“I say we’re growing every day, getting stronger in every way, I’ll take you to a place where we shall find our…roots” Max Cavalera Sepultura

The English specialise in eccentric plumbing. No where is this more evident than guesthouses and rooms above pubs. In addition to water heaters that require the user to complete a rubik’s cube of twists and turns before water will be emitted they also often hide the power switch to the unit somewhere sensible like out in the hall way or in the public bar downstairs. And so, I found myself leaving mum in a good old-fashioned bath having failed to pass the shower test. I set out for a wander around Totnes. I scoped out a place for breakfast, a ritzy looking café promising “wood fired coffee” and crossed the river to Bridgetown and walked up by a church. I found a pub recommended to me by Adrian, The Albert, and wandered down around back alleys behind the church surrounded by family’s walking young children to school. I crossed back over the river, collected mum and we headed to the café. Expensive flat whites and a posh breakfast of deeply delicious sourdough , “sun blushed” tomato paste, black pudding crumbled, eggs and bacon appeared. This posh English took first place on the breakfast leaderboard. The café was full of beautiful middle class English ladies which allowed me a moment of lust full daydream of a life that didn’t just comprise of friends, a terrier and me.

Our purpose for being here was to visit Salcombe at the bottom of South Hams, the southern bit of Devon. Salcombe was once the port through which pineapples, pomelos and grapefruit entered England from the Azores and the Bahamas. Our ancestors were ship builders and maritime black smiths and they earnt their way maintaining the fruit sloops that rushed the fruit in before it spoilt. In the 1890’s with a fruit disease pillaging tropical plantations their work dried up so two generations of my family made the decision to emigrate to Wellington.

There is a regular bus service from Totnes to Salcombe so we presented ourselves at the bus stop 15 minutes before the next bus was due. At 20 minutes past the due time, we gave up and walked around the block. The buses were on the hour so we returned and successfully caught the next one. We could just make out the destination through the caked on mud. It looked like it had been used in a “bugger” advert.

Being out of season the bus was full of locals. As we bounced along country lanes an old woman chatted to a younger man about growing up in Colonial India. “I never had any time for colonialism, growing up the people I depended on to survive lived in huts at the end of the garden, even as a little girl I knew that wasn’t right.”
We wove in and out of hamlets and townships collecting and dropping people as we went. At Kingsbridge we swapped drivers before continuing south. Finally we arrived in Salcombe, the land of my mother’s forefathers.

We wandered down to the boat yards to gaze upon where our ancestors may have toiled. In truth I have read that the yards today date from the 1930’s but don’t let the truth get in the way of a poignant moment. We wandered along the front, weaving through lanes and roads. We walked up to where the ferry crosses to the other side of the bay. My paternal line traces back to South Devon as well as my maternal, via my dad’s mother. Mum remembered taking the ferry across to climb a ‘thousand’ stairs in the 70’s to knock on the door of a relation of my paternal grandmother Joan. She wasn’t home.

The Palmers pub The Ferry Inn was closed. So we wandered down to the St Austell pub The Victoria and sat amongst mute, slightly melancholic English couples holidaying out of season on the discount rates. We crossed over to the The King Arms, a pub my grandfather maintained our ancestors operated for a while . My uncle disputes this but again never let the truth get in the way of a good story. We ordered pints and sandwiches , mum ham me crab and a bowl of chips. Then we wandered around and sort out a shop selling memorabilia as mum wanted a keep sake. She had bought a pottery keepsake from here in 1973 for her parents and ended up breaking it on the way home. We wandered the streets and found a good looking shop and a picture frame and a teddy bear. Both should hopefully survive the homeward trip. Somewhat too late for my late grandparents.

We then popped into The Fortescue , a pub that last time was run by a kiwi. Back then the Fortescue was a locals pub in a tourist resort town. The kiwi landlord has since been pushed out and as he was a member of the lifeboat crew I heard the locals have moved watering holes. The pub was empty with a stressed and weary looking couple shuffling behind the bar.

Then it was back to the bus stop and onto the muddy bus back to Totnes. A local couple got on and boisterously asked the driver why she was smiling. She responded “got a date off the internet” . A loud cross bus conversation then ensued as to where they would go much to the drivers embarrassment. It really was like a scene from Doc Martin.

When we arrived back at Kingsbridge the next driver was no where to be seen so our driver drove the bus around the streets looking for her, she quickly found her and places were swapped. 14 year old boys loaded on stinking of cigarettes, 14 year old girls piled off and immediately started vaping.

Back in Totnes we crossed the bridge to find The Albert wouldn’t open till 5. So we back tracked to a locals pub called the The Watermans Arms. A middle aged couple had a 2 dogs , one of whom was a pretty wee fox terrier. We sat on our pints people watching till The Albert opened and went back across the river. The Albert was a joy. In the 15 minutes from the snib being clicked it had filled up. I ordered a pint of a delicious English IPA for me and a ½ of stout for mum. The pub was multiroomed and had two pub dogs who constantly wanted the door opened for them so they could pass from public bar to saloon. A man chatted nearby about his life traveling Europe in a campervan with his partner who wasn’t currently talking to him.

We wandered back to William for Scampi and Chips and Steak Pie followed by whisky and sleep.