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| View from our bedroom window |
Apple Tree Cottage seems so far away to us now, the three
weeks since we left it feeling more like months. That was when everything was still
new and exciting in the sense that we didn’t know where we’d be living or what
school the kids would be going to, and we were still in exploration mode with a
semi-holiday-mindset. And it was a
gorgeous start to our adventure.
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| Cottage from back garden |
Apple Tree
Cottage was part of a row of what used to be agricultural labourers cottages attached
to a main farmhouse, all of them sharing the same thatch. The oldest part of
ours dated back to the 17th century, and this area definitely had a different
energy to it, and if I’m honest felt a bit creepy until we got used to it,
especially coming down the stairs during the night for the loo! The house was
set down on a hillside and surrounded by a maze of terraced gardens, with no room
to stand far enough back to take a decent photo of the whole building, hence
the pics from the inside, through the windows to the fabulous views beyond. It
took some careful negotiation of narrow winding lanes and a 7-point turn to
actually get into its driveway, and another 3-point turn to finally park at the
back of it, which I only attempted twice (those scratches along the side of the
car were already there weren’t they?!). Just outside of the village of Bovey
Tracey, on the edge of Dartmoor National Park, this was our base for exploring
touristy attractions like the House of Marbles, Becky Falls, and the moors with
its tors.
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| Side view of cottage |
The largest
concentration of Bronze Age remains can be found in Dartmoor National Park
including standing stones, cairns and stone circles and longhouse remnants. It’s
a place where wild ponies roam and streams babble down into rivers in the
valley. Tors are hills topped with large bedrock formations, smooth granite
boulders excellent for climbing and exploring, although not all ‘Tors’ are
rock-topped. It is also steeped in myth and legend which I’m keen to explore
when there’s more time. One I’ve read about is Jay’s Grave, which is a
tombstone standing at a cross roads, and is said to be where Kitty Jay is
buried, a young women who fell pregnant and found herself homeless and
eventually took her own life. She was buried at a crossroads, so that her
spirit would not bother the living. Apparently fresh flowers are left there
each day, although no-one knows by whom. We’ve no photos of it, because we
haven’t been there yet, but it’s on the list of to-do!
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| Hay Tor from below |
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| We made it to the top! |
Our first
Tor visit was to Hay Tor, and we’d been told about the windy conditions of the
moors but it was such a beautiful sunny day in our garden of tulips and roses, so
off we went in our t-shirts (Noah in his football shorts!). It quickly became
apparent as we pulled up in the car and saw what all the other walkers were
wearing - dressed to the max in puffy jackets - as well as the state of their
hair, being blown in all directions in the car park, that we’d come slightly under
prepared! Luckily (due to Maciek’s planning and obsession with efficiency) we
had fleeces and raincoats in the boot, which served to protect us a little bit,
not that it was much help to Noah’s little goose pimpled legs, as there were no
secretly stashed trousers down the side of his seat. But, we got on with it,
and the kids made it to the top way before we did, and took off exploring the
rocks. The objective eventually became finding a calm spot for our picnic (ham
sandwiches, Hoola Hoops, and a flask of tea), which we did eventually, albeit
with a tinge of horse poo in the air!
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| Getting our wigs blown off at the top of Hay Tor! |
We were
better prepared on our next visit to Hound Tor, which is where we found the
remains of a medieval village mentioned in the previous post. That was the day
we visited Widecombe-in-the-Moor with its still working 300 year old forge ,
and got stuck in ‘cattle traffic’ on the way.
Apple Tree
Cottage was also the base from which we looked for a village and a house to
call home for the next six months, and once we’d secured one we got overexcited
about buying furniture off Gumtree. We’d looked around for new stuff and were
surprised at the cost (high!) so at this stage, not knowing the type and size
of house we’ll be living in beyond the six months, we opted to go second hand
(not much cheaper really - Aunty Vina, you were right!). Thinking ahead for
future visitors (i.e. YOU), we decided on bunk beds for the kids, the ones with
a couch on the bottom that pulls out and voila - a double mattress! And lo and
behold we found two for sale. So off we went for the first one on the Easter
weekend, got trapped in traffic (actual cars) for almost an hour (10 minutes
from home) and gave up and turned back, felt terrible, after all the no-shows
we experienced when selling our own stuff in Perth. We sent an email apology
and said we’d come back in the week if he still had it (it turned out he
didn’t). Two days later Maciek went to pick up the other one, a 35 minute drive
away through the national park, and thanks to the ample boot space (see
previous post) he was able to fit it all in. On his return I was informed that
the mattresses were old and not in great condition, so I went to inspect and
found that they stunk to high heaven. A decision was made to send the single
one straight to the tip, and the double at the very least needed a good wash.
