May 4, 2012
Frogmore
the long way via the wrong Bickleigh
As we were about to get off the ferry in Plymouth, Roger said that next time would be different. He didn't want to just ride around - he needed a goal, a purpose of sorts. In England, I have that - to simply visit places Frank Patterson drew for Cycling magazine in the years between the wars and just after.
A superb illustrator, Frank, or Pat as he became known, managed to capture the joy of pedaling down country lanes devoid of traffic, the rolling countryside unadulterated by industry or ribbon development. The houses and pubs look olde worlde, with thatched roofs and roaring log fires, and people are reduced to caricatures, always with the time of day to wish a visitor on wheels the best of luck. Of course it's something of a fabrication, as he often drew from photos or postcards, adding the cyclist in to the image - but art is an illusion. Nevertheless, they do convey an idyllic image and encourage cycle tourists seek out such places... me, anyway
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But before heading off into the rolling Devon countryside to find some of these spots, I pop into Plymouth library to look up newspaper reports of football games my late dad played in.
A professional from the mid 1940s to the late 1950s, he played for West Bromwich Albion and then Lincoln City, both in the second division at the time.
The general idea being to create a small achieve of clippings to go with a collection of football programmes for my grandson Charlie's christening gift - a piece of Finch family history that'll perhaps otherwise be forgotten.
After a couple of hours looking at old newspaper reports and making copies, it's time to go.
The map of Devon and Cornwall costs three quid, less than the label which says it was 5.50. Scaled at 3 miles to an inch, it shows the small lanes and on the way out of the pedestrianized city centre, two people I ask about the small village of Bickleigh tell me it's a long way. I've got it down as about seven miles north of Plymouth and comment that I've come from Casablanca, so another 10 km or so isn't going to kill me. They both look impressed
The main road is a pain; busy and up for five miles. After what feels like forever, a sign points to the village Frank Patterson sketched back in the 30s: with eyes peeled for The New Inn, I make a right, thankful to be off the A 386 and into the quiet countryside.
I can't see The New Inn and a woman riding a horse says it probably has a different name now, telling me to ride to a pub in the next village, which we can see from the junction.
At the bottom of a drop two other women outside a stable who look at the thumbnail drawing say it's back where I came from, opposite the church, so back I pedal. Once there, and without any dwelling resembling the New Inn, a third woman says it must be in a different Bickleigh, a village quite a way north, between Exeter and Tiverton. Looking at my new map, it seems she's right.
Who would have thought they'd be two Bickleighs in Devon; and I'd locate the wrong one.
During all this confusion, I'd spotted a bicycle path along what is obviously a disused railway line. It looked nice, so that's what I take to return south, riding towards a place called Plymton.
Most cycle paths don't appeal to me, as they tend to be utilitarian and veer away from villages and shops, but this one is a real delight, being shaded by old growth and flanked by high cuttings along a lot of its path. Bluebells are flowering, ferns line the embankments and there's silence.
At the end, I take an eastern path that ends up winding through the parkland of a National Trust property - Saltram - and I call in at the house's café and have a pot of tea and a wedge of nice, sweet brownie-type cake, then come out on to the undulating A 379 which goes directly east.
My goal is a seaside village called Torcross, which is about 25 miles away. A sign on the route says I'm just seven miles from Plymouth yet my odometer read 25 km. That's how far out of the way I've gone, looking for Bickeigh.
Further along I ask at a couple of B&Bs, but they are both full - it's a bank holiday weekend, with May 7th being a national holiday... a delayed May 1st.
The olde Exeter Inn in the village of Modbury is a place that'd make a wonderful place to spend the night: the pub's beamed ceiling is just above head height and the place oozes character and has a tempting selection of real ales on tap, but they are also booked up, as are the other two inns in the village. No doubt the May Queen ceremony that's just taken place when I get there has attracted a bunch of weekenders.
A charity shop - what Americans call a thrift store - isn't actually open for business, but the boss is in there and she lets me look among the rack of clothes for something new to wear. After two months of having the same sweater and pants, it's time for a change and I pick out a T-shirt and then noticed a green 1930's vase that's priced at six pounds. On impulse, I buy it, later cycling east with it wedged in my bar-bag, wondering if it'll still be in one piece before I get to post it home.
It's only a few miles to Torcross when clouds came low and make the one-street village of Frogmore a good place to call it a day. A B&B has a room going, so that's that. The vase has survived thus far.
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You have a good eye for pottery. Any ideas about the maker?
Cheers,
Keith
3 years ago
Sadly this vase got smashed here in Taiwan when a shelf full of pottery fell off the wall! Some of it was very rare and expensive, and it all fell on that one photographed - that I got for just six pounds.
The company that made it (Shaw) called it Burlington Ware and I do have a smaller vase in the same design, but with different colours. It's cheap stuff to buy, but I like it. It's a shame it's gone... after it survived my trip and being posted back here.
3 years ago
Today's ride: 69 km (43 miles)
Total: 2,519 km (1,564 miles)
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