Dormy House, a classic country house hotel located right at the top of the Farncombe Estate. It was William Blake who wrote about “England’s fair and pleasant land…” He used the phrase to add contrast to the “dark satanic mills” of the early industrial revolution, but the concept still works today given the steady urbanisation of our landscapes. I was thinking this as we drove through the Cotswolds the other day. The thought — and the pleasant surroundings we were passing through — inspired me to repeat in my mind something I’ve been musing over for the past year or so… That one of things you can enjoy when you’ve reached retirement age (or semi-retirement in my case) is the time and ability to explore your own country. Where We Stayed in the Northern Cotswolds Dormy House Hotel, Farncombe Estate Dormy House is a luxurious country house hotel set high on the Cotswold escarpment above Broadway. Known for its “farmhouse chic” interiors, roaring fires and the celebrated House Spa, it recently secured a top-20 placing in the Condé Nast Traveler awards. Guests can stay in stylish rooms, suites and converted barns, some with private outdoor hot tubs. The Fish Hotel, Farncombe Estate The Fish offers a more adventurous style of countryside escape with luxury treehouses, woodland hideaways and shepherd’s huts scattered across the slopes above Broadway. Its restaurant, The Hook, serves a seafood-inspired menu featuring dishes such as Cornish mussels and charcoal-cooked market fish. One of the luxurious lounges at Dormy House When you’re working full-time you tend, if you can afford it, to use your holiday periods for something special. You might worry about inclement weather so you pack your family on a plane and fly off to guaranteed sunshine. Now, though, a person like me (and a million like me, including a great many readers of this newspaper) can find that we’ve a lot more time on our hands — so why not explore our own fair and pleasant land? Why Staycations in England Are More Popular Than Ever This notion was underlined when we reached our destination up on the north-western edge of the Cotswolds. We had been invited to stay at two different establishments on the Farncombe Estate — an elegant hotel and a rather intriguing location featuring luxurious shepherd’s huts and other intriguing abodes set in a forest — and both were impressively filled with happy customers despite the fact it was early March. It’s worth repeating an email I received last week from a company that specialises in analysing trends in the travel industry. It said the most popular search word at present is the term “staycation”, which is not exactly surprising given happenings in the Middle East and daily TV reports showing airport queues filled with people desperate to get home. Hikers on the Cotswold Way near Dormy House The Cotswolds National Landscape So it was very pleasant indeed to find ourselves tootling through the Cotswolds — the quintessential heart of “middle England” — a landscape so distinctive it was designated an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty (AONB) in 1966. Now officially known as the Cotswolds National Landscape, it spans nearly 800 square miles (it is the largest AONB in England and Wales) and stretches across six counties from just south of Stratford-upon-Avon down to Bath. The name is a marriage of history and geography. While “Cots” probably refers to an old word for sheep pens (or maybe a Saxon landowner named Cod), a “wold” is an Old English term for high, open unwooded hills or rolling upland. Which describes the region perfectly — a limestone escarpment of honey-coloured stone with villages nestled into “folds” and “wolds”. Along the AONB’s high western edge, the views across the Severn Vale extend away towards the Malvern Hills, and where the escarpment eventually curves east around its northern corner, you can see the Vale of Evesham stretching into the mists of the Midlands proper. It’s at this north western corner that we found the Farncombe Estate — a 500-acre multi-tiered destination which is rapidly gaining a world-class reputation. Accommodation varies widely at the Farncombe Estate - these fun "treehouses" are at The Fish Staying at Farncombe Estate: Dormy House and The Fish Hotel The estate, in short, is a bit of a chameleon, offering all things to all men and women. You get a different flavour of hospitality depending on which of its entities you visit or stay at. We were booked for a two-night stay to sample two of the three main establishments, starting with Dormy House — a classic country house hotel located right at the top of the estate. The PR people describe it as “farmhouse-chic (all about roaring log fires and sumptuous interiors). Yep… I’d go along with that — and so would other travel journalists more qualified than me. Dormy House recently scooped a top-20 spot in the Condé Nast Traveler awards. Open fires are a feature at Dormy House The hotel’s House Spa was described as a “Scandi-style sanctuary where you can drift between an outdoor hot tub and a thermal suite — perfect for soaking away the damp of a Cotswold mist.” We spent a night in one of the hotel’s comfortable converted barns, which happened to have its own private outdoor hot-tub. So I did just that. A nippy Cotswold mist had rolled in just after our arrival, so I duly whipped off the cover and sank everything but the Hesp eyes and lengthy nose into the hot and warming bubbles. There is something altogether opulent about observing horrible weather from the depths of a hot-tub with all the jets blasting. This not very exhausting interlude was followed by a rather opulent and extremely tasty dinner in the Dormy House dining room. Which was where I discovered that we weren’t the only ones up there in the March mists of the Cotswold escarpment. Every table in the sizeable dining room was taken. Maybe it was to do with the Condé Nast award, but when you see that kind of popularity you know the establishment is doing something right. The blue lounge at Dormy House Exploring the Northern Cotswolds Villages After a comfortable night and a magnificent breakfast fit for one of the old kings of Mercia, the morning mists evaporated and we did a day’s exploring around the northern Cotswolds. Despite the famous names of some of the pretty towns and villages, neither my wife or I had ever been to this neck of the woods before and, needless to say, we liked the area very much. Not so much for the countryside. Nice. Beautiful, I’m sure, if you live in the middle of Birmingham. But if you reside in the West Country peninsula somewhere like Exmoor National Park, then you’re rather spoiled when it comes to stunning scenery. However, the aforementioned towns and villages are an absolute joy. To explore the north-western fringes of the Cotswolds is to move through a landscape where the geology dictates the architecture. Everything built by human hand is born of that warm, oolitic limestone that seems to hold the evening light. Churchyard entrance at Stow on the Wold Stow-on-the-Wold We began by driving 15 minutes down (and temporarily back into the mist) to famous Stow-on-the-Wold, a town built by, and for, the wool trade and positioned at an intersection betwixt the valleys and uplands. I say “famous” because you only have to spend two minutes there to realise this is one of the AONB’s main tourism honeypots. It was filled with Americans and folk from somewhere east of India on a chilly March day — goodness knows what it must be like in summer. The market square speaks of a time when 20,000 sheep would change hands in a single afternoon. The massive church speaks of all the money that must have been made back in those happy woolly days. Despite the crowds and gift shops, I liked Stow. Moreton-in-Marsh From there, it was north to Moreton-in-Marsh, which sits in the Evenlode Valley. Unlike the huddle of its neighbour, Moreton is broad and linear — a classic coaching stop on the old Roman Fosse Way where the wide High Street still feels like a place of transit and trade. Chipping Campden Church and Gate-house Chipping Campden Turning back towards the hills, Chipping Campden boasts what is sometimes said to be the finest high street in England — a long, curved ribbon, honey-stone affair that was bathed in the midday winter sun. This charming town feels preserved, but not fossilised. Despite being prettier than the previous stops, there were far fewer tourists, but the place was buzzing nevertheless with local folk coming hither and thither. I bought a very good homemade pork pie and sat on a bench in the main street watching this very pleasant world go by while my wife dipped in and out of the shops. The interior of the old market-house at Chipping Campden Broadway Finally, we wound our way across to Broadway, tucked under the lee of the hills and situated directly beneath the main Farncombe Estate. It is the “show village” of the north-Cotswold-Evesham-Vale region — an undeniably handsome little place — again, teeming with visitors enjoying the rare afternoon sunshine. But a different mix of visitors here — I’d say these were mainly British tourists enjoying a day out in the wide and pretty main street with all its eateries and shops. For me the magic occurred when I looked back up toward the ‘wolds’ to see the high ground we’d just traversed. And also to see the woodlands of the Farncombe Estate which were to play host to the second half of our visit. Staying at The Fish Hotel Shepherd huts in the woodlands at The fish The Fish has been described as “quirky and playful”. If Dormy House is the refined elder sister, The Fish is the adventurous younger sibling. Located up on the slopes you can see from Broadway, it is a collection of “hideaway huts” and luxury treehouses tucked into the woodlands which surround a central hub where you find the reception and a rather lovely spacious restaurant. We were in one of the double-shepherds’ huts and very cosy it was too with its wood burning stove and hot tub. I particularly liked the “sunshine roof” above the bed — and lay there watching the moon climb above the waving branches of the trees. Dining at The Hook Restaurant A word about the restaurant. The Hook , as it’s called, offers a sophisticated but unpretentious take on seafood. Under the guidance of culinary director Martin Burge, the kitchen offers a “coastal-inspired” menu — which is odd when you think that it’s almost as far from the sea as anywhere in the UK. Cornish mussels, Porthilly oysters, and whole-market fish cooked over charcoal. Despite the distance from salty water, it does seafood as well as any coastal restaurant I’ve visited. My gurnard, braised octopus and cuttlefish in a bouillabaisse sauce was a triumph. Clean, unfussy, with all the right flavours showing through. All served in a bright, open space which at breakfast turned out to enjoy vast views of the vale beyond. By the way, all this splendour at the Farncombe Estate proved to be wonderfully “unstuffy”. We were able to take our dog and The Fish even has a dedicated “pooch playground”. Foxhill Manor Our two nights did not include a stay at the estate’s Foxhill Manor — the Grade II listed manor house that was recently named the Number One Hotel in the UK, which is no small feat for a house with just eight bespoke bedrooms. Oh well. Maybe next time. Which is quite possible now I have time to explore my own fair and pleasant land. Travel Information The Fish Hotel is running a “Kids Stay Free” offer in Easter holidays and May half term, and Dormy House currently has a Spring Escape offer. Visit: https://dormyhouse.co.uk/experiences/special-breaks/ https://thefishhotel.co.uk/special-breaks/

