THROUGH LEAFY LANES

Southland Times, Issue 22474, 9 November 1934, Page 9

THROUGH LEAFY LANES

MOTORING IN BRITAIN OVER DEVON HILLS. ARTICLE VIII. The delights of motoring over the steep hills of Devon are described by Mr M. N. Hyndman in the eighth article of the series. Our road (he says) now lay through Instow, close to the lovely winding estuary of the River Taw, to Barnstaple, an ancient seaport, now suffering from siltation of its harbour. It played its part right well in Armada days, and, small as it was in population, sent five ships against the Spaniard. We crossed the Taw by Long Bridge, memorable in the story of Loma Doone as the place where Tom Faggus was “cornered,” both ends of the bridge being blocked by his pursuers. Highwayman Tom was not to be tamely captured, not while he 'was astride his wonderful mare Winnie, and at a whispered word she cleared the parapet and swam to safety. And here at Barnstaple that pleasant fellow John Gay, of “Beggar’s Opera” fame, was bom. Twin Villages. I think that England has nothing more unusual to offer than the twin villages of Lynton and Lynmouth. The road to these exceptionally attractive villages led us, by steep gradients, from one scene of beauty to another; indeed the very steepness of the road served to uncover new loveliness, as we either climbed or descended, or else looked back to something we had already seen from another angle. Lynton is 450 feet up the hill, and Lynmouth is by the sea, two rare gems in their setting of woodland greenery and seascape. They are connected by a cliff railway 300 yards long, cut through solid rock and by a very steep road. At the higher village we were warned of the danger of a certain comer and found the warning a great assistance. Both Lynton and Lynmouth. are lovely holiday villages, and their attractions are fully realized. We seemed to flash from one sheer beauty to another. This steep country must have been in Blackmore’s mind when he wrote Loma Doone. Between Lynton and Minshead, our next objective, and higher up the Bristol Channel lie two of the steepest hills in England, Contisbury and Porlock. Both are long hills with maximum gradients of 1 in 4. Contisbury seemed to us to be all “maximum.” Our route necessitated climbing Contisbury, and descending Porlock. It was a long pull up, but always enjoyable. The backward view of the twin villages was wonderfully panoramic. As we climbed to the heights, Exmoor forest developed. Exmoor is a wild moorland, now quite deforested, covered with rough grass and heather. This was in partial bloom, its various shades of purple, being a rich mantel for the rough outcroppings. The Doone country lies close, and from the heights one obtained an excellent view of the Doone Valley, not quite so wild, it appeared to us as John Ridd’s description, but “Dooneish ’ all the Porlock still revealed different beauty. Far below lay Porlock Village, once a seaport, now a mile inland. We chose to descend to the village by a new private toll road, less steep than the old public one, and found our choice justified by the easy gradient that wound through wooded land, so bush-like that we were reminded of Eglinton. Minehead. Daylight was fading as we passed through the village, and dusk was gathering when we reached Mineheac. This attractive old Somerset seaport took our fancy. A spick and span watering place, with houses set comfortably in three-shaded streets, and having a general air of business-like prosperity. We parked our car and luggage, and wandered through the streets, being impressed by the alertness of the Western Motors Company. Scores of notice boards, well displayed, invited consideration of the many trips arranged by this concern. It was quite a pleasant surprise to find a statue of Queen Anne here, the only one we had seen of this daughter of the Stuarts. Queen Victoria is first favourite everywhere, but other British queens have rarely been honoured in statuary by the British public. One or two statues we saw of Boadicea, one of Elizabeth and this one of Anne and many, many of Victoria. Eleanor’s crosses are, however, the finest tribute ever paid to any sovereign, but of these more later.