Many years ago (more than a quarter of a century, for certain) I was up at Simonsbath in the heart of Exmoor on a bitterly cold day to meet local man and Exmoor expert, the late Stan Curtis. Here’s the video we shot with Exmoor ranger Mike Leach all that time ago. Listen out for Stan’s wonderful Exmoor accent - you won’t hear one like it often nowadays. To see more Exmoor walks, click here...

Perfect Porlock Weir Porlock Weir is one of my favourite places in the world and I have written about it many times. As the nicest of our local seaside haunts I’ve been visiting the place since I was a small boy - and later writing many different newspaper articles based on many different subjects down there where the Exmoor hills dip to meet the sea. I popped down to the Weir this week with a spare hour to spare and walked in the rain. (To see more Exmoor Walks click here ) Porlock Marsh: Britain’s Fastest Changing Landscape And here’s an article I penned 25 years ago… It looks like a land where dinosaurs might roam, but Porlock Marsh, not far from the North Devon - Somerset border, is Britain's newest wetland and officially the country's fastest changing environment. Not long ago you'd have seen sheep and cattle grazing here. For centuries the low-lying meadows just north of the village of Porlock were protected by an immense natural shingle ridge, but storms in the late 1990s breached the pebble bank and hundreds of acres were inundated by the sea at high tide. Now the Exmoor National Park Authority has signed a management agreement with a local landowner in a bid to ensure that this extraordinary landscape will be protected as it develops and changes. How Nature Reclaimed Porlock Bay Though just how it will change, no one is sure. "We're open to the forces of nature," says the National Park's conservation officer David Lloyd. "It's a very exciting place because in Britain we're not used to seeing this sort of major landscape change. We don't know for certain how it will look in years to come. We don't really know how much bigger the breach will get." He explained how the shingle ridge used to be much further out to sea, stretching in a more-or-less straight line two miles across Porlock Bay, between Gore Point in the west and Hurlestone Point in the east. But over the years two factors altered the natural dam. Wave action pushed the ridge ever inland, causing it to curve and lengthen. At the same time the ridge became starved of its natural material. It is fed with shingle from the west in an action known as littoral drift , but the source is finite. In latter years not enough shingle was being fed to maintain the ridge—partly, it is thought, due to the development of the harbour, car park and various groynes at Porlock Weir . The Birth of a New Coastal Habitat In 1996 the first major hole appeared. Grass and trees do not take kindly to salt water and in six years the place has become a desert. A beautiful, unique and exciting desert - as I found out when I toured the area with park authority ranger Tim Parish. "It is the most incredible landscape," he said as we climbed out of his Land Rover at the end of a long and muddy lane. "And it is also a little dangerous. We don't advise people to go out along the ridge towards the breach. At spring tides in particular, it can be hazardous. People's dogs have been swept away." As we walked we could see the tortured limbs of dead trees whose roots have been cloaked in a sort of primeval slime. The meadow grass has long gone, but is being replaced by other plants like samphire. Beyond the trees a new lagoon stretches to the shingle ridge, and we could see coffee-coloured waves pumping water in from the Bristol Channel. Huge flocks of curlew and lapwing flew hither and thither in the nor-westerly gale and, out on the mud, shelduck took flight in a dazzle of black and white wings. Managing the Future of Porlock Marsh "We've had to divert the South West Coast Path, it used to run along the top of the shingle but now we've a new permissive route that passes inland of the lake," said Tim, explaining that this development was all part of the management agreement negotiated with Porlock Manor Estate. As we approached the sizeable expanse of brackish water we could see how the new environment must have come as quite a shock to local people. "Yes I think it was something of a shock and there was a great deal of discussion about the future of the place" says David Lloyd. Porlock people saw millions being spent on sea-defences at Minehead (six miles along the