It just so happened . . .

Over the last few months I have read – a lot. Thanks to my rotten sight these are all ebooks (mainly Kindle) and I have two bits of equipment on which I read: an Acer Iconiatab and a much smaller and lighter Nexus. The Acer does all sorts of things, most important of which is that I usually write this blog on it – simply because it is reasonably portable and has a full size on-screen keyboard which means I can pound away at my usual breakneck speed. Then I email it to my PC as an attachment.

Since I can think of no sensible way of illustrating these random thoughts, I thought I would start with this picture of Marcia standing beside one of the old and much distorted trees on the Dartington Hall Estate.

Early on I decided that I would have something pretty serious on the Acer and something light and undemanding on the Nexus for last thing at night. As of today, it is The Towers of Silence by Paul Scott and some of the French Foreign Legion yarns by P C Wren. It was the latter (and especially the three Geste stories) which raised in my mind this week's literary question: what should be the maximum number of coincidences allowed in a novel?

Then, simply because the next book which is Summer on the River is set in Dartmouth, I thought we would look at some odd aspects of the town. Hopefully, many copies will leave this shop on publication day: August 28th.

P C Wren overdoes it to the extent that some of the stories are, frankly, risible. However, not everything that at first looks like a coincidence is one. If you cast your mind back to The Sea Garden, you could say that it was unlikely that Joss would be related to the family on the Tamar. Actually this was quite reasonable. The only true coincidence in that book was that the daughter of one naval family should be a highly talented artist and that David happened to have married a one-time naval wife. After that it would have been surprising if she had not come across her relatives in the small naval circle to be found around port of Plymouth.

Some of the characters visit Alf Resco which is just down the hill from the two houses in which they live. (Photo Sarah Perring)

Of course some books spring out of a coincidence. Had Polly not decided to visit her hairdresser, one also patronised by Cassandra, and to do so at the same time, none of the events later recorded in Thea’s Parrot would have happened. But then, if I had not been leaning on the gate outside the old Victorian House in which I had my office in Kingsbridge when a certain Marcia was looking to carry out some interviews for the market research company for which she worked . . .

Dartmouth is full of steps. I can't remember how many it was from the level part of the town to the family house up on Mount Boone but it was well over a hundred. Not great fun when carrying heavy shopping.

I think we should allow a few coincidences but they should not be overdone. Nor – another problem with P C Wren – should characters be able to escape from seemingly impossible situations. Marcia and I call this the ‘with one bound he was free’ syndrome. 

In odd corners you will find narrow lanes . . .

One could equally well level that criticism against Buchan and many other writers of adventure stories and thrillers. So often these scenes are the result of the villain doing something profoundly stupid – at least if the intention is to achieve whatever end he – or she, of course – seems to have in mind. When he wrote Mr Standfast, Buchan falls into this trap. Why, oh why, did Ivery leave Hanney trapped in the cellar at the Pink Chalet instead of simply shooting him. After all, Ivery had Mary and the information he wished to pass on to the Germans and his reason for keeping Hannay alive was very unconvincing. Almost inevitably ‘with one bound Hanney was free’ and Ivery’s plans in ruins.

. . . such as Bayards Hill which links South Town, and so the Merchant's House and the Boat House, to Bayards Cove, the Dartmouth Arms and Alf Rescos. It was hurrying up this hill that made Claude feel a bit odd - but that is another story.

One is reminded of that scene in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Tuco (the ugly) is lying in a bath of soapy water and Elam (a man he has wounded and, as a result, has only one arm) comes to kill him. Elam is busy explaining that he is seeking revenge when Tuco lifts a gun out of the suds and fires. ‘When you have to shoot,’ he says, ‘shoot! Don't talk’. Good advice.

You may be interested to know that this is the 200th blog in this format. Another eight and it will be four years since I switched from the blog on the web site.

The station with no railway: Dartmouth

Last week, in a comment, Maria from Spain mentioned the only railway station in the country without a railway – Dartmouth – and she asks whether or not that is true. Well, yes, it was but, as we shall see, is no longer.