Only problem was, the cover was secured to the mattress with those buttons, so
we snipped them all off, and into the machine the stinky cover went. In the
meantime the frame (and doomed single mattress) was kept round the side of the
house in a sort of add-on shed (God know what the old neighbours thought as
they no doubt watched these Australian ‘holiday-makers’ lump bits of bed-frame
through the tulips and roses). Once the cover was clean, the realisation dawned
that without the buttons the cover would not stay in place. And did I happen to
bring a sewing kit with me? Of course I did, along with the kitchen sink. No. I
didn’t. Sew Maciek set to work with a rusty old screwdriver he found, and
thread he’d salvaged when the buttons were snipped. Blood, sweat and tears, it
took, to replace those buttons. Literally. After he stabbed himself through the
hand (the webbed bit of skin between fingers) and pulled out the dirty old wool
from the mattress that had lodged in his flesh (1cm in) he sat in the kitchen
and turned grey. I told him to give up on those buttons. And he promised he
would. But some time later I walked into the front room and there he was again
with the screwdriver and all I could do was shake my head and be grateful that
we had tetanus shots not long before we left home. But, to his credit, he did
it, all 13 of them. Never mind that the house stunk of musty old mattress foam
from having it laid out on the carpet of the main living space for two days. At
least it pleased Noah. He’d brought himself a blow up Spiderman punch bag which
he was keen to practice his flying ninja kicks on - take that Spidey! The
mattress gave him the brilliant opportunity to run through the kitchen and go
at Spiderman like nobody’s business and enjoy a safe cushioned landing without
a worry.
A few days
later we moved into our new place. Our move-in date had been agreed for the
Friday, the same day as we had to vacate Apple Tree Cottage at 10am. And there
was the problem. How would we get the bed and mattress, along with all our
luggage and us (which as can be seen on previous post, took up the whole of the
boot space and more) in the car all at the same time? So with a bit of pleading
and bending the rules and praying that our rent was received in time by estate
agent’s bank, we were given the keys a day earlier. And so it was on the
Thursday, the bed frame and mattresses (including the one destined for the tip)
were strategically packed into the car, leaving little room for us, which meant
that someone had to sit in the most precarious position being the seventh seat
at the back. It normally would have been Noah, since he’s the smallest, but if
one of us had to risk decapitation-via-bedframe during the drive from Bovey
Tracey to Exminster with a stop at the tip on the way, it might as well be none
other than mum. Oh, the sacrifices we make! And so it was that I squished myself
in with a serious lean to the right, my ear pressed into my shoulder, with a
tiny triangular view of outside, because I couldn’t actually move. But all was
well in the end, and I lived to tell the tale.
Mattresses
aside, we can all imagine the hardship of landing in a new place and not
knowing where to buy stuff. We’ve been there before, in Austria. But despite
the language issues, there was a very limited choice which in way made it
easier. Here - the choice never ends: Sainsburys, Tesco, Waitrose, Morrisons,
The Range (responsible for Spiderman punch bag) and more. We were told about
Trago Mills for household stuff. So off we went to discover a discount department
store (a bit of a cross between Bunnings and Spotlight, only much bigger) and
family leisure park all rolled into one! Bumper cars and all. With a
faux-castle Co-op (supermarket) to top it all off! We’d been looking for Asda
and found it in Newton Abbot - hooray I said, I’ve found the equivalent of Big
W, with food as a bonus! And I never thought I’d say hooray about Big W. But
there you go. What we didn’t know is you have to pay for the parking (take your
ticket to the cashier and get the amount discounted from the cost of your
shopping) so now we’ve landed a fine. Boo! Asda’s too far for us now as a local
place to shop. But, hey, we’ve got Aldi and Lidl. For those unfamiliar, you can
get food there, not everything, just some stuff, mostly rip-off brands that are
much cheaper than the real thing, mostly from Guatemala or Morocco or Slovakia.
And in the centre aisles there’re racks of random items - for the garden or kitchen,
pyjamas, colouring books and toys, and even sometimes washing machines.
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| The lane to Apple Tree Cottage |
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| Co-op Castle? (At Trago Mills) |
Here are some Lidl jokes about Aldi:
A man walks into a
shop for a pint of milk and comes out with a wetsuit.
A man walks into a shop for a loaf of bread and comes out
with a set of secateurs and some work trousers.
A man walks into a shop for a Polish sausage and comes out
with a vacuum cleaner.
(Yep, that was us. It was only 50 quid. And it really sucks.
I suppose you get what you pay for).
Sometimes, on the way home, Noah sees us pull off the
roundabout at the dreaded exit with the big yellow sign and complains, “Nooo,
not shopping again!” And we say, don’t worry, we’re only getting a Lidl bit.
Boom-boom!
