Under Canvas in North Devon

Although Cornwall is my absolute favorite, her easterly neighbor, Devon, is so beautiful in many different ways. A camping trip here recently took me to the tiny village of Dolton, in the middle of nowhere, between the towns of Winkleigh and Great Torrington to the north of this lush county. The weather played its part and was truly spectacular; wall-to-wall sunshine and clear blue skies although the evenings soon cooled down and the early mornings were absolutely freezing with fog and ground frosts due to the sheltered location of the site.

I chose this campsite as I wanted to visit an old pal who lived in Winkleigh, just four miles away, and fancied the opportunity to “rough it” for the first time in years. The countryside around Dolton is marvelous; rolling hills, lush valleys, wooded wildlife havens, remote walkways and cycle tracks, all bordered by the twin National Parks of Exmoor, to the north, and Dartmoor, to the south.

Dolton is a little gem of a village; friendly locals, two great pubs, a shop that sells everything, rows of well-kept thatched cottages, dry stone walls, and a good natured atmosphere that permanently pervades the place.

I took a couple of day trips, one to see the lovely Lydford Gorge on the northern reaches of Dartmoor, with it’s crashing crescendos of wild water, the other to the charming seaside town of Instow, some 30 minutes to the north, with it’s huge beach and views across the Torridge estuary to Appledore and Westward Ho!

Two of the village’s three pubs were a sheer delight, the third unfortunately fell by the wayside due to grumpy staff with couldn’t-care-less attitudes.
The Tarka Trail passes through Dolton and I spent one day walking this peaceful pathway that follows part of the old railway line that once linked this part of Devon to Bideford.

The absolute highlight for me was a visit to the Winkleigh Cider Company factory where various strong concoctions can be tried before purchasing. I opted for their “Autumn Gold Scrumpy” which, with an ABV of almost 8%, was to guarantee a good night’s sleep!

There’s something timeless about Devon and her villages that all harks back to a period in time when rushing around simply wasn’t done and my, how this village makes you long for such a time to magically reappear.

Quick Tips:

As with any camping trip, pre-planning is an absolute must, particularly if you are setting up camp in the wilds of Devon with the nearest town of any size miles away. I did my homework prior to setting off and found several good and informative websites that dealt with all aspects of my proposed trip and gave some good ideas for days out. Top pre-departure tips when camping:

1. Check gas bottles and regulators. It’s no use turning up on site at 10pm then discovering that your gas is empty when you’re desperate for a cup of tea and the nearest gas stockist is 10 miles away.
2. Ensure you have the necessary pump to inflate your airbed or else you’ll be as good as sleeping on the ground.
3.Make sure the campsite allows dogs as I took my two spaniels along for the ride. Similarly, inquire as to whether the local pubs are dog-friendly or you could end up on a diet of sandwiches and pies from the village shop.
4. Obvious, I know, but make certain you’ve packed the mallet with which to hammer in the tent pegs. The UK has had virtually no rain now for six weeks and the ground is like concrete.
5. Take something waterproof and a torch! If the tent suddenly springs a leak which, if it does, will always be at 3am, you’ll get soaked trying to repair the hole.
6. Make a list of everything you intend to take along and tick it off as you pack it.

Dolton, Instow, and Lydford all have their own websites and I made good use of all three. The Tarka Trail passes through some very remote areas and, although you’re hardly likely to die of thirst, hunger, or fatigue, there are minimal facilities along much of it’s route. Take enough water and food to last the duration of your wander. The trail is all waymarked but in places, it was easy to see that missing directional signs had been purloined by souvenir hunters, making the purchase of the relevant Ordnance Survey Explorer map essential to avoid ending up in the middle of Dartmoor.

Lydford Gorge is unsuitable for kids, the elderly, or anyone with walking problems. The pathways can be very wet from the spray and have no hand-rails in places. If the weather’s wet, I’d be inclined to leave it till next time.

Best Way To Get Around:

Dolton is fairly remotely situated and has a virtually non-existent bus link to anywhere else in the area. The only bus service that comes anywhere close to the area runs from Exeter and follows the River Taw north towards Barnstaple. Dolton is found five miles northwest of the large village of Winkleigh, astride the B3217 minor road which, in places, is barely wide enough for a single vehicle. Head west from Exeter on the main A30 trunk route to the newly altered Whiddon Down intersection. Leave the A30 here and pick up the A3124 north towards North Tawton. From here, head west on the A3072 for just two miles till the A3124 resumes north towards Winkleigh. Follow past Winkleigh to the small turning left opposite a garage that runs down into Dolton.