The Station Restaurant - once Dartmouth Station

The story starts back in the middle of the 19th century. A line had been built from London all the way down to Cornwall. It crossed the river Dart at Totnes, just above stream of the old road bridge but that is a good way from Dartmouth (on the west bank of the Dart) itself which suffered in those days from very poor inland transport links. So it was that a branch line was proposed which would link Dartmouth to the main line, joining it at Paignton (which is to the east of the Dart).

Agreement as to where the line should run was reached fairly quickly but it proved impossible to agree on where a bridge should be built. In fairness it must be remembered that at that time the Dart was a busy port and that the ships that came into the harbour and on up to Totnes with their tall masts were important to the local economy and a bridge would have put an end to that trade. So it was decided that the line should be run down into Kingswear (the town – then village – on the opposite side of the river to Dartmouth) and that the last part of the journey should be by ferry. Nevertheless there was a station built on the Dartmouth embankment complete with ticket office and waiting room – and its own Station Master. From there you walked down a covered gangway to a floating pontoon, also covered, and so onto the ferry which took you across the river where a similar arrangement took you up to the platforms.

This line opened in 1864 and continued to operate until the branch line was closed on 30 December 1972. The ferry was then passed to the local authority and the railway line to the Dart Valley Railway Company which was already operating the heritage line linking Totnes to Buckfastleigh. Nowadays both the line and the ferry are operated by the Dartmouth Steam Railway and Riverboat Company who offer a circular tour to visitors. This takes you from Dartmouth to Totnes by riverboat, thence by ‘bus to Paignton, by rail to Kingswear and back to Dartmouth on the ferry.

The station itself was rebuilt in 1986 when the embankment was raised and other flood protection works carried out and is now a restaurant.

As you know, we live a field away from the Dart some distance upstream of Totnes and the other day I went for my first walk around the gardens at Dartington Hall since the beginning of November when I first fell ill. All the photos here (apart from the one of the station) were taken on that walk. I hope you enjoy them.

Of Mice and Men

Mice have featured more than usual in our lives this week. Mice in the wrong place, that is: house mice (Mus musculus) in one of the cupboards in the kitchen in which we keep food to be specific. I have a very soft spot for mice but I am not entirely sure they would have been very welcome even if they had been field or wood mice (Apodemus sylvaticus to remove any confusion) which I find much more attractive.

Years ago, when we lived about a thousand foot above sea level on the cliffs to the south of Boscastle (on the North Cornish coast) we were having a new five bar gate put in. The holes for the posts had been dug by a chap from the village – the usual three foot deep and about six inches in diameter but he did this by hand using only a crowbar and a spade with a very narrow blade shaped a bit like a hand trowel. Nowadays the usual tool is a power auger on the back of a tractor.

These holes were covered with bits of slate held down with stones to keep small animals out but the next morning we found two dead dormice in the bottom of one of them. The problem with these little creatures is that they have to eat a great deal to keep going as the smaller you are the more body heat you lose and so the more calories you have to take on board to keep going. It is probable that these two died of hypothermia.

Anyway, since I hate killing things unless there is a very good reason, I use live traps and then let the little critters go some place away from houses.

This is the live trap I use. There were two mice in it and I am about to let them out on our way from Dartington to Dartmouth where Marcia was to sign books in the community bookshop (more on this below). Also below is a short video I took this morning showing the one we caught last night eventually trotting odff into the blue yonder.

Just before we left I received an email from Naomi Bates who lives in Australia. Attached to that was this picture of a lizard - a blue-tongued lizard or Tiliqua scincoides scincoides to be precise. 

Then, to our great surprise, as we walked from the car park in Dartmouth there, on the path, was a slow worm, Anguis fragilis, which is also a lizard even though it looks like a snake. We have one in the garden at Dartington but I don't see it very often and have never been able to take a photograph.

