So we left the car just outside Totnes and headed north up Bourton Lane. A once public road, or at least lane, which has now fallen into disrepair, only suitable for agricultural vehicles and two or four footed animals. In places the water coming down the hill had swept parts of the road surface away to reveal what appeared to be several campaigns of road surfacing, possibly over a couple of hundred years.
About a mile into the walk we came to what looked as if it had once been a gate, with two substantial masonry piers on either side of the track, complete with relics of iron gate hangings. And just past the gate was a sort of masonry niche, perhaps three or four feet high, fashioned in the bank on the western side of the track. The bottom of the niche was full of water and we wondered if the niche had enclosed a spring for the supply of drinking water for passing animals, of all varieties.
A bit further along and we came to a substantial cluster of caravans, old and new, strung out along a couple of hundred yards of track. Most of them appeared to be inhabited and most of them looked to have been there for some time. One of them was a smartly converted, albeit old and shabby, furniture van. Just about visible, if you click to enlarge, in the snap taken from gmaps above, around where it says Bourton Lane. Many had solar panels propped up against them, perhaps going some way to explaining the serious security measures taken at the fields of same in the area. See reference 2.
Reasonably messy and we wondered about the mix of people who lived there, given that the two of the three people we greeted did not sound traveler born and bred. And it seems likely that such a community is going to attract more than its fair share of difficult people. We also wondered about baths, not noticing any of the milk churns commonly used for watering such camps in and around Epsom.
Down the hill to the next stop, the mare and foal rescue sanctuary, quite a large complex including a large indoor riding school. We were told that lots of people buy horses for one reason or another and then abandon them in some handy field - and some of which end up here. Plus quite a lot of Dartmoor ponies. BH had been very impressed that I had managed to spirit her morning coffee out of the fields, but despite loud advertisement, we found that we could only have coffee by rooting someone out of the office, which seemed a bit mean. A failing made up by the sight of plenty of Thelwells in full fig: black hats, whips, jodhpurs, the lot.
So back to the car without refreshment, and onto the banks of the Dart for our picnic, opposite the sheds of what used, until fairly recently, to be the sheds of the Baltic Timber Company - with the heritage board including a photograph of timber being unloaded from a Russian schooner around 1900. With a rather later photograph showing a near completed wooden minesweeper.
From there there was a pleasant riverside walk of about a mile down the river, once past the sheds, out in the country. Very peaceful.
Peace somewhat disturbed on the way back to the car park by the sight of what looked very like an endoscope, as used in the better class of hospitals. The reel of black hose certainly looked very familiar - but the chaps in charge assured us that it was to do with drains rather than people - although they did admit to there being a camera on the end.
Having done orgo the previous week, a doing noticed at reference 5, we thought it proper to call in at the mother ship on the way home, the Riverford organic farm shop, selling all manner of orgo food, some of it grown more or less on the premises. Including a variety of cheese and a butchers. Not to mention the all important pearl barley needed for the day's soup - which they had, although for some reason they called it barley grain rather than pearl barley. Not as clean and plump as the stuff from Sainsbury's, but essentially the same thing. While the fine looking January King savoy came with livestock and, for once, we were moved to resort to the salted water of our childhood.
We were also able to take tea and cake, something called a raspberry bakewell, a tray bake rather than the usual cherry topped tart, rather good. Thus closing the outing.
Snaps to follow in due course. Connections in south Devon not quite the same as those in south London.
PS: back home, we had some trouble finding out who John Musgrave was, expecting him to be some local worthy, perhaps a successful merchant from the 17th century. Eventually we ran him down as a past president of the South Devon Ramblers, a past president who left the money needed to establish this fine long distance footpath.
Reference 1: http://psmv3.blogspot.co.uk/2016/04/two-follies.html.
Reference 2: http://psmv3.blogspot.co.uk/2016/04/whistley-hill-power-station.html.
Reference 3: http://www.southdevonramblers.com/.
Reference 4: https://www.mareandfoal.org/.
Reference 5: http://psmv3.blogspot.co.uk/2016/11/orgo.html.
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