The nearest train station is at Eggesford on the meandering north Devon line from Exeter to Barnstaple. From here, it’s an eight-mile drive west to Dolton.

The Tarka Trail passes through the village and this is an ideal way to see some of the beautiful local countryside either on bicycle or by hiking. Bicycles can be hired from many outlets including Torrington Cycle Hire at Great Torrington, the nearest to Dolton. Contact number is 01805 622633. For walkers and hikers, the entire area has many small villages where cheap B&Bs can be found at the local pubs or private houses for around £25 per night.

For day trips using the village as a base, I’d highly recommend taking the ride north through lovely wooded valleys to Bideford, Westward Ho!, and Instow, or further still to Clovelly and Bude to the west or Lynton and Lynmouth to the far north. South takes you to the magnificent splendor of Dartmoor along with Lydford Gorge and Buckland House. Big city shopping and sights are reasonably close by with Exeter at just 45 minutes and Plymouth at around 90 minutes by car.

This gem of a find only came about by accident as I surfed the net looking for details about a beer festival that was due to be held in the village. The caravan and camping site sits behind the Acorn Farmhouse, smack bang in the middle of the village. It occupies a flat, well-tended meadow with plots for around 20 tents, camper vans, and caravans. All plots have electrical hook-ups with several cold-water taps within easy distance.

The end of the meadow has been left as rough pasture where you may exercise your dogs as long as you clean up after them; otherwise, they have to be kept on a lead. Facilities on the site are simple but well-maintained and sufficient for a few night’s stay. The washroom and shower block was just a 20-second stroll across the grass and had free, piping-hot showers as well as clean washbasins and toilets. The adjacent utility room featured a washing machine, tumble dryer, freezer, and sink, as well as a huge selection of leaflets giving ideas for days out.

The owners were very friendly and no sooner had camp been set, then they strolled across with their three enormous dogs to bid “good afternoon”.

The site is surrounded by trees making it very sheltered although this also made it very cold in the mornings with ground frosts and heavy dews. It’s a mere 30-second walk to the nearest pub and a further half- minute to the well-stocked village shop. The site stocks varying sizes of butane and propane refills so you don’t need to worry about running out of gas at that vital moment.

The nightly rates were unbelievably cheap. For two people, two dogs, a car and a tent was £7, this included showers and use of the utilities. An electrical hook-up is charged at an extra £2 per night and the high season rate is still just £9 per night.

Coming back to the tent at night was a delight with hooting owls and barking foxes plus the occasional metallic grating of a pheasant or two, way out in the ripening fields of rapeseed.

The site has it’s own website at www.doltoncaravanpark.com which gives a good overview of the site plan and facilities as well as rates for varying times of the year and special weekly rates which save approximately 20% over the nightly tariffs.

As is the case whenever camping, I soon found myself talking to some of the other campers and comparing notes about which was the best pub and/or restaurant in the village as well as swapping notes on where to go and places to visit. A friendly, small campsite that would be impossible to beat for location and facilities given the very inexpensive prices.

Dolton Caravan Park
Acorn Farmhouse
The Square
Dolton
Winkleigh
Devon
EX19 8QF

Tel. 01805 804536

This lovely pub-cum-restaurant sits at the entrance to the farm track that leads to the camp site. It’s all old beams and wooden floors and I decided to dine here the first evening of my stay. There are two main bar areas plus the restaurant but, as I had the dogs with me, I was quite understandably limited to dining in the bar which was being warmed by a roaring open log fire on this chilly evening.

Having spent the day driving, erecting base camp and walking several miles with the dogs, I was starving and decided that I’d have to go straight for the kill. The lamb shank seemed the obvious choice so I ordered this at the bar and availed myself of a pint of a local brew, rejoicing under the name of “Piddle in the Hole”, a medium strength, hoppy, and flavorsome bitter of around 4.3 ABV.

I sat down and took a glance at my fellow imbibers; there seemed to be a mixture of locals, day visitors, and longer term holidaymakers such as myself. The dogs soon settled down under the table, reveling in the blast-furnace temperatures radiating from the open fire and no doubt eagerly anticipating any pieces of lamb that might inadvertently topple from the table whereby they might perform a well received “tidying up” operation at no extra charge.