Years ago - and many more than I care to think about, we lived quite near to Christopher Robin Milne, the son of A A Milne and the muse for the books that featured Pooh, Piglest and the other inhabitants of the forest. At that time he owned the Harbour Bookshop in Dartmouth. In due course he sold the shop to Rowland Abram and one of his assistants was Andrea Saunders. 

Then, as happens, the bookshop closed down and Dartmouth became yet another town in which there was no place to go and browse the shelves and chat to the staff about books.

Andrea Saunders with Marcia in the Dartmouth Community Bookshop'

Not for long. It was decided that the answer was to create a bookshop that was run by the community on a not-for-profit basis and that the right person to run it was none other than Andrea with over twenty-five years of experience of the reading habits of locals and tourists alike. I am delighted to say that this project is a great success - in part due to the fact that there are so many people willing to work there on a voluntary basis. What is especially encouraging is that, while other bookshops are closing, this one is planning to expand into a small courtyard at the rear of the shop.

This is a wonderful model - and you can read all about it on their website - and I do hope that other communities take note and see whether or not they can create something similar.

Obviously this chap has a nautical owner. Two leads: a red one to attach him to port (as above) and a green one to starboard.

A Storm Tossed Coast

This week we decided to drive down to the coast. Two reasons: Marcia has been making a few tiny changes to the book in production (that is the one that will be published in 2015) and wanted to check to make sure that these were right and I needed a couple of photographs for this seemingly never ending saga on books about Marcia's books. It seemed logical to combine these two requirements and so we set off for Dartmouth and across to Torcross in order to meet the first part of the job and then on to Lannacombe just the other side of Start Point so that I could do my bit.

Even now, after all these years, I am astonished at how thorough Marcia is: in the past I have said that if she records that such-and-such a flower is out on such-and-such a day at such-and-such it is because she has been there and seen it with her own eyes. Well, here she was being thorough once again – not that she needed to bother as her memory had proved to be absolutely spot on.

In so far as any of Marcia's books are set in a given time (and most of them are although there is no direct reference to exact dates), this book is set in the autumn of 2013 – and finishes just before Christmas. Then, in the following February, storms hit the south coast and caused a great deal of damage not only to property but to many businesses in the area.

This was the first time we had come down to the coast since those storms (to Dartmouth, yes, but not along the coast) and there is still ample evidence of those 'extreme weather events' as our politically correct weather forecasters insist on describing them – a very bad habit that has been taken up by the media generally. A gale is a gale, a storm is a storm, the tail end of a hurricane is the tail end of a hurricane and heavy rain is, well, heavy rain. Still . . .

We stopped briefly in the car park in Torcross line where we, too, enjoyed ice creams. It is interesting to remember that when I started driving the road was slightly to the seaward side of this car park and had to be realigned inland after heavy storms in 2001 undermined the road's foundations. Well, the same thing happened again but this time, fortunately, it was only the car park that suffered. Last year the cars nearest the sea would have been parked facing the beach. Now the authorities have had to lay temporary wooden barriers to keep vehicles away from the edge, parking parallel to it. This problem is not going to go away and we can expect further damage to this shingle bank (for that is what it is) until, one day, it allows the sea to break through into the Ley behind it. This is not a question of “if” but of “when” and the best estimates are all placed in this century.

Then we passed The Boathouse. You may remember that I mentioned this place in my last blog of 2013 and showed you some pictures of it and the people who work in there.

Well, this is how it looks today. Having been battered by the waves – all the windows were broken and the seas surged into the building – a week or so later there was a devastating fire which left the property a total wreck. As you can see, it remains shrouded in scaffolding and canvas. It is hoped that they will be able to open in time for the 2015 season.

Much the same happened back in the 1970's when almost all the properties facing the sea in Torcross had to be rebuilt and a new sea wall was constructed which, or so it was thought at the time, would make sure the same thing never happened again.

And so to Lannacombe which has also changed completely. This was the cove that inspired “the cove” in Second Time Around. Here we have Marcia standing by the stream that runs down over the beach – a stream in which she played as a small child. So far so good.

