Goodnight

Leaving Devon.

Scandals

I hope the following doesn't sound too dry, but I've been asked to write it up, and this is the best place to publish it.

We have a family tree that involves one (Frederick) John Coombe and his wife Elizabeth Drown, who both came from the same part of Devon, but married in London in 1874, then emigrated to New Zealand the following year.  Their daughter Ada Coombe was my mother's maternal grandmother.  It seems most likely his name was originally John, but he sometimes used Frederick.

As well as the tree (largely put together by Devon researchers hired by my grandfather), there's a couple of postcards handed down.  It revolves around the parish of Kenn.

Kenn Church 13351

On the back of the card:

at back of Kenn Church

The original writing on the back says, in order of execution:

Dear Cousin, this is a photo of Kenn Church where your Father and my Father Elijah Coombe, Uncles Henry, William, George, James were Choristers in their white surplices.
Will

Beside the Belfry Door of this Church, Grandma and Grandpa Coombe, Uncle George and my Father lies buried.

When we went there, My mother recognised the church very well, from a line drawing of it that her mother had, signed 'John Coombe'.  The grass beside the belfry door was vacant, but in my experience of Devon churchyards, this could easily be because the original markers had fully deteriorated, and the graves just become mowed lawn.

A few days later, I went to the Devon Heritage Centre in Exeter, where all old parish registers are eventually sent.  I looked up Ada's father, [Frederick] John Coombe (son of John Coombe b.1808, North Bovey and Mary Andrews), who purported to be born in Kennford (Kenn Parish) in 1853.  I looked up the original microfiche for that year, and it was far too indistinct - so I asked for the original register to get information that could only be gleaned by being onsite in Exeter.  It came with a cushion I was required to lay it on to read the book.

No dice.  I also looked at the draft register, which was the rector's notebook of information he intended to lay down formally in the register.  No dice.

I also looked through the provided online records for all births for 1853/54.  I found one for Frederick John Coombe, 1853 in Honiton, east of Exeter; another for John Coombe in 1854, St Thomas, Exeter.  Unusually, the online records had no information other than the name and year of birth - no parents listed.

I then found a marriage record for his parents: John Coombe and Mary Ann Andrews were married in Exeter - on 25 October 1861.  Eight years after FJ's birth.  So far, my best guess was they weren't married at the time FJ was born, and so couldn't get the birth (baptism) registered in their home parish.

There was another postcard, of their abode in Kennford in the same parish:

Kennford Village.  inscription: "X in 1876     X  Grandma and Grandpa Coombe died here"

I actually managed to find this scene and the house marked, after a few false starts:

Kennford Village, 2019

It's just next to the intersection with Exeter Road.  I knocked on the door, but the woman who answered wasn't having a bar of it.  Not interested.  Anyway...

At the Devon Heritage Centre, I wanted to track FJ Coombe son of John.  The 1851 census showed John Sr in two places at once: in his own family, and in a household headed by William and Mary Ann Coombe: as John Coombe, tailor, 43, nephew of William Coombe, who was 45 (both born in North Bovey).  Okay, so they were a similar age, but John was actually William's nephew, and so Elijah's uncle, not brother... and so Will's assumption that he and Ada shared grandparents was wrong. (Why two places at once?  I've seen this census phenomenon before, and I'd say he happened to be visiting his uncle on the night, and ended up being counted twice.

Between the 1851 and 1861 Censuses, John and Mary Coombe were in Kenton; all the uncles listed in the postcard were John's.  And I've had a great deal of trouble tracking down Ada's father, except as John Coombe within his family, and only listed as Frederick John with certainty on the marriage record - which was in London, far from Devon and any records that could verify.

I found one birth record for FJ's wife Elizabeth Drown in 1842: in Tavistock (as opposed to our family records listing Port Gate, Stowford).  Again no parent information.

I've whittled down the story to its bones: there's a number of other details I've found, not all of which are consistent.  And there are gaps.  And a few surmises.

Here I'm extrapolating, but I get the impression both FJ and Elizabeth (Ada's parents) felt they could find no peace with their murky past (FJ is proven born out of wedlock).  In London in 1874 they married (he called himself Frederick John and said he was 23, not 20; Elizabeth was 31) - then they went further afield to New Zealand, where they could give details of their past which could hardly be checked (although they stayed correct on a few details).

