“Put your arms out and you’ll take off and fly right up over the sea,” said the old man who passed me on the lane yesterday as I walked towards the old Coffin Path and the cottage with the dead baby in the garden.
Your description of North Devon was so good and entertaining and realistic! If you really want to sample a frigid hell on Earth go and visit a friend in North Devon and get besieged by unexpected snow. You are trapped in the house by snow drifts and if you are so ignorant of North Devon’s snow demons you will attempt to open a door and dig an escape route. This exposes you to particles of wind powered snow that almost succeed in removing the skin from your face. Yet, on a windless summer day you envy your friend her whitewashed cottage.
My neck of the woods, you sometimes drive by tiny little cemeteries by busy city streets that have room enough for half a dozen graves that have been there for 150 years. Very strange. No babies in backyards though.
You big twat, you and your seductive waterfall hairwash face... Raymond Chandler originally called his book The Big Sheep but decided to edit it out at the last. That's why the plot makes no sense...
I visited North Devon for the first time in May. Your description of the wind and the roads had me Lol-ing. the weather was mixed while I was there, always windy, which I had enough of after 4 days. One day we visited friends who live in Woolacombe overlooking this gorgeous swath of land. There’s a lighthouse there somewhere but I never saw it. The hike starts out as what you think is a gentle downward slope. But after half a bottle of wine and with the wind whipping my hair around my face I decided I’d had enough after about 20 minutes. The walk back felt more like Everest than a gentle slope. But overall I loved north Devon. It’s a wild beautiful place.
Hi Tom, you could put all of these into a book of short stories with us all wondering what is going to happen next, a bit like a lot of Netflix movies. Watch out for the next episode. Another great post, thank you.
Haha! The gaggle of girls brought to mind “Doc Martin” 😆.
And the remoteness - I am from Oz and my London cousin and I once visited the Ring of Kerry in Ireland. We hired a car and ended up driving out to a stony place near the west coast.
“It’s so remote out here” she says, which had me nearly wetting myself laughing - it was about 15 minutes drive from the little town we had been in, albeit fairly a fairly stony and rough path.
When she visited me, although we flew to Alice Springs, we still didn’t get close to anywhere “remote”!
Oh yes, North Devon where the roads want to keep you in one place, - the unending roadworks whose only end is your own will to live (or maybe just the end of your will to go anywhere else - and the reluctant acceptance that you are better off staying in the village because the road out is extra busy, buses are running late, and some don’t even arrive). The little thrill you get when driving home, south on the M5, and you finally see Barnstaple mentioned; the turn off at junction 27 where you say to yourself “almost home now” full-knowing that your destination is little less than an hour away, and wondering if you will have to take the diversion at Aller Cross - is the Link Road STILL closed at night? Travelling along the A39 and looking out to see Lundy clearly, and when travelling from Clovelly back towards Bideford, looking out to see if you can see Wales. The delight of watching the rain come in across the bay….
A great description of the area from someone who has lived here for 25 years 😊
A lovely read, as someone who’s currently getting ready to escape the city to secluded nature for a few days, you allowed me to get there earlier so to speak. Thanks as always for your wonderful descriptions and stories in and around nature.
Wonderfully descriptive writing, as always, Tom. Got me thinking about the big English counties and the differences between north and south. Shropshire’s a great example with the lovely hills in the south, calmer weather and Ludlow. It’s generally well signed and you can find your way about. North is a different story; flat as a pancake mostly - bottom of the Cheshire plain - windswept and chilly. All big roads lead to Shrewsbury but you’re in trouble if you need to step outside of the four little market towns, as small habitations seem to have a mysterious ability to move overnight. Wem has a particular reputation for being hard to find, even when you’ve lived there for decades, as I well know.
A friend of mine once had to deliver something to an address in a tiny village near Whitchurch. It was November, late in the day with the light failing, so she asked a local for directions. After pondering it for a bit, he replied that he “wun start from ‘ere”, if it were him but suggested she try the other side of the canal. After half an hour of trying to find a road across the canal in the dark, she gave up and spent the next hour trying to find her way home, some 8 miles distance. On researching the address later, she found that houses were numbered identically on each side of the canal in that village, even the street name appeared to be the same.
Hi Tom, just wanted to share what happened today. It’s about you so listen up. I’m in Australia, Queensland, and have been on Substack for a few months. I told my friend about it and being a dear friend she subscribed to my Substack. We haven’t spoken since, but today we talked on the phone, mostly about you, your parents, the cats, your dad’s painting and your delightful writing. Your words are reaching far and wide beyond your little fields and valleys.
I remember travelling up to North Devon from Tiverton to play rugby. You would never simply be playing the other team—you'd be playing the wind, the rain, the mud of North Devon, the Bristol Channel, even the Atlantic. The main aim of the trip was to get back with less than a kilo of mud caked in your hair.
