready for cutting the wild ones will have become too coarse to be palatable.

Halfway up Castle Hill the yellow-green umbels of Alexanders had opened out and the neat round leaves of wall pennywort or navelwort were showing with a few furled leaves of cuckoo pint.

A flock of starlings took off from a field opposite Croft Lee to perform an aerial ballet.

Near the top of Ridge Hill the springy four-sided twigs of spindle [euonymus] still bore pink, lobed capsules opening to reveal orange coated seeds. Further down the hill, where it was more sheltered, were several lesser celandines, Wordsworth's favourite flower.

Another unseasonal flower I was surprised to find in December was triangular garlic [or three-cornered leek] at Torrs Park, Ilfracombe. A spike of white bells, it would usually flower in April or May. I have been picking purple sprouting broccoli since the end of September although this year I had tried a late variety, which should be cropping in April and May, instead of the usual Early Purple Sprouting ready from February or March. This is very curious.

So far the wood pigeons are leaving it alone. A line up of pigeons, one atop each plant, can look very comical but they have a devastating effect on the tender shoots. This year pheasants have been coming into the garden and they also head straight for the purple sprouting plot but no sign of damage yet.

The awful pun I've used as a heading is one of the seasonal quips with which the Welsh father of Andrew Davies [adapter of many classic novels for television] used to annoy his family and customers. The other being: "Winter draws on Mrs. Jones?" "None of your business!"

Illustrated by Paul Swailes

Sue H

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WALK - 129

C.F.A. VOYSEY IN NORTH DEVON

This month I am abandoning the moor and the marsh; the coast path and the river bank and going instead for a walk around a building! A very special building by one of the greatest architects of the Arts and Crafts movement, Charles Francis Annesley Voysey 1857-1941.

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A Lady's Noble Gift

The former Winsford Cottage Hospital at Halwill Junction near Beaworthy [a few miles south-east of Holsworthy] is a rare example of Voysey's work in Devon.

Built in 1899, in memory of her husband George, it was the inspiration of Maria Webb-Medley whose country estate was in the neighbourhood. She was the daughter of a Victorian artist and illustrator of children's books, Henry Selous, celebrated in his day but now largely forgotten.

In 1900 in a report about the new hospital, the Western Morning News dubbed it 'A Lady's Noble Gift'. A hundred years later the hospital closed and in 1999 the Winsford Trust was set up to secure ownership of the building, recognising its architectural importance - it is Grade 2 Listed - the Trust's stated mission was 'to ensure that this distinctive building is fully restored; remains in public ownership and provides a base for activities that will enrich the local people and a wider audience.'

When this year a series of open days was held to allow the public to view the former cottage hospital, we jumped at the opportunity having wandered around the outside of the empty and abandoned building about twelve years ago, soon after it had ceased to be a hospital.

The one-storey building fronts a quiet, rural road and bears many of Voysey's hallmark features; deep roofs, gables, five broad chimneys and one tall and tapering one, long windows tucked under the eaves, a generous and welcoming porch - all typical characteristics of the domestic architecture with which he is most associated.

In fact Winsford was the only hospital he ever designed and not surprisingly the Western Morning News remarked on its 'cosy and homelike air'.

To the rear of the building two wings project - these housed the four wards - and between them a verandah, where convalescing patients could sit overlooking a south facing garden with pleasant and open views of fields and woodland with Dartmoor in the distance.

A small orchard was even provided at one end of the lawn. The fruit trees are still there today and on our first visit, when the site was not being used, we found the secluded garden had become a haven for birds; a great spotted woodpecker, a flock of gold finches and a spotted flycatcher making forays from an apple tree.

Voysey had wanted the building to be in harmony with its surroundings, to give a sense of protection 'quietness in a storm', he said. He held the conviction that no detail was too small to deserve the attention of the architect and at the Winsford Cottage Hospital this can be seen in the beauty and simplicity of his window fittings, door hinges and handles, all of which have survived very well.

A principle of Arts and Crafts designers was that form should follow function - hence the asymmetry of some of the elevations rather than forcing rooms into the rigid proportions of formal Georgian or neo-classical facades.

Voysey also designed furniture, textiles and wallpaper. Coincidentally, he was born the same year as Barnstaple born architect William Lethaby, that other great luminary of the Arts and Crafts movement and promoter of its ideals.

When we visited again in September this year, we were greeted by Perry Evans who gave us a fascinating tour of the building. The bright entrance hall has an art nouveau fireplace with glazed tiles and the floor is paved with small yellow mosaic tiles.

The operating theatre, kitchen, laundry and nurses' rooms were along the front of the building. Here there were smaller fireplaces with Voyseys' signature heart motif. We were shown the decorative air vents which incorporated animal and plant patterns. Such attention to detail. The place was light and airy and from the wards the patients looked onto the garden and farmland beyond.

Should you have the chance to visit and walk around this architectural gem in the heart of the Devon countryside, I would highly recommend it.

Illustrated from original drawings by: Paul Swailes

Sue H

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[Acknowledgement and grateful thanks to Perry Evans, Development Officer at the Winsford Trust, for showing us around and for additional information.]

