Captivating Clovelly—The Cream of Devon

Clovelly is so unique that it becomes impossible to describe all the features and delights of this lovely village A single cobbled street cascades in steep, broad steps to the harbour, half a mile below. Chocolate box, white-washed cottages line their way, their walls bedecked with flowers that lend the place an almost Mediterranean feel. They cling to the street sides, as if a step backwards would cause them to tumble down the ravine to the sea below.

Motor vehicles are banned from Clovelly, allowing visitors to explore without dodging cars, as is the unfortunate norm in places like Mevagissey and Polperro. It’s doubtful whether the cobbled street is wide enough for a car anyway. The locals use sledges to transport their groceries and wares to and from the village, as has been done for centuries, for Clovelly no doubt played host to brigands and smugglers who would have ferried in shipments of tobacco and illegal liquor via the tiny, secluded but sheltered harbour.

Alleyways radiate from the central cobbled street, alive with tasteful gift shops, restaurants, and fishermen’s cottages, many of which are open to the public. Such is the gradient of the hill that several cottages have rooms built across the walkway, supported with massive wooden beams. The views they command can only be hankered after with Westward Ho! and Braunton to the distant east, curving away round a majestic coastline of fine yellow sand and Lundy Island, 12 miles offshore to the northwest with its resident population of gulls and puffins.

The village is quiet today; no more than a dozen cars adorn its large free car park. But it is out-of-season, and with a brisk northwesterly blowing snow flurries in from the Atlantic, keeping warm and dry is order of the day.

There are two pubs in the village, both doubling up as hotels and both very appealing on a cold February morning. Local folks are busy repainting the exteriors of their homes with the plain white ripple that is ubiquitous to all seaside villages in this part of the country.

Suddenly, the heavens open and a cascade of snow flutters to the ground, covering the local rooftops in 30 seconds flat, lending the place a fairy-tale appearance. It stops as soon as it finishes, the sun peeks through the clouds, and, within 5 minutes, there’s nothing of it left. Such is the British climate...

Quick Tips:

The cobbled street down through the village is steep and rough. Therefore, sensible footwear is most important to avoid a slip, particularly as many of the cobblestones are worn smooth after centuries of use.

The village gets insufferably busy in the high-season months from June to August. Coach parties descend upon the place and it becomes virtually impossible to explore sufficiently or to get a proper "feel" of the place. So visit outside of these months if at all possible. If not, then visit early or late in the day, before the throngs congregate and spoil the experience for you.

There are no facilities for disabled persons here, and the rough surface of the street precludes the use of wheelchairs. However, in high season, a Land Rover "bus" service can ferry you back up to the top of the hill via a private road for a small fee and will transport disabled visitors back down on the return leg.

The distance from the car park to the harbour is about half a mile but is very, very steep in places. Parents with infants can leave their pushchairs by the Victorian Fountain, which is situated just above the steepest part of the descent.

Best Way To Get Around:

Clovelly is to be found at the end of the B3237, a minor road that leaves the main A39 trunk route about 11 miles west of Bideford. The roads terminates at the village car park, from where you can only proceed on foot. Entrance to the village is £4.50 for adults, but this includes entrance to the various cottages and museums en route to the harbour.

North Devon is somewhat remote, with poor road links to the rest of the country. If coming from the east, there are only two options, both of which are long drawn-out excursions on hilly, twisty roads. First, travel to junction 27 on the M5 and take the fairly new North Devon link road, the re-routed A361 to Barnstaple, and then switch to the A39 to Bideford.

Second, if you definitely aren’t in a hurry, take the M5 to Taunton, leave at junction 25, and pick up the A358 as far as Williton, where you then turn west onto the A39, which will take you through Exmoor National Park to Barnstaple.

The only railway route anywhere close is the line from Exeter that follows a circuitous course north to west to Barnstaple, from where you’ll have to make your own way to Clovelly. A car, therefore, is a must.

Clovelly boasts just two pubs, the New Inn partway down the main cobblestone street and the Red Lion on the quayside, both of which double up as hotels. The New Inn is very quaint, sitting as it does on a 30-degree gradient, its exterior decorated with flowers. Unfortunately, today most of the exterior is clad with scaffolding, as it receives its annual makeover and repainting before the tourist season begins at Easter.

It’s very cold outside today, with regular snow flurries, so I don’t really need an excuse to go inside. I’m not disappointed: low beams, an open fire, and a real warm welcome: what more could you ask or expect from a pub?

