Plymouth, home to privateers and pilgrims (pimps and prostitutes too probably)

Plymouth, home to privateers and pilgrims (pimps and prostitutes too probably) and to our friend, Valerie. We have known Valerie and her talented and wonderful husband Paul (now, sadly, passed on) since our days on exchange with the RAF in 1976/77. We developed a very close and enduring friendship during those days. So here we are in Plymouth with Valerie.

The two Vals enjoying a picnic lunch. The astute reader may ping that the background and dress is hardly Plymouth in April (9 degrees at time of writing). Yup, its actually Fraser Island Christmas 2017 but we do need a pic for you, right! And below  is a pic of Val's lovely house on the outskirts of Plymouth where she has ample room for us (and for fellow traveler, Ian...yes, Ian, we do think of you...sometimes).

Valerie says that she is going to take us to a lovely hidden garden, on an outing to Dartmoor, on a fleeting visit to Bath and Wells and, for a grand finale, lunch at Land's End. What a British gastronomic delight might await us there?

Bloody picture is supposed to be up and to
 the right, but this blog program is misbehaving,
so, dear reader, you see a lot of blank space.

But first, your compulsory history lesson, (after all, they are telling us to learn things online).  Right ho class, lets re-introduce y'all to the good and justly famous Sir Francis Drake, resident at Buckland Abby outside Plymouth.  Quoting that trusty know-it-all, Wikipedia,: "Sir Francis (c 1540 - 28 Jan 1596) was an English sea captain, privateer (i.e. a royally endorsed pirate...my addition) slave trader, pirate (i.e. dis-endorsed privateer...me again), naval officer and explorer of the Elizabethan era" and one-time mayor of Plymouth.

Well, that just about sums up the scoundrel, doesn't it! Drake's dastardly depredations so disgusted (oh, what a lovely alliterative string, eh) HRH Phillip II, King of Spain, that he issued a call for Drake's head, dead or alive, offering an enormous 20,000 ducats reward (to you and me, about $12,000,000).

"A Did You Know" moment: Something British histories rather cover up. In the year following the Spanish Armada debacle (for the Pedro's, that is) Elizabeth, in spiteful retaliation, sent an English armada to punish Phillip, led by her beloved and handsome hedonistic hero, Sir Francis. The fleet was funded through a joint stock company, putting up £80,000, a quarter from the Queen's own treasury. It was a disaster, both for the fleet and the investment! 40 English ships and 11 barges lost, a poor pittance of pillage plundered, the Crown almost bankrupt. Elizabeth was not amused and ordered a cover-up. To soften the blow lets have some lovely Elizabethan music   here It is actually a rather happy piece.

The "Mayflower Steps" in the Barbican area of Plymouth port are not actually the steps from which departed in 1620 the  peeved protestant pilgrims who persevered for a prolonged period at new Plymouth, Massachusetts (and yes, your author did have to look up how its spelled, so it is correct). But the Steps are believed to be close to the embarkation point, so that's something, I suppose. Only 48 of the 102 seamen, servants (yep, there were 23 servants aboard) and colonists were actually of the same Puritan congregation; the others, being in it mainly for the money, were undoubtedly Protestant but not nearly so puritanically hidebound as The Puritans. The whole company's only association with Plymouth is that they had to pull into Plymouth as a last point of departure for necessary repairs and provisions.

Valerie has had us enjoying dinner parties and drinkies with friends, just so you know that its not all classroom stuff here at Plymouth. Here we are outside The Ship Inn, on the harbour in the old Barbican area. The two Vals and your author gorged  on a selection of tapas; "marinated olives and ciabatta" was my favourite. Fellow traveler, Ian, was captivated by the "Toad in the Hole with ice cream and topping". Downing a pint of the Seven Decades oatmeal stout suited me, the girls had Euchre Pilsner while Ian chased the Strawberry Blonde, a fruity ale.

Now, I have to come clean; the dining and drinks above I have pulled from the Net. But, back in 2010, Valerie's charming husband, Paul, did take us all to a great craft beer pub on the barbican, the name of which is lost to me, an effect due, just perhaps, to the ruby red mists of time closing in.

However, I'm letting my enthusiasms run ahead of the blog space, so today we are taking a very quick run in the Passat up onto dark, dangerous Dartmoor, where we find ponies, pubs, prisons, pretty rivers and plenty of space. (I've just got to stop.....that's the last laboured lot, I assure you.)

On Dartmoor we come across Drake's Leat, an aquaduct taking water from the River Meavy to Plymouth and whose authorisation was carried through Parliament in 1690 by our local hero, Sir Francis, when mayor. He insisted that the bill allow for mills to access the water flow. Sorry, but I can't resist adding this little hysterical note: "Drake was paid £200 for the work plus another £100 for compensation to any landowners whose property the course of the leat would have to pass through. In the event he paid out only £100 for construction and £60 for compensation making a tidy £140 profit. The mill, into which the leat flowed, was leased by Drake as were all six of the new mills built in the same year"  Well, I did say earlier that The Man was a bit of a scoundrel. His themesong, perhaps: MONEY

Drake's Leat, a lovely bridge and the promised ponies, (nope, no ponies, couldn't get them in).

We need to progress quickly through the moor to Wells to visit the absolutely stunning cathedral there.

In your author's view, it's stunning because of the magnificent twin "scissor" arches, quite unique I believe. Just imagine the glee (one should not say, PRIDE, goodness no, when referring to a holy and anointed bishop's inner feelings, should one) of the Lord Bishop of Bath and Wells in acquiring such marvels of imagination, design and construction, easily trumping all the architectural flourishes embellishing his neighbouring bishops' beauties.

       

Well, this has been rather a long diary entry today. Cheers and cheerio until we meet at land's End, Cornwall.

Val and Bryan