OLD PUBS & GOOD FOOD
Listed North to South
The Rising Sun, Lynmouth
The villages of Lynton and Lynmouth have long been famous for their beauty. Lynton is perched on the north coast of Exmoor’s towering cliffs and 600ft below is the tiny fishing village of Lynmouth. Since 1890, the two have been linked by a near-vertical cliff railway powered by the West Lyn River, which also feeds many nearby cascades and waterfalls making their way from Exmoor to the sea. In 1952, after a prolonged period of heavy rainfall, the East and West Lyn rivers flowing through Lynmouth flooded suddenly and violently. Trees, bridges, cars and cottages were swept away, and 34 people were tragically killed.
We walked through the village while the wind slapped rain across our faces. The bruise-grey sky hung low and the sea ahead of us mirrored the colour of the storm clouds. I tried to imagine a wall of water enveloping the streets as it once had, but even with the weather, it was hard to see destruction in such a pretty place. With an array of Georgian and Victorian buildings adorned with the occasional Swiss-style balcony, Lynmouth retains real charm and at the heart of which lies The Rising Sun. This 14th-century thatched inn is in a wonderful position on a narrow street that twists up the hillside with Exmoor Forest rising immediately behind. Ahead, the pub overlooks Lynmouth’s pretty harbour and famous Renish Tower, built originally as a beacon to warn ships of the rocky coast line. Outside, a Victorian lamp swayed vigorously in the wind. We reached the thatched porch, eager to get inside to have a break from the weather.
Through the door we were greeted by creaking oak floors and low beamed ceilings. Rickety and rambling, there wasn’t a straight line in sight. Crooked stairways and sloping passages extend into the rest of the hotel where there are 16 en-suite rooms on offer, and the oak-panelled candlelit dining room looked ideal for an evening dinner. Glancing over the menu, I spotted that game and seafood specials were plentiful, making the most of the moor and sea being so close by. For us, the bar was the main draw with its exposed stone, beamed walls and a cosy wood burning stove. We nestled into a padded window seat to warm up by the fire and take in the harbour views through leaded windows. It’s no wonder RD Blackmore felt compelled to write his romantic West Country classic, Lorna Doone, while staying here. It also appealed to poet Percy Bysshe Shelley, who honeymooned in the pub’s cottage with his 16-year-old bride in 1812.
In his novel, Blackmore described The Rising Sun as a place where smugglers landed their goods. The inn has a longstanding reputation as a smuggler’s pub, and it’s easy to see why given the location. The north coast of Exmoor is wild and desolate with few landing places, meaning any suitable spots were once invariably utilised by free-traders. Nearby, the Lynmouth road passes close to a spot known as 'Smuggler's leap'. Here it is said that a smuggler on the run plunged over the cliff, grabbing the revenue man that was chasing him as he fell. Supposedly they plummeted together onto the rocks below. Whether true or not, the scene played out in my mind as I sat by the iron glow of the fire and looked out at the boats quaking in the harbour. The Rising Sun is precisely the place to inspire such a tale or two over a pint of Exmoor real ale.
The Royal George, Appledore
Appledore is a village perched on a peninsula where the Taw and Torridge rivers meet before they flow into the Atlantic. Walking down narrow cobbled streets flanked with pastel-washed houses and the occasional thatched cottage, we made our way to The Royal George. While staying at Beara, our hosts Richard and Ann recommended it as their new go-to for an evening meal. Once an old pub and now, after recent refurbishments, a waterside restaurant, it is in a great spot to take in the view across the estuary. Inside it’s a simple affair, with plain wooden tables arranged alongside large sliding glass windows that make the most of the views. It was high tide when we sat down, and with the water climbing up the outside wall below us, it felt like we were dining on a boat. The food was delicious, innovative and using all local ingredients with fish fresh that day from Appledore’s docks.
