Today's run out was to visit the embarkation point of a slew of my relatives that had left North Devon for Canada and the USA back in the mid-nineteenth century. We were heading for Bideford and Appledore.
I was looking forward to visiting Appledore particularly because I'd never been before.
Bideford had been a major port for centuries, stuck to the bank of the River Torridge a few miles from the Atlantic Ocean on Devon's north coast. Boat building and wool had been Bideford's staples, but into the nineteenth century it became a port for the importation of goods from the Americas, which is where my story is centred. Appledore, a couple of miles down river from Bideford, and at the point that the River Taw joins the Torridge estuary, was a smaller version of Bideford, and was built primarily on fishing and boat building. Like Exmouth and Teignmouth on Devon's south coast, Appledore's quayside is protected from the Atlantic by a massive sand bar known as Braunton Burrows. I can remember going there as a kid and spending hours exploring the sand dunes.
The run from Ashburton, taking the direct(ish) route was just over sixty miles, but Google maps had the journey time as being just short of two hours, which seemed a trifle conservative. Well, it did until I started to drive it. From Bovey Tracey to Whiddon Down, the road skirted the eastern side of Dartmoor. The run was stunningly pretty, with tight valleys and perfect, chocolate box thatched cottages dotted about, but from a driver's point of view it was hard work. Very narrow, single track in parts, ands so twisty that you have to be really on top of your game to keep the car from ending up in the hedge, or embedded into the front on an oncoming vehicle. It's standard Devon driving, away from the main roads, but you don't want to be in a hurry, that's for sure.
Beyond Whiddon Down, at the north end of Dartmoor, the countryside opened up a bit and we were surrounded by rolling green fields and lots of sheep. The roads were better, too, but they had more than a bit of switchback feel to them. We saw signs for all the villages I'd seen mentioned in my family tree records, which was a lovely feeling. The navigation system decided to route us through the back roads of Winkleigh rather keep us on the main road, it does that sort of thing, but we stayed on the Google time schedule.
I have to make the point here, before I forget, the roads in Devon are lined with the most amazing displays of wild flowers. Daffodil, Narcissus, Primrose, and Bluebell, are everywhere, and it's a stunning sight. Maybe it was always like that, but it's in stark contrast to the Canadian winter we'd left, where the only colours had been grey and brown. Certainly, Canadian roadsides do have their fair share of colour, but not until summer.
We drove through Bideford to get to Appledore, and right along the quayside where even today, ships were tied up. The road then took us along to Appledore, and its quayside, smaller but still dotted with boats. Having done my research, we made for the car park at the end of the quay, threading our way through the many cars parked on the road; what people will do to avoid paying to park. The car park was big and half-empty, had a reasonable public toilet, and a great view across the river to the Burrows, and to the village of Instow on the east bank, a mecca for dinghy sailors in the summer, including my brother and his family.
DW wanted to visit the RNLI shop, which was located in the Lifeboat station about ten minutes walk north from the car park. We weren't sure we wanted to walk as there were other places to see, but goodness, we were so glad that we did, even though the shop was closed (not open until April, apparently). We walked the length of Irsha Street, a narrow thoroughfare that was lined on both sides by terraces of tiny cottages, home in the past, no doubt, to the working people of Appledore. All of the cottages were neat and well cared for, many available to rent for a holiday, and looked sublime all tucked into the tiny street. There were also side "courts", little alleyways opening onto tiny courtyards and more little cottages. Most were painted in bright colours, had quirky names, and an array of exciting door knockers, which seemed to be a theme. On that ten minute walk, we also found two pubs, which I suppose should not have been surprising. We reached the (shiny new) lifeboat station (the big lifeboat itself was moored in the river), but it was locked and bolted. We didn't mind, though, and made our way back to the quay along Irsha Street again. If you do nothing else in Appledore, you should walk Irsha Street.
We wandered down along the quay, thought how my relatives may have stood there before boarding their ship to Canada, or if they'd boarded in Bideford, realising that this was the last piece of England that they'd ever see. Of course we had to have a pasty, eaten sitting on a bench overlooking the river, and admiring the cheeky Jackdaws and even cheekier Wagtails.
A quick excursion behind the quay and we realised that most of the streets were much the same as Irsha Street, and the houses similarly well preserved. What a lovely place Appledore is, although perhaps I might not be saying that at the height of the summer.
