We’ve just had a few days’ holiday in Lynmouth, north Devon, to celebrate His Lordship’s 70th birthday. We’ve never been to Lynmouth before, though we did spend a week at Croyde Bay in the late 70’s. Camping. We aren’t that tough these days, especially in December.
Don’t be fooled by the photo above, we’ve had typical December weather – chilly, drizzly, windy and Storm Barra blew some slates off when we first arrived. We’ve yet to find out what our garden looks like, but we’re hoping the dead trees are still upright and the power’s on.
We’ve walked around the local shops – about half of them are closed for the season, re-opening in March or April 2022. It’s better, somehow, peering in through the windows at the goods laid out, not able to get in and buy them. Like a permanent Christmas Eve.
The shops and cafes that were open were welcoming visitors. On our visit to Woolacombe Bay, the entire town was closed, except for one cafe overlooking the beach – which was doing a roaring trade. Windows starting to steam up against the chill outside, though we could still see the sand being blown along the beach from sea to dunes below. After we’d walked a short way along the beach, got the sand out of our eyes and had a tea and (eventually) sandwich, we’d sampled everything Woolacombe has to offer in December and left – Lynmouth and Lyntown are a lot more efficient at relieving winter visitors of their cash.
Last night, we had a meal in the RIsing Sun in Lynmouth and rolled out of the pub at nine at night. We’d been watching the boats slowly rising on the tide beyond the harbour wall and came out to inspect them. There were some solid little fishing boats, a half-submerged dinghy and a deflated inflatable. Luckily, without an outboard to drag it down. It reminded us of the time we returned from a three week sailing holiday in Norway to find our dinghy had been dragged under by the tides and was completely submerged on the mooring. It took us an hour’s bailing and lifting to retrieve it, and my sister in law was less than amused at the delay to our published arrival for dinner.
Today we’ve walked from Lynmouth to Lynton, from the Exmoor Visitor Centre to the main street of Lynton 500 feet above. First of all along the poetry trail – twice crossing the funicular railway (closed in December) and passing poems written by members of the public. Lyrical thoughts on the sea below, warnings about the seagulls after yer chips and the heartfelt prayer of “Please, please, please, Can I have some new knees!”. We had an award-winning pasty in the Cracker Barrel Tea-Rooms at the top before going back down in the drizzle. The view down into the valley is spectacular, and the end of the Lyn Gorge route passes over the powerful rush of the West Lyn River, then up to the last clatter of the East Lyn River – the two rivers that caused the 1952 floods that destroyed a large part of the town.
It’s been fun, it’s been a holiday (so far) undisturbed by vehicle breakdowns. He’s seen the places where he went on holiday as a child and where he rode the Lands’ End Trials on a motorcycle as an adult. I’ve seen the places I was apparently taken to as a very young child on holiday, and can understand what my brothers are referring to.
It’s been time off, and frankly, we’ve had very little of that over the last two years.
In terms of writing – I managed to finish the Globe Soup 7 Day Challenge just before I left, and I’m pleased with myself. It’s not an award-winner by any means, but I was randomly allocated the genre of Western, and I was never likely to write the gold star version of a Western. I’ve seen Rawhide and The Big Country as a young child, and watched Clint Eastwood Westerns – enjoyed Blazing Saddles when I’m in possession of enough alcohol – seen High Noon once, and that’s enough. As with most What the Ell genres I’m asked to write in, it’s been fun trying.
Julia Chalkley 