The Red Lion, Clovelly
You can find The Red Lion at the very bottom of Clovelly's cobbled high street, right by the harbour arm. One of the oldest buildings in the village, it dates back to the 18th century and was originally three cider houses where the local fisherman would celebrate their catch of the day or tell tales of the ones that got away. Now a hotel where you can wake up to majestic sea views, it also has a separate formal restaurant and two bars. The harbour bar is the hub of the quay, with tables spilling outside onto the cobbles. We joined the locals here to soak up the afternoon sun and sat comfortably on the wall, with pints in our hands, swinging our legs above the water. We didn’t order food but spotted half pints of prawns and dressed crab flying out. Venturing further inside, the second bar is known as the snug. It is as cosy as its name suggests, with solid stone floors, beams, church pews, a wood fire, and historic black and white photographs of Clovelly’s residents from long ago, many of which I’m sure drank in the space that they now overlook. The Red Lion is a friendly and unpretentious place in a beautiful old fishing village. Mingle with the villagers and try a drop of Clovelly cobbler.
The Wreckers Retreat, Hartland Quay
The Wreckers Retreat is an atmospheric hideaway at Hartland Quay. No coast is more notorious for wreckers' tales and stories of ships run aground, picked over by people like an open market. Wrecking refers to the practise of salvaging valuables from a shipwreck floundered close to the shore, and a legendary trope is that wreckers deliberately lured ships onto the rocks for easy plundering. A freighter that wrecked at Hartland Point was supposedly stripped amid disreputable scenes as recently as 1982. The lone pub is a great place for a pint after a visit to the Shipwreck Museum opposite, where many of these accounts can be read.
After exploring the quay and a brisk walk along the cliffs to Speke’s Mill Mouth and back, we called in at the Wreckers, well ready for a drink. Located in what was originally the stables here, it is filled with relics of wrecks and memorabilia charting the history of Hartland. Kitsch in all the right ways, the walls are festooned with maps, black and white photos, paintings, portholes, barometers, gas lamps, and plastic fish and lobsters. It feels a little like a chalet with lots of wood and patterned carpets. You can settle down in snug wooden booths, with salt, pepper and vinegar stationed on every table awaiting orders of fish and chips. Outdoor tables also offer unsurpassed views when the weather cooperates, a great spot to toast the sunset.
Whether fair or foul weather, the Wreckers offers a genuinely friendly welcome with the bonus of local ales on tap. Enjoying my pint and packet of crisps, I noticed the beer mat illustrated a scene of shadowed figures hurrying down a stormy beach towards a ship in distress, possibly rushing to their aid but most likely intent on plunder. Perhaps these are the wreckers who would’ve propped up the bar here in days gone by. Such are the stories that this resonant coast effortlessly conjures.
The Bush Inn, Morwenstow
I fell for Morwenstow after a visit to Hawker’s Hut and The Bush Inn, where we retreated after a blustery walk along the cliffs, the weather having turned cold, dank and grey. The inn is riddled with history and has provided nourishment for other wary travellers for hundreds of years. Rumoured to date back to around 950AD, it was originally a monk’s rest house, offering food and shelter to pilgrims. Clues to its origins still remain in the main bar, where there is a Celtic piscina cut from stone and a monastic cross carved into the flagstone floor. In the middle bar, a ‘leper’s squint’ can be found; a tiny window once used to pass food through to the deprived. The inn has been licensed since the 13th century, for over 700 years now. By the 18th century, it had become a popular haunt for the wreckers and smugglers who operated on this treacherous coastline, and the leper’s squint was repurposed as a lookout. Daphne du Maurier’s famous novel Jamaica Inn was set around this time and follows a group of murderous wreckers. The Bush Inn is believed to have been inspiration for the novel as Du Maurier was known to have visited whilst living nearby.
The stories associated with the inn don’t end here. There is speculation it is home to some ghoulish characters, with a number of unusual sightings recorded. These include a salty sailor in old fashioned clothing, supposedly one of the many men who lost their life to the sea and washed up at Morwenstow, now buried without a name in the churchyard. Another common sighting is of an elderly seafaring man, sitting on a four-poster bed upstairs. Many footsteps have been heard without sight of their makers, and in 1968 a strange dark shadowy figure was seen during a fire that destroyed the old thatched roof. A previous proprietor also claimed to have problems with a door that he continually found open every morning, despite securely wrapping wire around the catch to hold it in place. Whether you believe these stories or not, the Bush Inn makes an ideal setting for them.