We'd been advised to visit the RNLI's "pop-up" shop in the Atlantic Village Outlet Centre, just to the west of Bideford. We did, and spent way too much money as usual. I did get a half price, fleece-lined rain jacket, in red. When I pound the streets in Chatham in my black coats I have often thought that I could do with wearing something brighter so that I can be seen my the myopic drivers, and given that this RNLI jacket is red, I don't think I could do better.
We then made our way to Bideford and parked up along the quayside.
This was precisely where those relatives of mine boarded their ships and set sail for a new life in a new world. I had picked one family from my family tree and noted down their details. Richard John Cudmore, his wife Alice and at least one child (John), maybe two (Mary - I can't find death records for her so she may not have been alive at the time of embarkation), all born in Dolton, Devon, set sail in 1845, bound for Quebec. The ships they sailed in had brought timber from Canada to England and their Bideford-based owners were keen to take paying passengers on the the return journey to Canada, rather than sail empty ships back to across the Atlantic. Farm work in Devon had dried up for many, with the repeal of the Corn Laws and increased mechanisation being the chief culprits. The lure of new work, and possibly land of their own, tempted many thousands of North Devon farm workers to make that uncomfortable journey, including Richard and Alice. We'd read that some ship's Masters did fit out their holds with bunk beds for the passengers, but not all, so that would have been a very uncomfortable forty to fifty days crossing the north Atlantic. That didn't stop a great exodus, though.
For the record, Richard and Alice eventually established a homestead in Huron County, Ontario, and grew their family there. Richard died in 1887, and we visited his grave in Tuckersmith, Ontario, last year. Alice died in 1899 in North Dakota, USA, having moved with her daughter and son-in-law on Richard's death. She's buried in a small cemetery right on the border of North Dakota and Canada. We haven't visited yet, but I'd like to one day so that I can complete the circle.
Back in Bideford, we found a town that seems to have fallen on lean times. The quay is still used a little, and the Long Bridge across the river looks as stately as ever, but the town did look tired. That said, it was a Monday and since COVID, many shops have taken to closing on a Monday. I don't blame them, but it did make the place a wee bit like a ghost town.
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| House in Bideford made from Marland Brick |
I did note that a lot of the houses were built with Marland bricks, an off-white brick made from local clay, mined at Peters Marland a few miles south of Bideford. A number of my relatives had worked at the Peters Marland quarries, at least one of whom worked on the narrow gauge railway there that linked with the Southern Railway line from Barnstaple, through Bideford, to Halwill Junction and the main Southern Railway line from London to Plymouth. The line from Barnstaple to Halwill, and beyond to Plymouth, was lost in the 1960s, but has been converted to a long-distance footpath known as the Tarka Trail (after the character in the book Tarka the Otter). There are moves afoot in Torrington, about halfway between Bideford and Halwill, to reopen a part of the line as a heritage railway, and judging by the small modern diesel multiple unit (DMU) we saw at Torrington Station, maybe that will happen one day. I'm not sure how the DMU got to Torrington as there's no track anymore, and I don't know how the proposed line would work with the users of the Tarka Trail. Still, stranger things have happened.
I avoided the return twisty and narrow trip from Whiddon Down to Bovey Tracey by taking the A30 towards Exeter, then doubling back on the A38, albeit that we deviated to Newton Abbot and its wonderful Tesco store on the way home. Tesco was a fright, especially as it was only a Monday, which in my mind should have been a quiet day. We did stop to pick up two portions of chips and mushy peas at the Emerald Fish Bar on the way home. We've done nothing but assault our digestive systems since we've been here, and wolfing down chips at 8pm did nothing to help. I think we are both still suffering.
Tomorrow is a family day, with perhaps a run to Tavistock before we hit Plymouth. I'm not thinking about food right now; perhaps I should not eat anything at all!
Postscript: I looks as though I picked up a camera-based speeding fine on the way to the RNLI shop at Atlantic Village, 35mph in a 30mph limit. I take full responsibility and will pay the fine if the Devon and Cornwall police follow through and write to me here in Canada, but I am annoyed at myself because I'm normally so careful to drive to the posted limits. Ah well, these things happen.
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