coast) and some of them wanted bulldozers to come and plug the breach. "But how long could you go on bulldozing the shingle and would it work anyway?" asked the conservation officer, pointing to the huge build-up of stones that is occurring under Hurlestone Point in the corner of the bay. He concluded: "What has happened here has been the result of a natural process." An Ever-Evolving Coastal Landscape In the end the authorities deemed it to be a case of fait accompli . The National Trust , which owns half the marsh, got on with the job of adapting its management of the area and now the park authority has come to an agreement over the 80 hectares which make up the other half. "We will be working on what we can do in the Marsh," says Mr Lloyd. "There are issues like people walking their dogs in the nesting season. But on the other hand we'd like to improve access - we could have things like board-walks and hides, perhaps an interpretation area. We could also develop some higher areas where birds like lapwing and redshank could nest safely." One thing is certain. With global warming threatening to raise sea levels, Porlock Marsh is set to become a permanent feature on the West Somerset coast. The poet Robert Southey described Porlock as “The End of the World” - and that was 200 years ago when the village was protected by acres of low-lying fields. Now, as the primeval swamp creeps closer to the community, his words seem to have finally come home to roost. Ada Lovelace and the Porlock Connection Keywords: Ada Lovelace, Ada Lovelace Day, Exmoor history, Ashley Combe, Porlock Weir, women in science, Charles Babbage, first computer programmer, Ada Lovelace Somerset connection I also once wrote about Lady Lovelace who used to live near the Weir…. It has been rare indeed that women have been able to enter the history books as leading lights in the world of science, technology, engineering and maths - and rarer still that such a person should be linked to a remote West Country community. But the mathematician Ada Lovelace certainly makes the cut when it comes to fame in the world of numbers and computing - and her connection with the Exmoor village of Porlock is the subject of annual celebration. Ada Lovelace Day: Celebrating Women in STEM Ada Lovelace Day , held every October, is an international celebration of the achievements of women in science, technology, engineering and maths (STEM). Lovelace, daughter of the romantic poet Lord Byron , is best known for her work on Charles Babbage’s Analytical Engine - and it was she who recognised that the contraption had many applications beyond pure numeric calculation. The World’s First Computer Programmer Ada realised the full potential of what she called a “computing machine” and because of that she is regarded as the world's first computer programmer. Augusta Ada King, Countess of Lovelace, was born in 1815 and tutored in mathematics and science – subjects often forbidden for girls at the time – at the insistence of her mother. As a teenager aged just 17, she met the mathematician Charles Babbage , inventor of the mechanical calculator, who was to become her mentor. Soon after that she was commissioned to translate a French article about Babbage’s wonder machine - and while doing so, she was able to add her own intellectual commentary upon the subject of computing. In a book called ‘She: A Celebration of 100 Renegade Women’ , author Harriet Hall explains: “She theorised that Babbage’s machine had the potential to translate music, pictures and text into digital form.” A Vision Ahead of Her Time Her notes were respected and published in 1843, but the theory within was so revolutionary that it took over a century for it to be recognised as the first computer algorithm and Lovelace as the first computer programmer. Lovelace wrote: “The Analytical Engine might act upon other things besides number, were objects found whose mutual fundamental relations could be expressed by those of the abstract science of operations... the engine might compose elaborate and scientific pieces of music of any degree of complexity or extent.” Ashley Combe: Ada Lovelace’s Porlock Retreat It was in 1835 that Ada married William King, 8th Baron King and later 1st Earl of Lovelace. They had three children: Byron, Annabella and Ralph Gordon. The family lived at Ockham Park in Surrey, but spent their honeymoon in the romantic setting of Ashley Combe , in the steep forests high above Porlock Weir . The King family owned a large West Somerset estate that included Ashley