Historians beware: a death certificate which contains details about a person's past is only certain for the information about the current event: the death.  Likewise a marriage certificate.  And so on.  One ancestor's death certificate recorded that he'd got married in Bolton - probably because he'd said something to his daughter, who'd misheard him say Dolton (mid-Devon) - which he'd misremembered anyway, because he's verified to have wed in Petrockstow.  This chain caused endless confusion for subsequent family historians - I've read all the letters about it.


Ada's daughter, my grandmother, apparently feared above all else the possibility of her daughters having a baby out of wedlock.  They could fail exams, anything but a baby out of wedlock.  This was drilled into my mother.  Likely because Ada had some awareness of her parents' past.

So the events of the past can still have some ripples 150 years later.

Regency

Ashley Court is a country house just outside Tiverton, dating mainly from the early 1800s, officially of historical value.

Verandahs apparently quite uncommon in Devon

The owners are working to restore it, apparently as a full-time occupation (rather the opposite of downsizing).  The early owners made their money from colonial ventures; at one point I think it had about 10 servants for two people.  A large array of bells in the servant area, each with a different tone signalling the originating bell-pull.

At least they're doing a great job of keeping the wisteria from the roof

But most of what I found interesting was outside.  Some pleasant garden settings; a range of outbuildings and rooms partway between decay and restoration; loads of well-established trees, from the two magnificent Ash to the once-fashionable Monkey Puzzle, the Cork Oak, and the Copper Beech...

walled garden

...a walled garden: four stone walls create a micro-climate, keeping the temperature inside several degrees warmer than the surrounding area...

espaliered pear: trained horizontally

...and allowing for some more exotic plants, such as this long-established espaliered pear tree.

this is just one yew tree, very mature

Two magnificent yews stand guardian at the entrance to the walled garden.

the temporary horse sculpture

This sculpture is being minded for the artist, who didn't have anywhere else to put it.  It was going to be put out in a field, but it looks surprisingly good where it is, right outside the front.

the stable courtyard is actually fully cobbled - but overgrown

The stables currently have a thoroughbred horse that has been retired after an accident; a shetland pony to keep the horse company and, at the far right end, some chickens.

stable roof

So much work still to go, but with research, grants, volunteer work from academics and students, and vision, the results will be impressive.



Coda: a most peculiar piece of china that came with the house: what appears to be a colonialist gravy boat with a Chinese policeman pulling a stereotypical Chinaman by the pigtail.  I've never seen the likes of it, and I had to go back and take a picture.

a very imperialistic stereotype

...the policeman is also putting the boot in

Powderham

entry to Powderham

Powderham Castle overlooks the river Exe, not far south of Exeter.  It's open to public tours for much of the year; some events have been held there, such as weddings and chamber music, but for the most part it's akin to a museum.  The owners live largely to one side of the castle.

front

The front was once the back, and the original ground level was filled in, so this entry was originally one floor up.  The river Exe was originally much closer, but they filled in a fair bit of land between river and castle, which land is called a polder - which led to the name of the castle.

But over time the building has been extensively modified anyway.  The crenellations along the top are recent additions, and there's no battlement behind them that you can walk along or fire arrows from - that was long before.

courtyard is also relatively recent.  Looks impressive, though.

Castles ceased to have defensive functions in the 1400s and 1500s, when modern gunpowder and cannons began to render such defenses obsolete.  From then on, it was country manors, up to the size of Blenheim Palace (home of the Churchills) - or faux castles, or ruins.  Thus for much of Powderham's existence, the fortification aspect of the castle has been just for visual impact - and to tell people "here are people with wealth (and power and title)".

Powderham walls

The walls in particular show the centuries in the variations in stonework: the oldest parts are far more irregular; then, they apparently didn't build upwards, but alongwards, so you can sometimes see in the oldest parts streaks of different-coloured stonework going down the walls.

Courtenay coats of arms, Athon at top.  Coats of arms tend to start off simple, with successive generations quartering (to show dual lines), adding detail, etc.