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LOCAL WALK - 128

'Somewhere beyond the sea : The north-west extremity of Devon

"If an unfortunate vessel is driven by a north-west or a south-west gale within the horns of Hartland and Padstow points, God help her hapless crew for she is doomed to certain destruction!" wrote William Hurton in 1852. "Along the coast there is no harbour or refuge, nothing but iron rocks. Here the roar of the ocean is incessant and mighty waves fling themselves against the giant cliffs."

In more recent times, in his attractive book 'Along the Shore', Mike Towns the former warden of Northam Burrows Country Park commented: "Struggling to remain on your feet in the teeth of a gale at Hartland Point brings home just why the Romans called this wind blasted spot 'the Promontory of Hercules'."

By contrast it was a lovely day when we walked out to Hartland Point; mild and sunny with a gentle breeze. Four grey seals were surfing the waves in Barley Bay on the eastern side of the point while out at sea gannets were converging. Eventually there must have been about thirty of them. We watched as they started to dive; wings drawn back, then the plunge from a great height followed by a big splash. Magnificent birds.

The narrow road beyond the lighthouse gate is now out of bounds to the public and when we saw the huge chunks of rock which had fallen from the cliff on to the track we could see why.

So instead we walked past the emergency water catchment area and up to the coast guard lookout, 325 feet above sea level, where there is a good view of the lighthouse on its small plateau 200 feet lower down.

Built in 1874 it took three years to construct. First the inaccessible site had to be surveyed from the sea before the road was blasted out of the side of the cliff and the site levelled.

When completed, Bishop Temple of Exeter, later Archbishop of Canterbury, officiated at its blessing. From Blagdon Cliff, to the west of the coast guard lookout, can be seen the rusty remains of a wrecked ship on the beach below.

On the 31st December 1982 the Johanna, a 978 ton Panamanian registered coaster, ran ashore just south of the lighthouse.

Hartland Point is a good place for sea watching and we saw flying past fulmars, great black-backed gulls, a few razorbills and further out towards Lundy - which is only twelve miles from the point - a line of manx shearwaters. They are present between April and September as they breed on Lundy.

Ninety per cent of the world population of manx shearwaters breed in colonies around the coasts of Britain and Ireland. In the autumn the shearwaters from Lundy cross the Atlantic to the shores of South America, a journey which can take a month.

A team from Oxford University has been monitoring their movements and has found that the shearwaters tend to fly down the western coast of North Africa so that they can make the shortest possible crossing of the Atlantic to the coast of Brazil; from there along the coasts of Uruguay and Argentina, finally reaching Patagonia.

Illustrations by: Paul Swailes

As we headed for the Radar Station on North Cliff we found clumps of wood vetch drifting down the cliffs; its tendrils allowing it to sprawl over other vegetation. Its white flowers are delicately veined with purple and nationally it is rather a scarce plant, though less so on sea cliffs between Minehead and Hartland.

It is occasionally found on the edges of woods and I have seen it growing on a section of the old railway line near the Slade Reservoirs. The Radar Station is the strange structure; a large white sphere on top of a tall 'stalk' which can sometimes be spotted from our own shores, especially Baggy or Morte Points.

Sue H

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LOCAL WALK - 127

Good Day at Blackchurch Rock

I'd had a distant glimpse of Blackchurch Rock from out at sea on board a heaving and rolling Balmoral. I'd seen photographs of it in books and was intrigued by this strange and unusual rock formation. It is a dark pyramid at the eastern end of remote Mouthmill Beach, west of Clovelly, punctuated by two large pointed holes which resemble Gothic windows.

In a recent article in the North Devon Journal, in which people were asked what were their favourite places along the North Devon coast, Dave Edgecombe, Project Officer for the Area of outstanding Natural Beauty, chose Mouthmill Beach which he described as 'a real hidden gem ... far from the madding crowd.' His family had spent '... many a happy hour whiling away the day there.'

We started our walk from the National Trust car park at Brownsham, a small hamlet reached by a maze of lanes from the Hartland road.

A broad track through a wooded combe leads eventually to the beach. The Sitka Spruce and Douglas Fir make this a rather gloomy trek but the monotony was relieved by the wild flowers; Enchanter's Nightshade and Yellow Pimpernel with, in the damper areas, Brooklime and Hemlock Water Dropwort. The needles of Douglas Fir have the scent of oranges when crushed.

Suddenly the prospect opened out and there was the beach composed of rocks, pebbles and boulders. Mouthmill is a lonely atmospheric cove with its disused quay and large lime kiln with the remains of two derelict cottages behind it.

There is a view of Lundy and across Bideford Bay to Baggy and Morte Points. We picked our way carefully over the rocky shore to reach Blackchurch Rock. It did not disappoint. It loomed above us suitably sombre and mysterious.

The poet and radical Charles Kingsley, author of The Water Babies and Westward Ho! lived nearby when he was a boy. His father was the Rector of Clovelly.

In 1849 Kingsley described Mouthmill: 'A deep crack in wooded hills; an old mill half buried in rocks and flowers over which wild boys and bare-footed girls were driving their ponies with panniers full of sand and as they rattled back to the beach for a fresh load, standing upright on the back of their steeds, with one foot in each pannier, at full trot over rocks and stones where a landsman would find it difficult to walk.' [The particles of shell in the sand being used to neutralise acid soils.]

Hard nowadays to picture this quiet place the scene of such activity.