Notes from the field

So here we are down in North Devon, in the field that we have camped in every summer for the past 25 years or so. As I sit here under Colonel Poppit ( our ex army dining shelter , so called because when I bought him from an army surplus store and opened him out for the first time piles of sand fell out, hence him having done time in the desert and the fact that you pop him up and down, yes.. this is the sort of thing that gets made up when you have a lot of time on your hands due to inclement weather)  I am looking  across the lush green meadow towards the church tower that sticks up over the horizon ( or doesn’t when its cloudy) The middle of the field is full of wild flowers, still to be cut and harvested in the summer months,the hedgerows alive with fox gloves, birds and the buzzing of bees. And the sun is out. Some of our group have walked down towards the sea, to clamber down the cliff to Spekes, wild and windswept, a place of picnics, fires and surfing and the rocks bleak and unforgiving, yet smooth amd warm  to the touch. Later we will gather at low tide armed with barbecues, fresh mackerel, sausages and cold beers, to cook and eat supper together

 I would be lying if I said we came here for the balmy weather, and at times the camp has resembled a scene from the Somme, with such high winds that we have had to tie our tents to the cars to avoid them blowing over the cliffs and into the sea. About the second time we came  here  we had to abandon camp altogether in the middle of the night and retreat to our friends house down the road who awoke to find every inch of hallway and sitting room filled with slightly damp campers. When we returned to the campsite the following morning to survey the carnage, amongst piles of soggy ripped tents lay all the the bent and twisted poles resembling the cover of the Tubuler Bells album. Friends who sensibly chose to have holidays in places where you knew that pretty much every day the sun would shine simply shrugged and looked at us with bemusement at our tales of storms and rain , drizzle and mud, and mostly just asked ” why?”

At the beginning there were very few facilities here apart from a loo block at the top of the field and a couple of showers down in the farm yard. Visits to the launderette meant visits to the cinema or egg and chips in the cafe, which also meant warmth and a dry place to sit. One day we went to the local activity centre to avoid the deluge,  only to be evacuated as the rain flooded through the doors and into the ball pool. Gradually we realised that in order to survive we needed large  undercover waterproof spaces to sit and cook in, hence the arrival of Poppit ( and a later addition of Mrs Poppit , lacing the two together ). This meant that at least we had somewhere vaguely dry to sit while discussing the weather that mostly seemed to be on the edge of brightening up, or at least that’s what we convinced ourselves. For years we would drive down in our Volvo with our tipi in the boot, the poles balanced precariously on the roof rack and we would then erect it in the middle of the filed. Many a riotous evening was spent inside, laughing and singing,  eyes streaming from the smoking fire in the middle. One August me and the three kids stayed in the tipi for three weeks, and probably it rained for two and a half of them but I still remember  it as being one of the best holidays ever , though I can’t quite imagine why. 

But there is a magic about this field and the sea here that fuels the soul, re charging weary city batteries and making us  glad to be alive. The dappled green fields leading down to the cliffs and the wind in my hair reminds me how lucky we are to have this place to come to. Cooking up a feast over the fire  below  a brilliant starry sky with a glass of wine in hand is hard to beat, and at moments like this we forget the unforgiving howling storms and damp clothes, and I would rather be here than anywhere else in the world. 
So  we still come, year after year with a succession of families, friends and kids, now mostly no longer kids but young adults who still come from time to time but this time in their own cars with their own partners and friends and I am certain that in time they will also come bringing their own children