In the rolling Devon countryside

Different terrain for this week's Sunday afternoon jaunt. No coast, no moors but rolling, open countryside around the hamlet of Kelly just over the border in Devon. And none the worse for that! In the event, slightly longer than intended and along footpaths that were not as distinct as they could have been - hence the strange deviations on the map where we had to retrace our steps to find the route or revise where we were going because the track disappeared into an impenetrable hedge.

This one started and ended just outside of Kelly House and took us over fields and lanes for about 6 1/2 miles. Rather unexpectedly it was not particularly easy, so a moderate difficulty level. And the weather? Rather warm and pleasant. We took in a trio of churches at the end - Kelly, Bradstone and Dunterton.

Rolling English countryside with sheep in the meadows and blue skies

Luckily we did not have to wade across the ford, the footbridge was a most welcome sight.

One of the two Air B & Bs we came across, although this one was fair less attractive than the other one.

A horse-drawn potato/root crop lifter. The large wheels drove the shaft that propelled the tines to lift the crops out of the ground. They would have been thrown out sideways to the direction of travel of the horse. It's always fun, when we come across these old pieces of agricultural machinery, to try and work out what their original function was. Sometimes, as with this one, it's fairly obvious. Other times, less so.

A rather inquisitive herd of calves in a field of buttercups. They seemed quite frisky but kept a respectable social distance from us.

We took the correct footpath but it directed us straight into a hedge. Not very helpful but, in the scheme of things, a very minor inconvenience.

This appears to be the childrens' playground at Meadwell, a hamlet just outside of Kelly. It makes the one in Luckett look well equipped, and that is saying something.

Although it's been a good year for bluebells, it was still a surprise to come across them in this shady copse just outside of Meadwell.

A carpeting of pussy willows, making the track look as if it's covered in dead caterpillars. A little bit weird to walk on.

Looking westwards towards Bodmin Moor. The first hill to the left of the clump of trees is Hawkstor, where we walked last week. 

Looking down on the last mile of the walk, heading to Kelly church in the distance. 

The first of the three churches we visited, albeit briefly for each one. This is the church of St Mary the Virgin at Kelly. Dating from the 14th century, it is pleasant enough and has close associations with the eponymous Kelly family, of Kelly House, almost next door. The Kelly family have obviously been generous benefactors of the church over the many years (900!) they have lived in the area. Once upon a time, Mrs P and I used to work with the present chatelaine.

As we drew up to our second church, St Nonna's at Bradstone, we were surprised to see this gatehouse to the Tudor Bradstone Manor. It can now be rented out as an Air B &B and is probably far more comfortable than the one I mentioned previously.

A newspaper cutting showing a photograph of William Henry Lovell whose monument in Bradstone church is shown below.

William Henry Lovell was born in 1892 at Lifton to Robert and Patience Lovell. William enlisted with the 7th Battalion of the  Duke Of Cornwall’s Light Infantry (Regimental No. 28869) as a private. He gained the rank of Lance Corporal. He was killed in action on August 16th, 1917 during the Battle Of Langemarck. His body was never identified but his name is commemorated on the Tyne Cot Cemetery near the town of Ieper, Panel 80 to 82 and 163A. At the time of his death, his parents were living at Bawcombe, Bradstone but later moved to the Old School House, Milton Abbot. 

St Nonna's, named after the mother of St David, dates from the 12th-century. The oldest parts of the church building are early medieval, with the addition of a 15th-century tower and it was dedicated by Bishop Brondescombe in 1261. It is built of stone rubble with ashlar dressings, beneath a slate roof. The interior features a wagon roof with carved bosses. A dedication stone outside the church commemorates John Coumbe, reputed to have lived from 1484-1604, which would make him aged 120 at his death. The church is no longer used for regular worship and is preserved by the Churches Conservation Church. It has a rather bare interior with very few embellishments.

And finally All Saints at Dunterton, primarily to visit the grave of a recently buried friend, Raymond Chudley. The church stands in splendid isolation and was once known locally as the ‘Plague Church’ as tradition has it that when the ‘Black Death’ was encompassing the area, much of the population around the church perished. To escape the disease, several children took refuge in the church and survived. There was apparently a village around the church but this disappeared after the time of the Black Death. 

It is is thought to date from the early-mid-1300s, but the nave was largely rebuilt, with the north aisle and west tower added, around the 1460s. According to British Listed Buildings the church started life prior to 1460 as a chantry chapel for the monastery at Tavistock. But a local source places the chantry chapel nearby and states that the remains are now part of a cow shed.

Frank Thomas was the only son of George and Rosa Thomas who lived at Greystone Bridge. He joined the 13th Hussars on 16th March 1917, then under the command of Lord Baden Powell. Frank soon found himself in Mesopotamia, fighting to capture Baghdad. He continued to fight in that country, after the war in Europe had stopped, in fact until November 1918 when he was judged by a military hospital to be injured so badly that he was issued with a Silver Badge, discharged as physically unfit to fight and sent home to Dunterton. He lived on until February 1920, without hospital care or, presumably, pain relief as so many men did, until he died on February 13th in that year aged 21. It seems likely that he was injured in the Battle of Sharqat (October 23th - 30th, 1918) the final battle of the Mesopotamian Campaign which was concluded by the signing of an armistice which gave the British access to the oil fields near Mosul. This had all along been the target because it ensured unlimited fuel supplies for the British Navy in the future.

