Dartmoor and Shaldon Revisited

I'd promised the parents a trip to Devon so off we went. The plan was to have lunch at the Warren House Inn high on the moor but as we approached it, a vintage bus passed us heading in the opposite direction and I noticed that a strange, Brutalist bus shelter of a type still seen in Russia had been built in one of the car parks. Plus, there were lots of people running around in high-vis jackets, some of whom held cameras. They were filming a period film from a few decades ago by the looks of it, and as the road by the pub was crammed with vehicles, we kept on going, ending up in the Plume of Feathers in Princetown.  

My feta and tomato filo pastry pie was more pureed tomato pie with a garnish of feta but the Old Rosie slid down nicely and my parents seemed quite happy with their fish and chips. 

On the way across the moor to its eastern edge we stopped in few car parks along the way to take in the view - here, looking over to Bellever and Laughter Tors ...

... and across to Littaford, Longaford and Higher White Tors.

I'd decided to brave the narrow lanes through Widecombe to Haytor Rocks, but we were thwarted when we met with a road closed sign at Ponsworthy. 

I headed back across the East Dart at Dartmeet and crossed the West Dart at Hexworthy. This route had the benefit of passing Combestone Tor ... 

... giving us a fantastic view of the Double Dart valley up to Dartmeet with Yar Tor on the right ...

... and down towards Holne. 

There were wild Dartmoor ponies too (here with Sharp Tor as a backdrop). If I have a daemon or totem animal, it's one of these. 

A little further down the road, our way was blocked by a herd of South Devons.  I began to think the moor didn't want us to leave ...

... a feeling which was compounded when I discovered that the road to New Bridge was closed. With a sigh I headed down lanes as snug as elbow-length gloves to Buckfastleigh, and then back up the A38 to the Newton Abbot turning and on to Teignmouth ... 

... whence we caught the ferry to Shaldon.  

Time for a pot of tea and cake in the Clipper and a reminisce about the old days ... 

  

... before heading back home. 

As we crossed the Levels, a heron flew across the front of the car - my second sighting this week. Symbolic of lots of things it seems - I'll settle for prosperity, longevity, curiosity, determination, wisdom and working with Nature rather than struggling against it. 

Walking the Anorak Way

Son the Younger and Ted - there they are, in the biscuit tin by the sea - needed exercise, so we decided to do two short walks on Dartmoor instead of one long one. 

Our first walk started at Hexworthy, just around the hairpin bend from the Forest Inn pub.  









Embarrassingly, given that I set my novel, Dart, in this very village during mediaeval times, I initially set off in completely the wrong direction. My excuse is that the walking book was extremely vague about the starting point of our two mile foray. We were soon en route proper, though, heading towards Swincombe with views over the valley to Bellever Tor and Laughter Tor.

 Before long we encountered the ruins of Dolly's Cot.  The uprights you can see are the jambs of the fireplace, where we sat and shared a couple of sandwiches. 

The details of Dolly Trebble's life are contradictory.  

She lived here with her husband, William - or maybe Tom - who might/might not have been a local miner.   (The story is further complicated by the existence of another Dolly's Cot on the East Dart at Brimpts.)  



Anyhow, the tale has it that the beautiful Dolly attracted the attention of the Prince Regent, and her husband moved her to this remote spot 'to protect her'.  The fact that 'Prinny' never visited Dartmoor has led some to believe that it was Sir Thomas Tyrwhitt, who built Princetown and the prison, who was in pursuit of lovely Dolly.  Or maybe poor Dolly was just married to a jealous and possessive man.  We just don't know. 

And look, here's the bridge we walked across only the other day, while on our trek around Foxtor Mires, with the ruins of Swincombe Farm on the opposite bank - which, funnily enough, passed into Tyrwhitt's ownership and became part of his Tor Royal estate. 

So maybe Dolly's Cot wasn't such a great hiding place after all.  

Having reached the bridge, we wandered back along the River Swincombe in the direction of Hexworthy.  This area is called Gobbett Plain and is the site of a former 19th century tin mining operation, with an abundance of ruined buildings, abandoned and dried out leats, etc.  Note the amber water  - a common sight on Dartmoor dye to the abundance of peat which stains the streams and rivers the colour of black tea.  

Poor Ted had to stay firmly on the lead on account of the Dartmoor ponies, belted Galloway cattle and sheep that roam this part of the moor. 

The last stretch took us up the hill back to our car, with more splendid views of Bellever Tor and Laughter Tor. 








A little walk, perhaps, but one which, on my OS map on which I mark all my Dartmoor jaunts, joins a huge swathe of felt-penned territory on the west with that on the east, from Ringmoor Down, near Burrator Reservoir, arcing up and over to Merrivale, and on up to the Beehive Hut on the East Dart, then over to Ponsworthy and Holne Bridge, and down to Ryder's Hill and Buckfastleigh.  Which makes me a very happy anorak indeed.  

Et in Arcadia Ego

I am in receipt of the final final final set of proofs for my novel, Dart.  Which is scary because I used to proofread professionally back in the days of galley proofs and Tippex and learnt then that the only thing more certain than the small error that escaped your red Bic is the fact that some bastard will gleefully point it out to you.  

Although that hasn't been the case with my poetry collection, Communion.  It was a while before I could even open it after it was published.  When I did manage it, I saw one very minor thing I wished I'd noticed and changed at proofing stage, but no one else has ever said anything and now I can't remember what it was.

That said, I'm really not keen on the idea of living down a novel with a hideous error half way down page 73 (or anywhere else) so I'll be proofing carefully between now and the New Year.  Never mind Christmas, it's publication day that's looming.

In the meantime, here are some pictures of the Valley of the West Dart, where my story is set.

The West Dart at Huccaby

Glittering innocence

Over the stone stile

Longaford Tor, Higher White Tor and Bellever Tor from Hexworthy

Stepping Stones at Sherberton Firs













My novel, Dart, will be published by Tamar Books (an imprint of Indigo Dreams) on 4th February 2012.  More details here, and here.

You might be avoiding Amazon on account of their (tax) avoidance, but fret not, my poetry collection, Communion, is also available from Indigo Dreams for £6.99.