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.

Along the cliff edge

Kilve is a favourite place, and since we were newly allowed, we decided to visit to mark Son the Younger's birthday. Of course, the pub was shut, so we sat on the very edge of the cliff, swinging our legs, and had a picnic instead. 

I should add that the bit of the cliff we were sitting on was about three foot above the level of the beach. It soon gets higher, and becomes unsafe anywhere near the edge, of course. 

It hard to see here, but those are not all pebbles; some of them are people - in fact, Kilve beach was more crowded than I'd ever seen it, probably because of a combination of it being the Easter holidays/a beautiful sunny day/just after the lifting of the lockdown. I'm certainly feeling the urge to visit a few of my favourite places, to keep the days in my pocket and look at them during any future lockdown. I'm not sure the vaccination is going to be magic wand we wish it to be.

In view of the busyness, we decided to take a walk along the top of the cliffs, and since most people head south-west towards East Quantoxhead with its church and picturesque duck pond, rather than north-east towards Hinkley Point nuclear power station, we decided a change of route was in order. 

It was too hazy to see more than an intimation of the coast of Wales, but we could just make out Steep Holm to the north-north-east, and every now and then there was a flash of the area's fascinating littoral rock formations. 

There were also several reminders of the locality's history and geography, in the form of old pillboxes.  

We also spotted what we thought from a distance might be a lighthouse or a WWII lookout, but which turned out to be an observation tower, part of the Royal Navy Aircraft Range - apparently, this part of the coast is still used as an air gunnery practice range for helicoptors. 

It wasn't all military stuff, though ... I saw several pairs of stonechats ... 

... my first swallow of 2021, quite a sizeable patch of cowslips, of which this is just a small corner ... 

... and some far more ubiquitous, far more pungent alexanders. 

Eventually we got to within a couple of miles of Hinkley Point C. When it filled the lens of my camera, I decided that was close enough. I still find it hard to believe we didn't switch to renewable energy sources after Chernobyl. (No, wait, I don't.)

I felt happier heading in the opposite direction, even though Bristol is well within the 80km evacuation zone in the event of a Fukushima-style event in the Bristol Channel. 

All along the cliff there are what look like enticing little paths but which actually lead abruptly to the shore, some eighty-odd feet below, so Cwtch was kept on the lead so she could learn about the edges of things in safety.   

Back at Kilve, we resumed our spot on the cliff edge for a bit, and then made our way to the Chantry Tea Rooms, where we queued for takeaway ice cream, eaten in the car park, and very lovely it was too. 

A moment to admire my first flowering garlic of the season, and take a few photos of a tired but really quite photogenic little collie, and it was time to go home. A lovely day to bank against the less good ones.

Walking around Kilve and East Quantoxhead

They were blowing up World War II tank shells on the beach at Kilve over the weekend (on one of the few tiny sandy patches there are). Since it is now clearly much safer than all the other times we've been clambering over its ankle-breaking rocks, we decided to go for a walk on the Quantocks and then visit the beach for a bit. 

Then Ted woke up all limpetty again, so the walk was reduced from a hilly six and a half miles to the easy three mile coastal walk I did down there with Cathy and Shaun just over ten years ago (and before the existence of this blog).

At least it wasn't tipping with rain this time. 

(Awh, look at puppy Ted.)

My cousin used to say that the World Trade Centre coming into view alerted her to the fact that she was nearly home (in New Jersey). 

Similarly, the oil retort proclaims to the world that this is Kilve. 

It was a bit busier than usual yesterday ... though it is the school summer holiday.

Up ahead, Quantock's Head ... 

... but first we accessed the beach via the steps at the far end and picked our way over the ridges of rock for a bit. 

Resuming our walk, we headed inland towards East Quantoxhead. It was all very August. 

Time for a quick revisit of the Church of the Blessed Virgin Mary attached to the manor.

What remains of the churchyard cross

Scratch sundial by the priest's door

Here's Ted having a contemplative drink next to the boot scraper in the porch ...  

... in which there is  coffin squint, so called - apparently - because the priest would look through to assess the progress of the funeral procession towards the church.  

Inside, there are old - and not so old - carvings. Parts of the rood screen, like the cross and the church itself, date from the 14th century ... 

...and the pulpit from 1633. 

Some of the bench ends are clearly more modern than others. These are older, the nearest bearing the coat of arms of the Luttrell family. 

A few fragments of mediaeval glass

Here luyt hugh luttrell knyght wyhe departed 1522[/23] the fyrst day of Februarie, here lyt andro luttrell his son wyhe departed the yere of our lord god MCCCCCXXX VIII the iiii day of may on whoys souly Jhu have mcy

Back on route there were ravens chatting overhead and a fieldful of very nosy horses.

We crossed fields of wheat ... 

... and stubble ...  

... to reach the village of Kilve and then turn down Sea Lane. 

Woody nightshade

I last went into Kilve's St Mary the Virgin just three years ago, so only stuck my nose around the door briefly before heading up to the chantry for an ice cream. 

 We did wander up to the beach again but time was getting on so we decided to head for home ...

... with a small but bijou treasury.