OLD ILFRACOMBE

Dominion, Volume 21, Issue 86, 10 January 1928, Page 11

OLD ILFRACOMBE

PLEASANT DEVON WATERING PLACE LEGEND OF THE SQUIRE OF BRENDON (By H. Plimmer.) Old Ilfracombe is by the sea down Bristol way—a bit buoyant. That is to say, if you are coasting northwards up Bristol Channel, and you pass Bideford, Lynton and Lynmouth—which be the higher and lower towns—you won't be so far away from the bold heights of Ilfracombe, one of the most unconventional of watering places in the west of England. One usually looked for big expansive beaches, lined with big expensive hotels, at English watering places, but dear old Ilfracombe has neither, and yet it has charms all its own. If you be motoring in from the west the main street is entered at once. Half-way along it becomes divided into a higher and longer street, with subsidiary roads heading off the higher roadway to the terraced streets

that tower above. When one is in the exact centre of the town one could scarcely realise tTiat it was a seaside place at all, for all view of the sea is cut off from the business centre by building-covered ridges bn, either side; but one simply has to continue straight on and down the slope, or dash through a graded shop-flanked arcade, to be struck full in the eye by the dancing blue of Bristol Channel, breaking gently on the rugged rocky front that this place presents to the sea. Ilfracombe has no beach in the ordinary acceptation of the word. True, there is a few yards pf broken rocks and sand opposite the centre of the promenade, habitable at low water, but there is no extent of smooth, breaker-washed bathing beach. Instead there is the grandeur and variety of rocks, which in places rise sheer out of the sea with a bold effrontery that is almost startling. The gay promenade ( leads direct to Capstone Hill, 140 feet' in height, which shelters the town to the north, and is an unforgettable feature. In the shelter of this hill—o.i the southern side—is a splendid concrete promenade, a bandstand, public concert and dance hall, some pretty garden plots, and a public bowling green. What more does a man want on a fine summer's day? English people will know that a bandstand means a military band or orchestra, which plays morning, afternoon, and evendug in the season. It was certainly with an enormous amount of pleasure that we took our seats in the sunshine of an early September day, and heard a delightful Gilbert - Sullivan- fantasia, which brought up many memories of. memorable performances ever so far away from Ilfracombe—and England. Capstone Hill is solid rock. It is a municipal reserve, and round its granite sides that slip down sheer into the swill and swirl of the Channel tide, a splendid road or .promenade has been cut neatly on a gradient easy for all ages. This road continues right round the hill and returns to the parade on the'other side, whilst contributory rock paths zigzag down to massive shoulders of rock that are washed by the waves dt high-water. That side of the hill which is exposed to the sea is bare, uncompromising rock, but the slopes of the hill above are nicely grassed, and the southward side forms a natural grandstand high above the bandstand and promenade. Some people will say, “What’s the good oi a watering place without water?” There is plenty of water and plenty of facilities for good bathing, though surfing may not be possible. The Tunnel baths are excellent, and Wildersmouth beach, only ten minutes away from town, affords plenty of bathing space for young and old. Ilfracombe is an old town. It used to be a port of some little consequence in the days of sailing craft, but with the introduction of steam, and with it the growth •of Bristol, not so much farther up-Channel, it went back as a centre of-maritime importance, and now exists pretty well as a watering place in summer, and a mild place of residence in the winter—as charming a seaside place in its class as is to be found in glorious Devon, as, when fogs and rain prevail Londonwards, it is invariably bright down Ilfracombe way. Like every other town in England, Ilfracombe has its tales and 1< gends. Did it not contribute si:» ships to the Navy in Edward Ill’s reign, shewing just as much briskness to help the defence of the' realm as the men of Devon have always done? The reference to legends reminds me of the one so well told in the song, too seldom heard, “Dear Old Ilfracombe,” which runs:— ’’ 'Twas many and many a year ago. The hunt was at end and the sun getting low; And miles from his home at the end of

the day. She Squire of Brendon had lost his way. Lost his way. Well, a-day!

But a kirtle red in the gloom he spied. And "Heigh, Heigh, pretty maid,’’ he gaily cried. “Where on earth doth this rugged old pathway go?” And a sweet voice answered: “What, don’t you know? Don’t you know? Why, right through Chambercotnbe. Down to Ilfracombe,, grandest spot in the world it be; Though it's just a few cottages, homes of the flsher-folk. Dear old Ilfracombe, down by the sea.”

How strange that so often on stag-hunting day, The end of the run would be Chambercombe way; And a kirtle of red in the dusk should appear, Which the arms of the Squire went round, I fear, Went round, I fear. Oh. dear; oh. dear!

But the Ilfracombe fisher-maid came to be The Lady of Brendon. Oh. don’t you see! But she never forsook her old friends below And for years and years with her lord would go As they know, why right through Cham-

bercombe, Down to Ilfracombe, grandest spot in the world it be. It was just a few cottages, homes of the fisher folk. Dear old Ilfracombe, down by the sea.”