Devon

Going Particularly Slow in Devon

Yesterday I went to look for Devon. I’m working on the chapter ‘M5 Escapes’, and wanted to check out the region’s ‘prettiest village’ which has a popular castle, a ‘Simon’ church (England’s Thousand Best Churches by Simon Jenkins has been my touring bible for years), walk part of the Exe Valley Way, eat lunch in a pub for which I’d read a rave review, and visit Devon’s first Quaker Meeting House which The Shell Guide (1975) calls ‘a treasure’.

First to the Quaker Meeting House. The address was ‘Spicelands’ which sounded more like a shelf in the supermarket than a village – and which I couldn’t see on the map – so I found the post code on the internet. Lydia, my SatNav, loves a challenge and was almost bouncing with enjoyment as she took us up ever narrower roads ‘til proudly saying ‘You have reached your destination’. And, after several stints of driving backwards and forwards, reversing haphazardly into muddy gateways, there it was. A woman holding a basket of washing looked at us in dismay and said it was only open on Sundays for a service and one day a year for the general public. But she kindly showed us its simple interior and indicated where the graveyard was. It’s a very chocolatey graveyard full of Frys, and Cadburys, and Rowntrees; all Quakers.

A baby bank vole, we decided

A baby bank vole, we decided

The real excitement here was what we found in the garden. A tiny ball of fur, smaller than a golf ball, on the lawn with trembling whiskers, closed eyes and little pressed-in ears. Not a mouse. Not a shrew, we collectively decided, and not well. But as we watched, it started to recover, wash its face, and look around. A few minutes later it was scampering to the safety of the rose bed. Our British mammals book suggests that it was a baby bank vole. It was one of the cutest little animals I’ve seen for ages. The question is, what had happened to shock it into immobility? I think maybe a bird of prey had grabbed it and dropped it as we rounded the corner.

The Meeting House won’t go into Go Slow Devon.

Lydia next took us to Cruwys Morchard — don’t these Devon villages have wonderful names? But in this case I found myself disagreeing with Simon. The church is quite dull, and the revolving lychgate that he mentions turns out to be painted mental-hospital brown, and be utterly unremarkable. But then I’ve discovered the unremarked and unpraised revolving lychgate at Rousdon, near my home town of Seaton, which is beautifully carved and has a ‘coffin slab’ for resting the coffin on while opening the gate. I feel smug about that find, specially since Hoskins, the Devon authority (1954), said the church ‘has nothing to commend it’.

But I digress. Cruwys Morchard won’t go into Go Slow Devon; it’s not worth the diversion.

Then to Butterleigh for lunch. A niceish village and a good pub with a lovely garden. But worth the diversion? No. Bickleigh, a few miles away, was the main focus of the day. It’s in all the guidebooks, described as ‘a very pretty village of thatched houses’, ‘picturesque’, ‘a well-known beauty spot’ and ‘suffering from coach party fatigue’.

Flowers Arch

The main draw was the castle. Well, the village is indeed quite pretty, though the thatched houses are spread out up steep hills which must challenge the coach parties, and the church was more interesting for the very jolly women decorating it for a wedding than for an exceptional interior. The castle was closed. For good. The owners have found that being a venue for weddings is more profitable.

We asked a woman to point out the start of the Exe Valley Way. ‘It’s very muddy’ she said, looking doubtfully at our trainers. She was right. And so many walkers have tried to avoid the mud by deviating from the path that… well, you guessed it, we took the wrong path, nearly fell in the Exe, and decided to come back another day properly equipped. But I found some chanterelle mushrooms which I ate for supper. Delicious!

Bickleigh and the Exe Valley Way will go in the book, but only after a return visit.

Hazel teapot topiary in Culmstock

Hazel teapot topiary in Culmstock

So to the last village, Culmstock. There’s a tree growing out of the church tower which I wanted to photograph. Otherwise I didn’t think there was much there. It turned out to be the best visit of the day. We passed a garden with a hazel bush clipped into the shape of a teapot, a bridge over the delightful River Culm, and some attractive but unpretentious houses. Teapots made me think of tea, and the pub was closed, so we headed for The Strand Stores which had a welcoming sign saying ‘Shop Now Open. Café’ and a blackboard showing their specialities: Sheppys cider, Bottle Green, Fresh cheeses. Inside you could see that the goods had been selected to reflect what people in the village actually want to buy, rather than what the shop owner thinks they want to buy. There were tins of organic tomatoes and chick peas, gluten- and wheat-free brown flour, and ethical plain white flour. Our coffee and cake were properly prepared and of high quality.

The former post office was a victim of the post-office closures two years ago, much to the dismay of the villagers, and was reopened in its new guise early this year. It’s a perfect example of village initiative and how to turn a disaster into a triumph. One of the local vets who was shopping in the store when we were there said that everyone who lives or works in the village does their best to support it. ‘We bring reps here for breakfast meetings,’ she said ‘and I come here almost every day for something’.