I’d imbibed about half my beer when the food arrived and boy, did it look worthwhile waiting for. The lamb shank was huge and cooked to perfection. It was accompanied by a huge pile of boiled new potatoes, plus cauliflower, broccoli, and carrots along with gallons of scrumptious gravy. This was just what was required after a strenuous day and the beer took second preference as I waded into this feast. The vegetables were still al dente, not crisp but not cooked to death and retained all their flavor.

Unfortunately for the dogs, who were snoring loudly by this time, no gastronomic displacements occurred due to my diligence and dexterity with my cutlery and the fact that this was my first real food of the day, having survived on bits and pieces during the long drive down. They were flat out anyway and as I always say, what you don’t have, you don’t miss.

I wiped the plate clean and sat back replete, swearing by all that I knew that I would surely never need to eat again (well, till breakfast time at least). My plate was whisked away within a few seconds and so I drained the beer and returned to the bar to refill my glass and to offer my sincere regards to the chef who had excelled himself on my behalf.

The lamb cost me £10 and the beers £2.20 a pint, hard to beat for such a great meal that was so well cooked and presented.

This traditional village pub looked the more “worn” from it’s exterior appearance than the other two in the village, but I decided to give it a go and I’m glad I made that decision. It’s cozy inside, with the obligatory open fire and walls festooned with agricultural implements. The welcome was immediate, “Hello, mate, what can I get you?” The Dartmoor Pig looked good so I opted for a pint of this local ale and retired to a nook to study the place.

The barman had a very recognizable Bristolian accent and when I returned for a refill after 15 minutes or so, I asked him where he was from. “Shirehampton, mate”, he replied jovially, “just outside Avonmouth”. He then introduced me to Veronica, his wife, who doubled up as chef in the kitchen behind the bar area, and then introduced himself as Richard.

“What a friendly pair they are”, I thought to myself, upon which I was introduced to some of the other locals who were guzzling at the bar. “This here is Gobby Jock, village handyman, drunkard, and lothario”. Well, what a CV, how do you possibly follow that?

Rich introduced me to several more fellow drinkers and after 30 minutes we were all lifelong bosom buddies. The beer kept flowing along with some of the fearsome local scrumpy cider which I was invited to sample by Rich “as long as I was held responsible for my own actions”. I took a swig and well, good God, you could strip paint with this stuff, so I wonder what it does for the stomach lining?

The atmosphere in here was wonderful and the place continued to fill up as the evening wore on, predominantly with locals who rather interestingly, all opted for the dreaded scrumpy, male or female. They all must have cast iron guts.

It then transpired that tonight was karaoke night and Jock wheeled out the necessary equipment. He decided to begin by showing us all how it was done and proceeded to belt out Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer” totally off-key in a Scottish accent with probably eight pints of the local moonshine slopping away inside him. Needless to say, it was a memorable performance and he received a huge round of applause along with various other less printable requests that he surely would need to be double jointed to perform.

The clock was ticking away and I realized that it was well after 11pm. I went to the bar to order what I thought would be my last pint of the evening. “No rush”, said Rich, “we close when everyone’s either gone ‘ome or fallen over. If they stay ‘ere for the night, we prop ‘em up in a chair and give ‘em a kick when we come down at 7:30am”.

What a fabulous pub, what an extraordinarily funny evening, and what amazing local dignitaries the village possesses. It still makes my head hurt thinking about it now.

For all my travels through Devon I had never visited this little seaside town that sits on the estuary of the River Torridge and overlooks the town made famous by Charles Kingsley in his novel Westward Ho!

Instow sits between the two bustling towns of Bideford and Barnstaple and is a gentle 30 minute drive along the wooded Torridge Valley from my base in Dolton.

First impressions are those of a place slightly caught in a time warp; rows of Victorian villas, the promenade that flanks the broad beach and an air of quiet sophistication. I slide into an parking space and unload the dogs who are keen to explore this pooch-friendly beach, along with the other paraphernalia necessary for a couple of hours on the yellow sand. Being so close to the sea here means that the Torridge estuary is tidal and it’s clear to see that the tide is receding at some rate of knots, as various sand bars are revealed and the number of yachts sitting on their keels increases by the minute.

