Blighty Bound - Day Seventeen, Abbey and Family.

Today was set aside for a get a together with DW's step-family, whom we'd never met. The gathering was arranged at Buckfast Abbey, just a few miles south of where we were. The gathering went very well, but as with all family gatherings I've mentioned in this blog, we must draw a discrete veil across the details. The Abbey, though, is worth writing about.

Buckfast is home to an order of Benedictine monks and they're living and working on a site that's been occupied for centuries. But, as surprises most people, the current abbey and its support buildings date back only as far as the 1920s and 1930s. The monks have always had a keen commercial eye, and have supported themselves with the sale of produce grown on their land. In recent times, though, tourism has been a big earner for them. There are now restaurants on site, a big gift shop, and a conference centre tucked away in there as well. It's certainly very popular.

As a kid, I visited sometimes with my parents, and I've seen the place grow. In later years my dad would go to the abbey to attend services, being the good Catholic chap that he was. I had been back as an adult, but this visit was the first time that I'd been into the abbey itself since I was a child. It's not huge as abbeys go, but its relative newness, albeit in the traditional style, gives the place an air of cleanliness and tidiness. Walking around and noticing all the Catholic paraphernalia, it did remind me that to become the atheist that I am, I had to first experience the Catholic church in all its hypocritical and guilty glory.

The grounds of the abbey are, of course, lovely. They lie along the banks of the gorgeous River Dart and the whole place lies snugly within the folds of the Devon hills. There are signs that invite you to walk on the grass, as opposed to the usual "Do not..." walk on the grass, which is a nice touch.

As we all parted, having had a lovely meeting in what turned out to be unseasonal sunshine, DW, her folks, and I, made our way to the village of South Brent, just a few miles away, and on the southern edge of Dartmoor. It's where the newly met family were from, but we were off to see the relics of my long dead family. Census records for 1891 had my great-great uncle Samuel Hill living at number 2 Manor House, which as luck would have it is still standing and is now Grade II Listed. I'd looked on Google Maps and StreetView, and managed to obtain information from the Historic Listing website, about what was once three, possibly four, houses fronting the ancient church of St Petroc. Now it's one property known as Church House. Because the house literally forms the wall of the church yard, we were able to see the old windows and doors from the yard, and what it must have been like 135 years ago; actually not much different.

The census of 1911 had another relative, a first cousin three times removed called William Seaward, living in Prospect Place. I thought Prospect Place was the old name for Wellington Square, an open area just outside the church yard, but I was wrong. It turned to be a row of houses tucked in behind Wellington square, on an alley that really was Dickensian looking. There were fourteen dwellings down there, in a tiny space. The census didn't say which one William lived in, unfortunately, but to know that my relatives had lived in that little space was a good feeling. The census of 1921 has William living in Rock Cottage in South Brent, which may or may not be in Prospect Place, but I can't work that one out. None of the cottages in modern day Prospect Place were called Rock Cottage, but names do get changed.

I don't know if Samuel Hill and William Seaward ever knew of each other's existence, the census records span thirty years after all, but perhaps they did. That they lived in the village that my newly met relatives all live in was more than a co-incidence.

We wound up the day with a beer at the very popular Turtley Corn Mill Inn, in Avonwick, just down the road from South Brent. It was rammed, and sitting outside in the garden, the quiet of the countryside was shattered by the sound of badly behaved dogs yapping at each other, and Peacocks. Among the wildfowl kept at the hotel, there was a gaggle gorgeous blue Peacocks; lovely to look at, but very noisy.

Tomorrow is a down day, with nothing at all on the schedule. I had thought about another sea wall walk, but a sunny Sunday is likely to bring the crowds out, so I think we'll stay put, in among the fields.