A Three Hares Pilgrimage

Though I've done it already - visited all the Three Hares churches in Devon, that is.  Plus the stained glass in the Castle Inn, Lydford and the roof bosses in the chapel of Cotehele, over the border in Cornwall, and in Selby Abbey, Yorkshire.  Yup - been there, done that, written the poem.  

However, now that Dru has relocated onto NB Eve on the Kennet & Avon, space is at a premium and she's decided that some of her work must tie up its goods in a red and white spotted handkerchief and go out into the world to earn its keep.  So I offered to drop some of her beautiful Three Hares postcards into each host church in and around Dartmoor, while I was on holiday in Devon, as a free-gift-cum-advertsing-campaign rolled into one - or card-bombing, if you prefer.  

 There are 17 churches with mediaeval carved roof bosses depicting three hares running in a circle, each sharing a single ear with their neighbour so that it looks as if they have two apiece, and they are fairly widespread, from Ashreigney in the north to Paignton in the south and from Kelly in the west to Broadclyst in the east.   So visiting all of them does constitute a pilgrimage, and allowing for pub time, the most you can really expect to do in a day is half a dozen.  

Conversely, you can stop off at any you might happen to pass, and this is what I did at St Michael's, Ilsington, a minor diversion en route for the bluebells of Holwell Lawn.  

Ilsington is a lovely village on the edge of Dartmoor, but turning its gaze towards the smaller and less celebrated Haldon Moor.  It has a decent pub and the church, with its dark and mysterious interior and weathered churchyard, is typical of the area.   

Having found a suitable spot in which to deposit Dru's cards, I set about locating the three hares roof boss, remembering belatedly that the last time I'd undertaken this mission, I was younger and sharper-eyed and had four positively eagle-eyed offspring with me.  Alack, now I was reduced to squinting and craning and trying to recall whether this was one of the churches with the boss in the centre aisle or to the north or south? In the nave or the chancel?  Painted (and easy to spot) or merely carved?  

Ah, there they are!


Two days later I crossed several churches off my list in one go. First, Widecombe's St Pancras, which must have one of the best churchyards in the country (though I suspect the me in the parallel universe where I live on   

Dartmoor and enjoy wild literary success will end up mouldering with all those Harveys in Manaton).

The Widecombe hares are also favourites, partly because I love their naturalistic colouring, but mainly for being The First Hares Of My Childhood, when they were believed to be tinners' rabbits and their mystical significance had been mislaid.   

Also, it's next to one of three amazing Green Men. Look at this one!  He's just scored a penalty against Germany!

And in the porch, a couple of swallow nests.  

On to Tavistock, graced by the River Tavy in unwontedly sober mode.

The Church of St Eustachius - they made him up! - with its hugger-mugger graves ... 

... and the last remaining arch of the Abbey cloister in its grounds.

More baby bunnies than hares here, I think ... 

... but a fantastic monument to Judge John Glanville, who fell from his horse and broke his neck in 1600, and his wife, Alice.  

Next, St Andrew's in South Tawton, with its lovely Church House, and just opposite the Seven Stars pub too.  

More swallows in the porch and Dru's cards looking very much at home ... 

... presided over by possibly the best carved of all the hares, with their lovely fluted ears.  

Finally to Chagford, where I had a bit of a shock because the Church of St Michael the Archangel has been improved mightily since I last ventured inside in - ooh - probably 2005, because England were playing Australia in the Ashes in one of those nail-biting games that went right to the wire. 

A Church has to serve the needs of its community and be useful as well as beautiful, and that often this means making changes to the fabric of a building, but it has lost some of its darksome mystery.  

Plus, with the doors of the screen chained shut, presumably for reasons of security, I had to perform gymnastics to espy the hares.  (Did it in the end, though.)






So. Five down and a dozen to go, I'm going to enjoy the rest of my mission, whenever the next instalment falls. 

All These Things I Will Give Thee ...

After lunch in the Kingsley room at the Church House Inn in Holne (where Charles Kingsley's father was vicar at the time of his birth), we went for a last little wander on Dartmoor before autumn.  

The moor, which wore its winter yellow for so long this year, is already laying a golden sheen over its summery green.  The bracken is on the turn, but I think it's more down to the heather and autumn gorse in full blossom, and the red-gold bilberry bushes.  

We set out from the car park at Combstone Tor and walked above the O Brook for a short way before heading south-east towards the cairns south of Horn's Cross.  A scad of rain blew over us like a cold-fingered ghost but didn't hang about for very long. 

I was more intrigued by the ravens - a large group of them.  Two flew in a pair, a few others made solo forays, but most flapped about together, rising and settling like bits of burnt paper. Maybe they were young birds yet to find a mate. 


Oh and the views were getting sublimier the higher we climbed.  This is looking east, down to where the River Teign meets the sea at Teignmouth.  (The biscuit tin is just over the most distant blue hill on the  left hand side of the picture.)

This is the view over the Dart gorge to Haytor Rocks, Saddle Tor and Rippon Tor on the skyline ...

... and this the view from Dartmeet across to Hameldon and the ridge of tors above Widecombe.  

And this is looking over to Venford Reservoir in the middle distance. 

These sheep were more interested in us ... or rather, Ted. 

Up on top of the ridge it was getting a bit boggy.  We picked our way over to the tin mine workings, where we could look over to Mardle Head with Ryder's Hill, Snowdon and Pupers Hill beyond. 