Combe, Yearnor, Culbone, Sparkhayes and Bratton near Minehead. Ashley Combe was built in 1799 as a hunting lodge and improved at great expense by Lord King in 1835 for the honeymoon. It later became a summer retreat for the couple and was continually being improved. The Secret Tunnels of Ashley Combe The family and its fortunes were apparently very much directed by Ada whose domineering was rarely opposed by William. As an engineer he was more interested in designing tunnels than running the family - a hobby which he put into practice at Ashely Combe. The house, built in the fashionable Italianate style, had a tall clock tower and extensive gardens which consisted of terraced walks, alcoves, spiral stairs and woodland trails. Beyond these were more open gardens which contained various hot-houses and decorative towers – relics of which can still be seen today. The tunnels took tradesmen from the road to the trade entrance of the big house so their carts could not be seen by its occupants. A woodland walk and steps led down to the beach where a bath-house was built into the cliff to enable Ada to bathe in privacy. A Scandalous Mind and Enduring Legacy During scientific researches on her regular visits to the Porlock family home, Ada used to visit Andrew Crosse , known as the Wizard of The Quantocks for his early experiments with electricity, and was said to have established a rather “shadowy” relationship with his son John. Indeed, Ada was not all sweetness and scientific light - she flirted with scandals, took a relaxed approach to extra-marital relationships with men and loved gambling - an addiction which led to her forming a syndicate with male friends and an ambitious attempt to create a mathematical model for successful large bets. This went disastrously wrong, leaving her deeply in debt to the syndicate. Lovelace died of cancer, aged just 36, in 1852 - but has since received a multitude of posthumous accolades. More than a century later, in 1980, the US Department of Defence named a computer language after her, and Ada Lovelace Day is celebrated every October in recognition of her groundbreaking contribution to computer technology.

The beacon at Dunkery Beacon There's an Exmoor Easter walks tradition which, in days of yore, would see the people of the villages climbing Dunkery at this time of the year in the hopes of seeing the Lamb Of God . Now, I'm not exactly sure what the Lamb Of God is, but I do know that Exmoor's highest hill was venue for this phenomenon and that there is a place called Easter Hill on the flanks of the great furzy down. In fact, the climbing of hills used to be quite the done thing at Easter—for obvious reasons. TO SEE MORE EXMOOR WALKS CLICK HERE The Symbolic Journey: Why We Take Easter Walks to the Summit There might be some strange notions about de-Christianising the Easter festival around today, but for many centuries ours was a land in which people firmly believed in the story of The Crucifixion. Most readers will have grown up with the stark biblical imagery of a bare hill crowned by three crosses in their minds. View north from Dunkery Beacon Calvary is an anglicised version of the hill’s old Hebrew name, Golgotha —which is an altogether more sinister sounding place—and one that referred to the fact the hill, near one of Jerusalem’s gates, resembled a skullcap. Anyway, the god-fearing folk of the Westcountry would climb hills around Easter and either put up symbolic crosses or cast their believing eyes skywards for some kind of religious sign. In more modern times, people began to climb hills in order to roll eggs down them—which is great fun, even if the ancient origins of the tradition are somewhat obscure. Across Europe, it is said children rolled eggs down hillsides at Easter because it was symbolic of the rolling away of the rock from Jesus’s tomb before his resurrection. Climbing hills is, of course, a healthy thing to do, no matter what religion you believe in. Which is why we’ve drawn up a list of the Top 10 Hills to climb this Easter . 1. Dunkery Beacon , Exmoor Exmoor’s highest hill and apparently THE place from which to see the Lamb of God at Easter time. The beacon offers tremendous views—which is an obvious thing to say about any big eminence—but Dunkery really does boast panoramas others fail to reach. 2. Tregonning Hill, Cornwall Tregonning Hill on a breezy spring day For years Cornish folk gave praise to this hill as it led directly to the employment of hundreds of thousands of men. For Tregonning is the place where William Cookworthy discovered china clay nearly 270 years ago. A basic circumnavigation offers fine views of Western Cornwall. 