Blighty Bound - Day Thirteen, Somerset

 Today was for exploring, for family tree work, and for family, so a busy schedule.

We had planned to visit Bishops Lydeard in West Somerset, as some of DW's rellies hailed from there, and then to motor on up to Wedmore to visit with DW's nephew and his wife. As we were going to be in Somerset, I suggested that we visit the medieval village of Dunster, which isn't a million miles from Bishops Lydeard. At the last minute, we flipped the plan, so were were to go to Dunster first, Bishops Lydeard second, then finally Wedmore, and that turned out to be an inspired decision.

So it was that we found our selves coming off the northbound M5 at Tiverton and taking the North Devon Link Road towards Exmoor National Park. The route that the navigation mapped out for us looked a wee bit squiggly, and so it proved to be. At Bampton we joined the steep sided valley of the River Exe and followed it's snaking course for mile after mile. The road was narrow and twisty, and there some precipitous drops down to the water at times, where the road climbed away from the narrow valley floor. Water meadows hugged the river, the steep sides of Exmoor closed in and the whole route was dotted with little thatched cottages, straight out of fairy tales. Oh, and the Pheasants, seemingly hundreds of the things. 

It was a lovely drive, even if I had to be at my driving best to avoid going off the road at every sharp turn. The navigation system sent a couple of confusing messages and at one point we ended up climbing away from the river, and then being set on a route to recover the original road. That was all fine and dandy except that the route contained a weak bridge that had a width limit of 6' 6". I demurred and chose not to take that route and I'm glad I didn't, because it turns out that the rented car was 6' 3" wide without the mirrors, and 6' 11" with the mirrors. That was way too tight for me to risk it, even with folding mirrors. In the end I turned around and retraced our route to get back to where I'd originally gone wrong. I compounded the error by immediately taking another wrong turn, but this time I didn't bother with the alternative route; I found a turning spot, and went back to the road we were supposed to be on.

As we slowly closed in on Dunster, the navigation system kept trying to send us on the route intended for heavy goods vehicles, away from the gorgeous valley floor, but I stuck to the road that was signposted to Dunster and in due course we arrived at our destination. Never forget, the Satnav is only a navigational aid, not necessarily the final word; discretion is your friend!

I'm not going to say too much about how lovely the village was, especially in the sun that shone in a clear blue sky, suffice it to say that I can see why the place is so popular. We found parking at the North End of the main street (GBP2.50 for two hours, which is at the low end of the scandalous parking charges in Britain), and took a slow walk back to the village's famous main street. With a castle at one end and a folly at the other, the broad street looked like a postcard picture.

We ambled down, past the castle, and fell upon an antiques shop that we thought might provide a little housewarming gift for DW's nephew. The lady in the shop was very nice, but very loud. So loud, in fact, that I had to turn my electric ears down a bit.

Heading back towards the car, the castle grounds provided us with some toilets and a National Trust gift shop, which were both well received. It was a bit pricey to actually go into the castle, especially as time was limited, so we spent some money in the gift shop instead, always happy to show willing. A slow walk back up through the village was made slower by some more money spending in one of the local shops, and then it was time for a pasty and a cup of coffee from the little bakery right next to the car park. There's not much can beat spreading pastry crumbs down your front in the car while eating a delicious hot pasty. The car, I hasten to add, was not moving at the time.

Apart from the beauty of the village, the big thing about Dunster on this fine day was the lack of people. Yes, it was a midweek day in March, but the weather was glorious and I'd have thought the place would have been throbbing with visitors, but no. It wasn't quite deserted but it was delightfully easy to move around. The lady in the bakery said that it was likely due to the road works just north of the car park, and we were about to find out the truth of that.

Leaving the car park and heading north towards the Minehead road, we immediately hit a line of stationary traffic. It stayed stationary for what seemed like an eternity, and when it did move I realised that the temporary traffic lights were controlling a major intersection, and in each direction they were holding the traffic for quite a long time. The queue on the main road, east and west, was very long; yes, that might make approaching Dunster a wee bit difficult from that end.

Then we were heading south east towards the little town, or large village, of Bishops Lydeard, home to a few more of DW's long-dead rellies. I didn't realise at the time that it's the southern terminus of the fabled West Somerset Railway, one of the original heritage railways in the West Country, running steam for decades. When I mentioned Bishops Lydeard to people, they'd heard of it because of the railway, but I never had.

There's not a whole lot to see in Bishops Lydeard, so we spent some time browsing around the handsome church there, and it's very large graveyard. Generations of DW's family had been christened, married and had funerals there, so it was good to go in and stand on the same floor that they did. It was a touch cold and damp in there, as I found out when I went to sign the visitors book and discovered that it was a fraction away from being wet.

There's an odd feeling when you're doing the family tree thing and going to the same places that your ancestors went to. I like to stand and absorb these places, and wonder what those rellies would think if they could see their old haunts now.

After Bishop's Lydeard, we set the navigation system for Wedmore, some way to the north-east of us, on the other side of the Quantock Hills, a broad eminence in an otherwise flat terrain. Good old Google, it took us straight over the hills, up some steep and narrow lanes. You can always rely on Google to find you a direct route, even if it's down the odd cart track or two, and that's what happened with this route. Halfway to Bridgwater, I was directed down a road with a sign at it's entrance that said "Single track road with passing places". I'd had enough of single track roads with passing places so, remembering that the navigation system is only part of the equation I rebelled and carried on the road I was on. 

The actual sign, on Enmore Road.

Sure enough, we ended up in Bridgwater, even after having been stuck behind a horse box for some miles. It was school kicking-out time, so of course the traffic was horrible. It took forever to find the northbound M5, and when I came to leave the motorway, just a couple of miles further on, there was a queue on the slip road that tailed back onto the fast-moving highway, which was not good, even in what I assumed was a sparsely populated part of rural Somerset.

The road to Wedmore was long and winding (like the Beatles' song), and frequently narrow, but mercifully flat. It crossed the Somerset Levels, a vast area of reclaimed land that resembled The Netherlands in more than a casual way. We had the dubious pleasure of passing the Sexey Arms, a pub in Blackmore, and Sexey's School, surely the best named centre of learning ever. Both are named for Hugh Sexey, a Royal Auditor in the court of Queen Elizabeth I, who was born in the area in the year 1540, although that date is subject to some debate. Who says that this blog is not educational?

We arrived in Wedmore, to visit DW's nephew and his wife, and to approve their new house, but first became slightly befuddled in the maze of little streets in their housing development. Little streets with bends and dead ends are a feature of these developments, to discourage people from driving too fast through them, which isn't a bad idea, except when you take a wrong turning like I did.

A jolly evening ensued, the house was duly approved, and we headed back to Devon quite late, weaving through half-a-dozen sets of road works on the M5; getting work dome before the Easter rush, I think. As the traffic was light, it was no big deal. We were quite tired when we arrived back at Little Orchard, it had been a very long day. But, of course, that's what you do on vacation in March.