'Down over there,' I told the Northerner, 'is Chalk Ford', and we sat for a bit under sunny blue skies and watched desultory showers drift over the lowlands.  There wasn't even any need to bow down and the worship the Devil; all of it was ours. 

The big question now was had we walked off enough of our Homity Pie to manage a cream tea at Brimpts, near Dartmeet?  We decided we had, although I made a mental note to have a fast day the next day.  

So we picked our way back over the boggy bits and down the hill ...

... to Horn's Cross.  

After filling our faces with scones, thick yellow clotted cream and strawberry jam - in that order, obvs - all that was left of our Dartmoor holiday was to pull into the side of the road at Bennett's Cross above Postbridge and pick a sprig of lucky heather.  

With that luck, we'll be back before long. 

In Which I Complete The Ten Tors ...

... well, not The Ten Tors, obviously.  More A Ten Tors.  And over ten miles, rather than 35, 45 or 55.  And without carrying me tent and cooking utensils.  And as it happened, possibly only nine tors.  Or eight.  But onerous enough for arthritickal old me.  

We were very brave, though, because the forecast was sunshine and showers and there were definitely lots of the latter.

Here's our starting point - Saddle Tor on the eastern edge of Dartmoor, with our ultimate destination, Haytor Rocks, rearing up behind (this being a circular walk).





I'm ashamed to say that this was the first time I'd bagged Saddle Tor, having driven past it 160,000 times. It's quite high and far more impressive than it looks from the road.

This is the view looking over to Hound Tor and, in the middle distance to the right, Grea Tor - two of our later total of ten-ish tors.  It looked relatively bright over there ... not so where we were.  Five minutes into our walk and it was raining.  

Our second tor was Top Tor.  Here's the view looking over to Tor number three, Pil Tor.

And here comes the rain (although with the stiff breeze on top, it didn't hang about too long). 

 Our next stop was the ridge of tors dominating the skyline above Widecombe.  (The vegetation has been deliberately burnt to encourage new growth. It's called swaling, and it's legal, controlled and happens from October to the end of March.)

And here they are: Bonehill Rocks, Bell Tor, Chinkwell Tor and Honeybag Tor, the first three of which can be seen in this photo.  

The authors of the walking book I was using weren't counting Bonehill Rocks as one of the ten tors, which seems silly as they're granite outcrops and we had to climb over them to get to Bell Tor.  I resolved to include them.  Eleven Tors, then. 

Looking back from Bell Tor to Bonehill Rocks, with Top Tor and Pil Tor on the horizon

Looking south  

A raven on one of the cairns on Chinkwell Tor

Someone's been playing about with the final resting places of our tribal forebears. Or it might be art.

And look, it's clearing up in the east.  

Ted, ears a-blowing in the wind

View over to Hayne Down from Honeybag Tor, with Bowerman's Nose just visible on the left hand slope

From Honeybag Tor (which is one of my favourites), we descended to the track below the ridge and followed it round past Bonehill Rocks, eventually leaving it to climb up to Holwell Lawn, which, contrary to its name, is just another tract of moorland.

From here, we had great views over to Haytor Rocks, but first we had to bag Grea Tor and Hound Tor.


In fact, our route only took us close to Grea Tor (another of my favourites, it has to be said), rather  

than touch it, which made me wonder whether we were only walking nine tors (plus Bonehill Rocks, which might make it ten), but if passing close is good enough for the authors of the walk book, it was good enough for me. 

At Hound Tor we stopped for a couple of mugs of tea in what proved to be the final shower of rain of the day, and very good (the tea) was too. 

Hound Tor always reminds me of a great granite ship sailing the choppy uplands. From here we walked down to the abandoned mediaeval village of Hundetorre, one of the most poignant sites on the moor.  


  

This is one of the longhouses, viewed from the shippen end, where the livestock would be kept.  The other end is where the people would live, and you can see a couple of steps leading to a tiny, shared bedchamber.    

And this is the shippon. Longhouses were built into hills, with the animals' quarters at the bottom end so that the slurry could drain out - that's what the channel in the middle of the space is for.  




Hundetorre was abandoned in about the mid-14th century.  It could have been that its inhabitants died of the Black Death, or they might have left on account of there being vacant farms on lower lying, easier ground.  

In any event, it was visiting here many years ago and wondering about the people's fate that made me write 'Dart', my novel about people living on the moor during the time of the Black Death.  

And on down down down into the valley and over the Beckabrook via the clapper bridge ...  

... and up up up through the woods and over the clitter-strewn hillside ... 

... until we could see right up to Cosdon Hill on the skyline, at the very northern edge of the moor, and Meldon Hill and Easdon Tor, all in a row.  

At this point we were supposed to divert along the granite tramway to Holwell Tor and quarries, our ninth tor on the list, but we were just about wheezing by now so we decided to adopt the Grea Tor approach and admire from a small distance.

Which might mean we only bagged eight tors plus Bonehill Rocks.  But frankly my dear, after all that climbing, we didn't give a damn anymore, so headed straight for Haytor instead.  

View from Haytor Rocks ...

... and down to the mouth of the River Teign












Melancholickally - and these sorts of days always have to have a moment of melancholy in 'em - the ice cream van had vacated the upper car park by the time we passed. No matter, we reached the car at Saddle Tor and headed for the pub ...