The feeling of serving and being served by the community was strengthened by the rows of home-made jam on the shelves. ‘Sometimes local people will buy up the tail end of our fruit, when it’s starting to go soft’, said the assistant, ‘and then sell us the jam they’ve made.’

This is just how a village shop should be; Culmstock, and The Strand Stores, will definitely go in the book. Oh, and the church tower was covered in scaffolding. I only hope they’re not removing the tree! Something else I have to find out.

Doddiscombsleigh and Ashprington

I promised Exmoor on my last blog. Yes, I’ve been there (several times) but there’s a bit of detective work still to be done, so back again to Devon villages to teasing out truths about churches, and the people who are commemorated there.

St Paul in stained glass at Doddiscombsleigh church

St Paul in stained glass at Doddiscombsleigh church

Let’s start with Doddiscombsleigh (sometimes just pronouncing these Devon villages is a challenge!). I went there because it has the best medieval stained glass windows in the county, but then my attention was caught by an explanatory sheet by a Dr Tisdall. He pointed out that a medieval face carved at the top of one of the stone capitals is unusual. It has funny pointy ears, unusual foliage, and there’s something strange about the mouth. Now Dr Tisdall is a medical doctor with a passion for the unusual in Devon churches, so he has teased out the (probable) truth here. This carving is at the west end of the church which is often called The Devil’s End (indeed, some old churches have a little opening through which the devil can escape during services), and he has a hare lip.

The "Devil's bite" carving

The "Devil's bite" carving

As a young doctor studying children’s diseases, Dr Tisdall came across the expression ‘devil’s bite’ to describe a hare lip. And the foliage isn’t the usual rose leaves, it’s Succisa pratensis, or Devil’s bit scabious. So there we have it. A medieval carver portrayed the Devil in an instantly recognisable form – to the villagers of his day – but for us it takes the detective work of a knowledgeable enthusiast to get to the truth.

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Carved snail

Carved snail

Moving on to Ashprington, near the River Dart, to a church which goes unremarked in other guidebooks. But it’s always worth popping into a village church – you never know what you’ll find. And indeed, there was a lovely carved pulpit with a cute little snail attacking the vine leaves (well, Sharpham vineyard is just down the road and they probably have the same problem) but what attracted my attention – how could I avoid it? – was a memorial stone to three generations of Bastards. Not a common surname these days so I did a bit of research. The character who emerged was Captain Philemon Pownall.

Three generations of Bastards

Three generations of Bastards

This captain made a fortune at sea. The first references I could find were that he received ‘prize money’ for capturing a ship full of treasure. That seemed like simple piracy to me, but my fellow researcher, Janice, dug deeper and found that he literally struck gold. Only three months after war broke out with Spain in 1762 he was captaining a warship that captured the Spanish man-of-war Hermione. What they didn’t know was that she was no simple warship: she had set sail from Lima before the outbreak of war and was carrying bags of dollars, gold coin, ingots of gold, silver and tin.

So ‘prize money’ was, in those days, the government reward for the prize of a captured ship: in Pownall’s case, £64,872. Seldom has a lottery winner put their money to better use.

Capt Philemon Pownall painted by Joshua Reynolds in 1762

Capt Philemon Pownall by Joshua Reynolds, 1762

Pownall and his fellow captain Herbert Sawyer, had earlier been courting the two daughters of a merchant from Exeter, who had refused their suits because their financial status didn’t meet his standards. Now they could marry their sweethearts.

Pownall continued to spend his money lavishly. He commissioned the making of a delicate miniature gold gazebo, called ‘Love’s Triumph’ for his wife Jane, had his portrait painted in full naval uniform by Sir Joshua Reynolds, and commenced the building of his manor at Sharpham. The estate has a river frontage of nearly three miles, with gardens designed by Capability Brown. It was his daughter, also Jane, who made the unfortunate marriage to Edmund Bastard. They had no sons.

So there are two things I didn’t know before I started doing this book.

Go Slow

From time to time people have mentioned to me that it’s not really good enough to start a so-called blog in August 08 and then put nothing on it. I was too busy then and too busy now, but clearly that’s no excuse so, a year later, here goes.

I’m writing Go Slow Devon and Exmoor, and am absolutely loving doing the research. One thing leads to another. Like my visit, with a friend who was visiting from Guildford, to Berry Pomeroy. There’s a ruined castle, and Val used to bring her children there to walk backwards round the ‘Wishing Tree’. They all came specially one summer when all three children were about to take exams. I thought that sounded interesting, and that I would get a couple of paragraphs at the most out of the trip.

