Fremington Part 2

Aside

The next day – against his better judgement I persuaded MTL to drive us down the farm track. It was full of pot holes and instead of going straight to the river Taw, snaked round curves and bends with the road surface deteriorating by the yard. It was a very bumpy ride and not having a 4 x 4 MTL was worried about his oil sump. There was no way to turn round so we had to continue – at a snail’s pace - until at last there was space by a gate, so I left himself to try to turn round and I walked, following the track – determined to see where it led to.

How deceptive that view from the bedroom window had been. At last the track ended on a deserted beach; everything was shrouded in sea mist and I could just make out a ghostly looking ship aground on the shore; no sign of the Quay in that visibility. Back I went to the car and admitted MTL had been right all along. We went inland for lunch but as soon as we got back to the cottage I walked down through the fields – right to the Quay this time. Of course there were cars and a car park and I discovered that out on the main road from the cottage, the next turning right was a narrow drive to the quay and café. I walked back up it just to make sure. The café looked great and was immensely popular. Fortunately I discovered it was closed on Monday so we planned to have lunch there on Tuesday.

It was well worth all the palaver and we had delicious sea bass caught by their own fisherman. I wish I could remember the name of the wine – it was special to them and all I can think of is Bacchus. The café is on the Tarka Trail, about 2 miles from Barnstaple and 4 from Instow and after pottering about the Quay I decided to do as much of that part of the trail as possible during the week.

There was lots of useful information in the cottage and one inn they highly recommended was the Rock at Georgeham. Henry Williamson, who wrote ‘Tarka the Otter’ started his writing life there when he bought a cottage to heal himself after WW1. He named it Skirr Cottage after the noise the barn owls made in a space under the thatch.

We drove up to Croyde and then on to Georgeham where the Rock Inn lived up to its reputation – in fact MTL deemed it a gastro pub. I’m a bit like the princess- who- could- feel- the- pea –through- mattresses, about seats. I damaged my coccyx in the fifties when an over eager photographer balanced the chair I was sitting on, on the edge of a table with predictable results I particularly abhor those foreshortened pews you sometimes get in pubs, which I find excruciating. The chairs in the conservatory at the Rock deserve a mention: they have a Mackintosh look and are bliss to sit on.

I wondered if the vines in the conservatory were real and MTL said no there were no grapes. However the waiter told us the grapes had been picked the night before and they were going to make their own wine.

One day we drove to Instow for lunch at the Boathouse. I had always wanted to try it but whilst we stayed at the hotel there wasn’t the opportunity. After a good lunch we parted company; MTL to drive back to the cottage and I to walk the four miles back to the Quay and then up and up to the cottage. We ate out at a different place every day and didn’t have one duff one – and there are still more to try out should we go there again.

On the last day we went to The Cedar’s Hotel and our waiter was a dead ringer for Rob Brydon – so every little thing he said seemed enormously witty.

I almost got as far as the bridge in Barnstaple but the weather was lowering and it was a very lonely part so I called it a day. There was a bit of excitement though; I came to a bridge with steps going up to a track, thought it looked familiar and walked until I came to the cottage – it was the dreaded pot-holed track and I had cut out the Quay and the long haul up through the fields. Yay!