Father said: ‘You’ll be cycling to Devon, so set off now.’ It was 170 miles away – and I was just 11
IFIRST glimpsed Devon’s postcardpretty Hope Cove as an 11-year-old at the end of an epic cycle ride. One sunny day in 1955, my father had informed me and my older brother David, 13, that while he would be driving the rest of the family down the next day for our summer holiday, ‘you boys will be cycling there – and you should set off immediately’.
A couple of hours later, with a £5 note, a yellow ‘pakamac’ each and a list of hostels along the 170-mile route from our home in Swindon, we pedalled off, horror-struck.
I was on a ladies’ bicycle with a wicker basket for my sandwiches, David on his boys’ bike with drop handlebars. I recall little of the three-day journey – perhaps I have blocked it out – but I still remember arriving at Hope Cove and looking down on that village, with its white-walled cottages and boats pulled up on to the sandy beach.
Nearly 70 years on I returned to this idyllic spot with my partner
Catherine and our partially trained labrador – but this time I had got to travel in the car. I gazed down once again on much the same village that I first saw from my saddle.
High on the cliff stands The Lanterns. One of its luxury apartments was our home for the weekend. I told Sally, the owner: ‘From the view to the furniture and fabrics, from the style to the decor – you nailed it.’ It was a wet autumnal weekend but it didn’t matter a jot because Hope Cove is that rarity: a seaside town that doesn’t care about the weather and neither did the visitors we met walking their dogs.
Salcombe, five miles away, can bustle away with its smart shops and suave out-of-towners, but Hope Cove is just so outdoors English, so Enid Blyton England. Children in sandals exploring the rock pools while fathers, in sensible shorts, walk the dog or nurse a pint. No games machines, no lazy thrills, you just make your own entertainment.
Thankfully, we had no need to cook, for down in the village you’ll find The Cove bar and restaurant. It might not be showy but it has won a long list of well-deserved awards, and I can recommend the Devon red cider moules, with gar lic, thyme, shallots, cream and sourdough. The local produce is exceptional, as we discovered again when we dined at the Hope Cove House. I had duck confit, and Catherine opted for the crab salad and lemon sole, both of which were excellent. All in all, a wonderful weekend… and no cycling was involved.
A two-night minimum stay at The Lanterns starts at £239 a night in high season, and £77 a night in low season (thelanterns.com).
For further information see visitdevon.co.uk. Nick is a patron of Fairtrade (fairtrade.org.uk).