The expanse of sand here is incredible; at low tide it’s possible to walk across the estuary to Appledore and Northam whilst the golden crescent stretches away to the north towards the River Taw estuary that meets the sea at right angles to the Torridge to form one huge sand dune and wetlands area, a haven for wading birds.

I stake my temporary claim on a area of sand, whack in the wind break and let the dogs off for a sniff around. Of course, with the ebbing tide, they find a multitude of hitherto non experienced smells and sights such as crabs scuttling to find the next rapidly draining rock pool and the intense aroma of bladder-rack seaweed desiccating in the warm sunshine.

The beach appears to be filling up with families, speaking with a selection of Mancunian, Liverpudlian, Tyneside, and Black Country accents. I bet they can’t believe their luck at how lovely the weather is today for what is traditionally a wet month here in the UK.

I settle back for a well-earned snooze knowing that the dogs will settle down once they’ve exhausted all these new found delights and sure enough, after 15 minutes or so, they return to my little den and lay down in the sun beside me.

I awake after an hour or so and take a stroll along the beach right down to the low water mark. It seems strange to be walking past yachts that are normally sitting in 12 or 15 feet of water. Beachcombing!! – what a delight, whomever invented this glorious past-time should be knighted. Cuttlefish bones, driftwood, seaweed, crabs, shells, the occasional discarded child’s sandal, barnacles, limpets and cockles all clinging to the drying rocks with the ever-hopeful seagulls wheeling overhead – how much fun can you have for free?

Soon it’s time to go and I wave a fond farewell to Instow, knowing I'll be back one day soon.

This beautiful rural village sits just back from the main A386 road that links Okehampton with Tavistock. I had visited today primarily to see the famous gorge but can never resist the allure of sleepy villages, particularly on such a fine day. As I drive into the place, I see rows of beautifully kept cottages with pristine front gardens full of spring flowers and well-manicured lawns. I pull into the little car park, put the leads onto the dogs and cross the lane to the first stop here, namely the castle.

It is in a somewhat dilapidated state with no roof but it still commands an imposing stance over the village from it’s high earthwork mound. It is the second of two castles that have existed in Lydford; the first was built shortly after the Norman Conquest overlooking the gorge but nothing now remains of it other than its imposing earthworks. The existing castle was constructed in 1195 although all that remains now is the three-story tower. It was thoroughly rebuilt in the 13th century which saw a ditch dug around the tower base and soil piled up against the walls to the height of the first floor. The remaining floors were also rebuilt to form a keep and the old prison was filled in although this has subsequently been removed. It was at this time as well that the bailey and earthworks were added to the northwest side.

Adjacent to the castle is the fine church dedicated to St. Petroc, a 6th century Welsh monk who traveled throughout the West Country until his death in 564AD. Initially, the “church” was little more than a shelter where St. Petroc stayed during his ramblings in the area. The Celtic people in Devon has been Christianized by the 4th century, after conversion by the Romans in 330-340AD. After the Romans’ departure, little or no advancements were made until St. Petroc virtually reintroduced the religion via his preaching and work. A date of 641AD has generally been agreed as the date of the dedication of the village church to that of St. Petroc. This would have been of Saxon build in wooden form. By 850AD, Lydford was a fortified Saxon town, with the local borough or “burh” being set up by Alfred in 880AD.

The original Saxon church lasted until well after the Norman Conquest although nothing now remains. There is a mention of a stone or Norman church in the village circa 1237 and subsequent building works in 1261 and in the 15th century. Today, the church remains in remarkable condition with it’s peaceful yard affording superb views across the rolling countryside.

There is but a single pub in the village, the Castle Inn and Hotel and no shop at all. I called by the pub for a quick pint and have to say the welcome wasn’t overly friendly so I drained my beer quickly at one of the exterior trestle tables, left it for the miserable barstaff to collect and sauntered up the lane to see what else I could find, the most interesting of which was a beautifully converted chapel with a wonderful array of flowers in its small but well-tended front garden. I would normally ask for permission to take a photo of someone’s home but although the front door was ajar, there appeared to be no sign of life so I clicked away regardless.

I walk back to the car and make the short hop to the Lydford Gorge which is no more than half a mile from the village. The gorge is run by the National Trust, meaning that I could enter for free. It is dog-friendly as long as they are on a lead at all times and parking is free. It’s the River Lyd that cascades down the valley here, carrying rainwater from the northern tors of Dartmoor. It’s the deepest gorge in southwest England and runs for around 2.5km from it’s starting point at the foaming “Devil’s Cauldron” to the spectacular “White lady Waterfall” at the far end.

