The Somerset Coast

In Short

This travelogue is a guided tour along the Somerset coast, tracing the path from the Clifton Suspension Bridge to the remote villages of Exmoor. Blending architectural observation, local folklore, and literary history, the narrative captures the character of a region transitioning from rural isolation to the encroachment of the modern age. It survives as a vivid snapshot of a landscape caught between its deep, storied past and the early twentieth-century arrival of motorized tourism, offering readers a grounded, unvarnished look at a corner of England defined by both its fertile soil and its dramatic, sometimes tragic, heritage.

The Story

The journey begins at the towering Clifton Suspension Bridge, a triumph of engineering that marks the transition from the bustling urbanity of Bristol into the coastal landscape of Somerset. As the narrative progresses westward, it moves through a series of coastal settlements, each possessing its own distinct rhythm and history. At Clevedon, the text pauses to reflect on the literary associations of the area, particularly the grief of Alfred Tennyson, whose poem In Memoriam was profoundly shaped by the burial of his friend Arthur Hallam in the local church. The author contrasts this Victorian era of introspection with the “material age” he inhabits, dismissing the earlier period’s tendency toward melancholic, soul-searching philosophy.

Moving further along, the geography shifts to the fertile, muddy flats and estuaries of the River Yeo and the River Parret. Here, the landscape is defined by its agricultural richness—vividly described as a place where the soil itself seems to ooze wealth—and the quiet, curious lives of the inhabitants. The author details the encroaching influence of the railway, noting how local resistance and shortsighted planning once hampered growth in towns like Weston-super-Mare, only for those same towns to later embrace the commercial reality of becoming tourist havens.

As the route pushes deeper into the coast, the atmosphere grows more rugged. The narrative ventures to the offshore islands like Steep Holm, recounting tales of ancient marauders and desperate refugees, and visits the architecture of quiet villages where church bench-ends depict satirical scenes of fox-abbots and rebellious geese. These small, often overlooked features of parish churches serve as anchors for broader historical inquiries into the power of monasteries and the rise of the gentry.

The latter half of the journey reaches the shadow of Exmoor, where the tone turns toward the romantic and the mythical. The author explores the reality behind the legends of the Doones, dissecting the claims made in popular fiction against the historical record. He examines sites like Porlock and Culbone, contrasting their present-day status as sophisticated tourist destinations with their past lives as centers of rustic revelry and religious seclusion. The final stretches of the road are marked by the interplay between the sea and the land, where ramparts of stone and ancient packhorse bridges serve as physical reminders of a world that existed before the arrival of the motor-car. The journey concludes not with a grand climax, but with a lingering sense of the permanence of the natural world, even as the human history that populates it continues to fade, shift, and be retold.

How It Unfolds

The gateway of steel The voyage begins with an assessment of the Clifton Suspension Bridge, analyzing its engineering stability and the curious privileges held by local landowners. This sets a tone of precision, as the narrative balances the majesty of the structure against the mundane reality of tolls and traffic.

The literary landscape The focus shifts to Clevedon, where the author delves into the deep emotional resonances of Tennyson’s work and the burial of Arthur Hallam. By contrasting the 1830s with the author's own time, the text establishes a central theme: the shift in how society processes faith, grief, and the environment.

The fertile fringe As the traveller moves to the alluvial lands of the Yeo and the Parret, the narrative fixates on the prosperity of dairying and the quaint, shy nature of the local children. The discussion of railway development provides a bridge between the agricultural past and the impending pressures of a modern, mobile society.

The island fastness A diversion to Steep Holm introduces a darker, more dramatic history of invasions and famine. The author methodically strips away the romantic veneer of the island, focusing on its strategic military use and the remnants of its failed attempts at commercial enterprise.

The legend of the Doones The final movement enters the rugged terrain of Exmoor, where folklore is rigorously tested against archival evidence. The narrative meticulously deconstructs the myths surrounding the Doone outlaws, preferring documented history over the imaginative flourishes found in popular novels.

The People

The book is populated by a cast that spans centuries, from the legendary to the obscure. Central figures like the Luttrells—a family whose name is synonymous with the land, though they often held it by legal maneuvering rather than feats of arms—anchor the historical narrative. The author treats them with a mix of academic scrutiny and dry wit, highlighting the irony of their heraldic birds and the reality of their property disputes.

The figure of Florence Wyndham provides a bridge between the macabre and the domestic; her story, involving a tragic near-burial in a trance, remains a fixture of local identity. The author treats the story as a piece of folklore, carefully balancing the "scandalous" versions against the family history.

Then there are the "types"—the sextons who lose their fear of death through the sheer repetition of their work, the "forceful takers" like the robber-lord Fulke de Breauté, and the "conscious superior persons" of the Victorian era who earned the author’s disdain for their public displays of grief. Whether it is a long-dead saint or a contemporary dairy farmer, the author views these people not as archetypes of a golden age, but as flawed, practical individuals navigating the specific challenges of their environment. By the end, they remain grounded in their local geography, tethered to the churches and estates that carry their names, even as the author makes it clear that history is often a matter of interpretation.

In Its Own Voice

“Mere figures do not suffice to give an idea of the majesty and sense of vastness conjured up by Clifton Suspension Bridge, viewed either from below, or along its lengthy roadway; the picturesqueness of the situation has also to be taken into account.”

The author begins the journey by attempting to quantify the beauty of a structural marvel that dominates the entrance to the region.

“We no longer examine our souls at frequent intervals, to see how they are getting on—after the manner of children with garden plants.”

Reflecting on the change in cultural sentiment since the time of Tennyson, the author expresses his skepticism toward the performative introspection of the nineteenth century.

“The writer grows tired of writing, and the reader doubtless as weary of reading, of the richness of the land in these parts; but the occasion for and the necessity of this continued allusion are at least proofs of the fertility of Somerset.”

The author acknowledges the repetitive nature of his descriptive task while emphasizing the agricultural abundance that defines the coastal landscape.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an investigation into the layering of time. It asks how a landscape absorbs the marks left by its inhabitants—whether those marks are the stone ramparts of a fortress, the verses of a famous poet, or the mud-caked tracks of a milk-cart. The author is deeply concerned with the tension between the "material" nature of the present and the romanticized or "spiritualized" versions of the past. He argues that history is not a static object to be admired, but a process of constant reinterpretation. By contrasting the cold, hard facts of Domesday records and railway ledgers against the softening influence of folk legend and literary sentiment, the book explores the difficulty—and the necessity—of seeing a place as it actually is.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate a travelogue written with a firm, skeptical, and observant eye will find much to admire here. There is a particular pleasure in the author’s refusal to indulge in sentimentality; he is just as likely to point out the "loathsome" smell of motor-car exhaust as he is to describe the beauty of an ancient packhorse bridge. The book offers a fascinating, if sometimes prickly, window into the transition of the English countryside at the dawn of the twentieth century, capturing the exact moment when the isolation of rural life began to give way to the efficiency of the modern age.

Those interested in local history will enjoy the meticulous detail provided about church architecture, family lineages, and the debunking of persistent myths. However, readers should be prepared for the author’s occasionally abrasive tone regarding Victorian sensibilities and his blunt assessments of what he deems "commonplace" or "spoiled." The book does not attempt to be a comforting escape into a pastoral dream; instead, it is a gritty, intelligent walk through a real, changing place. It stays with you not because it paints a perfect picture, but because it insists on the messy, contradictory reality of the ground beneath your feet.