The Narrative Pair: Lammoran and Hamilton My new novel, The Cornish Snapper: The Granite Mystery , is a thrilling adventure set in the salt-sprayed landscapes of West Cornwall. The narrative follows regional crime correspondent Thomas Hamilton and his partnership with a remarkable young press photographer, Veryan Lammoran . In this dynamic duo, Hamilton plays the world-weary Dr. Watson to Veryan’s intuitive Sherlock Holmes. Set in 2002—a pivotal era for journalism—the story unfolds as the old "newspaper hack" looks on askance while the youthful ‘snapper’ utilizes the brand-new power of digital photography. Together, they uncover the truth behind two feuding fishing families on the craggy coasts of West Penwith . Challenging the "Death of Crime Fiction" The seed for this story was planted back in 2002 after I heard a BBC Radio 4 discussion suggesting that the traditional "whodunnit" was dead. The experts argued that modern forensics and police procedurals had made the amateur sleuth—the Miss Marples and Sherlock Holmes of the world—obsolete. I disagreed. As a journalist for a major regional daily, I knew that crime correspondents still have every reason to be "sniffing around" a story. But the real "brainwave" was the photographer. The Digital Revolution as a Forensic Tool In 2002, digital cameras were revolutionising the newsroom. I realised that a photographer armed with a high-end lens and a laptop was the perfect modern detective. They could blow up images to reveal tiny, hidden clues that the naked eye—and the police—might miss in the heat of the moment. While the reporter (Hamilton) records the twists and turns, the snapper (Veryan) provides the investigative grit. Creating the Characters The dynamic truly clicked into place during a conversation with the talented Cornish photographer Emily Whitfield Wicks . She suggested that the photographer should be a woman. Suddenly, the "odd couple" pairing made sense: a vibrant, camouflage-clad young woman working alongside a stale, world-weary reporter who has "been there and got the T-shirt." While Veryan Lammoran is her own person, she shares Emily’s penchant for ex-army gear. As for Thomas Hamilton? There may be a few bits of myself in there—but as any journalist knows, the line between fact and fiction is where the best stories begin. The Setting: West Cornwall West Cornwall is not just a backdrop; it’s a character in its own right. The rugged cliffs, the crashing waves, and the quaint fishing villages all contribute to the atmosphere of the story. I wanted readers to feel the salty breeze and hear the gulls cry as they delve into the narrative. The landscape is steeped in history and mystery, making it the perfect setting for a tale of intrigue. Themes of Friendship and Trust At its core, The Cornish Snapper: The Granite Mystery explores themes of friendship and trust. As Hamilton and Veryan navigate the murky waters of crime and deception, they learn to rely on each other’s strengths. Their relationship evolves, showcasing how collaboration can lead to unexpected discoveries. It’s a reminder that sometimes, the best partnerships come from the most unlikely pairings. Thomas Hamilton - the world-weary newspaper hack who writes the words The Role of Technology in Storytelling In today’s digital age, technology plays a crucial role in storytelling. Veryan’s use of digital photography not only enhances the investigation but also reflects the changing landscape of journalism. It’s fascinating to see how tools evolve and influence the way we tell stories. I wanted to highlight this shift and show how it can empower characters to uncover the truth. The Importance of Authenticity Authenticity is vital in both food and travel journalism. I strive to bring real stories to life, ensuring that every detail resonates with readers. Whether it’s the flavours of a local dish or the essence of a place, I believe in capturing the heart of the experience. This novel is no different; it’s a celebration of the rich tapestry of life in Cornwall. Veryan Lammoran, newspaper photographer extraordinaire A Journey of Discovery As you read The Cornish Snapper: The Granite Mystery , I hope you embark on a journey of discovery. The twists and turns of the plot will keep you on the edge of your seat, while the characters will tug at your heartstrings. It’s a blend of suspense and emotion, designed to engage and entertain. Join the Adventure I invite you to join Hamilton and Veryan on their thrilling adventure. Together, they navigate the complexities of crime, friendship, and the ever-changing world of journalism. You can purchase the book here and dive into the mystery that awaits!

There’s nothing like travel to broaden the mind - especially in the world of cookery where ideas from other countries can massively expand your culinary range. Dimos Balopoulos is head chef at the Daios Cove five star luxury resort in eastern Crete, and last weekend he was telling me how each winter his bosses send him around the world to work for short spells in top kitchens so that he can expand his kitchen’s repertoire.  And if it’s good enough for a leading light like Dimos, it’s good enough for an amateur like me. Indeed, one reason I was in Crete was to learn a bit more about how the Greeks in general - and the Cretans in particular - centre all their culinary practices on the quality of local ingredients.  Here’s an unlikely example which Cretan home-cooks share with their neighbours across the Aegean in Puglia - it concerns what they call “wild greens” (horta in Greece), plants which most English people would describe as weeds. As wild edible plants pop their heads above the rocky soil in both places, so they’ll be collected daily by men and women from the rural villages, and at weekends by those who live in towns.   “You can find many varieties in Crete which come out season by season,” says Dimos. “So what local people do is collect them and preserve them - you can’t eat all you pick. Some they pickle, others they salt or freeze. And they use them all year.” He is talking about things like dandelion leaves, wild rocket, even thistle stalks. “First the put them in salt and then wash them and put them in (white wine) vinegar in a jar. That is happening in every Cretan farm because they cannot eat all they pick when it’s in season.” And so the pickled vegetables - which are delicious - have become a feature of Cretan cuisine. One which a top chef like Dimos adapts and extends until pickled vegetables become a small but important signature of his five-star cooking.  Why aren’t we pickling wild vegetables? Why don’t we have that kind of foraging as part of our culinary tradition? Such things are a mystery to me. It’s not as if our forefathers always lived so high on the hog, they didn’t go hungry. Wild greens, seaweeds and other things besides were left untouched… We’ve got them, but for some reason the peasants of this land never ate them, no matter how desperate they became.  If I am wrong about that and they did - then how is it the routine never became a part of a tradition which saw the dishes being handed down?       What I like about talking to chefs like Dimos is how linked with such tradition - and with such simple local ingredients - they seem to be. We were talking about eating sea-urchin - the spiny shellfish which he told me had become illegal to harvest in Crete. Not that this seems to stop anyone from gingerly picking them out of the rocks - indeed one cove I visited was black with them.   “With the sea urchins you are literally eating the sea when it comes to the flavour,” said Dimos. “We like them best simply eaten fresh on their own. But then we can adapt them into the sort of cooking we do here.  “Every winter the hotel sends us around the world looking for fresh ideas. Last year we went to Oslo and worked there in a three-Michelin star restaurant called Maaemo. The year before we went to Copenhagen and worked at Kadeau. These are some of the very best restaurants in the world. So yes, we can say that we travel and pick up ideas - to see what is going on and to open our eyes. “What we do at Daios Cove is call in all the producers to show us what they have - this is happening at the beginning of the season and we choose all the ingredients and make a deal with them for the whole year. We are one of the very few hotels doing that. We have this one day when they all come here - and we do a deal with the man, say, who is going to produce us our tomatoes. He comes from 40 minutes away and he grows his tomatoes out in the sunshine and they are superb.   “All our seafood is coming from around this island. Every morning I go to the fish market in town (Agios Nikolaos) and every night they call me - even at one at night - to tell me if there’s anything special which they will buy straight from the boat for me. “What we do here is combine what happens in a local farmhouse kitchen with modern techniques from around the world,” said Dimos who pointed to one dish I’d enjoyed that lunchtime. “Your starter was a kind of risotto with a greek salad inside and raw prawns that have been ‘ceviched’ for ten minutes in lemon juice, pepper and paprika. We cut the prawns in half to marinate them - and we might also add sea urchin.” It was sensational. The freshness of a Greek salad, the creaminess of a risotto and the raw citric fishiness of prawns and urchin combined to create something that arguably encapsulated eastern Crete in a single mouthful.  The challenge I’ve given myself is to replicate the dish loosely by using fabulous fresh ingredients from here in the UK. The citrus and the rice wouldn’t be local but I might find alternatives - even so, it should be possible to emulate the idea and create some morsel that sums up Cornwall, say, in one happy bite. RECIPE from Dimos Balopoulos, head chef at the Daios Cove, Crete. Smoked octopus escabeche with black guacamole and salad of fermented cucumber, turnip.  Ingredients: For the Octopus 600-700 gr octopus Salt- pepper to taste 1 medium onion 4 Bay leaves Olive oil ½ cup red wine For the black guacamole 2 avocados peeled and pitted 1 green chilli  1/2 cup fresh coriander  salt pepper to taste 30 ml lime juice 1 tsp squid ink For the escabeche  360ml white balsamic vinegar  120ml rice vinegar  6 pieces all spice berries  2 tsp smoked paprika  7 garlic gloves diced 4 white onions diced 1 chilli  240 ml extra virgin olive oil salt  60 gr roasted almonds   Smoked Octopus: Pre-heat the oven on 160°C. Wash the octopus and remove its head. Then separate the tentacles, cut them into long strips and place them in paper foil with olive oil, salt and pepper, the onion, the bay leaves, and drizzle it with red wine. Wrap in oven proof baking paper and then wrap again with aluminium foil Place in the oven for one hour. When you remove it from the oven, separate octopus from the juices. Black Guacamole: In a blender add the avocado first and all the ingredients to make a creamy black sauce. Escabeche In a frying pan heat the olive oil, onions, garlic until they’ve turned transparent. Then transfer to a blender with the rest of the ingredients and blend until it turns into a smooth cream. Salad Lightly pickled cucumber cut in julienne style Lightly pickled turnip julienne style Chopped cherry tomatoes Spoonful of capers Spoonful of olives onion that you have pickled briefly To serve: Mix and place the salad on a plate then add the guacamole and either place the octopus which has been combined with the escabeche sauce or place the octopus with the sauce on the top.

