Hartland Quay to Bude
Remember the ‘contemplating man’ from day 9? He and his father walked one year from Hartland Quay to Bude. He said they found it very challenging, and that it took a lot longer than expected. I wasn’t surprised. The SWCP Association have slogged the stage with a ‘severe’ rating, and, having learned to respect these ratings, I had already identified this as a diversion day. Which was a good thing, because I was still exhausted when I woke the next morning. I was grumpy with the breakfast waitress who served grapefruit with little white spots of mould all the way through it. I was grumpy with the hotel reception girl who didn’t seem to think it a problem that they’d displayed a bus timetable that was two years out of date in a place where network reception was zero. Basically, I was just tired and grumpy. Exhaustion will do that to you.
But I had a plan…
I’d walk inland and catch a bus from Harland village to Bude. This road would lead me past Hartland Abbey where I could indulge in a bit of historical froth, and maybe some more of that elderflower fizzy-goodness.
Two km to the east I stole in the coach entrance (shh…don’t tell anyone) because the general entry was a huge diversion and I was hauling the beast. The gardens were mostly wild, in a good way. I’d seen some of the estate the day before whilst walking over the last hill to the quay. Gorgeous open grass areas, with some very happy cows keeping the grass from growing crazy high, but still luscious green.
Around the front of the house was a flat green, with a tennis court put in probably back in the seventies by the look of the tarmac surface. Netting at either end would keep most of the stray balls from falling into the creek at the south side and into the picnic area on the north. While I was there a gardener had fun riding his red mower around and around and around. To prevent dizziness, I meandered up along the ‘Ladies Walk’ to the beautiful walled garden and glasshouses.
Built back in the early-mid 1700s – when they didn’t care so much about clean lines and symmetry – the garden was built in a trapezoid-shaped wedge at the eastern end of the valley, with rows of vegetables rising up the hillsides to the higher walls. The effect was a cosy hug. I ran into one of the gardeners and mentioned that I was surprised to see the shape of the garden and the slope of the beds. He gave me a mini-history on 18th century design and spoke about the practicalities of working in a sloped garden – having to move dirt uphill when hoeing or tilling, but that it helped when sowing or harvesting, because they didn’t have to bend down so low.
After a decadent lunch of steak pastie and salad, with a pot of earl grey tea, I went through the house (they don’t allow photographs inside the house, sorry).
It had a very lived-in feel. Since it may well be the only time on this trip I go into one of these old houses I had to make the most of it. I was first in the house, so the guides were a little stiff to start, and there were a lot of them, stumbling over each other’s explanations. Interesting tit bits – the drawing room murals were covered up by paper for a long time. When they were revealed it cased a sensation because the images depict the involvement of the Stucley family in historical moments of import – but some of them don’t show other historically-important individuals in a particularly positive light. Like many large estate houses, it was requisitioned by the government during the war and used as a boys’ school.
Lastly, it was used by Prince William for his bucks party (martini anyone?).
After thoroughly enjoying Hartland Abbey, the grounds, and the tea room, I thanked the ticket office lady for keeping the beast safe, and headed off east toward Hartland village where the post office was on my radar before meeting the one and only bus to Bude that day.
In an aside, the bus services in the west country is fairly good. You can pretty much find a bus going near everywhere, but they’re infrequent. Planning is definitely required.
Getting to the post office was a big deal. This was the moment when I would officially pass on future opportunities to camp whilst on the swcp. I’d agonised over my decision, but it was ultimately a happy relief when that parcel of camping goodies winged east to London.
With another hour or so to wait, I looked for a pub, but the two I could find were shut (weird). I found a spot to sit and people-watch in the town square, and it soon became apparent that the few dozen people who had passed in the first fifteen minutes had all been smiling, and all been going in the same direction. Where could they be going?
I decided to follow (what else is an adventurous Pen to do?).
Turns out they were thronging to a visiting fish and chip van. Now, fish and chips hadn’t exactly been rare on my travels so far, but I felt compelled to join in with the locals on this clearly important ritual. From the local’s excitement, I would guess the van came yearly. There were so many people. Those who had driven to the van clogged the road and the bus to Bude, when it eventually turned up, could hardly get through.
Drama in Hartland!
With salty, vinegary, greasy goodness warming my innards, I took the bus to Bude and arrived just as daylight turned to dusk, with just enough time to walk the Bude foreshore and decide that this was definitely a town I’d love to spend more time exploring.
[Surge stats: 15.09 km, 72 floors, 21587 steps]
PenLoper 