The castle is the traditional home of the Earls of Devon, the Courtenays.  Or rather, some of the Courtenays.  The laws of primogeniture effectively give all inheritance to the firstborn male, or nearest such.  If you're female, you get married off and take your chances; if you're male but not firstborn, you could join the army or the church (and automatically get a reasonable rank), find a wealthy widow, or make your own way.  Thus, most of the direct descendants descend in rank and wealth over time.  It's plausible that a high proportion of the people in Devon are related to the dukes, and our family tree (if as believed) is a good illustration of that movement and spread of families over time with gradually decreasing inheritances and titles.

In any case, the Earl of Devon title has been restarted a number of times over the centuries, as they go in and out of favour with the kings.  It gets attainted and re-created over and over.

The originator of the line, Athon, fortified a town not too far from Paris, and took his surname from the town.  Descendants came over with William the Conqueror, and got where they were by strategically marrying into land, title and power.

I was not able to take photos inside or at the back, but the whole place felt like a bit of a burden rather than a grandeur for the owners.  A mishmash of styles over the centuries, with generations often wanting to, or feeling they had to, leave their mark.  There were three rooms of library, but again it felt like a museum - without a decent catalogue.  I noticed there were at least two sets of the works of John Milton, and there was only sporadic effort at rational ordering - I suspect that each book-caring earl got their own set of books uniformly bound and then added to a new section of bookcases.  Many of these sets were taken up by political and religious thoughts of long-forgotten Oxford dons and parliamentarians, volume after volume.  There were several secret doors, which I certainly appreciated, but these were achieved by cutting off the books most of the way to the spine, and gluing them in shelves-full to the doors - certainly the doors couldn't sustain the weight of full rows of volumes.

An interesting experience, but I certainly wouldn't want to be tied to the obligations of keeping up the legacy of past generations - those generations would own me, rather than the other way around.

Ashreigney

I have not done a concordance of locations for the Devon sections of the family tree, but I noticed that Ashreigney was mentioned at least once, regarding the paternal grandfather of my great grandmother Hilda Cole:

William Cole m. Elizabeth Squire 21-Feb-1850, Ashreigney

Also, Hilda's maternal grandfather John Cole was born in Wringsash in 1930 - a location Google refuses to acknowledge.  This was something I wanted to investigate.

Ashreigney isn't too far from North Tawton, but my mother was concerned I'd be stuck behind a tractor on a single-track country lane for an hour, and wouldn't get the car back in time for a funeral.

No problem, as it turned out - I took the largest road, which led me most of the way.  Then asked at a petrol station (one of the few in Devon!) and double-backed half a mile to one of those small country lanes.  Three miles inwards and I was there.

...where?  This was the smallest village I've seen so far.  No shops, post office or anything - just a few houses around a village square, an old stone hall, a church, and an old lady who turned out to be half-blind and half-deaf and was as easy to query as you'd expect.  So I chose the church.

Ashreigney

The church is smaller than most, as befits the village - but it still looked impressive, by Australian standards.

I found plenty of graves of Coles, Harrises and Squires - no direct relatives found, but they could have been brothers and sisters of my ancestors.

John Cole 1777 - 1859

                                

                                   John Squire 1828 - 1902

I'll be contacting the church warden to see if the parish register is kept onsite for events prior to the 1850s - older registers are often sent to archives in Exeter.

afterwards, dark weather sprang up... because yet again I went around the church widdershins

Meanwhile, I cleared up the mystery of why I couldn't find a place called Wringsash.  Helen, who was on duty at the church, told me Ashreigney used to be called Ringsash - in fact, this comes from Ring's Ash, and is mentioned in the Domesday Book.  I'll report back when I find out more.

Cole Close, Ashreigney

Crediton

It was going to be a day for staying at home and consolidating, but I made a quick decision to take the bus to Crediton (we were there on Sunday, but most places were closed at the time).

waiting for the bus, North Tawton

It was a double decker bus, which meant that from the top it was easy to see over hedgerows to the countyside, which was quite a sight for the 25-minute journey.  The geography is consistent but changing: a gently undulating patchwork of farmlands.

rolling hills of Devon

 On a more mundane level, the bus has to navigate some very narrow passages.

do you think a double decker bus can get past this?

The route leads through a handful of small towns, often with only one lane for traffic to go both ways.  Oncoming cars have to wait at a wider point or back up.

a large tanker conveniently clears the way ahead of us in Bow

Crediton is a small town about 11 km from Exeter, the largest city in Devon.  The name comes from the river Creedy, plus Tun = farmstead.