Discover a Hidden Gem in Cornwall 🌿 Just under a quarter of a century ago, I visited the remarkable Trebah Gardens in Southern Cornwall to meet with the owner, the late Tony Hibbert. What follows is the article I wrote at the time for the Western Morning News. Every now and again in the West Country, you can come across a spot that somehow speaks of another world. You turn a corner perhaps, and all of a sudden, you are plunged into somewhere full of bright exoticism. Our northern climes give way to the sub-tropical , and we are immersed in some dazzling, magical demesne. Such a trick would be just about impossible anywhere else in the kingdom without the aid of acres of glass, but Cornwall is home to at least half-a-dozen brilliant wonderlands. Gardens that seem to think they’re far closer to the Equator than they are. None, however, offers quite such a geographical warp as the gardens at Trebah . Read more about Trebah Gardens on the official website . A Journey to Trebah Gardens 🚶‍♂️ To explore this south-facing coombe in southerly Cornwall is to immerse oneself in a distant, far-flung sub-tropical land—without ever having to reach for a passport or a visa. "Look at it – just look at it," sighed Tony Hibbert, who has spent the past 23 years working tirelessly on his 26-acre estate. He uttered this instruction with pride as we stood in front of his house at the very top of the garden. "When I first took in this view, the intention was to sit here enjoying it with a gin-and-tonic in my hand. But I never had much time for the G-and-T as it turned out; the place sort of took over our lives." It’s easy to see why. The deep, mysterious coombe at Trebah seems to beckon, as you peer down from its brink. Perhaps it’s something to do with the waters that glimmer at the end of the valley. The flashing wavelets of the Helford estuary seem to insinuate themselves throughout the demesne. Learn more about the Helford River and its surroundings. There’s something about a garden that leads down to the sea—you cannot help but feel an overwhelming desire to stroll down its shady, sylvan length to the shore. A Stroll Through Trebah's Wonders 🌸 Such places contain two of the world’s most beautiful sounds: the soughing of breeze in the treetops and the boom of surf upon sand . Even with your eyes closed, you know you are somewhere special. And you know this even more if you are lucky enough to be escorted around by Tony Hibbert himself. Not only is the sprightly 83-year-old extremely knowledgeable about the wide diversity of flora that populates his wonderland, but he’s also excellent company. Here’s an example of the sort of thing I was treated to as we whisked around the garden on a private tour: "There used to be some banana trees just here years ago," smiled Mr. Hibbert, pointing at what is now a crystal-clear pond full of Koi carp . "The then Prince of Wales came with Wallace Simpson and was surprised to see huge yellow bananas growing in Cornwall. He even bestowed some sort of medal on the head gardener, only for the gardener to be sacked the next day for wiring store-bought bananas to the trees!" The Sub-Tropical Marvels of Trebah 🌴 The anecdotes continued as we made our way around the dreamy demesne—down through the water garden , through the many mighty bamboos in an area called the Bamboozle , to Ninky's Pool and Dinky's Puddle . These attractive ponds are named after two beautiful Dutch girls who had brave parents that helped Mr. Hibbert escape during World War II. Find more about Trebah's WWII history. The WWII theme is repeated right at the bottom of the garden, where memorials pay tribute to the 7,500 brave men who set off from this very spot en-route to Omaha Beach for the D-Day landings. A small path allows access to Yankee Beach and Polgwidden Cove , where visitors can enjoy the watery vistas of one of the region’s most beautiful rivers. Trebah's Unique Flora 🌺 Back in the garden, Mr. Hibbert introduced me to a rare rhododendron called the Trebah Gem , which forms part of the Queen’s plant collection. We then moved to the many different varieties of bamboo that grow luxuriantly in the warm confines of the damp valley. At certain times of the year, the bamboo grows at an incredible rate—with some knots on the stem representing a full day’s growth, stretching as much as a foot apart. We were awed by the big South American trees in Chilean Coombe , enamored by the 'Handkerchief Trees' , astonished by the magnolias from the slopes of Everest, and amazed by the 150-year-old Sequoias . A Garden Steeped in History 📜 The garden at Trebah first began to take shape just under 200 years ago when it was bought by the Fox family of Falmouth . The family, known for their extraordinary energy, created many great gardens in South Cornwall. Charles Fox planted the ravine as it is today, importing seeds and plants from all over the world. He also built a massive red-brick mansion, but only the original building remains today, housing Mr. Hibbert’s flat and the garden’s offices. Later, the Hext family bought the estate and filled the lower pool with flamingos, bringing the gardens to the peak of their reputation in the early 1900s. Trebah Gardens opened to the public in 1987, and by 1990, visitor numbers had reached 50,000 a year. See how Trebah has evolved over the years. That was when the Hibberts formed the Trebah Garden Trust to ensure the gardens would remain open for public enjoyment forevermore. Visiting Trebah Gardens 🏞️ Work on the garden is ongoing, but recent developments have made a huge difference to the visitor experience. The new architect-designed coffee-house, restaurant, and shop area houses a large art gallery featuring work by artists inspired by this beautiful part of the county. Compared to the price of an airline ticket to somewhere equally exotic, admission to Trebah Gardens is a great value. There’s even an exciting jungle-like 'Tarzan camp' for children who might tire of floral exoticism. Trebah is truly a must-visit for all garden lovers, especially those who appreciate a taste of the sub-tropical in the heart of Cornwall.

