Up the creek – Devon Part 2

Hello and welcome to the latest blog from the Olivia Rose Diaries on November 23rd 2024 with the second installment from our trip to Devon.

Our holiday cottage was situated in a village called Newton Ferrers, nestling precariously on the steep hills that rise up from the River Yealm. The rivers and creeks in this area are tidal and so twice a day the waters would drain away, and boats that had seemed so graceful as they bobbed gently on their mooring buoys now found themselves on their sides, ungainly and mud-bound, until the water would flow back in and paint a different picture.

Devon is, in parts, a county of holiday cottages and second homes, of gourmet dining, bistro pubs and cafés, much of it aimed at the well-to-do tourist. So often this leads to a village or town losing a permanent, live-in community and the inevitable consequence is that it also loses its heart and soul. Of course we were strangers just passing through, with no point of reference other than that which we could see in the few short days of our visit, but it seemed to us as if this pretty village had avoided that fate and still had a healthy heartbeat.

Locals sat on stools by the bar in the pubs, and they greeted us warmly, surely not an easy attitude to maintain when swamped by tourists over the long summer season. At night lights twinkled gently all around the hillside, glowing in living rooms and kitchens, proof that there was a thriving local community at a time of year when tourists were low in numbers.

In the post office, the local delicatessen, or the Co-op people came to pick up their papers or bread and knew each other by name. As they walked their dogs they stopped to chat and on Sunday, as the bells tolled, there was a steady stream of people dressed in black with a red poppy pinned to their clothing, all heading to the church for the remembrance service.

Thanks to it’s geographical location this was a peaceful valley with virtually no road noise. During the day blackbirds and robins sang their way from tree to tree and at night we fell asleep to the sound of owls hooting. By pure luck we had stumbled on a little gem.

Footpaths along the estuary,  beach walks along golden sand and cliff-top coastal trails. Old churches and their graveyards. Endless skies, some grey but mostly blue, fresh air, and the sea stretching to the horizon.

Another feature of this county is the infamous Devonshire lanes. Barely wide enough for a single car in many instances, wiggling their way up and down steep hills, with passing places few and far between. Often the lane is bounded by high banks and hedges, completely obscuring any view. We had our fair share of long reverses, punctuated by screeching to a halt and sitting bumper-to-bumper, waiting to see who would weaken first and reach for the reverse gear. This stop-start way of travelling would have been unbearable in the height of holiday season and must surely have led to frayed tempers. In fact I suspect the whole area in summer would have been far too full of people for our liking but, as you will see from the photos below, we couldn’t have asked for more as a mid-winter break.

And that’s it for another week. Our time here is drawing to an end and we are preparing for our journey home. Hope all is well with you and see you again soon.

MJ