To Devon

On Saturdayday we set off for Brixham in Devon for a week’s holiday with the family. We decided to stop in Exeter for a night, to make the most of the holiday, and because neither of us have visited Exeter.

Well, I’m not sure what to say. As a city it doesn’t fit together very well at all. It was flattened by the Luftwaffe in one of the “Baedeker” raids, and although the cathedral survived, much of the old town was destroyed. Then in the sixties a ring road was built, which split the city up. However, there are lots of very interesting and beautiful buildings still standing. The city churches are very old and there’s quite a bit of the town wall left. The Roman street plan is discernible – It was Isca Dumnonium. Down by the old quays a lot of restoration has been carried out, of warehouses, the fish market and old water powered fulling mills. Work is still going on, and it’s charming. Of course, water always makes a place nicer.

The cathedral green is smashing. There was an excellent craft market going on, and various folk dancing groups were performing, and best of all, there was a proper, traditional Punch and Judy, complete with baby, policeman turned into sausages, crocodile and hangman.  The kids watching just loved it, which was very pleasing to see.

I did enjoy the cathedral. Simon Schama has been doing a history series on TV and he made the point that, thanks to the Pope putting a bounty on Elizabeth I’s life, Protestantism became synonymous with Englishness. I don’t think that’s wholly true, because the English must be about the world’s least religious people. But, after the Spanish cathedrals, walking into Exeter felt like coming home.

It’s a lovely light building with superb painted roof bosses and some wonderful monuments to unknown knights. There was one early fifteenth century tomb where the knight, with typical droopy moustache, had his feet on a lion, as usual, and his wife’s feet rested on a pair of swans with drooping crossed necks. I have never seen that before. It’s usually a lapdog. Also, the son of Flora MacDonald , of “Over The Sea to Skye”,  is buried there. Exciting, eh?

Mourning swans

Today we went to Princetown on Dartmoor, where a prison museum has recently opened. It was quite a fraught drive as there was a bike race going on, and we had to pass the bikes on the narrow Devon lanes. But the views were lovely; it’s been a very nice day. Even Princetown looked pretty attractive. The first time I saw it, I thought that Dartmoor prison was as much a punishment for the warders as for the convicts. 

The museum is interesting and atmospheric. The story of the French prisoners of war is told, and there are displays of things confiscated from the prisoners, sometimes cunning hidey-holes, but more often weapons, made from toothbrushes, bucket handles, soap set with razor blades, etc. But there are also art works made by the inmates. There’s an account of Frank Mitchell, the “mad axe” man, who was sprung from prison by the Krays and then murdered by them, which is quite upsetting, because Mitchell was clearly several sandwiches short of a picnic. For some reason, some people still seem to see the Krays as glamorous; there’s another film about them in the offing.

Dartmoor can’t be made secure enough for dangerous convicts any longer, because it’s Grade 2 listed, so the prison can concentrate on rehabilitation, and the museum is obviously part of the plan.

So then we drove to Brixham across the moor. There were lots of ponies, some heavily pregnant and lots with foals, and the sheep have been sheared and looked very skinny and strange.

The holiday house is really great, lots of room and super views, so we are highly satisfied.  Will (second son), Leila (daughter in law) and me went for a swim in the open air sea filled pool, while Dan (third son) cooked tea for us all.

It’s a beautiful evening, all very promising for tomorrow.