Here we see that tons of large boulders have been piled at the top of the beach in the hope that they will take most of the power out of the waves. If this fails the house and, of course, the business operated from it which includes bed & breakfast and a camp site, will have to be relocated.

Meanwhile this photograph shows where the sea ripped away part of the cliff – where you can see the unweathered red sandstone. The South Coast Footpath runs just above it and it would not take more than another small cliff fall for that to become unsafe. Clearly the path could be rerouted but it would be a very expensive operation. My guess is that if there is further damage, the path between here and Start Point will be closed and people will have to walk inland which will be a long and rather boring detour.

However, despite all we had a very happy time revisiting these old haunts: haunts much alive with a number of Marcia's characters. Perhaps one day she will revisit the cove and find out what happened to the people living down there during the storms of February 2014.

Meet Martha – sometimes called Martha Tydfil – who also answers to the name of Monkey (that best describing her character).  

Morris Dancing in Dartmouth

May I start for apologising for the fact that I just did not find the time to reply to you comments last week. Must try and do better!

Many years ago, I found myself working alongside a chap called Ken Hudson. His spare time seemed to be divided by two very different activities. He refereed football matches (and there are few sports more popular than soccer in this country) and he was a member of the Dartington Morris Men – a Morris Side that is (as the name suggests) based in Dartington – (and there can be few activities less popular than Morris dancing in this country).

My friend Ken Hudson, left, with Robin Springett with the Royal Castle in the background.

After a while we both moved on as people do and we lost touch. That was about twenty-five years ago. Then, a week or so back we received a lovely surprise: a letter from him. Ken is still a member of the Dartington side but I have yet to ask whether he still referees the odd soccer match. I will next time I see him.

Adam Garland

Nobody really knows when Morris dancing as it is now practised started but there are written records dating back to the 1400's which mention them and then there is this from the mouth of another member of the Dartington side, Christopher Farr.

'According to hear-say in the Cotswold village where I was brought up (Chipping Campden in Gloucestershire) Morris Dancing first came to England in 1367 when the dance was brought back by troops in John of Gaunt's army after the battle of Najera, which is in Northern Spain.'.

This could well be the case (and some say the name derives from 'Moorish dancing' – Spain had been occupied by the Moors from about 700 ad until the mid-1700's and their influence is evident to this day both in architecture and culture. However it started, it is a tradition with a history of over five hundred years.

The Dartington Morris Men follow the Cotswold tradition (there are other slightly different traditions who practice different but similar dances) and so are member of The Morris Ring which is an association of the sides that follow the Cotswold way. The boss man in Morris Dancing is known as the 'Squire' and so it is that the top man in the Morris Ring carries that title. The Squire of the Ring serves for two years and then hands over to someone else over two events. The first is a feast during which the old Squire gives his successor the Chain of Office and the Badge. The second is a ritual during which the outgoing Squire dances himself out, the incoming Squire dances himself in and then receives the Staff from his predecessor.

On the left a retired rocket scientist (Jim Gailer) with a retired tree surgeon (Peter Metcalf). And what do they have in common?
They are both members of the Wessex Morris Men

Now it happens that Ken is the Squire of the Dartington side and another member of that side, Robin Springett, was the Squire of the Ring and his two year term was up last week-end. The Morris Ring members descended on Dartmouth for the week end: the feast was held on the Saturday evening and the second part of the ritual – the hand over to Adam Garland from the East Suffiolk Morris Men – took place on Sunday in the Royal Avenue Gardens.

Marcia and I toddled off down to Dartmouth to watch the proceedings and to enable me to take some video. Click here if you want to see that video.

Most countries have some form of traditional culture and most treasure it – but in England it is far from treasured. During one of the lulls, Marcia was chatting to Anthony Frost, a cabinet maker from Sherborne who belongs to the Wessex Morris Men, and they were wondering why that should be the case. In Ireland, Scotland and Wales the old traditions are being kept very firmly alive and it would be nice to think it was the same in England: perhaps it will become so once again.

