A visit to Coleridge Cottage and Kilve

My friend, Cathy, and I hadn't been inside Coleridge's storied cottage in Nether Stowey long before one of the volunteers asked me the time-honoured question: 'Have you been here before?' And I had, but realised it must have been almost 20 years earlier, as I'd been with my ex-husband, who, I recall, was in a mood because he was missing a football match on the telly.

I didn't feel I could count my second visit, which occurred since the cottage underwent its major restoration in 2010-11, as on that second occasion I'd been with the Northerner, and since he'd never been there before and I had, it was only fair he went in for a look around in the limited time we had that day, while I waited outside with our then dog, Ted, and watched the swifts wing up and down the street. (I did get a poem out of my missed visit, though.)

Last summer, when we visited the behemoth that is Wordsworth Grasmere in the Lakes, I found myself longing for the remembered simplicity of Coleridge Cottage and its garden. A re-visit was long overdue.

my favourite too

'You would smile to see my eye rolling up to the ceiling in a lyric fury, and on my knee a Diaper pinned'

While enthusing with the volunteer who welcomed us to the cottage, I'd felt it politic to acknowledge Sara Coleridge, who was left to shoulder the lion's share of the work of running a house and raising the children, while her husband (who surely had ADHD, given the expansive projects he kept dreaming up but never brought to fruition) spent much of his time in Nether Stowey nipping up the end of the garden and sneaking into Thomas Poole's library, going off on long walks with the Wordsworths, and drinking laudanum). I suppose I was hoping to avoid a lecture on The Price Sara Paid, and indeed, the volunteer warned me there was strong feeling in favour of Sara amongst some of her peers.

I think it's perfectly possible to care about both Coleridges. I feel huge empathy for Sara - I too was left alone much of the time to care for four small and decidedly interesting children - but it's also necessary to acknowledge that Samuel was an exceptional poet, one of our greatest (whereas my ex-husband was just off philandering). And maybe STC had to follow where his mind led him in order to produce 'The Ancient Mariner' and  'Kubla Khan', neither of which would have been written in quite the same way without his opium habit and his wanderings through this wild and remote part of Somerset. 

I drew the conclusion many years ago that poets probably shouldn't get married.

The Ancient Mariner

Samuel Coleridge at the age of about 45

This window is engraved with the scenes Samuel and Sara would have seen when they looked through it

At the back of the house, as pre-warned, we were cornered by one of Sara's zealots, who gleefully told us about the time Sara spilt hot milk over Samuel's feet, rendering him unable to go walking with William and Dorothy. (Though of course he did get a poem out of his missed walk.) 

The well

The privy

Papaver Somniferum

Swifts in the garden

After sating ourselves with cottage and garden, Cathy and I headed to our favourite Hood Arms at Kilve for a vegetarian Sunday lunch, which was magnificent but left neither of us with room for dessert or even a cream tea at the nearby Chantry, which was a crying shame. Instead we waddled from the car park to the beach, enjoying the view down to Devon, across to Wales and up the Severn estuary. 

A fine day out. I could make a habit of it.

Landslips and stormfalls

By some strange miracle, it proved quick and easy to find a day when both my sons and I were free for our annual day out to Devon, so off we went, a lot earlier in the summer than is usually the case.

We were overdue a visit to Dawlish and Dawlish Warren, as the last couple of years we've headed south along the sea wall from Holcombe to Teignmouth and Shaldon, but the storm damage to the pier and the landslip on the Ness from earlier in the year had to be viewed for ourselves, so once again we set off down Smugglers Lane with a very happy little collie. 

The weather was overcast, but it wasn't too hot or wet so we were thankful.

Half way along the sea wall at Sprey Point and I've already got wet feet

The biggest flat top shell I've ever found, albeit with a broken point

We had a very pleasant lunch at The View, the cafe on the ground floor of Pavilions, which I visited for the first time last year to hear Raymond Antrobus read.

It was only the very end section of the pier that got washed away ...

... and the remainder is still open, so Sons the Elder and Younger went on to play The Tuck Shop slot machine - which was my favourite when I was a kid, back in the simpler 1960s, as well as one of theirs too - but it's not there anymore.

Even from Teignmouth, you can see the big red scrage down the dear cheek of the Ness caused by the landslip in March.

We crossed the estuary via the ferry. As further landslips can't be ruled out this soon after the first, the coast path around the Ness headland is closed, so we couldn't walk it, and instead headed up through the village, where swallows were zipping up and down the main street, to the beach beyond the road bridge.

It was good to get a distance glimpse of Buckland Beacon and Rippon Tor on Dartmoor. 

Then Son the Elder did his customary walk across the bridge and around to the ice cream shop in Teignmouth, where Son the Younger and I met him after walking back down the river beach and crossing the river by ferry.

Sadly, our ice creams were less than impressive this visit, the customarily huge dollop of clotted cream atop our cornets now reduced to a smear, so we agreed we would visit Gay's in Dawlish next time for a proper Devon treat. (I've just got to get over the shock of the brutalist replacement sea wall that so disfigures the coast there in the meantime.)

Return to Merthyr Mawr and the Sirhowy Valley

One thing that has occasionally irked me these last two years was my failed attempt in 2024 to complete a triangular walk in the lanes and through the fields at the back of the pretty village of Merthyr Mawr in the far west of the Vale of Glamorgan, so when I noticed the same walk described in a different walk book I have, only in the reverse direction, I decided to have another go.

When Cwtch and I arrived at Candleston, it was to find a film shoot in progress somewhere near by, with a large section of the car park taped off, but there was no one about, so we slipped through and set off up the stony lane towards Candleston Farm.

Our route then took us along the edge of a wheatfield, following an old wall. So far, so good.

It was at this point that the path petered out and the directions in the book became very complicated. I felt, briefly, doomed to fail again.

We passed a fallen ash tree ...

... and some very curious young heifers, who were thankfully in an adjoining field.

hedge woundwort coming into bloom

Eventually we made our way to a tree-lined track, the trees being low and requiring me to duck under them. Past a farm and we were headed back down a long lane and along the road from Merthyr Mawr to the car park. We had completed the walk. The car park was still taped off, though, and there were more people about, so I decided not to hang about in the hope of re-visiting Candleston castle, but instead headed for nearby Traeth Yr Afon with Cwtch. This is one of the Porthcawl beaches and I was last there in  February 2019 with Son the Younger, although I've often seen it from the other side of the River Ogmore.

Sand Viper's Gloss

Small restharrow

It looks very pleasant in the photos, but actually the weather wasn't unlike something you might experience in February - at least, the wind was. I'd hoped to get to the end of the beach, where the River Ogmore meets the sea, but progress was slow and we had to turn back just before we reached it, staggering back to the car looking like extras from 'Lawrence of Arabia'.

A good day, apart from the £14 I had to pay in car parking charges, which is a scandal, frankly.

The following day, we went back to the Sirhowy valley, just outside Newport, where we did a short walk last year. I sort of had it in my head to do the longer route, but then I remembered how Son the Younger had tried walking it when he lived in Risca and the path petered out and he had to break his way back down the side of the valley, so settled for walking up and down the disused railway instead. 

honeysuckle and foxglove

foxgloves in every direction

hemlock water dropwort

Cwtch being very brave and paddling by herself

bluetit feather

Looking down on the River Sirhowy

Wall lettuce ... 

... and its wall

wood hawkweed

Down by the Sirhowy

And just like that, the two weeks of Severn tunnel maintenance were over, and hopefully - unless it floods or there are more strikes - my driving the Northerner to work is done for another year. Hwyl fawr, Cymru.