Somerset weekend introduces me to a kinder, gentler sort of moor

I have always loved the southwest of England. Cornwall offers great beaches and magnificent, cliff-dotted coastline. Devon delivers the wild vastness of Dartmoor (see 25 & 26.3.08) and Somerset the happy conjunction of a somewhat gentler moor with a beautiful coast. All three counties are loaded with picturesque villages, impressive stately homes and enough farmers to provide an impressive local larder of meats, vegetables and some tasty artisan cheeses. And all three battle stubbornly for the title of best maker of clotted cream; a fight I’m delighted to be caught in the middle of on whatever scone top it erupts.

Of the three counties, I must admit I know Somerset the least. I’ve seen many of its top tourist attractions, of course, but they have usually been pit stops en route to one of the other counties. This bank holiday, however, Somerset moved from drive through country to proper destination as we set off to meet Piers’ 98-year-old grandmother. (If they could link their clotted cream to longevity, they might win the argument.)

It was a delightful weekend and the addition of a day and a half (Monday’s bank holiday plus a half day off on Friday for both of us) made a break long enough, and remote enough from the day-to-day world, to provide some proper R&R.

Somerset is, undoubtedly, a good spot to do this. It’s easy on the eye, unhurried and deeply pastoral. I certainly wouldn’t come here seeking excitement or glamour, but for the glory of green country lanes, long views of hill and coast and the remarkable sounds of silence … but for the bleating of sheep … this place is hard to beat.

We spent most of our time, as do the majority of tourists to this region, walking in this varied and pleasing countryside. Our first objective was the mile-long walk up Dunkery Hill to the beacon mound on its top. This is the highest point in Exmoor. The path is a straight and fairly smooth one through unobstructed, heather-draped moor, thus not too onerous if you plod steadily along. The views are magnificent, with wild moorland in one direction, a gentle patchwork of farm fields and forest in another, and to the west a dramatic coastline, the vivid blue gash of the Severn estuary and beyond, the blue-grey hint of Wales. We did this on the first, sunniest and most clement of our days; a fortunate choice because the wind does carve a cutting path across those open hills.

I thought Exmoor’s nicest walks, however, were in its deep, wooded valleys. We had a splendid stroll down East Water, where a sunlit meadow is bordered by a babbling brook, surrounded on all sides by woodland dotted with banks of ferns and foxglove and piles of moss-covered rocks. Our finest hike was down the Doone Valley (properly known as Badgworthy Water), immortalised in the novel Lorna Doone. Another picturesque stream cascading over boulders glinting different colours in the dappled sunshine, bordered sometimes by fairytale forest, sometimes by steep fields grazed by sheep and sometimes by the stony, steep hillsides that characterised the bandit country of the novel.

There’s no lack of historic and cultural sightseeing here, either. The blockbuster sight is probably Dunster Castle, rearing dramatically above the picturesque village at the foot of its walls. Dunster village has a wide market street lined with hotels, restaurants and boutiques, in its centre a venerable, canopied market pavilion. The castle, now National Trust, was the ancestral home of the Luttrell family and is a classic example of the stately home as layer cake, with multiple generations and architectural styles stacking one upon the other. Though the foundations are medieval, most of what you see today was built from the Restoration through Victorian times. Don’t miss the magnificently detailed plasterwork in the dining room, the intricately carved grand staircase and the leather wall hangings gilded and painted with the story of Antony and Cleopatra. Outside, the Victorians and their successors turned the motte of the old castle and the slopes down to the river below into a series of gardens, heavy on woodland walks with foxgloves, ferns, hosta and hydrangea.

On the other corner of Exmoor, just outside Tiverton, you’ll find Knightshayes Court. This is another National Trust property, but a different sort of house all together. An example of Victorian-age new money splashing out on a house that screams “we’ve arrived”, it blends the neo-Gothic architecture that was all the rage with gracious room sizes and all the mod cons of the time. It is, in fact, a house of exactly the same artistic movement being celebrated at the V&A at the moment (see 20.5.11). Top sights include the wonderful main hall, kitted out for an Arthurian fantasy, the grand dining room decorated with wise and witty phrases around its ceiling and the billiards room. This is probably my favourite example of the kind in the country … comfortable, boldly masculine and overlooked by beautifully carved ceiling supports of animals portraying the seven deadly sins. The huggably adorable pig representing gluttony is, unsurprisingly, my favourite. They are all overlooked by an eighth support, the wise old owl who is supposed to tip the balance towards virtue. The gardens here are justifiably famous, with both formal beds and “rooms”, dramatic views and woodland walks through grand collections of rhododendron and azalea.

High marks on sightseeing, then, but I would probably not tip Exmoor as a gourmet destination. Perhaps it’s the hiking and outdoorsy nature of the place, which would incline tourists towards simple and hearty meals. Perhaps it’s the fact that people tend to stay in remote B&Bs down winding lanes and prefer to eat in rather than braving the narrow lanes at night. Or maybe the result of the famous cream teas, which fill the stomach and coat the taste buds of so many tourists in the late afternoon. Our own B&B hostess said there were few local restaurants that attempted much beyond pub grub, and our investigations didn’t turn up anyplace that looked tempting. Which is a shame, as this region produces top local produce and some of the best cheeses in Britain.

We stayed at a B&B that offered a four-course dinner as part of the package. Basic, hearty fare with the advantage of companionable drinks with the other guests in the drawing room before hand, and an easy stumble up the main stairs at the end of the evening. Allowing full enjoyment of a reasonably-priced wine list that was small, but offered good variety.

The B&B itself, Cutthorne Farm, was beautifully situated in an isolated position not too far from Dunkery Beacon. The house, with ancient foundations but now appearing mostly Victorian, nestles into a hillside, providing beautiful views over a valley to the front and a sloping field of sheep out the back windows. This quiet retreat is approached down a steep, fern-lined lane between hedgerows so high it’s like a green tunnel. The grounds offer lovely walks and there doesn’t seem to be another neighbour for miles. Most importantly, they allow dogs (for an extra £15 per night), which is critical for any walking holiday.

Our bedroom was of a decent size, dominated by a striking antique carved bed, though the real highlights of the accommodation were the fantastically long, deep bathtub and the wonderful countryside views out the big sash windows. The proprietors have been here since the ‘80s, know the local area well and are dedicated to providing a homey, individualised experience.

This hospitality, combined with the dramatic landscapes, the simple pleasures and the slow pace, link my Exmoor experience to other breaks in the southwest. It may be only 150 miles from London, but in so many ways it’s a whole planet away.