The gorge found notoriety in the 17th century as a hiding place for the infamous “Gubbins” family of outlaws, renowned as sheep thieves and common vagabonds. Today, it provides two wonderful walks through wooded pathways which are clearly marked and are provided with emergency telephones in case of accident.

There are essentially two routes to take. The shorter walk to the Devil’s Cauldron which is around 2km there and back, and the longer walk which takes in the waterfall and all the sights at 5km. The shorter walk should not be undertaken by children, the elderly, or anyone with walking difficulties. Some of the pathways are slippery from spray, have no guard rails and are very narrow. There is a viewing platform above the thundering Devil’s Cauldron from where the power of the torrent becomes very evident. The climb down to this platform is steep and narrow so sensible walking shoes or boots are essential.

Both walks are an explosion of wild flowers at springtime; add to this the fact that this April was the warmest on record meant that most of the trees were in bud or even in blossom, adding their heady fragrances to this cornucopia of sensory delights. Time dictated that I only take the shorter walk today after which I retired to the tea-room at the main entrance for a well deserved cup of tea for me and bowl of water for the dogs.

Gorge details for 2007 are:

Feb.10–Mar.16 open Fri/Sat/Sun 11am–3:30pm
Mar.17–Sept.30 open every day, 10am–5pm
Oct.1–Oct.28 open every day 10am–4pm

Entrance charges

Adult £5.20
Child £2.60
Family £13 (2+2)
As with all National Trust properties, visitors arriving by bicycle or public transport will receive a discount. See also www.nationaltrust.org.uk for further details.

Lydford is so pretty and quite a backwater when compared to a place even like Dolton. I can imagine life here as being idyllic with virtually no traffic, a surrounding of lush countryside, and with the untamed beauty of Dartmoor on the doorstep. It’s the sort of place I would want to retire to.

This wonderful cycling and hiking pathway loops for almost 180 miles through the majestic scenery of Devon, from the Atlantic coast where the twin estuaries of the Taw and Torridge rivers meet the sea, down to the slopes of rugged Dartmoor with it’s wild heathland and wind swept granite tors. It passes through the towns of Barnstaple, Lynmouth, Bideford, Torrington, Hatherleigh, and Okehampton as well as linking many rural backwaters along its more countrified stretches.

I chose to walk the stretch from Great Torrington to Meeth, a tiny village about 5 miles southwest of Dolton. The advantage of this stretch is that it follows the old Braunton to Okehampton railway line that was ripped up in the 1960s and is therefore essentially flat. This section measures around 7 miles in length and whilst not superhuman in any degree, I did have the two spaniels to consider and didn’t want to be weighed down with drinking water for the three of us on such a warm day.

I persuaded my friend who I’d gone specifically to see to drive me to Great Torrington so as not to have to worry about how I would retrieve the car from the other end of the walk. I set off in bright sunshine at 10.30am and within ten minutes, all traces of civilisation had effectively vanished. The Trail is named after the character “Tarka”, an otter immortalised in the book by Henry Williamson who grew up close to Bideford and who chose this wonderful scenery as the natural backdrop to Tarka’s adventures.

The pathway here is quite wide and is flanked by festoons of wild flowers; primroses, buttercups, bluebells, snowdrops, mallows, vetches and campions, all straining to catch the sunlight through the dense canopy of oaks, elms and limes that spread overhead like a vast green umbrella. The only sound is that of two dogs making the most of this plethora of new smells, my feet upon the gritty track-bed and the insects buzzing on this most wonderful April day. It’s a heady concoction that assaults the senses for there are sadly too few places like this left in Britain.

We walk on steadily, stopping every 30 minutes or so for a drink and to admire the picturesque countryside all around. The dogs make the most of small brooks that appear now and again and waste no time in plunging in for a quick paddle.

The trees give way to open skies after a couple miles and I’m surprised at how warm it is for April – the mercury has to be pushing 25c which is unheard of at this time of the year. I feel a little sorry for the dogs as at least I can take my shirt off, they sadly, have to plod on but at least I can see that they are having a great time as any spaniel will do when faced with no lead on a rural walk with lots of streams to jump into.

