Days 3—5: Return to Exeter
The originating logic behind this trip was a desire to return some of Mum and Dad’s ashes back to Devon, where they had been born and spent all of their school years. I don’t think either of them lost a sense of identification with Devon (and Cornwall), although Mum would sometimes lean towards Wales. It seemed to me that a pilgrimage that involved just Paula and me was somehow incomplete, so it was heartwarming when all the ‘siblings and in-laws’ wanted to come — and put their hands up for the walk as well. Being in Exeter has been a lot of fun, even after only two days of walking, and we’ve had time to catch our breath, wash our clothes and perform the ritual of scattering ashes at Sowton Church.
While staying in a pub in the middle of the city mightn’t have been the quietest and most comfortable option, it was better than staying in the more modern hotels on the outskirts; and the Turks Head is 5 minutes from the Cathedral and next door to the Guildhall, so it was a win all round. We were able to do some of the touristy things we hadn’t done in previous trips; and I think it may have been the first time for a number of us. The ‘Red Hat’ tours proved popular, as did the Cathedral tour.
We were able to enjoy the history of the place, including the narrowest street in England, the Guildhall, the walls and castle, as well as get an understanding of what had been lost with the Baedeker Raids. It was quite amazing to think of Dad living just down the road in St Thomas, while the centre of town was devastated. Mind you, the Georgian centre was definitely a poor second to Bath, but the first attempts at replacing it (with Princesshaye) were a disaster. The redevelopment over the last twenty years is much easier on the eye, but as in every other high street in Britain, there is a gaping hole left by the absence of Debenhams.
The main event was Friday’s trip to Sowton village. Before the motorways, you could walk from Ed and Blod’s cottage (the whole site, which was owned by the Electricity Board, is now just a giant transformer) over the fields to Sowton.
What was a twenty minutes walk is now a thirty minute bus trip (ah, progress), but the village manages to feel like it has completely missed out on all this, even though the industrial estate is over the hill and the airport is close by. We walked in to the village from the bus stop near the pub: very little has changed since the fifties.
Liz and John Bailey had taken us to the church back in 2006, but it had been closed then, and at first we couldn’t figure out the door, but we finally were able to get in and see where the four of us had our legitimate origins. We were able to wander around, and pose for posterity, but scattering the ashes near the lych-gate felt like a completion of sorts. Mission accomplished.
Friday night was spent with Liz Bayley and her family, catching up with news and renewing links with the Wreford branch of the family. I know there are still parts of the Bounds family in Cornwall, so I must keep a lookout for them as I digitise all the family stuff.