Marcia with Anthony Frost

Final thought: everything comes out in a book sooner or later. I will leave you to brood on that.

Two dogs for the price of one this week. Please note: these are not just any old blog dogs - they are Morris Men Blog Dogs.

A morning off

When we shot into Totnes yesterday (for reasons that will become apparent in a moment) the sun was shining although it was quite chilly. Anyway, we decided that it was a morning for a quick cup of coffee outside the brioche. While we were sitting there, a seagull landed on top of the telephone box opposite and so I took his photograph. That triggered a conversation.

Me: Is it a telephone box or a telephone kiosk?

Marcia: Well, I suppose it should be a telephone kiosk but nobody will mind if you call it a telephone box. Most people do.

This could easily have resulted in a lengthy discussions on the pros and cons of the two words but we were deflected from that - which was probably just as well - although I can't now remember why.

The gull standing (on one foot) on top of the telephone thingy. I just love the way the red light from the roof colours the gull's feathers/

We were in Totnes to give Marcia a break from hitting the keys and a chance to let her mind roam around a bit to try to sort out what has proved to be a tricky point in the book she is writing. This is all to do with that shadowy figure I mentioned before but who, for reasons unknown, failed properly to reveal himself during the period when the book was at the germination stage. The lack if detail about this chap is the problem and Marcia is, in my view, in danger of rushing things. True, this book is now running behind schedule (sorting out where we were going to live and then moving is largely to blame for that) and she really, really wants to get this one out of her head as this is the time of the year that she usually starts to brood on the next one. Rushing it, however, being a rather bad idea, we thought a morning in the town doing not very much at all would be good for her.

Some of you will know that I am working on a series of books (or whatever you want to call them) about Marcia Willett's West Country. The first (covering Dartmouth and Start Bay and so Hattie's Mill and Second Time Around) was supposed to be ready by Christmas. The text was written but for various reasons there were some photographs that had not then been taken. I hope to get them in the bag quite soon now. Anyway, since there is no way of illustrating Marcia and I doing nothing very much, here are some of the pictures of architectural details from the Dartmouth section which I hope you will find interesting.

It also meant a good opportunity to stock up on those things we can't buy in the village. So it was that after breakfast we created a comprehensive shopping list. Having enjoyed one cup of coffee, I strolled (no rushing for me, either) down to a shop called Lawsons - hardware, kitchen stuff and so on - and once there put my hand in my shirt pocket for the shopping list. The pocket was empty. Hmmm. Having selected what I could remember I arrived at the checkout to find that they are now offering a 10% discount to pensioners on a Thursday. Every cloud has a silver lining.

As it is really quite a long time since we were in a position where we could pop into a town whenever the mood took us, I had forgotten how different Totnes feels on the various days of the week. Whether that is true of other towns I have no idea.

Obviously Friday being market day means the place is busier - you have to be quite early if you want to be sure of finding somewhere to park the car - and there is a great sense of 'buzz'. Saturday also has a market but the people in the town seem to be completely different with many more families about which is, of course, just what you would expect. Sundays vary: once a month there is a Farmers' Market which pulls in people from all around who are rarely in the town on other days. Monday and you feel a sense of relief that the busyness of the previous three days is over and there is time to stand and stare, to chat, to relax.

Tuesday sees Totnes at its most odd. It is known as Elizabethan Tuesday, thanks an idea dreamed up by the Totnes Town Association some years ago. There are charity stalls in the Market Square and quite a few people dress up in Elizabethan clothing or, to be more accurate, in what they see as being Elizabethan clothing somewhat modified with comfort in mind (especially when it comes to shoes).

Wednesday and Thursday are much alike. The town is at its quietest (which is, no doubt, why Lawsons choose Thursday to offer oldies like me a discount) but I rather like it. It retains its quintessential essence and in some ways this is easier to enjoy when there is less hustle and bustle.  

