Memory Lane

Today

After a pleasant few hours pottering around Knight's Hayes near Tiverton, Howard suggested we take the scenic route back home. This turned out to be very indirect. We drove across Exmoor as the low, swirling clouds coquettishly hid and displayed Dunkery Beacon.

Our first stop was Porlock Weir. We looked at the boats left high and dry by the tide and took a few photos before hastily going back to the warmth of the car.

Up Porlock Hill. "Can we take the road to Robber's Bridge?" pleaded Paul. "I'd so like to show it to you." Howard was happy to do this and we took the tiny lane that plunged off the side of the main road.

"Picture this....,"I said

In My Day

It's the end of May 1972, the weather is hot and we were about to take a holiday in Exmoor. I had for some time so wanted to share with Paul my love of Exmoor. I was very pregnant with Lizzie. We booked ourselves into a little B & B called Shilstone Farm near the village of Brendon.

We drove from Brighton to London to drop the cats off at my brother David's, then worked our way to the A30 heading West. There was no M3 or A303 in 1972 and very few bypasses. It was also a bank holiday weekend. The traffic was dense and got denser. Outside Salisbury it stopped altogether and barely moved for over two hours. The car warmed up and we worried about its capacity even to reach its destination. I became more and more uncomfortable, not knowing what to do with my bump.

Paul was hungry and tired by this time; he had had to do all the driving and this was hard going. At last we cleared Salisbury and made some progress. We joined the A39 at Minehead as the sun began to lower and shine straight into our eyes. We took a chance on Porlock Hill, hoping that the Humber's dodgy transmission would be able to cope. I began to look anxiously for the turning, worried that we'd arrive too late at the B & B or, worse still, not be able to find it at all.

Paul was beginning to doubt my navigational skills, when I suddenly saw the turning marked "Brendon and Malmsmead". We turned suddenly onto this tiny steep road that seemed to fall off the side of the hill. We could see across the valley with its mixture of lush woods and heather-covered moors. As we twisted our way down towards the rippling stream in the valley and Paul drove over Robber's Bridge we felt all the irritation and tiredness; the weight of the long journey slip from us and Paul fell as instantly and passionately in love with Exmoor as I was.

"Thank you for sharing this with us," said Howard as he positioned his new Audi carefully to get over Robber's Bridge "This really is Memory Lane"