In terms of population, it's not much bigger than Okehampton (the nearest town to the village of North Tawton), but for some reason there are considerably more amenities and shops, which are mostly ranged along High St, the main through road to Exeter.  Several bookshops, several takeaways, pubs, charity shops, and so on.

the sign on the door says Helmores since 1699 

the sign above says Established 1995.  Oops!

I'm not convinced Helmores existed as a real estate agent (per se) in 1699 - there would be some sort of continuity as an entity, but it would have gone through multiple changes of ownership and business type since then.


I found Crediton Museum, located in the old town hall.  Both sides of my grandfather's family comes from this area - Crediton, Newton St Cyres ('sires'), Tedburn St Mary, Silverton.

Hidden in an alcove in the museum, a gentleman was providing family research services.  He showed me some burial records from the church down the road, Holy Cross, and it looked like there were several ancestors buried there - as he was leafing through, I instantly recognised John Harvey and his wife Grace (Snow).

taken from burial records for Holy Cross Church, Crediton

However, the age at death for each of them didn't accord with the birth dates I had elsewhere.  And there are so many names that are similar that there could seriously be more than one couple named John and Grace Harvey.  More research needed.

Yet I did find a record of the marriage of Joseph Cole and Grace Kerslake:

from the church registry at nearby Newton St Cyres

Note that the surname is spelt Coals (various forms are used throughout his life) - and instead of a signature, both husband and wife enter their mark.  Thus goes literacy in those times.  If their grandparents were buried there, they probably would not have had a stone marker - maybe just perishable wood.  And as happens for all churches around here, there are layers of people buried on top of each other - which is why most gravestones don't go back beyond about the 1820s.

Newton St Cyres - the ground level of the graveyard is somewhat
higher than that of the church, for reasons mentioned above

Dartmoor

Dartmoor roads are much like the rest of Devon: narrow, winding, and sometimes only one lane to accommodate both directions - so heaven help us if you have two lines of cars, each trying to use the one lane - usually you back up a bit, but it must be hard if you have several cars behind you.

Tried to get a look at Castle Drogo (not a real castle - built less than 100 years ago) - but you can't even see it from the outside without paying heaps - because it's all hidden behind masses of trees.

Finally into Dartmoor National Park, once over a cattle grid.  It's been drizzling on and off all day, and quite cold at times.  Summer!

Got rather wet climbing to the top of Hay Tor.  And my knees were not happy going back down.  But I had to do it.

Haytor

Not even for the view.  Just because it was there, so I should be able to say to myself that I went to the top.

view from Haytor

Where Dartmoor is not farmland, it's rolling moorlands, relatively sparsely vegetated - somewhat like Desert Road in New Zealand.  But then, apparently in the middle of the national park, you encounter villages, rather similar to the rest of Devon:

Widecombe In The Moor

 It's pronounced "Widdicum".  Steep hills going down to it, with a speed limit of 40 mph - but you'd have to be barking mad to go that speed.

I've just finished lunch there.  My Facebook friends wouldn't post that photo above - they'd usually do this:

Veggie Pie Of The Day, New Inn, Widecombe In The Moor

Anyway, that's not what I did.

There were geese and chickens in the backyard.

I'll have to get going soon.  Soggy shoes, damp trousers from climbing the tor in the rain.

Still no WiFi access, and phone reception is sporadic at best, pretty much everywhere.  So |I post when I can, as now.

Update:  I passed through Two Bridges (close to the centre of Dartmoor), then looped back towards home.  Although there's a large area marked Dartmoor Forest, I saw only a few patches of wooded land in the distance.  On the way, I saw a couple of wild ponies galloping around,

(I suggest you expand to full screen for best impact)

one of which came up close to be fed.

Rosalie wanted a pony

 A couple of women had come prepared with a medium-sized bag of carrots.  He ate the lot.  They commented on how healthy he looked (probably because he's used to getting carrots from tourists).  He nuzzled me in search of more, in vain.

slightly dejected pony, leaves when food is gone

In the distance you can see a dry stone wall - that is, it's made by carefully fitting together stones to make a wall, with no mortar to hold them in place - just good jigsaw-like assembly.

dry stone wall

...then back home via Moretonhampstead.

Moretonhampstead