It would seem that Chudleigh (yes, like the village) found the whole business of modelling a bit too much. Marcia tells me that his front feet are in the third position - well, almost - but I really could not comment knowing nothing about ballet myself.

In the deep mid winter . . .

As I sit in front of my computer writing this blog, Marcia is sitting with her laptop writing about the Royal Regatta in Dartmouth. Outside is a typically mid-December drear of the sort only too common on the south west shoulders of Dartmoor. No sun, of course, but no defined clouds either: instead the sky is a uniform dirty looking grey tinged with yellow - rather like the smogs we used to have when most houses were heated with open coal fires in the days before the clean air acts came in to force. No rain, although it lashed down not long ago: just mizzle (a combination of mist and drizzle).

Back at Regatta time we had brilliant sunshine, eternal blue skies and it was hot on hot (as they used to say in the old days). Thus Marcia has had to create a world that is so different from the one surrounding us: a world of happy holidaymakers on the embankment catching crabs or just watching other people catching crabs, people on the beaches playing with their children or plunging in and out of the sea and more energetic souls walking the coastal footpath or pumping pedals on mountain bikes.

Come Easter, and Marcia will be writing about Christmas, about now, in fact. This triggers off a memory that I may have shared with you before (in which case I apologise). Imagine Easter Sunday in the (then) small village of Avonwick. Marcia used to live in the Old Bakery there and had sold it many years ago to Sally and Brian. We had moved back into the village nut, obviously, in a different house. Marcia leaves to go down to the church as Sally is passing on the same errand.

‘Hello Sally,’ says Marcia. ‘Are the girls home for Christmas?’

There is a long pause and then, ‘Marce, it’s Easter.’

‘What? Oh, sorry. How silly of me. I have just been writing about Christmas.’

The real problem is, of course, to remember what it was like in August when writing at the end of December and remembering what it was like in the run up to Christmas when writing at the end of March. The answer, in Marcia’s case, is to take lots and lots of notes: taken in very small notebooks – one of which is always with her in much the same way as I always have a camera with me.

Thus this week we have been down to Dartmouth and Torcross to check them out so that, come Easter, Marcia will know what was what and where and how it felt.

Talking about Christmas, Marcia has written you a short letter to which I would like to add my very best wishes to you all. Some of you have had a rather difficult time recently: may 2014 be a year of peace, health and happiness.

Hello everyone,

A sudden drop in temperature, a spatter of hail against the window, and - just as suddenly - the sun appears from behind stormy, gold-edged clouds just moments before it sets behind Ugborough Beacon. Its light gleams on the last of the rosy fruit on the crab-apple tree and briefly touches the tips of the tall firs with fire. Sunset at four o'clock: tomorrow will be the shortest day. So much to anticipate: the first snowdrops, daffodills, new-born lambs but -before any of those things - Christmas.

May I wish you all joy and peace, and offer many thanks for all your support and encouragement. It is so wonderful to hear from you all, to have your good wishes, and to know that we all go forward together into the New Year. I hope it will be a happy one.

Many blessings and much love

Marcia

 Our blog dog is known to all his friends simply as Alfie, which is a bit of a comedown for such a handsome Bedlington Lurcher but there you are. The explanation probably lies with his owner whom I met in Totnes despite the fact that he hails from Par which is near Tywardreath down in Cornwall where he runs an antiques business known as Temeraire Antiques. For further details click here (which means that for two weeks running I have linked you to a business but I promise it will not become a habit).

And now for the next book

On Wednesday evening Marcia fulfilled the last of the events associated with this year’s publication which, as I am sure you all know, was for the hardback of Postcards in the Past and the paperback of The Sea Garden. So it is time . . . I nearly found myself writing “to get back to normal” . . . to get back to living in a world that presently encompasses a group of people living on the south coast of Devon. Some are in the town of Dartmouth.

The last event was to speak at the Taunton Literary Festival. The talk was held in Brendon Books – one of the remaining independent bookshops in this area – and the place was, as expected, full. Then there was, of course, time for questions.