Walkers at Trevalga on Cornwall's north coast Discovering Trevalga: A Village with a Story Always take a map – that’s my motto. Failure to do so could end in disappointment. Not that there’s anything in any way disappointing about this amazing walk - it’s just that now I’m returned home and looking at OS Explorer 111 map, I realise there’s a slightly more intriguing route available for those looking for a hike around Trevalga. Anyone who asks “Where?” will have missed the news story several years ago reporting how the charming Cornish village was sold over the heads of its many unwitting and worried tenants. I went down to the North Cornish coast halfway between Boscastle and Tintagel to interview some of these people, and ended the day feeling guilty. Why? Because after I’d heard about their fears of eviction and the like, I went for a jolly nice walk. So pleasant, that I could understand anyone feeling deeply depressed having to leave such a place. Anyway, in my rush to travel to Cornwall I forgot to take the trusty Explorer map 111 – and so eventually contented myself with a simple walk along the coast path from Trevalga to Tintagel, where I caught a bus back. The Unintended Walk: Trevalga to Tintagel Coast Path A Missed Opportunity: The Scenic Circular Route via St Nectan's Glen Had I been armed with the map I’d have done the much more interesting – but no less scenic – circular route along the coast, then up famous St Nectan’s Glen so that I could return via Tredole Farm down the tiny lane back to Trevalga. In fact, so wonderful does that route seem that I have promised myself a return visit soon. But in the meantime, let’s find Trevalga and the start point of either walk. Fact File: Essential Information for Your Trevalga Walk Basic walk: from Trevalga down to coast path then west to Tintagel. Recommend map: Ordnance Survey Explorer 111. Distance and going: just over four miles – up and down a bit but easy going.  Return bus service: The 594/595 service runs from Bude to Truro, calling at Boscastle, Tintagel and Port Isaac Getting to Trevalga: Finding the Start Point The village is located down a cul-de-sac just off the B3263 Boscastle-Tintagel road – I must have driven past it 100 times without even noticing the place before. Its lane meanders past a jumble of cottages, a fine old church and a farm to eventually terminate at the entrance to a private drive and an agricultural track. There is just enough room at this junction of the ways for a few cars to park. The village of Trevalga on Cornwall's north coast Setting Off: From Farm Track to Coastal Views I took the farm track and this conveyed me a few hundred metres to the coast path. From here I could see a walk which featured on this page just a few weeks ago – the Boscastle stroll around the mighty bastion of Willapark is just a couple of coastal miles to the north-east. But this time I was heading westwards, initially because photographer Emily Whitfield-Wicks wanted to show me the remarkable rock feature called the Ladies Window. The Ladies Window: A Must-See Coastal Feature In high season this hole in the rocks is obviously something of an iconic must-see – we came across several dozen all queuing to have their photographs taken while posing in the natural aperture high above the sea. Most were either German or Dutch. After we’d waited our turn, and Emily had duly taken a picture of me looking grockle-like in the rocky and vertiginous window, we parted and I strode off along the coast. Continuing West: Scenic Miles to Tintagel It’s about three miles to Tintagel – and three very scenic miles they are. First the coast path makes a gentle descent, past Firebeacon Hill and down along the top of Trevalga Cliff beyond which it skirts a campsite to finally drop deep into the mouth of Rocky Valley. Rocky Valley and Beyond: Coastal Beauty Unveiled This is where I could have turned inland – climbing up what must be one of the most dramatic river valleys in the region, to cross the road into St Nectan’s Glen. Instead I carried on my own sweet coast path way – up over the cliffs that line beautiful Benoath Cove and Bossiney Haven. It says something about the great knack Cornwall has of keeping secrets that even on a sunny day in August these jewel-like sandy beaches were almost empty. Hardly a dozen hardy beach-lovers were down there on the golden sand – and would certainly have joined them for an hour or two if I’d had the time. But for me the coast path rounded the corner of a great headland which, like its Boscastle neighbour a few miles up the coast, is also called Willapark. Why two Willaparks? What does the word mean? The path now continues along plainly named Smith’s Cliff, high above exotic sounding Gullastem Cove. Then there’s Barras Gug – whatever a gug is – and Barras Nose. Tintagel's Legendary Castle: Myth and History Only then do we finally see the famous castle perched so dramatically on the great bold bastion of Tintagel Head. Of all the castles in all the world, it is difficult to imagine one more laden with myth and fancy than the 1 romantic, sea-borne, fortifications at Tintagel.   For those who may, somehow, have escaped the legend, it goes something like this: King Arthur’s mother, Ygerna, was the most beautiful woman in Britain – a fact which brought her to the attentions of violent King Uther Pendragon. He invaded Cornwall specifically so he could have his wicked way with her, despite the fact that she was married to one Gorlois, ruler of Cornwall. Ygerna was hidden at Tintagel, while Gorlois’s Cornish forces were besieged at a hill-fort near by. But Uther was so smitten with lust he couldn’t be bothered to mess about fighting and asked his friend Merlin if he could come up with a magical shortcut. The bearded one brought him a drug that would change the king into a living, breathing, copy of Gorlois. Effectively disguised, the wicked Uther managed to gain entry to the queen’s bed, where he “satisfied his desire” - and Arthur was conceived. English Heritage rules the airy roost nowadays and you must pay an entry fee if you want to explore the place where King Arthur is said to have begun his life. Returning from Tintagel: Completing the Journey I’d been across to the fortress many times before, so for me it was a quick climb up to Tintagel village where I caught one of the regular buses that runs along the coast to Boscastle, passing Trevalga as it does. HERE IS THE NEWS STORY I WROTE IN 2010 Life in a beautiful Cornish “bubble” could go pop today. “Bubble” is how some residents describe the small village of Trevalga, perched above the north Cornish sea cliffs, because it is the only community dominated by affordable rented properties in a coastal area where villages are full of holiday cottages and second homes.  But the Manor of Trevalga, along with its five tenant farms and 16 rented houses and cottages, goes up for sale today with a price tag which expected to be in the region of £10 million. And the tenants are losing sleep with worry.   People like Jess Frohlick-Watson have called Trevalga home for decades, and most thought their tenancies were safe long into the future because the large estate was part of a legacy set up by a man who loved the place and its community.  But Jess, who has lived in Trevalga most of her life, was close to tears when she spoke to me this week because she fears new owners may develop the unspoilt but highly scenic honey-pot village which boasts stunning views of the coast. Her children are the family’s fifth generation to reside at Trevalga – now Jess worries they’ll be the last because her short-term tenancy will offer little in the way of protection. “We could be out within two months,” she told me, speaking in the small back garden of the cottage that has been her home for the past 15 years. “The worse case scenario is that my children, who are 14 and six, could be evicted from their beds - their home - just so other children can have a nice holiday in the countryside. “We could be homeless by Christmas, we just don’t know,” Jess went on. “If the estate is bought by someone who wants to turn it into second homes or holiday lets, it will be a ghost town for nine months of the year.  “And they will be kicking out families, for that…?” asked Jess, filled with obvious emotion.   “My biggest worry is that we won’t be re-housed in this area – and this is our whole life. It’s not just about it being a home or about the schools. The children have got their clubs, their football teams, and whatever - and they’ll just have to leave it all. “I hope the people at Marlborough College are sleeping well at the moment because, I can tell them, no one in Trevalga is. It’s a close-knit place – we know all our neighbours here. We all trust each other. We all respect each other and get on. But where will we all be?” “There’s nowhere else like it around here,” commented her husband Dax. “This place is like a bubble – the people who live here couldn’t afford to live in the other villages on the coast which are full of holiday homes.” “We’ve paid the rent and looked after the village all these years,” shrugged Jess. “It looks nice and this is how they’ve thanked us!” It’s a story which seems very much at odds with an official document the WMN was shown in a cottage just a few hundred metres down the tiny lane that passes for Trevalga’s pretty main street. It described the intentions of the man who owned the estate and left it to a charitable trust. Gerald Curgenven, a former teacher at Marlborough College, bought the estate in 1934 for £14,000 and tried to ensure it remained untouched long after his death… “With the declared wish that the estate be preserved and improved - and as far as possible not sold or broken up – and that the payment from the estate should go to the trust.” The words were shown to us by Jess’s mother, Linda Frohlick, who has been in her house for 34 years and who is better off than many of the tenants as she has an old fashioned long term lease. “This is a little pearl among the tourist areas,” said Mary, describing the village which is situated halfway between Boscastle and Tintagel. “There is a genuine spirit here.  “I’m one of the lucky ones, but my concern is for the people either side of me who have short-term tenancies. One has spent £1000s on doing the cottage up on the understanding they’d be there for years, because that’s how the estate was always run. And I mean many £1000s. Then there’s a hard working farmer the other side of me – obviously he needs to live here for his work. “It would destroy the community as we know it and the chances are it will just be another holiday village. And there’s another worry - if all the short-hold tenants are evicted they will be competing for the very few houses there are for rent in the area.  “One couple have already given in their notice without waiting to find out what’s going to happen – and I can see their point,” said Mary. “They wanted to be first in the queue to find an alternative home around here.  “The ideal outcome would be for Marlborough College to work with us and find just one buyer who will continue to run it as it is – keep it as just one community. We didn’t know until recently that they owned it outright – they were bequeathed a residual income from the estate after maintenance was paid, so it was a bit of a shock to the village that they suddenly were able to sell it.” As we left her cottage Mary showed us a collection of old photographs: “This one’s of Pentecost Symons – my mum’s father – taken way back in the early part of the last century,” she mused. “He was a farmer and it was taken in the road just out there. Look at it – nothing has changed at all.” That is one of the great joys of Trevalga – there are no gift shops such as the ones to be seen in the two famous neighbouring communities. There are no ice-cream outlets, pubs, fast-food joints or anything else… The place is a living shrine to a Cornwall of earlier times.    Down the sparrow-filled lane towards the sea-cliffs we came across a woman walking her dog. Mother-of-two Katie Leeds is a tenant in the village and she told the WMN that the general belief was that the sale of the estate had been inspired by the recent building of a South West Water sewerage plant nearby. “Boscastle didn’t want it – Tintagel didn’t want it – and so it was built here, which is ironic because all the properties in the village have private cesspits,” said Katie. “But a lot of people think it was the sale of that land that gave Marlborough the idea to sell the whole lot off. “It’s a huge worry to us – everyone here is worried,” said Katie, adding that locals had first been told of a possible sale at a public meeting in the tiny village hall. Villagers learned that lawyers for Marlborough College had discovered that, after half a century, the trust set up by the late Mr Curgenven was invalid - not having an end date or ultimate beneficiary. The private college then took direct ownership of the Trevalga estate, but became concerned that owning such a large asset appeared to contravene the Charity Commission’s guidelines.  That was when the school took the step of instructing Savills estate agency to put the entire estate up for sale, with the one exception St Petroc’s church.  In that hallowed and quiet temple, situated down an unpaved lane to one side of the village, there is a comments book for visitors – the last entry is typical of several written recently…  It says: “We hope Trevalga stays as a proper community…” Even the name of the church bears an irony – the St Petroc Society is a Cornish-based charity that helps look after homeless people. Its list of clients might soon be extended.