Hawkstor, Trewortha Tor and 12 Men's Moor

I'm getting rather fond of the eastern area of Bodmin Moor, probably because it feels isolated and we rarely meet more that a handful of people when we walk there. It's also got the advantage of being quite close to us so getting there doesn't take too much time and effort. And if those aren't good enough reasons, there's also the views and the history. Here's a description of a walk we did last weekend. It was a good one.

We began and ended at the top of the lane leading from Berrio Bridge to Trewortha Farm. Our route took us up to Hawkstor and then across the ridge to Trewortha Tor and King Arthur's Bed. From there we dropped down through Trewortha Farm, skirted Kilmar Tor and headed on to Twelve Men's Moor, to follow the old mineral railway back to the car. Just under 5 miles and I'd rate it moderately difficult because of the rough terrain and boulder hopping.

I've never seen a notice like this in an isolated wood. What was in danger of being stolen? Machinery? Logs?

It's the time of year where there is fresh green everywhere and I feel I could almost inhale the oxygen pouring out of them as the various plants photosynthesise. It's somewhat ironical, however, that plants look green because it is the part of the light spectrum that they don’t need to photosynthesise. Leaves are green because green light is surplus to requirements.

I rate this as the best photograph of the day - a female, to the left, and a male Stonechat in the same frame. I'd like to say this was intended but it wasn't. I only noticed them after the event when I was sifting through the ones I'd taken. I could easily have overlooked this - serendipity rules, OK?

Climbers on the granite of Hawkstor. By all accounts, it's a very popular spot for them with a range of pitches going from easy to extreme. It's not so much the height that's important but rather the technical difficulty.

Cheesewring-like laminated granite at Hawkstor. In my opinion, as good as the best on Dartmoor.

Looking towards Trewortha Tor from Hawkstor.

The jumble of granite on Trewortha Tor. There was lots of boulder-hopping on this walk which made the going quite difficult.

On the way to King Arthur's Bed, looking back on Trewortha Tor, with Hawkstor in the middle background.

King Arthur’s Bed is quite close to Trewortha Tor and is a deep hollow in the rock, big enough for someone to lie in. But this strange hole in the granite was not formed by human hands or indeed the magic of Merlin. And it’s only connection to King Arthur is one of legend. King Arthur’s Bed is actually a Solution Basin and simply the result of weathering.

Solution Basins are started when standing water collects in a small irregularity. Gradually weathering causes a small hollow to form which becomes progressively larger and deeper. As the granite dissolves the insoluble crystals of quartz are deposited and often form a magical, glistening layer in the bottom of the basin. They can be perfectly circular, while others at oval. And sometimes, after centuries, they erode into each other forming a chain of basins. King Arthur’s Bed is a particularly large rock basin and in all likelihood this is how it was formed - several basins slowly joining up with each other to become this evocative shape.

Rock balancing on the grandscale. An art form that captures the balance forces of nature. But, it doesn't do anything for me.

These are impressively large but I'm not sure what you'd do with them. Not quite true, I know what I'd do with then and that would be to put them back from whence they came. In such a landscape with its human connections over so many millenia, who is to say that they have no significance. Remove them from their context and this possible significance is lost forever. 

Looking up to Kilmar Tor. There are two ways to get to the other side: up and over or around. We went around. Perhaps next time we'll try up and over for a change, particularly if the ground is boggy.

Looking back to our route across the ridge - Hawkstor to the right, then the rather more diffuse jumble of Trewortha Tor leading on to King Arthur's Bed on the left. At this distance, it looks easier than it was in practice.

One of a series of boundary stones that marked the extent of the unenclosed moorland owned by the Duchy Manor of Rillaton. It is marked '9 Ril 1846'. Such delineation was important in marking boundaries for quarrying, mining etc.

Wherever you look on Twelve Men's Moor, there are signs of granite working, as evidenced by the split marks of these pieces. A lonely, unforbidding place to work when the weather is bad.
And why is it called Twelve Men's Moor? You need to go back to around 1230 for the origins of this. At that time, the moor was owned by the Priory at Launceston and a grant of usage (grazing rights, turf) was given to parcels of land for twelve farmers whose land abutted the high moor. Hence, Twelve Men's Moor.

Looking back along the mineral railway with a loading ramp on the right. Most of the manipulation of the lumps of granite was done by muscle power - levers and rollers most probably.

The rocky outcrops that form Kilmar Tor.

The Kilmar Tor quarry side-branch of the mineral railway coming in from the right.

Not THE Kilmar Tor quarry but A quarry on Kilmar Tor. Long abandoned but seemingly filled in with some redundant lumps of granite.

A lone hawthorn tree at the side of the track as we dropped back down to the car.