A sunny summer’s day. And time to hit the road for more ancestor-hunting and more adventures.

Leaving Guildford, we headed south-west.Skirted around Southmapton and Bournemouith.  Mainly on motorways which are boring roads but good for getting to places quickly. And we needed to cover ground quickly today. To fit everything in.

Drove past a signpost to the town of Tolpuddle. Does anyone these days even know about the Tolpuddle Martyrs? And what they went through. They marched to London. We had no idea how far that was until now. Amazing story, and amazing people.

And so into Dorset. Three cheers for GPS – when it’s working. The roads got narrower. Lots of undulating green fields and hills, and ripening fields of wheat. Finally to the village of Almer. Which consists of two houses and a old stone church. But it’s where my mother’s side of the family, the Lithgows moved to after they left Scotland in the late 1770s.

In one of the houses nearby, I talked to a young man in his garden. Being sunny, it’s much easier to find people. They migrate out of their houses into the sunshine. He said the church still had regular services. But only a handful for a congregation. But it’s “owned” by the local gentry, the Drakes. But he pronounced Drack-ee. Who have owned everything around for millenia and so still provide for the upkeep of the church. We got to chatting about all sorts of other things, including his brother who is in the throes of migrating to Sydney.

We asked about Sherford Farm which is the farm of the Lithgows. I think they were probably tenant farmers. I thought by this time it would probably have been absorbed into a big farm, like most of them are these days. But he was certain it was still around. And he pointed out these roads to go down. They were really more like paved cart tracks. Just wide enough to fit one car through.

We set off, but soon found ourselves in a maze of different tracks. So stopped outside another farm house where a man and his wife were sitting on a seat, enjoying the sun and their cup of tea. He had the rich country Dorset accent when I asked the way to Sherford Farm. He said he had a daughter who now lived in New Zealand. So I asked when did he visit her in New Zealand. “Oh I never visit her. She knows where I am when she wants to come to see me,” he proudly said.

So on we went. And found Sherford Farm. Still being farmed. I knocked on the door. And the lady who answered hesitantly said the owners were out harvesting, but she was sure it would be all right if I took a few photos. So I did. Also picked an apple from the old apple tree. But it was far too early and was very tart.

Then drove on to the village of Morden where more Lithgows came from Just a handful of houses and a pub. A photo to take, and then we moved on!

Then on to another branch of the family. My father’s side, the Gibbs. To another village called Powerstock. Probably one of the prettiest villages we’ve seen. Very remote and hidden. Its claim to fame is that the actor Martin Clunes lived here until recently when he bought elsewhere for more room for his horses. According to my source – an older retired lady I chatted to in her garden.

Powerstock is set in the deep fold of several very steep green hills. The cottages made of honey coloured stone. The church on top of one of the hills is where my great-grandmother Ann Darryman married Thomas Gibbs. The lady told us that the church is always open, and the clock still strikes every quarter-hour. So we went in and explored the church.

The ropes hanging from the belltower. With the charts on a nearby sill to ring the bells.

The deeply worn grooves in the stone flags in the floor.

Was this the baptismal font where any of my ancestors were baptised?

A place full of rich and deep memories, both good and bad. Of faith nurtured or neglected. Centuries of the rhythm of life and faith.  This was one of my favourite places.

Then we drove on a little further north to the small town of Beamister. Only they pronounce it Bemster.

A little town centered around a cobblestone square. Nothing noteworthy or particularly photogenic. But I took my obligatory tourist photo.

 

And stopped to talk to an older lady there.After the polite preliminaries, I told her of our ancestor quest. “Oh,” she said, “There are Gibbs everywhere around here. They are such a big family. I know lots of them.” I have no idea if, or how, they may or may not be related. But I told her to pass on to them the regards from their Australian relatives when next she saw them!