The barman pours me a pint, which is well kept and just the right temperature, no mean feat when you consider how cold it must be down in the beer cellar. The menu offers a decent range of meals, ranging from bar snacks to fish dishes, at very acceptable prices. A few locals are leaning on the bar, and one of them seems surprised that I should willingly venture out on such a wintry day. I explain that I do some writing for a travel-based website and that Clovelly is my latest port-of-call, whereupon he asks me, "What’s a website then, my ‘andsome?" in that rolling Devonian brogue.

Continuing my descent to the harbour, I pass the Cottage Tea Rooms and decide that I will call in on the home leg for a refreshing beverage.

The Red Lion Hotel sits to the left side of the harbour and seems to be busy with lunchtime drinkers. I assume that drunk-driving would never be an issue here, mainly as there’s no car park, but I wouldn’t fancy staggering up that hill on shanks’ pony after a few pints, that’s for sure. Again, it’s warm and cosy inside, albeit considerably larger than the New Inn. Most folk are tucking into their lunches, which all look pretty tempting.

I order a half in here, as I have the car and see there’s a full menu with a wide range of courses, again reasonably priced, but being the skinflint I am, I decide to avail myself of a large pasty from the little shop halfway back up the hill.

Leaving the Red Lion behind me, I attempt the ascent, stopping by the village shop for the pasty, which is stuffed full of beef, carrot, swede, and potato for the princely sum of £1.50 before taking a seat in the Cottage Tea Rooms. A lovely lady who anyone would want as their grandma serves me tea in a beautiful bone-chine cup and saucer with matching tea pot, sugar bowl, and milk jug. The cake trolley appears from nowhere, and having just downed the pasty, I have to decline, although the fare looks delicious. I settle for the tea and, after two cups, pay my bill and venture back outside, where it’s snowing once again.

The second museum in Clovelly is a short walk from the first and is entered via a flight of wooden steps from the main street.

The Fisherman’s House is just that, a genuine cottage that once played home to a fisherman and his family and is preserved as it would have been in Victorian times. It is simply decorated, for there would have been no spare money for elaborate ornaments or carpets. The first room contains most of the fisherman’s work apparel, including nets, hooks, ropes, hand-lines, lobster pots, and his set of waterproof overalls and sou’wester, still hanging on the same hook as they did 150 years ago.

There is no kitchen area as such; food (which would have invariably have been fish) would have been prepared on the boat on its way home and cooked on the tiny range tucked away in the corner.

Climbing the steep, narrow stairs brings you to the sleeping rooms, two tiny spaces, one occupied with a double bed and a small chest of drawers, upon which sits a bowl and water jug, and the other with a single bed and a baby’s crib to the side. Again, no ornaments or fancy bedspreads, for the fishermen worked hard for their meagre living, with almost every penny being spent on food supplements to their otherwise fish diet.

There is a second floor, which was unfortunately not open to the public. As it faced north to the sea, it may have been used as a weather lookout in winter or possibly as a shoal spotting lookout in the summer months.

It is hard to imagine by today’s standards of comfort how four or five persons could have lived their lives in such cramped conditions. But the very nature of being a fisherman meant that your life expectancy was low, at a time when 50 was regarded as being a considerable age.

Entrance to the museum is free by way of your entry ticket at the visitor centre. It's not to be missed.

Clovelly boasts two wonderful, if compact, museums close to each other on the right of the steep street down to the harbour.

The first is the Charles Kingsley Museum. Kingley was born in Holne, South Devon, in 1819. When he was 11, his father was appointed curate at Clovelly and the family moved to 104 High Street. Kingsley senior was subsequently appointed Rector of Clovelly from 1832 until 1836, so the family moved to the more spacious rectory which still stands above the village.

Young Charles only spent a few years of his youth in the village, but he loved the place with a passion and always took the opportunity to return whenever he could, including the first visit with his wife in 1854, after which he wrote her, "Now that you have seen the dear old paradise, you know what was the inspiration of my life before I met you."

Kingsley became a prominent figure in Victorian England, renowned as a socialist, an essayist, poet, and novelist.

Many of his novels had strong social themes and were most influential in awakening the conscience of Victorian England. Today, he is predominantly remembered for his Elizabethan adventure story, "Westward Ho!", published in 1855; "Hereward the Wake"; and, of course, "The Water Babies" from 1863. "Westward Ho!" features many mentions of Clovelly, and with the coming of the railways in the 1860s, it became a mecca for newly mobile Victorians to visit the places referred to in his books.