After three hours or so, we start a wide right hand bend and I can see civilisation in the distance through the trees. This is Meeth, end of the line for us and quite fittingly so, for the pathway here runs past the old railway halt, just a single stone platform that still retains it’s tiny waiting room. My pal has kindly got his wife to drive my car over to the village and there it is, in the layby, opposite where the old level crossing gates would once have stood. The dogs have had a great time but are pleased to see the car and the comfortable blanket that awaits then in the back for the ten minute drive back to Dolton.

I too have thoroughly enjoyed every second of this walk; I haven’t seen or passed another living soul but have seen more flowers and trees than I can name, probably 20 or 30 species of birds from Sparrows to Kestrels, a solitary field mouse halfway through the walk and best of all, a sense of being at one with nature in what is increasingly becoming a mad world.

The Tarka Trail is a delight and is well marked for most of it’s length. Some waymarkers are missing in various places but it’s usually easy to determine which way to continue, especially if you have the relevant Ordnance Survey Explorer sheet with you. This has given me a taste for a longer hike and I would love to come back with a week to spare and walk at least another 50 miles of this wonderful pathway that cuts a rural swathe through this beautiful county.

Picture this, if you will, a quintessentially English picture-postcard village in the depths of the glorious Devonian countryside. Thatched cottages stand in neat little terraces, their front gardens alive with spring flowers, the occasional gazebo, and the all-important small bistro table where their owners can sit and watch the world go by as they sip a glassful of red wine on a warm afternoon.

There are three pubs, two of which are superb for both ale and food, well-run and with a hearty welcome for the local and visitor alike, a well-stocked village store that sells everything from tinned food to fresh bread and newspapers, and a wonderful “olde worlde” atmosphere that is epitomized by the fact that I can’t walk down the lane without everyone bidding me a cheery “good morning” as we pass by, with some of the more senior citizens even doffing their hats.

Rush hour in the village means that a few mums are dropping their beloved offspring at the local junior school and as such, are filling the little village square with their vehicles whilst a few farm hands drive their bulky 4x4s past the square en route to their various places of gainful employment. Then it goes quiet and, boy, I’d forgotten how quiet quiet can be.

Dolton is such a peaceful retreat and makes one hanker for the days when we all led a pastoral lifestyle before the invention of all the devices that only help our modern lives to pass by even more quickly. The pub opens at 9am in case anyone wants to drop by for a coffee or even a cooked breakfast; I’m sure a beer wouldn’t be out of the question either.

I’m taking a stroll on my first full day here on a wonderful warm morning; the frost has cleared leaving it’s legacy of a crisp, blue sky without a cloud in sight. I stroll past the village War Memorial, sitting as it does in a secluded little spot, well tended and replete with potted plants and flowers. The village church clock strikes eleven with a preceding peal of bells that indicates that somewhere along the line, one of the bells is missing but no-one really cares. The churchyard is full of old headstones, many bearing family names that are easy to follow for hundreds of years but they all eventually end up here under the spread of the huge yews and sculptured bushes, ultimate peace in an ultimately peaceful place.

The village has existed since at least Saxon times although the old wooden Saxon church would have been replaced by the stone-built Norman one during the 11th or 12th century. Many of the cottages are at least 400 years old, their massively thick exterior walls precluding the need for any kind of modern insulation. Most still have open fires or at the very least, a wood-burning stove to heat the house and to cook on. I stroll past one beautiful property and see the small bistro-style table in the garden with it’s two chairs, no doubt awaiting it’s next role as the householders sit for a drink prior to their evening meal.

Everybody knows everyone else here; my new friend from last night in the Union, “Gobby Jock”, sits astride a ladder repainting the pub’s window frames. I’ve only known him for a few hours but he gives me a wave and inquires as to whether I’ll be joining him for a beer again later. Further down the lane, I bump into two more folk from last night’s hilarious session in the Union and I just about manage to greet them before they return the action.

I’d almost forgotten that places like this still existed. I lived in Polperro for several years but it was never like this, so warm and inviting and full of genuinely friendly, caring people; almost an “all for one and one for all” ethos. I’m sure there are other places like this in Devon and across the UK, and it’s probably no wonder that those folk who discover them keep the information tucked well away beneath their hats as we say.

I so like Dolton,it’s people, it’s lifestyle, it’s relaxed atmosphere, and it’s location. It might not be on the regular tourist network but I will certainly come back again soon if I have any say in the matter.