Stepping through the door after a long drive down winding lanes, or a day’s walking along the undulations of the coastal path, you are greeted by uneven flagstones, old wooden furnishings and flames smouldering in the grates of two fireplaces. Various trinkets rest on their mantles and memorabilia hangs from the heavy low beams and walls. The pub has been sympathetically refurbished over recent years, however I avoided the two more contemporary dining rooms, opting to eat in the bar where the historic character is immutable. As weary walkers, we snacked on cheesy chips, washed down with Cornish ale. The all-day menu was full of other hearty and more robust options, including beef and lamb from neighbouring farms. The friendly barman told us that they also serve breakfast until 11am, hold occasional live-music nights, and have a small number of bedrooms with Atlantic views that you can book to stay in. Outside in the garden, there were plenty of tables and a small children’s play area, with views reaching over the pastoral landscape to the murky slate sea beyond. This ancient inn proved to be the perfect resting place for us, and we tucked ourselves in a corner on a wooden pew beside the warmth of the fire. It made me think how little has really changed in this rural corner of England, aside from farmers frequenting the bar instead of wreckers.
Across the way from the pub, the 13th century Rectory Farm Tea Rooms is the picture-perfect spot for a Cornish cream tea, or homemade lunch made using vegetables from the garden. They were closing when we poked our heads in, but still let us have a good look around inside. It was one of quaintest tea rooms I have seen, as historic as everything that we had seen of Morwenstow; a place wrapped up in stories.
The Duke of York, Iddesleigh
Iddesleigh is an impossibly pretty hamlet that lies hidden amongst rolling hills between Dartmoor and Exmoor. It is not somewhere that you easily stumble across and takes a bit of finding, driving down slender and snaking lanes, lined with high hedgerows. It is worth the effort, and being perched overlooking the valley, rewards you with views that reach Dartmoor’s high tors to the south. Iddesleigh is one of a number of villages around these parts where time seems to have stood still. The farms, cottages, church and pub look much as they would have done centuries ago.
The Duke of York is Iddesleigh’s 15th century traditional village inn. Built of cob and stone, with whitewashed walls and a long-thatched roof, it borders the church, just beyond a small village green where we parked up. Walking up to the door, we passed an old coach arch that leads to a little back garden with picnic tables, but the rain hurried us on inside. It was our last afternoon in Devon before heading further south to Cornwall. The sky rumbled and the rain pounded, so we decided to seek out one final old pub on the way. The Duke summed up much of what we had loved and seen in Devon’s old inns. Stepping inside, we were greeted by the warmth of a log fire from a classically indulgent inglenook. It was homely and un-fussy, with simple furnishings; stripped wooden tables and chairs, and cushioned built-in-benches. Banknotes were pinned to the beams and a well-punctured dartboard hung from the wall along with black and white photos of flat-capped customers from the past. Local sports trophies dressed the mantle, and dusty bottles of beer collected along the shelves. The Duke has a reputation for being a real ale specialist, served straight from the barrel behind the bar and enjoyed by plenty of chatty locals. There is a strong rural and farming community here, and as such the menu is never short of local produce, including vegetables supplied by a nearby organic grower. I would say that their legendary, freshly cooked steak and kidney pudding is not one to be missed. Next door, we scoped out a more refined dining room with another huge inglenook, but much preferred the character of the main bar so claimed a corner in there.
From reading the clippings and photographs on the walls here, I happily discovered that The Duke is steeped in bookishness. It’s perhaps best known as the pub where Michael Morpurgo dreamed up the story for War Horse. The author revealed that a chance meeting at The Duke with World War I veteran Wilfred Ellis and the fireside conversations that followed inspired him to write his bestselling novel. Wilfred told him of being in the Devon Yeomanry working with horses, which gave Morpurgo the idea for a story of the Great War from a horse’s viewpoint. He also took stimulus from another couple of villages; Captain Budgett, who had been in the cavalry during the war, and Albert Weeks, who remembered the army coming to Iddesleigh to buy the local horses. Morpurgo dedicated his book to the three locals. The Duke’s literary connections continue, with poet Seán Rafferty being a former landlord here, and Ted Hughes an enthusiastic punter. I recommend experiencing first-hand the charm of this place that has inspired many. Sit by that fire and chat to the locals, who I’m sure have many more stories to tell.