3. Culmstock Beacon, Devon Walkers at Culmstock Beacon Anyone who has travelled on the M5 will have seen it—the great, flat-topped, steep-sided escarpment that reaches out like a giant diving board into the patchwork green of mid-Devon, south of the motorway. 4. Steeperton Tor, Dartmoor If you want to go to a hill that is lonely and remote, try Steeperton Tor. The walk begins at Belstone and heads south into the moors following the Taw. But be warned, this whole area is subject to closure if there’s a military training exercise. Lonely Steeperton Tor on northern Dartmoor 5. Golden Cap, Dorset The highest point along the entire English south coast. Climbing its 191-metre summit from sea-level is a pure joy for lovers of maritime views. The additional climb to the summit is a must for the hale and hearty. Golden Cap from Seatown 6. Burrowbridge Mump, Somerset The Somerset Levels are strikingly beautiful. Go to Burrowbridge Mump for a stunning bird’s eye view—and there’s even a ruined church at the top to add to the Easter atmosphere. Burrowbridge Mump in winter 7. Glastonbury Tor, Somerset Yes, more views of the Levels—but the famous Tor is much higher than the Mump and there’s yet another ruined church at the top if you are feeling spiritual. And who doesn’t when they go to Glastonbury? Glastonbury Tor from the south 8. Carn Brea, Cornwall This craggy eminence looms 750 feet above Camborne and Redruth. The hill is a warren of history, the summit covered in the remains of hut circles and ramparts dating back to the Iron Age and even Neolithic times. Carn Brea above Redruth 9. High Willhayes, Dartmoor At 2039 feet (621 metres), Dartmoor’s highest hill is the closest the West Country gets to heaven. By climbing High Willhayes, you will know you are the highest person in the southern UK. High Willhayes, Darmtoor's highest hill 10. Brent Tor, Devon The little church of St Michael de Rupe perched on the top of the crags is my favourite temple in the West Country. It is closer to heaven than almost any other church in the south of England and offers a peerless view of the landscape. Brent Tor on the Devon-Cornwall border

Discover the best Exmoor walks shaped by rivers including the Exe, Barle, Lyn and Horner Water – a richly detailed guide to the moor’s most beautiful waterways. Robber's Bridge Exmoor is shaped by its rivers. From the wild, boggy heights of the Chains to wooded valleys and hidden coastal combes, water defines the landscape at every turn. To understand Exmoor properly, you have to follow its rivers — and there is no better place to begin than with the great stream that gives the moor its name. If you are interested in this article then check out our Exmoor walks page. Exe Cleave carries the young River Exe towards the distant sea The River Exe – Exmoor’s Defining Waterway Any study of Exmoor’s waterways has to start with the big granddaddy of them all – the river that gives the place its name. The Exe is 60-something miles of pure riverine glory - but it’s one of those streams that could, at birth, have saved itself a lot of trouble. Had it flowed north it would have reached the sea-board of the Exmoor coast in just a few miles. The River Exe emerges from a huge morass - a sort of high bog-land - known as The Chains. Exe Plain is just part of this great sponge-like area which lies northwest of Simonsbath and south of Lynton and Lynmouth. Rivers pour forth all around it, including the mighty Barle, which later becomes a tributary of the Exe. The Exe is born in the loneliest hills of Exmoor The Exe begins its journey south by heading east, passing through the very heartland of central Exmoor as it goes. As it leaves the Chains so it gouges an extraordinary ‘V’ shaped valley called Preyway Meads, before entering the deep and awesome Exe Cleave. The occasional pile of sheep bones supplies all the evidence one needs to recognise that life is tough up here. The men who worked the mine that is situated 100 foot or so above the river in Exe Cleave must have been particularly hardy. The Honeymead Mine is where the Plymouth Iron Company raised 500 tons of ore in 1858. Exford is situated in the river valley at a point which could, arguably, be described as the very heart of the national park. It's an attractive place which plays host to a good deal of the area's equine activities. The pretty Exmoor village of Winsford Past the village, the river now enters one of its most beautiful stretches. The