Photo by Darren Welsh  on Unsplash   Cornwall is known by many for its dramatic cliffs and sprawling sandy beaches, but what few people outside of the county get to experience is the powerful identity of the area that’s rooted in hundreds of years of history. Its mining and maritime heritage have inspired a culture of people who love the land – a rendition of “Cornwall My Home” performed in a local pub packs enough punch to leave even the most impervious visitors deeply moved and charmed. When it comes to food, Cornwall’s dishes are also influenced by the cultural identity of past generations. There’s hevva cake, enjoyed on St Piran’s Day, stargazy pie, served on Tom Bawcock’s Eve, and pasties enjoyed any time, any place ( once a daily staple of a tin miner’s diet ). These traditional dishes mean far more than just a delicious meal. Hevva cake Gwikor Frank , Tesenhevva , CC BY-SA 4.0   This crumbly teacake is usually made from a mixture of flour, butter, lard, sugar and dried fruit. It’s a traditionally frugal dish, but one that’s sweet, comforting, and enjoyed throughout Cornwall. Hevva cake was traditionally made by fishermen’s wives to welcome their husbands home from a successful fishing trip. Hevva is also known as “heavy” cake, but despite its namesake, it’s more dense than weighty. In fact, hevva is derived from the Cornish “hes va”, which doesn’t mean “heavy” at all. It loosely translates to “there’s a shoal here” – a call that the fishermen’s wives would once listen out for as a sign that it was time to start baking the dish. If you’re visiting Cornwall during spring, it’s worth enjoying the St Piran’s Day festivities  on March 5th, when hevva cake is traditionally served. You’ll also find live music, parades, and a number of other culinary treats if you get involved in the celebrations. Stargazy pie   Kernow Skies, Stary gazy pie , CC BY-SA 3.0 Stargazy pie looks rather more impressive than any pie you’ll have seen before. The dish, which originates from the small fishing village of Mousehole, consists of pilchers or sardines which are baked in a pastry crust. It’s presented with the fish heads and tails popping out of the top of the pie, as if they were gazing at the stars. The dish was created to commemorate Tom Bawcock, a 16th-century fisherman who braved stormy seas to catch enough fish for a huge pie, which ultimately saved his village from starvation. Tom Bawcock’s Eve  is celebrated annually on the 23rd of December. In addition to sampling the famous pie, you’ll get to enjoy music and a colourful lantern procession if you happen to be visiting Mousehole at this time of year. Cornish pasty Image by Sylwester Lukaszonek  from Pixabay Then, of course, there’s the Cornish pasty, one of the most well-known symbols of Cornish culture. Once reserved for the upper classes and filled with a variety of rich meats, fish, gravy and even fruit, the Cornish pasty was later adopted by the working classes in the 17th and 18th centuries – mainly farm workers and miners – and evolved to consist mainly of vegetables as a result. The thick, crimped crust that many of us savour today as the best bit of the dish once served a very practical purpose, allowing miners to hold their pasties without contaminating the part to be eaten with arsenic from the mines. Today, you’ll find shops and cafés selling pasties almost everywhere you go in Cornwall. This hearty snack is something every foodie should treat themselves to upon stepping foot in the county. With meat, fish, vegetarian, and plant-based versions to choose from, nobody misses out. Take a look at Skyscanner’s food trends and travel data  and you’ll see just how great an influence our appetites can have on the places we choose to explore. There are new dishes to be discovered around every corner, no matter where you are in the world – many of them with impressive stories to tell. Sample these Cornish favourites and you’ll gain a deeper understanding of the history, culture and passion of the county’s people.

Robber's Bridge is one of a handful of places to which I return again and again. Weir Water, deep in the bosom of Exmoor, and Robber's Bridge in particular, is always worth a visit - even in high summer when visitors arrive in hordes because they are told the place is the 'real Doone Valley'. Robber's Bridge on Exmoor It isn't, although in the book Jan Ridd, hero of the famous tale, worked his way up the beautiful, haunting, stream tickling for trout when he was a boy. On a blue, cloudless autumn day, I can think of few places I'd rather be. It is the antithesis of industrialised Europe. The great wild steppe of high Exmoor curves down from Hawkcombe Head, Black Mires and Kittuck Moor and, high above, a solitary buzzard flits his great wings with a flash of westering light; a young, hindless, stag makes off towards featureless Outer Alscott and Jan Ridd's fingerlings flicker in the merry stream while a fat crop of fungi rots under the golden leaves of turning woods. Things have changed a little bit since I used to come here as a child with my father, who was forever writing fanciful newspaper columns about the place. I can't imagine why he had nothing better to do but, judging by his cuttings file, the old boy was inordinately drawn to the Doones. He was forever quoting a man called Sir Atholl Oakley who had it in for the Ordnance Survey cartographers. They were the ones who insisted on calling the place the Doone Valley. Sir Atholl obviously had his way in the end because Outdoor Leisure Map 9 has the correct appellation of Weir Water. And, as I say, there have been one or two other changes. Like, for instance, the barbed wire and the electric fence. For hundreds of years farmers got along without these brutal barriers - so why do they need the wretched things now? This valley, for some reason, has sprouted more than its fair share. Another change is the "Circular Walk Around Weir Water". A small wooden sign points left as you stroll out of the car park near the bridge and I, for one, was in no mood to argue with it. Last time I was up here I did a kind of double hike with a second loop in the other direction, once we'd regained Robber’s Bridge, but yesterday we were content to merely do the mile and a half up and around Weir Water. We turned left out of the Robber's Bridge car park, found the circular trail and followed it up Weir Water. And very, very, lovely it was too. If you want to walk further you can return to the bridge, find the steep bridleway that leads up to Culbone Inn, follow it, turn left and descend down Deddycombe to Oare. Then it's simply a matter of wandering back up the stream-side lane. That will give you a five mile figure-of-eight in one of the West Country's most picturesque corners - not bad for a weary walks writer who dreams of sleep and rest. If it had been raining, I could have saved myself yet more trouble by quoting my old dad: "As we left the car at Robber's Bridge and began to walk up Weir Water, there were big, heart-broken rain clouds marching over Black Hill and pushing their shadows up the sunlit slopes of Weirwood Common in a most ominous fashion." Would you believe the old boy wrote an entire column on the subject of getting wet. Journalists had it easy in those days... At least it didn't rain on me - instead the sun belted down with force so that the weirs in Weir Water looked almost bathe-able. They say that's why it's called Weir Water by-the-way, because ridges of rock protrude into the stream at regular intervals causing it to pool into what is, in effect, a long flight of natural weirs. To quote from The Waters of Exmoor, written by Noel Allen: “After its shallow start the Weir Water valley slowly deepens, the sides heather-hung for most of the way especially at this top end. The stream meanders from side to side with many of the loops marshy, and in a few places it has washed close enough under the valley sides to carve out brief sections of high rock walls. The bank sides or a mixture of heather, bracken, and grasses, with hawthorn and rowan the chief bushes, plus a good variety of moorland plants. “The ring ouzel, wheatear, and whinchat all nest high in the valley, and also the rare merlin on occasions.” The first thing you find on the circular route is a marvellous boardwalk which takes you dry-shod across a muddy section. Then we enter a magical zone where hillocky meadows melt into woods and where giant mushrooms can grow beside the path in season. In once found a horse-mushroom here as big as a dinner plate - the great disc of the cap alone hit the scales at exactly one pound and it flavoured a wild mushroom risotto all by itself. The circular route leads into the wildest depths of Weir Water, and then gives up, crosses the river and returns along the southern bank under the steep flanks of Mill Hill. Recommended map: Exmoor Outdoor Leisure 9.

