Treasures of Teignmouth and Shaldon

What to do with two grown sons who want to come on our annual memorial trip to South Devon, where for decades our family had a caravan, but who are notoriously difficult to herd, even with a collie to help?

Well, when I say two sons, I actually mean Son the Younger, he's the one who's hard to organise, but with patience and persistence, we managed it about a month earlier than usual, Cwtch and I, and we both still have some hair that isn't grey and/or ripped out, so we did very well. 

Having parked in our usual spot on Windward Lane at Holcombe, we set off down Smugglers Lane to the beach, and headed towards Teignmouth.

The beach was littered with spider crab shells and leg armour, not on account of some horrible ecological disaster but because this is the time of year they moult. 

 

I also spotted a couple of small clear jellyfish washed up - these were dead, of course. Moon jellyfish, maybe.

samphire

What a difference nearly 30 years makes ... 

We walked past the cafe we were planning to have lunch in by mistake and ended up in Teign Street. I was very taken with a shop called 'Sew What?' It used to sell cheap clothing, I think, and had sun umbrellas all over the front of it, so I never really noticed the lovely frontage before.

Having retraced our steps a short way and located the cafe in question, we had lunch and then meandered in the direction of the back beach to catch the ferry to Shaldon. Cwtch was very pleased to back on board. She's almost as salty a sea-dog as her predecessor, Ted.

Instead of heading for the Ness and Ness beach this time, we walked in the opposite direction, up the river beach almost as far as Ringmore Towers, which, back in the 1960s, my sister and I knew as Teasy-Weasy's house. 

I'd hoped the tide might be low and we could go out on the tidal island, Salty, but it was coming in fast, so we wandered back down to the main part of the beach, picking up sea glass, and bits of broken pottery that must have been dumped in the river at some point, all the way. Then it was back across the ferry, an ice cream with clotted cream in what used to be Amanda's - a much smaller portion, this time, we noted - and a wander back along the sea wall to Holcombe.

We even did a spot of wave-dodging at the bottom of the slipway at Sprey Point, which was fun, although Cwtch looked a little anxious.  

It felt like we were on holiday proper, and I wasn't at all keen to leave - and even less keen to face the steepness of Smugglers Lane, but as it turned out, I got up to the top rather more easily than in recent years, so must be slightly fitter than I have been.

Back home there was lots of lovely treasure to gloat over. I feel very lucky to be able to make these return trips in such excellent company. 

Daffodils on Dartmoor and poetry in Teignmouth

If ever a poet is worth travelling to hear read, it's Raymond Antrobus, and he was appearing in Teignmouth this last weekend, so I was able to combine my love of poetry with my admiration for Deaf culture (for Raymond is Deaf), and squeeze in a trip to my beloved Dartmoor just when the wild daffodils were blooming in the Teign valley. What good fortune.

My plan was to park at Steps bridge and walk the footpath through Cod Wood, along the right bank of the river, but for some reason it was closed off, so I walked instead through Dunsford Wood, on the opposite side. The first daffodils I spotted were all on the far bank, but it wasn't long before I encountered some Dunsford daffodils.

There was a lot of bracken in this particular spot, which meant the daffodils were spread rather more thinly than you might spread butter, which is the preferred density for daffodils, but I knew there'd be more upstream ...   

... and after passing fungi, clumps of wood anemones, and many magnificently mossy trees, we reached them. 

The bum of a bumblebee (Common Carder, I think)

A sight to butter up the spirits.

robin

Most of the primroses I so associate with Devon had gone over, but there were still a few in shadier pockets of the wood.

A pair of goosanders

On the return leg I sat on a bench for a while, to which there was a small plaque attached. Forgive me, human Ted, to whom the bench was dedicated, but the Ted I was remembering was my dog, who did, indeed, love Devon, and Dartmoor in particular. Always in my heart.

Wood anemones - yet to bloom - in the crook of a tree

The weather had turned by the time I reached Teignmouth, and it was overcast and blustery, with the high tide making a walk along the beach impossible, but it was good to be there all the same.

Meanwhile, the welcome from poetry friends in Teignmouth and the surrounding area was warm, and Raymond's reading, of poems written in English but incorporating a significant amount of British Sign Language, was enthralling. It really did seem to have a profound effect on the members of the audience, many of whom I suspect hadn't had the privilege of much exposure to Deaf culture, and I couldn't help thinking how wonderful it would be to get him to visit the deaf school where I work. Our students would love it. Maybe one day.