hills close in on the stream as it makes its way to Winsford - there are no roads or cars in the deep demesne - just the rush of the river and the occasional bark of a wild red deer. Winsford, with its famous thatched pub and village green, is popular with visitors who gather around the babbling Winn Brook as it passes the tea gardens to join the larger river. A mile or two later the Exe meets the River Quarme – which has come down from the lonely expanses of the Dunkery range - and now it turns south towards the distant English Channel. It flows through the hamlet of Bridgetown and wriggles and writhes its way to its confluence with the Barle. The River Barle curls its way through some of Exmoor's loneliest valleys The Barle – From Pinkery Pond to Dulverton In its bid to leave The Chains, the Barle has its first moment of glory at Pinkery Pond. I can never go there without thinking of wretched Richard Gammin, whose body was found in its cold dark depths 105 years ago. Six years after his wife died, leaving him with 10 children to raise, farmer Gammin sought the attentions of a young Parracombe girl. Her letter, refusing his offers of love, was found in his jacket by the side of the lake. Lynmouth lifeboat crew sent up a small boat so the depths could be dragged, a diver from Wales was brought in - all to no avail. There was only one thing for it - Pinkery Pond had to be drained. The River Barle above Simonsbath The dam was equipped with two large plugholes, but nothing could budge the bungs. Teams of horses were attached to chains, but the iron rings on the plugs simply broke off. Eventually brilliant Bob Jones, the man who built the Lynton-Lynmouth Cliff Railway, devised an elaborate system of rams to push the bungs out from the other side of the dam. And so the pond was drained on the first of just two occasions in its long history. The remains of broken-hearted Gammin were found and herons came in flocks and ate all the fish. Pinkery Pond - or Pinkworthy to give the proper name A grim story for what is otherwise a very jolly and beautiful river. The Barle passes Simonsbath, flows under lovely arched Landacre Bridge, slips through handsome little Withypool and ducks and dives through deep woods past famous Tarr Steps. It then arrives at Dulverton, Exmoor’s capital, before being swallowed by its big sister a mile or two south of the town at Exbridge. The River Barle near Tarr Steps The Lyn Rivers – Wild Valleys and Watersmeet The Lyn Rivers are the moor’s other best-known waterways. The East Lyn begins where the Badgworthy and Oare Waters meet at Malmsmead. It tumbles past the village of Brendon and accelerates down the ever narrowing, ever steeper, gradient past the hamlet of Rockford and its pub. Shortly after the inn the river enters a sylvan chasm – on either side, woods seem to reach vertically for the skies. West Lyn River Eventually it arrives at famous Watersmeet, where the National Trust has a splendid tearoom. Here the river meets a combination of Farley and Hoaroak Waters – and a more dramatic riverine spot you’d be hard pushed to find. Now the East Lyn is up to full strength. Rock crags hang above the ravine and scree-slopes slither and slide between the trees. The valley at Myrtleberry Cleave seems too steep for itself – like an overweight person whose seams have come undone. With a few final twists and turns, the East Lyn tumbles under Wester Wood and Oxen Tor to reach Lynmouth where it is joined by its lesser-known, shorter, but equally beautiful sister, the West Lyn. Lynmouth, where the Lyn Rivers meet the sea In the last mile or two of either river, it is easy to see how the Lynmouth Flood Disaster occurred – even on a summer’s day the steepness of the coombes and the spate of the water make for an awesome combination. Horner Water runs down through Exmoor's ancient woodlands Horner Water – Woods, Wildlife and Porlock Vale Horner Water is Exmoor’s other much-celebrated stream. The writer N.V. Allen says Horner is, “Probably derived from the British ‘hwrnwr’ meaning ‘the snorer’, recalling the sonorous sound of its water in spate.” To find its source you must travel along one of Exmoor’s loneliest roads - the lane that leads from the top of Porlock Hill to Exford. There’s a fork called Lucott Cross and just south of this there's a gentle depression between Alderman’s Barrow Allotment and Hurdle Down. That’s where you’ll find the birthplace of Chetsford Water. For that is what the Horner is called during its high moorland infancy. After meeting with Embercombe