For more than twenty-five years Martin Hesp has written about the landscapes, people and traditions of the West Country. In this episode he reflects on growing up in West Somerset, the shadow that war cast over his childhood, and how local history — from Viking raids to Alfred the Great — shaped the imagination of a generation. If you’ve picked up the Western Morning News  or the Western Daily Press  on a Saturday morning at any point in the last quarter-century, you’ve probably seen my name. Since 1999 — and in truth going back even further, to when I first entered the trade as a seventeen-year-old in 1973 — I’ve spent my life documenting the soul of the West Country. But it was my move to the Western Morning News  at the turn of the millennium that really set the pace. Since then, through the merger of the feature departments of the WMN  and the Western Daily Press , I have been your eyes and ears on the ground. Recently I sat down and did the sums. The numbers are rather startling. Every week for twenty-six years I have produced a 900-word column. When you add the features and the Hesp Out West  travel pieces, we aren’t just talking about a career — we’re talking about a library. That amounts to more than 1.17 million words written specifically for Saturday readers. Think about that for a moment. That’s more than ten hefty novels’ worth of writing, all dedicated to the farmers, fishermen, cider-makers, walkers, storytellers, and the rugged landscapes that make up our peninsula. Over the years I’ve held titles such as Senior Feature Writer  and Editor-at-Large . In truth those titles simply meant I had a licence to be curious — a notebook in my pocket, a tape recorder in my bag, and the freedom to roam from the Somerset Levels to the far edges of the Atlantic coast. But here’s the challenge. Many of the readers who have followed my work since 1999 are part of a loyal, traditional rural readership. They enjoy the feel of newsprint between their fingers and the ritual of reading a newspaper over breakfast. Bringing that audience into the digital world — onto a website and into a podcast — is something of a leap. It’s a journey from the physical pages of the twentieth century into the digital airwaves of the twenty-first. In this episode I’m dipping into the archives. I’m looking back at those twenty-six years of deadlines, the million-plus words, and the thousands of miles travelled in search of stories. From the early days of the newsroom merger to the Hesp Out West  interviews I’m now editing into this very programme. I’m Martin Hesp , and this is a look at a life spent on the road — one Saturday at a time. When the Word “War” Was Everywhere When I was growing up in West Somerset, the word “war”  was never far from people’s lips — especially us boys. Two-thirds of our teachers had fought in the Second World War, and some carried physical wounds to prove it. Many of the male teachers also seemed to bear deeper scars. There was no counselling back then. The term Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder  hadn’t even been invented. But looking back, it seems obvious that some of those troubled men were suffering badly. In the 1950s and 60s nobody spoke about World War Two . It was simply “The War.” Perhaps that was because the memories were still so fresh. Everyone over the age of eighteen had lived through it in some form or another. Hearing the Word Again Now, sixty years later, people are talking about war again. It is not here. We cannot hear the crump of explosions or feel the same immediate fear. But we are aware it is happening somewhere. Perhaps we know someone serving overseas. Or perhaps we are simply watching the numbers tick upwards on the fuel pumps, aware that conflict far away can ripple through everyday life. It’s terrible. Horrible. Frightening. As a West Country newspaper columnist I cannot claim any special wisdom that might shed light on the present conflicts of the world. I have travelled extensively in the region. I have opinions, of course — about governments, leaders and ideologies — but when I see television footage of bombed schools and shattered communities, words fail me. Sometimes when vast events unfold on the world stage, all ordinary people can really do is turn inward and reflect on what war has meant in their own lives. The Fascination of War — Through a Boy’s Eyes Oddly enough, war didn’t frighten us West Country boys back then. We rather liked the idea of it. We read comics filled with daring dogfights. We spent our pocket money on Airfix models of Spitfires and Messerschmitts. And we never tired of war films at the cinema. And we didn’t have to travel far to be reminded that war was real. Just opposite our school lay a field called Battlegore . It had been excavated by the same archaeologist who uncovered the famous Glastonbury Lake Village . Among the finds were human remains and several Bronze Age weapons — including a knife-dagger, a winged axe, and a spearhead dating from between 1500 and 1000 BC. Bones and weapons. No wonder the place was called Battlegore. But those discoveries told a story far older than the local legend which claimed the field had once been the site of a fierce battle between Viking raiders and local men. Vikings on the Somerset Coast According to the chronicles, sometime around 914 or 918 AD , a Viking fleet landed just a mile or two away. Jarls Ohter and Hroald  came ashore intending to pillage the royal mint at Watchet and the estate at Williton. But the local Saxon fyrd  — the militia — was waiting. The Vikings were beaten so thoroughly that the survivors fled across the Bristol Channel to the islands of Steep Holm  or Flat Holm . According to the story, they starved there. As boys we found all this tremendously exciting. Our quiet little corner of Somerset suddenly seemed full of heroic violence and legendary battles. Alfred, Vikings, and a Cinematic Moment We pestered our teachers constantly about the wars they had seen. “What was it like, Sir? Shooting someone — what was it like?” Most of them did not answer. Instead they stared into the distance with a look we did not understand. Many of them were not great teachers. Some even managed to make the famous story of King Alfred burning the cakes  sound dull. But the real history behind those events was anything but dull. The Vikings were attempting to trap Alfred in a pincer movement. Their main army under Guthrum  hunted him through the Somerset marshes, trying to flush him out of the wetlands that protected him like a natural fortress. Meanwhile another Viking warlord, Hubba (or Ubba) , was sent west to block Alfred’s escape into Devon or Cornwall. That plan did not end well. Hubba chased a band of local warriors up to the hillfort above Lynmouth at Countisbury  and surrounded them. The fort had no water supply, so the Vikings simply waited for thirst to do their work. But the trapped Saxons made a desperate decision. Instead of surrendering, they burst from the fort in an all-or-nothing charge. It worked. Hubba was killed, along with somewhere between 800 and 1,200 of his men . The Lesson History Should Teach Now, I realise that describing these ancient battles can become strangely exciting. It’s easy to get carried away with tales of heroic charges and glorious victories. But perhaps that is exactly the point. War often begins as a story told by powerful men — full of bravado, certainty and grand plans. The reality, as generations before us have learned, is very different. Gung-ho shooting matches decided by a handful of bombastic leaders belong in the history books. One would hope humanity might have learned that lesson by now.

Cornwall gets crowded. This August Bank Holliday weekend it will be very crowded. Which means many a Cornish village will be choked with traffic. And when you’re stuck in a car in a traffic jam the idea of a Secret Cornwall might seem to be a very long way away… That might be the case with motorists in the village of Kilkhampton this weekend. Kilk, to give it the local name, is split in two by the busy A39 Atlantic Highway and it often becomes a bottleneck during busy times. What those frustrated motorists will not realise is that they are surrounded by one of the most beautiful villages in Cornwall. I learned to love Kilkhampton after I was invited there to research an article 10 years ago… what follows is a newly re-written version of that article… On windy nights when the Duckpool Roar haunts Kilkhampton the wreckers of yore turn in their graves and murmur to one another in old Devonian accents.  Sounds romantic enough, in a swashbuckling kind of way – which is apt because that’s the sort of place Kilkhampton is. But there are a couple of taboos in my first sentence you perhaps shouldn’t mention if you ever visit this North Cornish village. In the midst of a jolly and amiable meeting with movers and shakers from Kilkhampton I dropped a clanger by mentioning the infamous Cornish wreckers. Silence reigned when I asked if any of the assembled group’s ancestors had lured hapless ships onto the rocks. But that silence wasn’t as deafening as the one that later filled the Methodist Hall when someone suggested the local accent was closer to the brogue of Devon than the burr of Cornwall. If the majority present agreed with the speaker, they weren’t about to say so. And one further dodgy moment occurred – all in good humour I hasten to add - when I asked if Kilkhampton had among its citizens any government spies or spooks. “We’d have to kill you if we told you,” smiled a parish councillor.   I asked the question because GCHQ’s big cliff-top listening station or whatever it is looms on the borders of the parish and it is reasonable to assume some its employees must reside hereabouts. I would choose to live there if I were spending my working life listening in to Al Queada phone-calls or helping to stamp out terrorist plots, because Kilkhampton and its large surrounding parish offers a peaceful and lovely antidote to such horrors. Indeed, Kilk, as the locals call it, represents all that is best about England, its rural culture and its lifestyle - and so is the kind of place that I imagine terrorists would love to destroy.   Much of the 8000-plus acre parish is located on the high plateau that is the birthplace of the River Tamar - the other half is to be found among the beautiful steep coombes and valleys that descend to the surfing beaches and razor cliffs that wrecked so many vessels down the centuries.  Given its location it’s not surprising to learn that Kilk has its fair share of romance. Which indeed, is why I began this article in such a mysterious fashion – I wanted to convey how Kilkhampton has more swash-and-buckle in it’s little finger than most ancient villages do in their entire sword-arms. And that is saying something for a highway burg which is often plagued by traffic. Apart from the unmentionable wreckers, there were smugglers and antediluvian castles. And there were the folk Kilk seems most proud of – its famous swashbuckling squires.  The much celebrated (in Cornwall at least) Grenville family used to be lords of the manor at Kilkhampton. Indeed, the word swashbuckle could have been invented for them… Here’s what was once written about Sir Richard Grenville who dined regularly with Spanish captains from the Main and would, “carouse three or four glasses of wine, and in bravery take the glasses between his teeth and crash them in pieces and swallow them down, so that often the blood ran out of his mouth without any harm at all unto him.” He came to a glorious end in 1591 at the Battle of Flores in the Azores where he’d been sent to fleece Spanish treasure galleons returning across the Atlantic. Aboard his beloved HMS Revenge he took on a much superior Spanish force and sank 16 enemy ships before succumbing to the inevitable.  Tempting though it is, one must not concentrate solely on Kilk’s grandiose and romantic past. The community deserves its place in this series because it is a vibrant and happening place. Motorists travelling along the Atlantic highway from Bideford to Bude will know that - because of its shops and eateries there are always mini-traffic jams in Kilk. Our invitation to Kilk came from local historian Michael Heard who was born and bred in the place and who has lived there all his life. It was Michael who kindly booked the Methodist hall and brought together a number of Kilkhampton enthusiasts and long term residents.  They were Fred Cornish (aged 85, the oldest of the group), Iris Bond, parish councillors Reg Hambley and Clive Vanstone and parish council chairman Rollo McGrath. First they told us something of Kilk’s vital statistics: “The population is about 1200 – it’s gone up about 50 per cent in the past 40 years,” said the parish council chairman. “We've got three housing estates - Kilk grew and grew after the war and since then there's been some private developments which have brought people in from the outside,” commented Mr Heard. “A considerable number of these people have joined in with community activities. But it’s also a commuter village - they commute in all directions - even across the border to Bideford.  “The school now has 86 pupils in three classes, and is full and very popular,” added Mr McGrath. “In fact, Kilk is thriving. Over the years the developments have brought in younger families as well as giving homes to existing families. There’s a post office, two other shops, a butchers, two pubs, the Methodist Chapel and church…” He would have continued his list but other members of the parish council wanted to tell us how they were keen to see businesses remain in the village.  “In fact we've tried to increase the number of businesses,” said Mr McGrath. “Take the property next door to this hall – the owners wanted it turned into flats, but we insisted it remained a shop. Now it’s a picture-framers’. We’ve also got an internet cafe.” I’d noticed it as I’d strolled around the village earlier – it’s part of a pizza parlour. I also spotted a Chinese takeaway, a large electrical retailers and an intriguing looking wooden toy shop.   “That’s in what used to be a public hall called the Central Rooms - Kilk is awash with public halls,” declared Mr Heard. He started to list them but fell upon fertile ground in terms of the general conversation when he reached the football pavilion.  “We are in the process of getting a new sports pavilion,” said Mr Vanstone. “We need £150,000 for the project altogether and already we’ve raised more than half the money here in the village. We are just waiting for the last piece of the grant now - at moment we’ve got £109,000 towards it.” The need arose after the old pavilion had burned down in an arson attack, which was particularly disastrous because it wasn’t insured.  “We are hoping to start building this calendar year,” said Mr Vanstone. “There’ll be new changing facilities for two teams and officials. That’s half the building - the other half will have new public conveniences and a meeting room.” At this point the conversation developed into a listing of all Kilk’s many clubs and societies. You can have no doubt that you’re in vital village when you hear of such enthusiasm and creativity – thriving clubs and societies have been a theme in all the successful communities this series has visited so far. But what about that busy A39 – we asked - didn’t it cut community life in two?  “Six weeks a year it is a pain,” responded the parish council chairman. “The rest of the time we just get used to it. We've instigated traffic calming and put protective bollards up.” “If people don't come through the village the shops won't be so busy – and we are on the way to everywhere, so it does get very busy,” said Mr Hambley.  “It wasn’t anything like that when I was young,” remarked Mr Cornish. “A few had Austin Seven cars – it was so quiet we used to chuck an iron hoop down the main-street.” As we began to speak of Kilk’s past Mr Heard said: “You realise we speak the Devon dialect here instead of the Cornish.” There was a silence until someone commented: “Everyone in Kilk is fiercely proud to be Cornish.” Having hit one taboo I thought I’d raise the other and talk about the wreckers. Did any of the group have ancestors who’d lured ships onto the needle rocks two miles and 596 feet below the village? “There weren’t any wreckers here - not that we know of,” said Mr Heard. “It was inevitable that wrecks occurred along this coast.” I mentioned famous Parson Hawker who lived in the neighbouring parish of Morwenstow and who claimed to have been the man who convinced locals to stop wrecking ships and help stricken mariners instead.  Ah, another Kilk taboo. Don’t mention Morwenstow. And don’t insist Parson Hawker was a hero who invented the Christian event we call the Harvest Festival. “That’s one of my pet hates,” said Mr Heard. “The Methodists invented the Harvest Festival and not Hawker. He was a self-publicist.” “But what about the wreckers?” I went on, fearless as a Grenville. “When I was a boy some men would go wrecking - that is: they’d go picking up firewood and things like that on the beach that could be useful,” said the historian. “More beachcombing really…” “I remember we had a wreck at Sandy Mouth in 1944 called the Ebenezer,” said Mrs Bond. “Even though it’s two miles away you can hear the sea all the time up here in Kilk. When it’s stormy we call it the Duckpool Roar.” Mr Cornish remembered a wreck that had hit the rocks nearby. “It had  cigarettes, tinned food, nail varnish, everything… It was Christmas every day. Condoms. There were lots of condoms.” Someone joked that Kilk’s population had suffered as a result. If it did, that was rectified a long time ago - Kilkhampton looks set to be a romantic and delightful village for a long time to come.

It’s that time of year again, when the longer days and the warmer weather can inspire some good intentions. Suddenly, we’re all entering the human equivalent of a spring-clean. Tarr Steps on Exmoor Some people take their spring-time fitness fads very seriously – they sign up with gym’s and go on health and diet regimes that would cause the most hardened SAS soldier to throw in the towel. Inevitably, many of these super-fit wannabes soon realise they are living in a fantasy. You can only eat raw carrots and workout 10 hours a day for a limited period before your body or mind finds a way of escaping the tyranny. Alternatively, you could say that everything in life should be pleasurable – that’s how they teach rats to perform tricks in laboratories. If the body and mind receive pleasurable sensations, then there’s every likelihood that the person (or rat) will continue with whatever procedure he or she has been introduced to. All this “it’s got to hurt to be good for you” stuff is nonsense.  In the UK the very best way to increase your fitness is by walking. I say that because we have an ideal climate for it, and because there are countless, boundless, opportunities for us to wander freely in beautiful landscapes. This walk forms part of my complete Exmoor Walking Guide . Country walking is known to be the nation’s most popular leisure activity. Hundreds of millions of country strolls are taken every year – and the activity is on the increase.  Not that the countryside is knee-deep in hiking boots quite yet. You will rarely, if ever, see a human traffic jam on any of our footpaths - even the most popular stretches of the South West Coast Path remain uncluttered when compared to even a quiet urban street.  There are national park statistics which show that remarkably few people wander far from their cars when they’ve parked in some beauty spot or other. Nine out of ten don’t bother walking more than 500 metres.  One walking-to-fitness expert told this website: “The great thing about walking is that it’s free, requires little planning, fits easily into most people’s daily routines, needs no special equipment and, best of all, almost everyone can do it, regardless of age or where they live. All the medical evidence shows that even a modest amount of extra walking brings significant health benefits and the added advantage of walking in a group is that there’s an enjoyable social side to it, too.” Here are three spring-time walks in the West Country suitable for those nine out of ten people who are reluctant to stroll more than 500 metres. In other words, these are short, soft, circular routes that will act as a good introduction to country walking.  Being two to three miles each in length, they will both instil a sense of achievement in the non-walker – and allow them to enjoy fabulous scenery just about every step of the way.  Tarr Steps Circular - 1.9 miles – gentle going, a little rocky or muddy in places. Unless you have a disabled sticker, you must leave your vehicle at the car park half a mile above the famous clapper bridge, which makes the overall distance of this walk three miles, but if drivers are feeling generous they can drop their passengers off and do the additional descent and climb themselves in the knowledge that they’ll be all the fitter for it. Basically the walk takes you up one side of the River Barle to a newly refurbished bridge, and back down the other. Which may not sound all that exciting but this is, quite simply, one of the most beautiful stretches of any river to be found in the Westcountry.  Simply turn right at the old clapper bridge and follow the signs to Withypool. The path will take you across a large greensward (which is always thickly populated by picnickers in summer) and into the woods.  These, by the way, are internationally renown for the rare lichens that grow on the boughs of the many wonderful old trees. Just under a mile upstream the path meets another open area and, shortly after this – just after the big deep pool situated at a sharp bend in the river – you’ll come to a rather ugly, but hugely useful, bridge. Cross this, turn left, and you can walk back down the west bank of the river enjoying views that are surprisingly different from the ones you enjoyed on the other side. One bonus of this little hike is that there’s an excellent inn just a few feet above the clapper bridge. In winter it’s a dark, cosy, place of wood fires – in summer you can sit out in the gardens admiring the riverine views and the peacocks.  Bellever Tor Circular – just under three miles – gentle, easy going. The great thing about this short walk is that the exercise you get by climbing Dartmoor’s most central tor is richly rewarded by fabulous panoramas from the top.   Park at the small car park on the Two Bridges-Moretonhampstead road at Higher Cherrybrook Bridge. From here a track ascends gently to the east. After a few hundred yards it enters the forest, where it’s simply a matter of continuing east until you come across a wide, deforested swathe of land that sweeps southward to Bellever Tor.  It’s one of the only tors which offers views exclusive to the national park. In other words, Dartmoor is all you see. That’s because Bellever is situated plonk in the middle of the national park’s central plateau and you cannot peer beyond the edges to the larger world beyond. People have been living in or visiting this area for a long, long time - the whole area is rich in archaeological remains such as cairns, cists and old field systems.  To complete the walk, descend due east of the tor to re-enter the forest at a point where a small path threads its way down the hillside to eventually join one of the Forest Enterprise tracks. Following this north along the contour, continue until you reach Kraps Ring – the remains of an ancient settlement at the opposite end of the clear-felled swathe to Bellever Tor - then simply return west along the forestry tracks to Cherrybrook Bridge.  Godolphin Hill – three miles, fairly gentle and easygoing. This hike offers some of the best views available in West Cornwall, and it’s not too strenuous despite the fact that you climb the area’s highest hill.  It doesn’t really matter which direction you approach Godolphin Hill from, you are guaranteed a good walk and if you park at wonderfully named Mount Whistle, (to the south of the hill) you are closest to the summit. Before walking a few yards up the Millpool lane to find the footpath, take a quick look at the engine house. The National Trust has cleared the scrub so that you can explore the place, but don’t go if you’re frightened of big black holes. At the foot of the chimney there is a bottomless pit, thankfully capped by a heavy-duty grating so that you can peer in the void without falling in.  The footpath heads north towards Godolphin Hill between a productive looking leek field and a yard full of junk. But this is all part of the charm of this corner of Cornwall – you get the feeling that the people around here are farmers and flower growers – not tourism providers. You gain access to the great dome-shaped moorland by crossing an ancient granite stile. Paths shoot off in all directions, but take the one that heads towards the top. Be warned - it switches and turns so that occasionally you are tempted to take one of the smaller paths that looks more determined in its upward course. Don’t. You’ll be lead on a wild and brambly goose-chase. Stick with the bendy one, and it’ll get you to the summit. From there you can see almost all of West Cornwall - from the giant dishes of Goonhilly Down way to the south, right around the coast to St Michael’s Mount five miles distant, and beyond to Penzance. There’s an excellent panorama of the westernmost moors of Penwith and these lead up to distant St Ives where begins our view of the north coast, stretching past Hayle and its Towans all the way to St Agnes Beacon and Carn Brea. A path descends northeast from the summit and leads to the wood-lined lane called The Slips, which in turn will take you down to the edge of the garden at Godolphin House. Turn west here, along a track called Vane’s Lane which skirts the hill until you reach another path on your left which will return you along the side of a field, back up to the moorland part of the hill. Now it is simply a matter of turning right and following the perimeter path right around the western base of the great cone, back to the ancient granite stile.

