Burgh Island

                                                                30^th August

 

A grey start to the day again and some scotch mist. Eating another delicious breakfast at Beehives Bob noticed I’d spots all up my left arm. The tumble in the gorse hadn’t bothered me at all yesterday but red raised blotches seemed to be spreading at an alarming rate. All I could think of was I’d caused an allergic reaction with soaps, anti-bacterials (used on the boat and the island as there was little water) and hand cream. At least it was where I couldn’t see it.

We had a 2-hour journey to Bigbury on sea and the weather started to clear. The roads narrow a lot and transport here must be a big problem- a bus running once a week from Plymouth or expensive taxis. We parked in a field advertised as economy car park which had one other car in it. There was an honesty box for the £3 flat rate which we dutifully used. Chairs scattered around showed that there were sometimes money collectors.

With the sun shining and butterflies flitting past our faces we walked a pretty footpath to save walking on the oft time busy road. It was about a ¼ mile to the next car park which had plenty of room but we’d enjoyed stretching our legs and the island is close to the shore. There was a few hundred yards of sand to cross though, at midday, the tide was in when we arrived.

On the sand people were collecting, in vague queues. We could see the sea tractor just leaving the island. It lumbered across picking its route through the not too high waves. Not unlike a cattle truck on top, a caged platform sits on another base frame set with sturdy tractor wheels. Despite the height in certain tides the passengers can be wetted by the waves. Today we could have waded out in fishermen’s galoshes. The tractor driver parked his spindly contraption ( surprisingly built as late as 1969) and then disappeared up towards the car park.

A sign said that the tractor carries 30 passengers though only 20 after dark. There are no seats. The island has its own hotel which is strictly private and extremely expensive (the cheapest room being £400 a night) and hotel guests take precedence over the public. The driver had gone off in his car parked on the sands to fetch 2 guests with luggage. They looked quite ordinary though the lady wore heels. We were required to present the right money £2 a trip each. The steps came down hydraulically and noisily and we filled up the space holding on to the ironwork for stability as the tractor began its slow journey across.

We arrived on Burgh Island and the Pilchard Inn could hardly have been nearer. Thirsty from our journey we went in the dark, empty 14^th century pub and drank a pint of bitter and Devon cider. The bartender, probably American, seemed glad of some custom. I rather liked the feel of the place that is said to be haunted by a smuggler youth shot by customs officers. There is a bar set aside for hospital guests though that doesn’t feel so friendly. I had to go through it later to the toilets and it was empty but there were plenty of people sat at the outside tables.

Just on our left, after the pub are the iron gates of the Art Deco Hotel. I would have loved to have tea in the lounge and take in the atmosphere that inspired writers like Agatha Christie who wrote while staying in the Garden Annexe in the 1930s. Many of the rooms are named after the stars who stayed in them like Noel Coward. This  white building dominating the East side started life as a small wooden hotel built on the island after being bought for £100 by a famous falsetto singer, George Chirgwin in 1895. Archie Nettlefold, who made money from munitions in the First world war, bought Burgh and commissioned an architect to design the hotel much as it is now, white, concrete and rather castle like. He financed films and plays and so Burgh became popular with the stars of the day.

To the right of the path opposite the gates is a car park, not grand in any sense but marked private. There is a sign though that says public may use the footpaths on the west side of the island and it is well worth the ramble. No picnics allowed though so I occasionally had a nibble of a sandwich surreptitiously as we walked.  Burgh rises steeply 200feet on the one grassy hill. The views were lovely over the cliffs and the sea looked turquoise in places. The rocks must be treacherous to shipping, jagged and spreading out into the sea. People had clambered down to some for a photo shoot but I was still wary of falling after yesterday. Bob went down too and shocked himself when he revisited it by his video.

There were stunted evening primrose and fuchsia growing beside the path which gave splashes of colour to the greens.

A sign bore a quote from Camden C1610 “Where Avon’s waters with the sea are mixed St Michael firmly on a rock is fixed.” The island was originally St. Michael de Burgh island.

On top of the hill stands the 17^th century Huer’s hut, what’s left of it- the 4 stone walls. Huer means to raise alarm in French and that is what the lookouts stationed here did. They created a hue and cry as soon as they spotted a shoal of silver herring to alert the fishermen.

The hut stands where there was once a chapel. Like many little islands there were monks here at one time.

Requisitioned during the war there are remnants of pill boxes on the island. Churchill and Eisenhower were rumoured to have met here for war talks.

Back at the Inn we finished off our sandwiches on neutral ground- the beach, then took off shoes and socks and I hitched up my trousers ( Bob had shorts on) and set off across the ebbing waters. We sank in the sand which made it a bit difficult but we didn’t fall over. We used hankies to clean off toes before putting socks and shoes back on. More people had arrived to sit on the beach.

We really liked Burgh island though it probably only took us an hour and half to explore. Only one other car was in the car park. We left not completely sure if we would stay somewhere on the way back home. We didn’t seem to be passing any National Trust properties at the right time but stopped in Worcester, a beautiful city, for evening meal before arriving home not long before 9.