Water, Chetsford turns into Nutscale Water, which soon veers north to eventually issue into the reservoir that bears its name, built in 1941 after years of arguments and municipal infighting. Chetsford Water Shortly downstream, the river makes a big curve to the east as it avoids Tarr Ball Hill and, for the first time, it enters forest. These are the deep woods for which Horner Water has become internationally renowned. Indeed, the woods that surround Horner Water make up one of the largest blocks of semi-natural woodland to be found anywhere in the country. The place is regarded as important for its vast array of lichens. There are more than 330 types, including many rarities that only manage to survive in the vicinity because there's so little pollution. Most of the area is National Trust-owned and the organisation has done a great deal of interesting environmental work here over the past few decades. The writer Richard Jefferies adored the place. 120 years ago he stood somewhere in these woods and wrote in his book Red Deer: "I caught sight of a red mark in the midst of an acre of brake surrounded by oak. I was sure it was a stag instantly by the bright colour, by the position. He was standing in the fern beside a bush, with his head down as if feeding. A whistle - the sound was a moment or two reaching him - made him lift his head, and the upright carriage of the neck proved once again that it was a stag and not a hind." Lovely Cloutsham Farm dominates the spur of hill that shares its name. East Water Valley flows down from Aller, Sweetworthy and Bagley Combes, dividing Cloutsham Ball from the main Dunkery range. The ford at Cloutsham The remains of an ancient village can still be seen at Bagley. It is mentioned in the Domesday Book. I have also heard tell of the two hapless Huguenot ladies who once lived in a hovel hereabouts. They 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. Once Horner Water has joined East Water it makes no bones about dashing to the sea. Within a mile or so it is passing the hamlet of Horner and, free of the hills, is running through the fertile lowlands of Porlock Vale. Past the rural idyll of West Luccombe it cloaks itself in a long spinney to eventually join the River Aller at Bossington. Bossington, with its thatched cottages and wonderfully tall, cylindrical chimneys, is part of the huge estate that was given to the National Trust by the Acland family. Now Horner Water reaches the sea - or it would, if there wasn’t a huge shingle bank in the way. Sometimes, after very heavy rains, the river summons up the strength to knock a channel through the stones, but mostly it is content to filter down through the pebbles to meet its salty end. TO SEE MORE ABOUT EXMOOR WALKS CLICK HERE Horner Water eventually arrives at Bossington Beach Frequently Asked Questions Where do the main rivers of Exmoor rise? The two largest rivers on the moor, The River Exe and The River Barle, both find their origins in the bleak, wild, and boggy uplands of The Chains—the remote western plateau of Exmoor National Park. While they rise remarkably close together, they take distinct routes through deep-cut valleys before eventually converging south of Dulverton. What makes the East Lyn River unique for walkers? The East Lyn River is famous for tumbling through some of the steepest, deepest wooded gorges in England. Gathering strength as it passes Brendon and Rockford, it meets major tributaries at the National Trust beauty spot of Watersmeet before a dramatic final plunge down to the sea at Lynmouth. Its vertiginous, rocky banks offer spectacular, atmospheric trails for hikers. Why is Horner Water significant to Exmoor's ecology? Horner Water rises near Lucott Cross and flows down into Horner Woods, which represents one of the largest ancient tracts of semi-natural oak woodland left in Britain. The river valley boasts a unique microclimate with incredibly clean air, providing a vital sanctuary for over 330 species of rare lichens, as well as prime habitat for Exmoor's wild red deer herds. Can you walk along the River Exe on Exmoor? Yes. The upper sections of the River Exe offer quintessential valley walking, particularly the picturesque 8-mile stretch that curves and winds through the contours between the villages of Exford and Winsford. This path provides an intimate look at the changing landscape as the river transforms from a high-moor stream into a classic West Country waterway. The River Avill at Dunster Packhorse Bridge

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.