Discover the Beauty of Selworthy Village and Bossington Hill Introduction: Discovering the Selworthy Circular Walk Escape the social media noise and reconnect with nature on a beautiful walk through the picturesque Selworthy village in West Somerset. This scenic circular route around Bossington Hill offers stunning views, a touch of history, and an opportunity to explore the unique landscape of Exmoor National Park. The Charming Periwinkle Cottage Tearoom Start your journey at the famous Periwinkle Cottage Tearoom, a delightful spot to enjoy a cup of tea and a slice of cake before setting off on your walk. Nestled in the heart of Selworthy, this tearoom is a must-visit attraction, providing a taste of old-world charm. This walk forms part of my complete Exmoor Walking Guide. Selworthy's Rich History and Picture-Postcard Beauty As you walk through Selworthy, take a moment to appreciate its unique blend of history and natural beauty. The village's white-painted church and thatched cottages surrounding The Green date back to the 19th century, while the ancient clock mechanism within the church tower adds a touch of timeless charm. Exploring Selworthy Combe and Lady Acland’s Hut Begin your walk by following the footpath north up wooded Selworthy Combe. When the track splits, take the right-hand fork until you reach Lady Acland's Hut. This charming chalet offers a serene resting spot amidst a beautiful birch forest, reminiscent of a Russian landscape. Ascending to Selworthy Beacon and Admiring the Views Continue up the hill to Selworthy Beacon, taking in the breathtaking views of Wales, the Bristol Channel, the Quantocks, the Brendons, and Exmoor's Dunkery Beacon. The panoramic vistas make the climb worth every step. South West Coast Path and Hurlestone Point Follow the South West Coast Path down to Hurlestone Point. For those with a head for heights, a side path leads past incredible cliffs to the old Coastguard Look-Out. As you make your way back, traverse the higher path above the picturesque village of Bossington, owned primarily by the National Trust. Immerse Yourself in the Evergreen Oak Woods As you return to Selworthy, the path leads through a dense evergreen oak forest, home to Britain's largest stand of Ilex trees. The thick canopy and Mediterranean atmosphere create a sense of enchantment and mystery. Back to The Green: End Your Journey with a Cream Tea Finish your walk back at The Green in Selworthy, where you can indulge in a well-deserved cream tea at the Periwinkle Cottage Tearoom. Enjoy the quaint atmosphere and beautiful surroundings, leaving the social media frenzy behind. Fact File: Selworthy Circular Walk Details Basic route: Selworthy Green to Selworthy Beacon, descending to Hurlestone Point, and returning through the evergreen oak woods Recommended map: Ordnance Survey OL9 – Exmoor Distance & Difficulty: 6 miles, steep in places

Dunkery is the purple headed mountain. Not many people realise that because of course it’s not really a mountain at all – but that’s how the writer of All Things Bright and Beautiful so famously described Exmoor’s highest hill when she was admiring its heather clad slopes more than a century ago.  Dunkery Beacon from the south Mrs Cecil Frances Alexander, wife of the then Archbishop of Armagh and Primate of All Ireland, was holidaying at Dunster and was so impressed by the area that she wrote the famous hymn after climbing Grabbist above the village and gazing up the Avill Valley. The upper end of this sublime vale is dominated by the huge mass of Dunkery which, though not really a mountain with a modest altitude of 1760 feet, certainly looks impressive its neighbouring parish which border the sea.   And apart from being promoted to mountain it’s perhaps right and proper that Dunkery should have a claim to fame that is directly related to religion – West Somerset folk have always held their big eminence in somewhat sacred regard… For centuries they believed in a supernatural phenomenon which, it was claimed, appeared up on the summit every Easter – though exactly how the Lamb of God manifested itself I'm not quite sure. The good people from the nearby villages of Cutcombe and Luccombe would march up to the lofty Beacon and watch for the apparition which appeared in the sky - and I can only presume that what they saw was something akin to the sun-dog, or parhelia, which is a sort of twin-sunset caused by ice crystals forming high in the atmosphere (not quite as uncommon in westerly areas as you may think). There’s no doubt that you feel a lot closer to God up there - all West Country hills boast good views, it’s an essential part of their job, but many people agree that Dunkery comes tops for mighty panoramas.  From where else could you see the Pembrokeshire Coast, the distant Cambrian Mountains, Brecon Beacons, Black Mountains, Forest of Dean, the Malverns, the southern bastions of the Cotswolds, both Severn bridges, the Mendips, Quantocks, Blackdowns, Dartmoor, Bodmin Moor and even the English Channel sparkling through Sidmouth Gap? It’s an impressive list and an even more impressive sight – but you need a good day and when I was there earlier this week I could hardly see the big pile of stones that marks Dunkery summit let alone the Severn Sea or anything beyond.  But it was a good bleak day to recall the two wretched Huguenot ladies who once lived in a hovel hereabouts. Who they were, and where they came from, remains a mystery - but it’s believed they were aristocrats who had fallen on very bad times indeed.  So bad that they died of starvation in their hovel, being too proud to announce their poverty to the world. Apparently all that was found in their hilltop shelter - apart from their two withered bodies clutching one another – were the remains of the slugs and snails upon which they’d tried to exist.   This walk forms part of my complete Exmoor Walking Guide .  Look down over the remote vastness of Codsend Moors – the desolate empty slopes which make up the southern flanks of Dunkery - and you can almost hear the rattle of their bones. This featureless plain was once the centre of national attention. It was all to do with the gruesome end of Mollie Phillips, an Exford girl who was found dead in a bog on Codsend. In 1930 - some 18 months after her disappearance - a Minehead coroner's jury put her demise down to misadventure, declaring she’d drowned after being swallowed by the mire.  Local folk were having none of it: Mollie disappeared on September 8th 1929 - a dry September that followed a long dry summer – and those who knew the place reckoned its bogs would not have been dangerous after such a long period of drought. Having walked the area in similar conditions, I agree - there are very few quagmires around after a long hot summer and the likelihood of being swallowed up by one seems most unlikely. Not that I’d fancy walking over Codsend Moor much in the wet weather we’ve been having this week. It was altogether more clement up here on the Dunkery range some 4,000 years ago when Britain was enjoying something of a Mediterranean climate, and the big hill is dotted with Dunkery from the north the ancient enclosures and settlements of folk who were able to live so high above sea level in those times. An archaeologist with the wonderful name of Rainbird Clarke once discovered a ring of stones on the summit of Dunkery which may or may not have been the remains of some early chieftain's hut.  But it is the ruined cottage in Bagley Combe on the northern slopes of the hill that haunts my mind every bit as much as the fate Mollie Phillips and the unfortunate Huguenots. For in that deep tree-lined valley a hamlet once thrived until the plague wiped out the inhabitants - except for one... A note in my dusty files reveals the following note about this remote and seldom visited place: “There is a ruined cottage whose derelict garden still contains flowers and some decayed outbuildings. The last inhabitant lived there alone and one day three men arrived there on a drunken frolic from Porlock. “They told the solitary man that it was known he'd been sheep stealing and that he was shortly to be arrested. He was entirely innocent of the offence, but the threat of the arrest so played upon his mind that he hanged himself. His ghost haunted the place and none would ever live there afterwards...” That makes three grim stories for one hill, but it is difficult to remain depressed in this fresh-air zone where ocean breezes never cease to play. The massive Dunkery range boasts some of the best walking to be found anywhere in the Westcountry – you’ll not only be treated to the aforementioned views, but you are just about guaranteed to see wild red deer. One particularly delightful right-of-way frequented by these creatures is beautiful, Dicky's Path which passes Birchanger Spring. In my Exmoor files, passed down to me by my father, there’s a note about this place written by a mysterious correspondent of his called 'Afghan'… “The water was reputed to be famous for its healing qualities and it was supposed to be warm in the winter and cold in the summer,” says Afghan. “An old man told me that when he was a lad living at Luccombe where he was born, he was paid a penny for each can full of water he brought back to the village for two old ladies." Two old ladies? Surely it couldn’t have been the Huguenots? They didn’t have any pennies.  Just another of this purple headed mountain’s many mysteries. To find the answer to them and perhaps every other mystery, you must consult the Lamb of God.