Devon sandwich with Cornwall vinegar...

And many thanks to Geoffy (visiting from Barcelona) who insisted on today's post title.... 

Leaving our Dorchester pub bright and early, we headed for Uplowman, Devon where Geoff's less exotic ancestor, William Quick, ploughed the fields and scattered the good seed on the land.
There wasn't much to see in the tiny village of Uplowman but it was very close to a fairly prosperous town called Tiverton, where I imagine William spent some time.  Tiverton may well be where he stole the coat that landed him 14 years transportation.

Main drag - Uplowman

William had experience in tailoring and so was indentured on arrival in Sydney to a master tailor.  I speculate that it may have been through the tailor that William met Rachel Nieto (a London gel and ggg-grandaughter of Rabbi David Nieto, discussed in an earlier post!)  who had emigrated as a free woman in 1834. They subsequently had several children and then married a leisurely couple of years later.         
 

And just to prove we were there ------------->

It was very pretty country, dairy-focused,  and we had an excellent Devonshire tea in Tiverton. What we call a Devonshire tea is actually called a 'cream tea' in Devon.  It was served with clotted cream which seemed to be just one churn away from butter.  Very tasty, if artery-hardening! 

Our next stop today was Dartmoor National Park, which is a pre-history treasure chest. I will get to that in a sec - it really was very special- but first, over recent days we have had many opportunities to be thankful we're not driving Satan, and yet another arose today as we encountered this:

I should have cropped the pic (forgive me for not doing so) but you can see two large trucks having a great deal of trouble passing each other on a very narrow road. They were both inching along and it took about five minutes at snail speed for them to get past each other. It is very common, even for cars, to have to stop and let other vehicles pass single file. Truly, we would have shat ourselves more than once by now driving Satan on some of the roads we've encountered!

Moving on quickly from bowel movements,  I was gagging to see the Merrivale standing stones - not as spectacular perhaps as Stonehenge but better, in my opinion (a) because they aren't as accessible so we could enjoy them on our own and (b) you get to walk among indigenous Dartmoor ponies and sheep - both splendid creatures.  The Dartmoor National Park is enthralling - and is simply loaded with ancient monuments.  One of the nicest aspects is that they aren't marked - if you want to know where they are (having done you own research as to what they are, which we did) you must go to the Tourism Office in Princetown and get directions.  When we said we wanted to see to see the Merrivale standing stones, we were directed to double back a mile or so to a particular landmark, park the car and follow "the leat's" (creek's) current for about 500 yards.  We did that and the bonus was the delightful Dartmoor ponies:

    Apparently the Dartmoor ponies are endangered and there are only 300 mares left. (I assume there are gentlemen Dartmoors as well.) Their numbers have declined significantly in recent decades.  Geoffy and I were so smitten with them that we are going to donate to a local charity that cares for sick and injured Dartmoors.  But back to the standing stones - they were used in Bronze age rituals and include parallel stone rows and burial chambers.  They date from 2300 to 700 BC.  We only went to the Merrivale standing stones as it was so bitterly  cold we didn't have the fortitude to press on any further, but we could see larger 'menhirs' (needle-shaped standing stones) in the distance.   It was a very special place.

 The Dartmoor National Park tourism office in Princetown (where we got directions to the standing stones) used to be a hotel.  Arthur Conan_Doyle stayed there once and it was there that he began writing 'The Hound of the Baskervilles'.  No wonder - Princetown itself is a pretty grim place and is home to Dartmoor prison which is huge, flinty and intimidating.

But the park itself was so ruggedly beautiful (she said, poetically) and all its archaeology, together with the ponies, was heaven on a stick. 

Here are the ponies again, in case you didn't a good look the first time:  Geoff, even though he is a 60-year-old retired airforce officer and lawyer of some standing, named them Misty, Dobbin and Neddy, the lamb.  And note the iced-over leat! 

 

And one more of the stones.  They don't look very spectacular in this pic but they are great, honestly!

And jist one more of me (!) sitting on a burial chamber:

It was bloody cold - you can see the ice.

We're now ensconced in the Travelodge, St Austells, Cornwall.  Next door we have McDonalds and KFC.  I'm hanging out for a flame-grilled double-whopper lard burger.  Tomorrow:  more ancestral homes!