Drewsteignton, Fingle Bridge and Castle Drogo

One last holiday jaunt before returning to Bristol. Having cleaned up and loaded the car, we set off for Drewsteignton and a favourite pub of mine, The Drewe Arms, where we stopped for lunch.

I'd decided the time had come to take my partner in poetry on what is perhaps the greatest of all Dartmoor Newbie walks, the wander from the inn at Fingle Bridge along the banks of the River Teign via Fisherman's Path to the road leading to Castle Drogo, then back along Hunter's Path to our starting point.  Except that we were going to set out from Drewsteignton itself and vary the route a little further by doing it in reverse.  This involved traversing a field of cows (again) which didn't make me Ms Popular (even though I was at pains to point out that it wasn't anywhere near a different field in Drewsteignton  in which I'd encountered a very testy bull back in 2003).

Having reached Hunter's Path we turned right, away from Fingle Bridge. This was partly to get most of the walk done before any further drinking opportunities arose, and partly so that the first view of Castle Drogo my partner would get would be the one from Sharp Tor, where it rises from the granite as if it had miraculously grown of its own accord, rather than been built.  By Lutyens.

Meanwhile, Ted was staking his claim on all he surveyed.

As we advanced along the path, there were lots of other fabulous views, like this one over the Teign gorge, with Kes Tor a wart on the horizon.  (You won't be able to make it out in this size picture.)

At Sharp Tor we paused ...

... ready to drink in the glory of Castle Drogo, and instead saw the biggest tent in the world. Buggrit. Restoration set to continue for a few more years yet. 

Looking back up the gorge to Sharp Tor

It was a warm day so we were glad to come down off Hunter's Path, which is pretty exposed, and return along Fisherman's Path - not an easy walk, due to the roughness of sections of the track and the need to climb a lot of steps to circumvent the foot of Sharp Tor where it meets the river - but pleasant all the same.  

Teign by turns fretful and placid  

As elsewhere on the moor, the stone in the gorge is granite, but here the effect of sun on moss turned it to gold. 

Hard to tell here which part is stone and which is wood. 

What was once The Angler's Rest is now the Fingle Bridge Inn. We stopped for a breather and took in the scene - more people than almost anywhere else on Dartmoor, I suspect, but still quite peaceful.

 

At this point, having left the bridge, I remembered something about this walk that I forget in between each attempt at walking it, and that is what a bastard climb it is up through Drewston Wood to regain Hunter's Path.  The photos don't do the gradient justice.

It was a question of picking a tree up ahead and marching straight at it, followed by a prolonged lean against its trunk while hips, knees, ankles and lungs recovered.

Ted didn't appear to be struggling, however. 

Once on the higher path, we recovered in the cool of the trees.  I was ultra impressed by the venerability  of this beech tree.  They seldom seem to live long enough to swap magnificence for character, but this one has both.   

We then wound our way through to Rectory Wood, where there's a sculpture by Peter Randall-Page from his Granite Song series.  I paid homage at all the sculptures on the trail about fifteen or so years ago, and this one is probably the least prepossessing, but I love the way it interacts with nature, being set over a stream and engineered in such a way that the water bubbles out through a hole in the top of the boulder. 

I suspect it might be time to start revisiting the rest.  

By the time we'd hobbled back up the holloway to the village, I was in a lot of pain, having packed my Co-codamol in the bottom of the boot without first taking any, but the day was not yet done for when we arrived back in the village car park, it was to discover that my front tyre, driver's side, was completely flat. Whereupon we adjourned to the pub and the landlord's lovely partner took pity on me and changed the tyre in exchange for a rather sweaty hug. Told you it was a great pub.  

Summer Art in Bristol

Here's a short review I wrote for the local rag. With added pictures.

William Hogarth: Painter and Printmaker  Bristol Museum and Art Gallery

James Ravilious : Rural Life / Peter Randall-Page RWA & Kate MccGwire

Into The Fields : The Newlyn School And Other Artists    

                                                    Royal West of England Academy    

 What delight for lovers of art in Bristol this summer!  You have until the end of August to get up close and personal with the ‘Father of British painting’, William Hogarth, and up close is really where you want to be, taking in details such as the tears in Sigismunda’s eyes as she mourns her slain lover, Giuscardo, whilst clutching a beautifully embossed golden goblet containing his heart to her own, or the foaming cataracts of white lawn worn by Thomas Herring, Archbishop of Canterbury, who inexplicably disliked his portrait.  I was struck by the humanity Hogarth sees in his sitters, from servants to aristocrats, and conveys to the viewer through fluid brushstrokes.