We were given directions by them for a picnic spot on the hill. But we have discovered that local’s directions never get you to your required destination! So we gave up after a few miles. Pulled over to the side of the road at a farmgate and ate our picnic in a wheat field near the hedgerows.

Then it was a long haul of several hours. Got a bit saddlesore. Driving down Dorset, Devon, Somerset to Cornwall. Over the top of the Bodmin Moors. To a small town called Hayle on the coast. Where Philip’s great-grandfather Bryant came from. He was a fitter and turner in mid-1800s. He was also a lay reader in the Methodist Chapel.

We didn’t have any addresses for this town either. But one of the exciting discoveries I’m finding is that we often find ourselves in these places next to a family reference. Coincidence? Maybe.

It’s hard to find your way round these little towns. Tiny narrow roads, crowded with parked cars down one side of the road. Drivers right on your bumper. And you have to make quick decisions which road to turn down. We did this at Hayle. Finally pulled over to the curb of the little road. And looked up to see “Foundry” on the building we were parked next to. Philip’s ancestor may, or may not have worked in a foundry. Maybe even this particular foundry. Which is no longer a foundry of course. But used for lots of other purposes. But still exciting to see anyway.

When I looked at the paper map, I thought it would be fun to make a mad dash down to Lands End. The most southerly part of England. I convinced Philip it would be worth it. And with the long summer evenings, it shouldn’t be too hard.

So off we took again. Heading for the end of the world. Well, the end of England anyway. And we got there before the sun set. It was still high on the horizon. Very commercialised with white buildings and you have to pay to get into the carpark.All the shops shut because it was so late.  I helped a little girl distraught at losing her mother. Quite sure her mother had driven off and left her. I tried to tell her, between her sobs that her mother wouldn’t do that and that we’d find her. And we did!

Took lots of photos of us at Lands End. Including one of me, because I realised I’d done the John o’ Groats to Lands End tourist thing this holiday. Completely unexpectedly, but I got a warm glow of accomplishment!

In the distance we passed St Michael’s Mount. Where you walk to a little monastery on an island at low tide only. I did see it in the distance. But Philip wasn’t interested in stopping to get any closer. he said if I wanted a closer photo, to look it up on the internet and photograph that! And I didn’t press the point. I’d already stretched the limit by going to Lands End.

We hadn’t booked any accommodation that night because we weren’t sure where we’d be. Now it was getting late and later. So we tore back up the motorway. GPS was proving difficult. The mobile phone wouldn’t let us ring out on it, to try to book something.

We called in at a Travelodge near Bodmin right on the motorway, but fully booked. The receptionist not very helpful. Thought another motel down the motorway might have room. But couldn’t ring to check for us.

So we drove there.But no, they were fully booked too. This receptionist was far more helpful. Tried a few other motels nearby. But everything booked. The English summer holidays have officially started.

By now, it was 8.15pm and we were very tired, very saddlesore and very hungry. So I asked her if she was open to a bribe. If she could books us in somewhere nearby I would give her my last bar of Australian chocolate. (I had been keeping it as a present for our next host.) She laughed and said she would do it without any incentive. And she did. And she got the chocolate anyway. I was so grateful.

 

I thought she’d booked us into a motel. But took her instructions and we followed them down narrow, isolated country roads to a Cornish farmhouse bed and breakfast.  A comfortable bed with an en-suite. A view through the windows looking out at their South Devon black cattle contentedly chewing thei green grass in their field. And the only other sound was the birds. We walked round their farmyard. The farmer is retired and now just keeps hobby cattle and Dutch sheep. And Philip had a long yarn with him comparing farming conditions in Australia.

One of the best things about unplanned adventures is the wonderful surprises that turn up unexpectedly. We fell into the soft bed very happy. And as contented as the South Devon cows outside in the field!

I’ll finish with my favourite sign today. Hanging outside a 1585 pub in the middle of nowhere. Looking for directions. Why would anyone want to eat nettles? Let the nettles win everytime I say!