Tag Archives: Devon

A halloween trail and a pumpkin parade

With the weather being so unseasonably warm recently, we’ve had a brilliantly outdoorsy halloween.

It began on Thursday with a visit to Occombe Farm’s Bewitched Trail. It was aimed at 4-12 year olds, so Arthur and his friend were a little young to really make the most of it – but they still had a great time running around in the woods whilst us mums chatted and ‘helped’ them fill in the quiz sheet!

Arthur had his Gruffalo outfit on (I suspect he’d wear it permanently given half the chance) so the woodland setting was just perfect. He loved exploring around all the trees – I only noticed when I looked at the pictures that this one had a particularly spooky face on it…

There were some conveniently placed tree stumps too so he could take a rest from all the running around.

The trail was perfectly integrated into the natural environment, and whilst the toddlers couldn’t manage all of the challenges they were delighted to come across a little mouse hiding in a fallen trunk!

Arthur managed to hold onto his own mouse for almost all of his adventure, though there were points where the excitement got the better of him and poor mouse was left lying in the leaves…

Even the Gruffalo ran out of steam eventually, snuggling up in the sling for the rest of the trail.

On halloween itself we went exploring a little bit closer to home, heading up to the Guardhouse Cafe on Berry Head. They had all sorts of family friendly activities on offer, including a ghost hunt in the Napoleonic fort which I wish we’d managed to take part in. We ended up though focusing on the pumpkin parade – Arthur wasn’t really aware of halloween pumpkins last year, but this year he was fascinated by them – and just a little bit scared.

By the time we wandered up it was already beginning to get dark. Our local woods were feeling very creepy, but it was still incredibly warm and clear giving us some stunning views when we reached the headland.

We headed straight for the cafe, where parents and children were hard at work carving a spectacular array of pumpkins. Leigh and I settled down with a very welcome glass of wine and with only half an hour before the parade – and despite Arthur’s interventions – Leigh managed a very respectable effort of his own.

As soon as he was done it was torches at the ready to head out into the night. There was something very magical about walking out towards Berry Head itself in the dark, a weaving line of glowing lights with the hushed chatter blending with the wind and the lapping of the waves far below. These sounds were punctuated with Arthur’s little voice calling out ‘what is this? What is this?’ as he took in the latest bizarre experience we were exposing him to!

We formed a circle when we got to the end – not too close to the cliffs – and our guide regaled us with a ghost story before we turned and made our way back in the dark towards the cafe.

There it was time for the judging of the fancy dress and pumpkin competition. Arthur was again dressed as a little Gruffalo, backed up by our own efforts as the fox, snake and owl to complete the story (more on that in another post). The other children were wearing some really amazing costumes – there was a general spirit of gothic spookiness going on – but I think Arthur’s cuteness factor gave him the cutting edge because he was judged the winner.

It was a lovely end to a brilliant couple of hours of halloween fun. The party was continuing with a suitably spooky dinner but we thought we’d better get our little Gruffalo home. It was a good thing we left when we did because the woods really were pitch dark by the time we made our way back though them… But you’ll be glad to hear we all made it back in one piece!

October sun

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As I watch the world through rain-battered windows, white horses galloping across the bay to the invisible shores beyond and the wind, still eerie in the daylight, ricocheting off my neighbours’ walls, it’s worth remembering that not every day is like this.

Just the other side of the weekend we woke to blue skies, the sea calm and the sunlight glinting off cliffs as far away as Dorset. The air was crisp but still warm in the sun. It didn’t feel much like autumn then at all.

I followed Arthur up through the woods and along the path to the fort. His excitement was palpable: as with all of our little adventures, even the well-trodden ones, there was a sense that anything might happen.

When we got there, it wasn’t clear whether he had shrunk or the world had grown. Whichever it was, he looked so tiny as he ran around being chased by his shadow that it almost took my breath away.

Once his efforts had exhausted him he came back to me again, both bigger and smaller now and ready for sleep: peaceful and contented in the October sun.

Trains, goats and autumn leaves

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This weekend, we managed to tick something else off our South Devon bucket list. We’ve been past the Rare Breeds Farm in Totnes countless times on the train to London, the vintage-style platform of the South Devon Railway looking like a gateway to another world. Having finally made it there on foot I can confirm that those first impressions really are quite accurate.

From the first steps beyond the station car park into the woodland path you feel like you’re onto something special, a sensation made even stronger once the bridge across the river comes into view.

I think Arthur could happily have stayed right there, watching the mainline trains speed past mere metres away, but little did he know the other treats in store.

To get to the farm you have to walk along the steam railway platform. Everything is beautifully maintained, and we were lucky enough to arrive just as a special service was pulling in. Arthur was captivated by the comings and goings, eagerly ‘choo choo’ing as Leigh explained the mechanics of the steam engine to him. Once again we could have ended our trip right there and they both would have been very happy.

We managed to tear ourselves away, and headed over the tracks to the little farm itself. After picking up some feed in the cafe we went through the gates – and immediately came face to face with a row of owls.

I’m not sure Arthur believed they were real at first, but then we found a very little owl called Flitwick just waiting to be stroked.

After a gentle stroke of Flitwick’s feathers we continued further on, coming across some very lively red squirrels. I’m not sure Arthur knew quite what to make of them!