Sigismunda mourning over the Heart of Giuscardo, her murder'd husband 1759

Thomas Herring, Archbishop of Canterbury 1747

I have to say I was disappointed that Hogarth’s stunning triptych, originally painted for St Mary Redcliffe, was not included in the exhibition – at least until I read that it is way too high to fit into the ground-floor exhibition gallery.

However, it is possible to see it on Doors Open Day or by appointment in its current home, St Nicholas Church, where it rises in incongruous magnificence above the computer screens of Bristol Archaeological Services, also now housed within.

James Ravilious, whose work is being exhibited at the RWA until 6^th September, travelled North Devon photographing rural scenes for the Beaford Archive in the 1970s and 1980s.  

His work is almost exclusively monochrome, which might seem perverse given his subject matter, but which gives his work a timeless quality. His photograph of sheep lost in a lane could have been taken at any point in the past hundred years, and his portraits of people absorbed in their tasks can be dated mainly by what the subjects are wearing. 

Many of his images now verge on the iconic – odds are you’ve seen a reproduction of Archie Parkhouse and Ivor Brock dragging a sick ram across a field in a tin bath in a card shop – but this exhibition give you a chance to see some of his less well known work too.  I particularly enjoyed the movement of swifts swooping across in a lane, a young lad viewed from the church tower as he runs for the school bus, and a barking border collie outlined by the sun.  

 While you’re at the RWA, don’t miss sculpture by Peter Randall-Page and Kate MccGwire, and an exhibition of work by the Newlyn School and Other Artists also. 

Coming Over All Piratickal

Sunny and rainy and then sunny again and just the sort of day for a wander around interesting but somewhat less picturesque parts of Bristol, made beautiful by the skies and the light.  Lucky, then, that there was one organised by the Long John Silver Trust, and with added authors too as it was being held under the banner of the Bristol Festival of Literature.  

And so along with the usual selection of 17th century pirates and privateers,  of which, I'm afraid, Bristol nurtured many, we had Daniel Defoe and Jonathan Swift; Coleridge, Wordsworth and Southey; and, of course, Robert Louis Stevenson.  

Our guide was Mark Steeds, pub landlord and member of the Radical History Group, so it wasn't long before we were immersed in the story of the slave trade and its eventual abolition, in which episode the pub 'The Seven Stars' played an important role.  

Here's Mark explaining how the Reverend Thomas Clarkson came to the pub in 1787 and started to put together evidence later passed onto William Wilberforce to support the Act for the Abolition of Slavery.  In order to do this dangerous work, Clarkson, an educated gentleman, disguised himself as a miner.  So tenacious was her that Coleridge described him as 'the Moral Steam-Engine, or the Giant with one idea'. 

After the Seven Stars, we made our way to Redcliff Quay, where we saw a beautiful sculpture entitled 'Exploration'.  It's one of several celebrations of our sea-faring heritage, though I have to say that this is probably my favourite.  The obelisk part is by Philippa  Threlfall and is called 'The Unknown Deep'.  It's topped by a steel armillary sphere which functions as a sundial.

I just loved this mediaeval-style bestiary, which reminded me of my lovely Barum Ware pots at home and also those outlandish fish from the very depths of the ocean.  

Then to Castle Park for a potted history of the mediaeval centre of our city, so tragically lost one full moon in November 1942.  The trees were starting to smoulder today, almost 70 years later, as if in remembrance. 

Peter Randall-Page's sculpture 'Beside the Still Waters', with temporary installation of fallen leaves, and King Street with rainbow.

Three more stops opposite the Rummer, the Llandoger Trow and in Queen Square and our tour ended outside the Hole-In-The-Wall, upon which Robert Louis Stevenson's depiction of the Spy Glass is based.  I can only conclude, therefore, that writers and pirates share a love of pubs.  Anyhow, in the 18th century, this was a very popular watering-hole with sailors, and subject to surprise raids by both Customs and Excise and press gangs.  Hence the spy holes so that a view both up and down the street could be obtained. Arr. We'm not daft.