expensive the artworks are, and where, on arrival, you
sense time itself begin to slow down, brush its lapels, and
loosen its belt a notch.
The view from the manor’s 28-acre grounds is a
spectacular one: a sun-dappled horizon of rumpled
green, shot through by the silvery swathe of the estuary.
In the foreground sits the hotel’s own vineyard, a nursery
for English sparkling wines. Its neat rows of vines
are visible from the window when I’m led through for
afternoon tea. It’s the works: a choice of 10 different teas
and infusions, a small army of staff in ironed aprons,
and a three-level cake stand stacked with pastries,
scones (don’t dare go jam first — this is Devon) and finger
sandwiches. The octogenarian ladies at the next table are
jubilant when theirs is placed in front of them. “I can’t
see you now!” says one to the other.
But no matter how delicately baked the fig tarts are, it’s
hard to top the grounds. On a crisp autumn day, the sight
of the estuary is a hypnotic one: a silky expanse of land
and water under a colossal, South Coast sky. The hotel’s
rooms and suites are all named after birds, and for good
reason. The marshes and mudflats that stretch between
Exeter and the English Channel are a site of international
importance for wading birds, who flock here in their tens
of thousands to feed on invertebrates.
At nearby RSPB Bowling Green Marsh, I find a seat in
the hide overlooking the reed beds. I’m too early for the
throng of winter visitors — geese from Siberia, godwits
from Scandinavia — but the scene is still a lively one.
Pretty teals fuss on the banks, and shovelers dabble past
waggling their platypus beaks. Elsewhere in the hide, I
can hear a hushed conversation about moorhens. It’s a
peaceable spot, and mighty easy to linger in, but looking
up I see heavy clouds, rolling in, as relentlessly as waves,
from the direction of the open sea.
Folk songs & fossils
“The captain’s in his cabin, boys, drinking rum and
brandy — away, haul away, we’ll haul away, Joe!”
It’s Thursday folk night at Exmouth’s The Bicton Inn,
mere streets from the sea. Forty voices ring around the
pub, surging in unison and fogging the dark windows.
Naval ensigns are strung around the walls and tankards
are being downed. “This song is about how the news of
Nelson’s victory travelled across the land,” announces a
well-oiled greybeard, as another local gets his accordion
ready. “Although it’s said there are a few north of Tiverton
who still haven’t heard.”
The inn was recently named the ‘best community
pub in East Devon’ by the Campaign for Real Ale, and a
blackboard lists upcoming backgammon sessions, vinyl
nights and knitting clubs. Tonight, though, as the rain
clouds mass overhead, star billing goes to southeast
Devon’s maritime links. The local sailors of the Trafalgar
era wouldn’t have witnessed the kitesurfers that busy the
headland these days, but the sea air — and the lingering
hint of journeys to faraway lands — would’ve been as
restorative then as they are now.
“Well, heave her up and away we’ll go,” roars the chorus
of voices, “She’s a fast clipper ship and a bully good crew.”
Exmouth is also the official starting point of the 96-
mile Jurassic Coast. This UNESCO World Heritage Site
is where local history does a few somersaults, kisses
goodbye to the human race and speeds away into the
mists of time. Although the coast’s name is something
of a misnomer; the rocks here actually yawn back as far
as the Triassic era; some of those near Exmouth are 250
million years old.
The resulting scenery — all Big Dipper ridges and
wild, wave-bashed headlands — makes it a glorious
place to hike, dawdle or just simply gawp. The geological
timescales are brain-spinning: the red cliffs here were
originally part of a vast desert, which was later flooded by
a tropical sea. Around 140 million years ago, the waters
receded, freeing up more space for roaming dinosaurs,
before sea levels rose again 100 million years ago. It’s
something to mull over during your pre-breakfast
constitutional along the prom.Jan/Feb 2022 127DEVON