Your description of North Devon was so good and entertaining and realistic! If you really want to sample a frigid hell on Earth go and visit a friend in North Devon and get besieged by unexpected snow. You are trapped in the house by snow drifts and if you are so ignorant of North Devon’s snow demons you will attempt to open a door and dig an escape route. This exposes you to particles of wind powered snow that almost succeed in removing the skin from your face. Yet, on a windless summer day you envy your friend her whitewashed cottage.
A a north Devon resident I can confirm we have been extremely harassed by the weather this weekend!
My neck of the woods, you sometimes drive by tiny little cemeteries by busy city streets that have room enough for half a dozen graves that have been there for 150 years. Very strange. No babies in backyards though.
You big twat, you and your seductive waterfall hairwash face... Raymond Chandler originally called his book The Big Sheep but decided to edit it out at the last. That's why the plot makes no sense...
This is brilliant, more please 👍🏻
Thanks Rachel.
I visited North Devon for the first time in May. Your description of the wind and the roads had me Lol-ing. the weather was mixed while I was there, always windy, which I had enough of after 4 days. One day we visited friends who live in Woolacombe overlooking this gorgeous swath of land. There’s a lighthouse there somewhere but I never saw it. The hike starts out as what you think is a gentle downward slope. But after half a bottle of wine and with the wind whipping my hair around my face I decided I’d had enough after about 20 minutes. The walk back felt more like Everest than a gentle slope. But overall I loved north Devon. It’s a wild beautiful place.
Hi Tom, you could put all of these into a book of short stories with us all wondering what is going to happen next, a bit like a lot of Netflix movies. Watch out for the next episode. Another great post, thank you.
Fascinating and a bit terrifying too. An absorbing read!
Haha! The gaggle of girls brought to mind “Doc Martin” 😆.
And the remoteness - I am from Oz and my London cousin and I once visited the Ring of Kerry in Ireland. We hired a car and ended up driving out to a stony place near the west coast.
“It’s so remote out here” she says, which had me nearly wetting myself laughing - it was about 15 minutes drive from the little town we had been in, albeit fairly a fairly stony and rough path.
When she visited me, although we flew to Alice Springs, we still didn’t get close to anywhere “remote”!
Oh yes, North Devon where the roads want to keep you in one place, - the unending roadworks whose only end is your own will to live (or maybe just the end of your will to go anywhere else - and the reluctant acceptance that you are better off staying in the village because the road out is extra busy, buses are running late, and some don’t even arrive). The little thrill you get when driving home, south on the M5, and you finally see Barnstaple mentioned; the turn off at junction 27 where you say to yourself “almost home now” full-knowing that your destination is little less than an hour away, and wondering if you will have to take the diversion at Aller Cross - is the Link Road STILL closed at night? Travelling along the A39 and looking out to see Lundy clearly, and when travelling from Clovelly back towards Bideford, looking out to see if you can see Wales. The delight of watching the rain come in across the bay….
A great description of the area from someone who has lived here for 25 years 😊
Wonderful writing.
Thanks Simon!
A lovely read, as someone who’s currently getting ready to escape the city to secluded nature for a few days, you allowed me to get there earlier so to speak. Thanks as always for your wonderful descriptions and stories in and around nature.
What a great start to this story of your walk in North Devon... Loved all of it!
Thanks Celia!
Wonderfully descriptive writing, as always, Tom. Got me thinking about the big English counties and the differences between north and south. Shropshire’s a great example with the lovely hills in the south, calmer weather and Ludlow. It’s generally well signed and you can find your way about. North is a different story; flat as a pancake mostly - bottom of the Cheshire plain - windswept and chilly. All big roads lead to Shrewsbury but you’re in trouble if you need to step outside of the four little market towns, as small habitations seem to have a mysterious ability to move overnight. Wem has a particular reputation for being hard to find, even when you’ve lived there for decades, as I well know.
A friend of mine once had to deliver something to an address in a tiny village near Whitchurch. It was November, late in the day with the light failing, so she asked a local for directions. After pondering it for a bit, he replied that he “wun start from ‘ere”, if it were him but suggested she try the other side of the canal. After half an hour of trying to find a road across the canal in the dark, she gave up and spent the next hour trying to find her way home, some 8 miles distance. On researching the address later, she found that houses were numbered identically on each side of the canal in that village, even the street name appeared to be the same.
Hi Tom, just wanted to share what happened today. It’s about you so listen up. I’m in Australia, Queensland, and have been on Substack for a few months. I told my friend about it and being a dear friend she subscribed to my Substack. We haven’t spoken since, but today we talked on the phone, mostly about you, your parents, the cats, your dad’s painting and your delightful writing. Your words are reaching far and wide beyond your little fields and valleys.
Wonderful, Tom.
I remember travelling up to North Devon from Tiverton to play rugby. You would never simply be playing the other team—you'd be playing the wind, the rain, the mud of North Devon, the Bristol Channel, even the Atlantic. The main aim of the trip was to get back with less than a kilo of mud caked in your hair.
Thanks Jeffrey. I can imagine!