Berry Pomeroy Chruch

Berry Pomeroy Chruch

We stopped at the church – as I always do, since our country’s little churches give a better feeling for an area’s history and current sense of community than any other source. In the porch was a request for a wheelbarrow so battered that ‘even an idiot wouldn’t steal it’ and inside was a stone commemorating ‘John Prince, author of The Worthies of Devon’ (who’s he?) and a splendid memorial to three members of the Seymour family. What intrigued me was a description of one of the children with Elizabeth Campernowne who is described as ‘an imbecile child’. Val and I peered at her face and could see, we thought, Down’s Syndrome features. But I wanted to know more…

Then to the castle where Val recognised the Wishing Tree but there was no sign suggesting it had magic powers. And most of the roots were exposed so walking round would have been difficult. Though Val said her children used to fall over while doing the circuit in their wellies, so it was not easy, even 20 years ago.

The "Imbecile Child"

The "Imbecile Child"

Back home I Googled the church, found the contact details of the vicar, and asked him about ‘the imbecile child’. A reply came promptly confirming that it was thought to be Down’s Syndrome (I’m waiting to hear from the local historian for more details) but he asked me if I wanted him to email a copy of the Seymour section of The Worthies of Devon. This turned out to be pure delight. Written in 1701, when, if you were a vicar under the patronage of the baronet or duke at The Big House, you were careful what you wrote. Here’s an abbreviated biography of one of the Lords of the Manor which I am quoting in the book.

Sir Edward Seymour, a Worthy of Devon

"Worthies of Devon" titlepage

"Worthies of Devon" titlepage

John Prince was vicar of Berry Pomeroy from 1681 to 1723, during which time he researched the history of Devon’s noble families. His book The Worthies of Devon was published in 1701 and makes delightful reading. Here are some extracts from his description of the life of the third Sir Edward Seymour.

‘Sir Edward Seymour Baronet, was born in the Vicaridge house of Berry-Pomeroy (by this Gentleman’s generous Presentation, the Author’s Present Habitation) a mile and quarter to ye East of the town of Totnes in this County, about the year of our Lord 1610. The occasion of his being born there (as I have heard it from his own mouth) was this, for that Berry Castle (the Mansion of this Honble family) was then a rebuilding: and his Lady-Mother, not likeing the Musick of Axes and Hammers (this Gentlemans great delight afterward) chose to lay down, this her burthen in that lowly place.

He was the eldest son of Sir Edward Seymour of Berry-Castle Baronet (antiently belonging to the Pomeroys, now a ruinous heap) about a mile East of the parish church of Berry-Pomeroy aforesaid…

Berry Pomeroy Castle

Berry Pomeroy Castle

He had no sooner passed the care and inspection of the Noursery, but that he was put abroad to School (it enervates youth to keep it too long at home under the fondling of a Mother) first at Shireburn, after that at Blandford in the County of Dorset. At which last place, he met with a severe Master, tho a good Teacher: the Memory of whom, would often disturb his sleep long after he was a Man. However, he met there with Excellent Improvements in School-Learning; Especially in the Classicks. Which were so deeply rooted in his Memory while a youth that he rememberd much of them, even in his old age. Insomuch upon occasion, not long before his Death he would repeat you 20 or 30 verses of Virgil or some other Author, Extempore, as if he had connd them over but just before.

… it pleased almighty God, in just Punishment of a Nation whose sins had made it ripe for Vengeance, to let loose upon it, a most dreadfull Civil Warr. A War founded upon the glorious pretences of Liberty, Property, and Religion: which yet in effect soon subverted them all. And when matters brake out into open violence between the King and Parliament, this Gentlemans native Principles of Loyalty soon instructed him which side to take.

Sir Edward Seymour

Sir Edward's son of the same name was Speaker of the House of Commons, a Privy Counsellor and Treasurer of the Navy

[Sir Edward, then a colonel, was taken prisoner at Modbury] …the noble Colonel, was carried by Sea to London: and Committed to Winchester House in South-Wark. Out of which he made a desperate Escape, by fileing Off the Bars of the Window, and leaping down, upon the back of the Centinel that stood under; who being astonished by so unexpected a rancounter, the Colonel wrested his Musket out of his hand, and gave him such a sound Rebuke as hindered him, for the present, from following after him, or making any Discovery of him.

…This Honble Barronet submitted to the Arrest of Death on the fourth of December in the year of our Lord 1688 and near about the Seventy Eighth of his Age. And lyeth interrd in the north Isle of the parish church of Berry-Pomeroy among his Ancestors, without any Sepulchral Monument.’

Pure delight! Don’t you love ‘the musick of axes and hammers’ and the enervating effect on children of a mother’s fondling?

The Wishing Tree in the early 1980s

The Wishing Tree in the early 1980s

And the Wishing Tree? I finally found this reference in a guidebook published in 1963:

‘According to local tradition, to walk backwards round this tree three times will bring the fulfilment of any desire… [but] as the earth has fallen away from the far side, the slope is now too steep to admit of perambulation round the tree – either backwards or forwards.’

Which is odd, because as you can see from this photo taken in 1983, the sign is still there. The tree is considerably larger now, but we tripped and stumbled around it three times (forwards) just in case.

Now to Exmoor…

a Privy Counsellor. He also held office as Treasurer of the Navy