Kingsley always nurtured his love for Clovelly, and although he spent less and less time here as his life progressed, he was the greatest ambassador the village has ever had, which explains their respect and fondness for him here.

This imposing wooden structure is a relatively new addition to the scenery here and performs a dual role for the village. First, it forms a barrier between the road and the village, meaning that cars can get no farther than the large car park adjacent to the centre. It acts as the entrance to the village at pretty much the highest point above the sea, and from here, it’s all downhill.

Second, and just as importantly, it provides a valuable insight into the history of Clovelly, its links with fishing and the lives of its inhabitants. The airy, spacious interior affords commanding views over the village and sea as well as providing a well-stocked gift and souvenir shop and a comfortable and reasonably priced self-service restaurant.

Originally, a small car park existed here prior to the construction of the centre and visitors had the choice of either walking down or being ferried by a team of donkeys for a small fee. No entrance fees were levied in those days, and the upkeep and maintenance of the village was purely from charitable visitors. But as the years passed by, the funds raised didn’t come close to covering the costs, and thus, the idea of the visitor centre/gateway was conceived.

Needless to say, back then, there were also the small minority of motorists who would choose to ignore the width restriction warnings and attempt to get their vehicles part way down into the village. Here, they would inevitably get wedged between buildings, causing serious structural damage and blocking the street for hours until the car could be towed out, usually leaving most of it embedded in the cottage walls.

It is unfortunately a necessary evil to protect Clovelly from idiots like these, but despite its duty as village guardian, it does really detract from the experience somewhat, although once on the route down, it disappears from sight.

The centre contains many old pictures of Clovelly and recent paintings by local artists, as well as pottery and ceramics. One can’t help but get the feeling that in this situation, something a little less modern would have fitted the bill a bit more easily, thus tying the centre into the village experience rather than standing out like a sore thumb. But it serves its purpose, and you can’t say more than that.

After leaving the car park and heading for the village, you will walk down a tarmac alleyway, at the end of which is a small wooden gateway leading into what is called Mount Pleasant.

This is a secluded, quiet place that contains the village’s war memorial, and it is an ideal location to just sit and watch the breakers rolling in far below. The memorial remembers the dead from two world wars, and it is a solemn thought worth reflecting on that even such a tiny place as Clovelly lost so many of her young men in those two awful global conflicts.

The gardens sit upon a steep incline, and it’s clear to see from the myriad molehills that there is little or no maintenance carried out in the winter months. But being in the Gulf Stream-warmed southwest, daffodils, crocuses, and snowdrops are already making their multi-hued presence known as they combine to add a lovely palette on such a grey bleak day.

I hear a rustle behind me and turn to see a large cock pheasant strut past. He seems to be very tame, but lust appears to have bypassed his normal reluctance to approach humans, and I spy the object of his affections a few yards away, a hen pheasant who is obviously playing hard to get.

With that, a squirrel scampers across in front of me before launching himself into the lower boughs of a rowan tree with a furry colleague in hot pursuit. The two of them provide some incredible arboreal acrobatics with me as sole audience member, as nothing seemingly detracts the pheasant from his ultimate goal. He’s obviously got a one-track mind...

There are a couple of small seating areas constructed from wood, and a pathway leads to the bottom end of the garden, although this is a little overgrown and muddy today. The views are to die for, though as the Atlantic breakers roll ashore way down below to crash onto the deserted beach that in 4 months’ time will be full of holidaymakers and day-trippers.

Mount Pleasant is exactly that. a peaceful backwater from where you can sit and watch the world go by at your own pace.

Clovelly’s historic harbour dates back more than 600 years and has provided the only safe landing stage along a length of coastline stretching from Boscastle to Appledore, a distance of some 55 miles. The Cary family, who originally owned the village, built a pier here in the 14th century, which was extended and rebuilt by George Cary some 200 years later. He reputedly spent some £2,000, a vast sum in those times, and local records tell of him constructing "quays, cellars, warehouses and other edifices."

By 1804, Clovelly was a smugglers’ haven, its isolated harbour an ideal location to bring booty ashore on moonless nights. The caves along the shoreline were also useful for storing contraband away from the ever-inquisitive land-based Excise men and the Revenue officers who patrolled the coastline with their fast cutters.