Marcia and her agent, Dinah, at the Times Oxford Literary Festival

Talking about a group of people and literary festivals brings to mind the time when Marcia was speaking at the Times Oxford Literary Festival in, I think, 2008. She shared the platform with Meg Roscoff – writer of delightful children’s books, American and a trained psychologist. Come question time and a gentlemen raised his hand. ‘You describe the family in your book, Ms Willett, as “dysfunctional”. How would you define dysfunctional?'

‘How would you define it?’ asked Marcia.

‘I asked the question.’

‘I can tell you exactly what she means by dysfunctional,’ interjected Meg and she then proceeded to explain in details exactly what the word meant to a psychologist. When she had finished she turned to the questioner and asked him, ‘ And what do you do for a living?’

‘I compile dictionaries,’ came the reply.

Only in Oxford!

It may have been May (I think - possibly April) but it snowed.
An Oxford quad, brilliants sunshine, blue sly - and snow.

Back to this group on Devon’s south coast. Yes, they are a group but not a family – when you think about it Marcia very rarely does ‘families’ in the sense of a married couple with two point four children or whatever the average may be. Her ‘families’ are people who life has brought together in unusual groupings, usually through events outside their control or just because they meet and like each other. As far as I can gather there is a bit of both in this book but I am hopelessly lost, really. We have been in the “real” world for the last two or three weeks and I have lost the threads but no doubt I shall catch up soon. Then, of course, I shall not be able to say anything: the last thing I want to do is to diminish your pleasure when the book is finally published at the end of 2015.

From my point of view the setting of the book could not be better. I mentioned Hattie’s Mill Revisited a while back but things have moved on and I have (again) changed the format. At last – after years of getting it wrong – I think I am getting it right. The idea is twofold and bringing the ideas together into one publication (is it a book or a booklet?) has proved to be an enormous challenge. On the one hand I wanted to talk about the places that inspired the settings for the book and on the other to talk about the way Marcia creates her worlds.

Talking about the places, trying to give something to people who have never visited the area was, in the first place, going to be a minor part but I have realised that in some ways it is the more important. So the present idea is that there will be five publications (assuming I can keep going long enough) which will be centred on places: Dartmouth and Start Bay; Totnes; Tavistock and Dartmoor; Exmoor. Bodmin Moor and North Cornwall.

The first, then, is Marcia Willett’s West Country – Dartmouth and Start Bay. The two novels that are firmly set in this area are Hattie’s Mill and Second Time Around. Characters in a number of other books pop in and out of the town – Cass and Kate going to the Britannia Royal Naval College balls; Fliss and Miles live in Dartmouth for a while; Angus moves here in The Prodigal Wife and so on.

Thus there is a section ‘Dartmouth – Past and Present’ to be followed by ‘Hattie’s Mill revisited’ then ‘Start Bay – Past and Present’ and ‘Second Time Around revisited’.

The sweep of Start Bay from Start Point to the mouth of the Dart

The past is basically in words although I have found a few old photos but the present is essentially pictorial and one of the pictures I wanted was of Start Bay taken from Start Point showing the sweep of the coast all the way around to the mouth of the Dart with the Mew Stone (a lump of rock – you could hardly call it an island) that guards the entrance to the river. To get this picture needed the right weather and a crystal clear sky. It rained very hard on Sunday washing all the dust out of the atmosphere and Monday was set to be a sunny day so off we went and, yes, I got what I wanted.

Once again, I regret to say, I ended up chatting to the owner and then forgot to ask for the name of the dog. I love the notice in the background. This delightful spaniel is, like most spaniels, worried. In this case worried because his mistress has gone off AND LEFT HIM!!!

Ahh, there she is! Come on, hurry up and don't get run over as you cross the road!

For those of you who know Totnes, this dog is in front of the new shop selling all sorts of gear for walkers and so on which is in the premises that once housed Woolworths, opposite the Rumour Wine Bar.