England,  History,  Photography,  Travel Blog

The Unique Village Of Clovelly  

March 17, 2022 /

Venturing out of Cornwall and up to the north Devon coast, we take in the self-proclaimed “unique” village of Clovelly, knowing of its beautiful setting but knowing little else about it. We are in for a treat.

The first thing which strikes us as “unique” is that we have to pay to get in to the village! At first we are a little baulked by having to fork out £8.25 each just to enter, but once we see Clovelly and learn about its status it all becomes clear and we don’t begrudge a penny of it.

Clovelly is perched on a seemingly almost vertical slope, cascading from clifftop to shingle beach down cobbled lanes zigzagging between cute cottages. Thus, unless you are a long distance walker tackling a stretch of the coast path, the only way in is to leave the car in the parking area at the top and pass through the visitor centre where you part with your entry fee.

The visitor centre houses, as you would expect, a gift shop and a cafe amongst other things, but it turns out that this is the only outlet in Clovelly which sells souvenirs: commercialisation has been kept out of the village in order to protect its heritage and authenticity. In fact apart from the visitor centre, every single property is over 500 years old and as we totter carefully down the ridiculously steep cobbles the utter charm of the unchanged village unfolds before our eyes.

There are of course no cars here, nor any proper points of access to the properties. Amusingly, each house has a “sledge”, basically a plastic bread basket fixed on to wooden runners, which is their only means of getting goods down the cobbled slopes to their houses – and by “goods” we mean everything from food and groceries to furniture and appliances! Time was, such work was undertaken by donkeys, nowadays it’s the rather comical sledges.

Clovelly’s story is remarkable. None of these picturesque ancient cottages are in private ownership, in fact the entire village is owned by a single family. Even more astonishing is the fact that the village has only been owned by three families since the time of the Norman Conquest, and only two since the reign of Richard II. 

Hidden away in its difficult location, Clovelly was for centuries a little known village, home essentially only to fishermen and smugglers, far from the prying eyes of Customs men. Enter a new rector to the church with a teenage son who was to achieve widespread fame as an author and social reformer: Charles Kingsley. Kingsley loved this place and was to return many times as an adult, writing “Westward Ho!” here and using Clovelly as the inspiration for “The Water Babies”.

As its notoriety spread, Victorian visitors began to arrive – by boat of course – for day trips to admire Clovelly’s unique topography. Upkeep became more and more costly and some of the treasured buildings fell into differing levels of disrepair. Then, in 1884, almost 150 years after being acquired by the Hamlyns from the Carys, her brother’s death meant that ownership of Clovelly passed to one Christine Hamlyn.

Christine set about restoring every single property, using disparate styles of decoration yet achieving the picturesque splendour which has survived to this day. Many houses bear the inscription “CH” alongside a date: not the date of construction, but the date of Christine’s renovation. Her memory is held in the very highest regard around here.

Descendants of the Hamlyn family are still the owners, the current incumbent being John Rous, Christine’s great nephew and the great grandson of former Prime Minister Herbert Asquith.

A small museum in Kingsley’s former home houses a fascinating pictorial history of the village, and, nearby, “The Fisherman’s House” offers an opportunity to view the interior of a cottage as it would have been in bygone times, striking us as both tiny and cold as we peer into its spartan rooms.

Elsewhere there are two genuinely local craft shops (both closed on our visit), a harbour cafe (also closed) and two pubs (both thankfully open), but other than that the entire village comprises just private homes. No shops selling tat, no fudge shops, no pasty kitchens, just handsome cottages behind whose closed doors ordinary life goes on. One such, in fact the oldest house in the village, is “Crazy Kate’s Cottage”, named after a fisherman’s wife who suffered insanity after witnessing her husband drown in the harbour.

Back up by the visitor centre there is, lo and behold, a micro brewery, so of course we have to sample “Clovelly Gold” at the Red Lion whilst in the harbour, and very decent it is too.

Looking down the slopes to the harbour and shingle beach, and looking up at the crazily steep village from the harbour wall, are equally enthralling views which each hold us spellbound for a few moments. It’s a visually exciting place even without its intriguing story, and now we know that the entry fee is how the village’s upkeep is funded by the family, we are even more happy to have contributed.

As we trudge our way back up the hill, reflecting on our time in Clovelly, we comment on the overuse of the word “unique” in modern parlance – and how here, in this remarkable place, it is the correct word. Clovelly is indeed genuinely unique, in our experience at least.

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