Fishing has played an equally important, if more law-abiding, part in Clovelly’s history. For hundreds of years, the village was famous for the large quantities of herring and cod, although of course, fishing then, as now, was always a risky business. The worst storm on record occurred in October 1821, when 40 boats were smashed to pieces upon the rocks, with the loss of 35 men.

Charles Kingsley published his famous novel "Westward Ho!" in 1855, featuring Clovelly in his story. The village grew in popularity, and by the 1920s, paddle steamers regularly made the crossing from Ilfracombe and South Wales. At that time, South Wales was temperate, and many day-trippers made the trip predominantly for the opportunity to drink beer and liquor in the village before returning home in a state of inebriation.

From 1870, the village was equipped with its own lifeboat. Coastguards existed prior to this time, but their craft were slow and, more often than not, arrived too late to effect a rescue. From 1908 until 1934, the "Elinor Roget II" performed this role. She was a 37-foot open boat with 12 oars and a crew of 15. The boat would be rowed out to sea before the sail was unfurled, but in winter weather, the oarsmen would often freeze without cover and records tell of several men who died of exposure. Despite the risks, competition to man the boat was fierce, with each person being paid 30 shillings for a night’s work, a princely sum in those days.

In 1958, the RNLI (Royal National Lifeboat Institution) withdrew the service from the village, upon which Clovelly raised funds to purchase and equip her own boat, maintained by public donation. In 2000, the RNLI rescinded their decision and a new lifeboat was named by the Duke of Kent. Manned by fully trained volunteers, she is on 24 hour standby from her base behind the red-doored lifeboat station to the right of the harbour.

Two important building stand out in this area, the first one being the old limekiln. Lime burning was an important part of the 18th and 19th century economies and performed several uses.

Lime was used by farmers to neutralise their soil’s acidity, as a wash for exterior walls and as an ingredient for mortar. The chief fuel used for burning was cheap coal dust, known as culm. This, along with the lime, was shipped across from Wales, as the Welsh limestone burned at a lower temperature than the local stone. This was therefore a cheaper option despite the transport costs.

Layers of lime and fuel were placed into the top of the kiln, then set alight from the base up. As the lime burned, it produced calcium oxide, or "quicklime," which then ran out through the "draw hole." The process could take up to 4 days, but the end result was ideal for Clovelly’s cottages, as its porosity permitted the walls to breathe in the maritime climate without allowing any moisture in.

The kiln here has not been used since 1911, but lime mortar is still used extensively in the upkeep and restoration of the village’s buildings.

Adjacent to the limekiln is an interesting old cottage built out over the harbour and known locally as "Crazy Kate’s Cottage." This is the oldest cottage in Clovelly and was reputedly owned by a fisherman’s wife, who went insane when she learned of her husband’s death whilst fishing offshore in the 16th century. Following his death, she apparently terrorised the village with her unfathomable behaviour till her own demise several years later.

Close to the car park is Clovelly Pottery, a small workshop and showroom displaying ceramics made by the resident local artisan. Entrance is free and you may stroll around at your leisure without any obligation to buy. The potter wasn’t working during my visit, but she was delighted that I wanted to take some pictures of her creations. The showroom is upstairs, where you will find racks of colourful vases, jugs, plates, and tableware, all in vibrant colours and all reasonably priced.

Leaving the potter’s shop, head down the track past the Mount Pleasant gate to the kink in the path, where you will see in front of you the Victorian Fountain. This was built in 1901 to commemorate Queen Victoria’s visit to the village and is in working order today.

The village also boats two fine but tiny chapels for the ecclesiastically minded, the first being the Methodist chapel set back on the right behind the New Inn. The chapel dates from 1820 and in high summer is adorned with floral displays from the village’s gardens.

You may enter inside to see the beautiful murals behind the altar, painted in vibrant colours that would be just as at home in a deserted church on a Greek island.

The second chapel is that of St Peter, a little farther down and immediately behind the Kingsley shop and museum. This was opened in 1846 and is somewhat plainer than the former. Again, the door is usually unlocked, and I walked in to see a few rows of plain pews and a lectern on which the reading would take place.

Other sites worthy of mention are the Temple Bar Cottage at the lower end of the cobbled street, whose rooms actually pass over the walkway and the Oberammergau Cottage, sadly closed today, that features colourful wood carvings from Germany.

Plans are afoot to reinstate the donkeys for summer 2006, and a stable block is under construction as we speak, allowing lazy or incapacitated visitors to make the rough trip down to the harbour.