And then we found the goats. I don’t think Arthur’s met goats before, and these ones were very friendly. One of my favourite moments of the afternoon was him giggling ‘Fingers! Fingers!’ as they greeted him enthusiastically through the fence. He even had a go at feeding them, and when we ventured inside was quick to make himself at home.

There were some beautiful sheep too, though Arthur was happy to let Daddy take the lead on feeding those.

After meeting all the larger animals we came across the guinea pigs, and Arthur sat himself down for a little cuddle. He thought it was a ‘baby dog’ at first, and got very confused when we said it was a sort of pig…

All in all it is a very special place, and we will most definitely be back. It’s just a shame we discovered it so late in the season! Though that did give us the excuse for a bit of frolicking in the autumn leaves – the perfect end to a perfect afternoon.

K is for kite

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Boxing day, 2013. Leigh had been given a kite for Christmas, and as we headed to the beach to walk off the indulgence of the day before there was a palpable sense of excitement. The day was crisp and cold and bright: for a British winter it could hardly have been bettered. The wind was strong, but as it happened that was just what we wanted.

Arthur was nuzzled up in the sling, still computing the craziness of his first Christmas season and, not that he knew it, waiting to experience his first birthday two days later. It was the adults though who were rapt with the simple pleasure of a kite flying high in the December sky.

We each had a go, nonchalant at first, trying to conceal our nervousness and anticipation. But as the wind caught the fabric that our hands controlled we in turn were caught by a childlike joy. Those of us who were not physically attached to its pulls and turns found ourselves mimicking the twists and grins of the one who was, unable to tear our eyes away and united in our quest to maintain its flight for as long as possible.

K is for kite.

Joining in with The Alphabet Photography Project over at PODcast.

Back on the train

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Those of you who’ve been following my blog for a while will know that the train is most definitely my favourite way to travel. So when the storms that battered the UK earlier this year took out the train line in Dawlish, effectively cutting Devon and Cornwall off from the rest of the UK, I was pretty gutted.

It wasn’t just the inconvenience of it all, though we did have a couple of mightily stressful trips to London with Arthur in the car as a result. And though it felt a little strange, as a non-driver, to have no alternative without the help of Leigh or my parents but a long and not terribly comfortable coach journey to get out of the county, that wasn’t what bothered me most either. The thing was that I loved that train line. I’ve travelled by train all over the world, and rarely if ever have I come across such a spectacular stretch of track: as the train passed through the red cliffs, alongside the sea which was some days millpond calm, others alive with waves and spray, you knew you that there could not be many better places on the planet to be.

At first there were doubts as to whether the line would ever be restored. The damage was severe: Brunel’s sea wall had disintegrated leaving the tracks hanging like a jungle rope walk above the waves below. There was talk of the line being diverted, of giving in to the forces of nature and accepting that such a stunning journey just wasn’t meant to be. For a while I entertained the idea that I might never travel on that route again. Fortunately, though, the pessimism was unfounded.

By some miracle, the railway engineers managed to get the damage fixed and the line back up and running in just eight weeks. And so it was that for our journey up to London this weekend we were back on the train.

As we left Newton Abbot I was full of anticipation for the views that lay ahead, and the day did not disappoint. On the way to Exeter we once again passed through those majestic red cliffs, past boats resting on the mud at low tide, travelled alongside the sea which this time was millpond calm.

Arthur appreciated the views too – he was a bit too young to notice them last time we made the journey, but this trip he was pointing out the boats and water. Most of all though he appreciated being close to me and Leigh: he’s not 100% right now, with five teeth coming through as well as a nasty cough. What he needed most of all were cuddles – and those are always a bit tricky to provide when he’s strapped up in the back seat of the car.

So hurrah for the railway engineers and for the newly-restored Dawlish line. I may have always loved it, but I have also taken its precarious existence a little more for granted than I probably should. From now on I will definitely appreciate it a whole lot more every time we’re lucky enough to make that journey.

Arthur’s castle

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I have been well and truly spoilt this Mother’s Day. A lie in, a bath, delicious food, gorgeous flowers and some very sweet presents. We may have had words last year after Leigh underestimated how important this day would be to me as a new mum, but he’s well and truly outdone himself this time round. And in the midst of it all, we even had an adventure: we’ve driven past Berry Pomeroy castle countless times, but today we finally went to visit.

Arthur was totally in his element. The picture above shows him taking a break after chasing shadows and older boys around the ruins, pausing every so often to stroke the moss or post gravel through drains. We’d started our explorations in the woodland surrounding the castle itself: there was a particular tree that we passed as we meandered down the muddy path which Arthur was just mesmerised by

By the time we got back up to the castle, my mum and dad were waiting for us. It’s times like this that I’m very glad my parents are close by: I may have transitioned into the ‘mum’ role myself now but it still feels pretty important to hang out with my own mum on Mother’s Day. Arthur seemed to approve of our choice of companions too: once he’d spotted his Grampa and the woman who still has no name, Leigh and I hardly got a look in.

It was so much fun for us to explore somewhere new, and to watch Arthur enjoying a brand new environment with people who he has so clearly come to love and trust. I’ve always had a bit of a thing for ruins, and shadows, and dungeons, and contrasts – and today’s adventure offered those up in spades.

I’m very glad we finally ventured into our local castle: our trip has inspired us to plan visits to many more. There’s nothing quite like the history that is infused in the walls of a building, and though it may be many years before Arthur understands the significance of the stones he marvels over I think there’s an awful lot he can soak up from them in the mean time.

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