Seaton, Cornwall

Wide Sea Hotel, Downderry

I last stayed at the Wide Sea Hotel in 1966. Margaret Eliott the owner was to marry my father, Hilton Devitte in 1967. I wondered if the hotel still existed today, and what had happened to Margaret Devitte nee Eliott. We also had wonderful holidays at Whitsand Bay Hotel in the 1950s as a family and I was glad to see that it is still there, and hope to re-visit it one year. I live in Vancouver, Canada now.  I hope someone can reply to this letter?

Holiday and Family Tree research

I stayed at the Wide Sea Hotel in the mid to late 1950s when I was about 8.  My grandparents were also staying at the hotel and probably they had stayed several times before. My grandfather came from Cornwall which is probably why he went holidaying there from Chingford in Essex/London.

Hessenford

I have just read the memory of the fishing trips and the use of the jeep to tow the fishing boat down the beach to launch it into the sea at Downderry. I also remember that jeep as if it were yesterday. My Grandmother, Marjorie Buckley, was the Headmistress of Hessenford School in the 40's and 50's (maybe into the 60's before she finally retired) and I spent alot of my youth living with her and on family holidays in Hessenford. I spent 9 months with my Grandparents towards the end of the war, as my home town, Redditch, had been badly bombed by the Germans. My Grandather died, I think in 1947, and is buried in the graveyard at the Hessenford Parish Church, St. Annes. in 1953 most of the summer term and summer holidays were spent there, taking part in the festivities organised for the Coronation and celebration of the conquest of Everest. (Sir Edmund Hillary's death, ironically, was announced only 2 or 3 days ago). The Coronation events were held in the school playgoung and also in one of teh fields belonging to Farmer Lane. One of my jobs, when spending protracted periods there, was to go by bus to Downderry to change the accumulator batteries used to power the radio. From what I recall of the radio shop, it was on the main road through Downderry, somewhere near to the path that led down to the beach, but on the opposite side of the road. It was not unusual for my brother and I to walk along the beach from Seaton to Downderry, if the tide allowed, having already walked down the valley from Hessenford to Seaton. Many happy hours were spent swimming in the river, just upstream of the mill race. The village pump, sited in the lane leading up the side of the Copley Arms towards the Church, was still in use at this time. That was another duty we had, to fetch containers of water. I spent my honeymoon in Hessenford, at a guest house owned by Mary Sandys, in 1963 and met her in a chance meeting nearly 40 years later during a one hour visit to the village. She told me that she was the last remaining native resident living in the village of all those that were there in the 40's, 50's and 60's. The family names that I recall from that time were, Sandys, Stephens, Jeffries, (farmers from up the Old Valley) Kitt, Lane (the farmer), Alford (also farmers), Pote (or is it Poat?), Gwillam, Painter.
What has happened to all of these people?
Dave Styler. 14 January 2008.

Fishing with Billy

Billy was a hero to we boys. In the daytime you could go crabbing with him; at night, out drifting. He drove an old open jeep and at times you would see five, six or even seven boys clinging to parts of this ex-US vehicle as it bounced its way up the slipway, or tore through the Cornish lanes on the way to Looe, where he kept his bigger boat, the "Ella".
A shake, or an alarm clock at 5.00am. Pull on my boots and a thick woollen jumper. It would be pitch dark, nothing stirred in the village. As I made my way the five hundred yards to the centre of the village, my heart would be in my mouth; every shadow a threat, every noise a danger. Then, through the night, the clumping of heavy sea boots: "That you D'Arcy?", the comforting sound of Billy.
As we launched the boat, using his jeep and a clever device that lifted and lowered his open boat into the water , off the beach, the sea spray would sometimes dribble down my neck and a cold, pre-dawn wind, cut beneath the several layers of clothes to make me shiver. But we would never let Billy know we were suffering: he might not invite us again. As the little engine chugged us clear, through the rocks, dawn would be slowly lighting the eastern sky. Billy would be standing in the stern, tiller between his legs, the yellow of his oil skins, reflecting the slightest glimmer of light.
Four or five hours later, loaded with crabs and an occasional lobster, we would surf up the beach to be met by boys who hadn't done that dark, pre-dawn walk and, perhaps, some curious holidaymakers. The boat would be pulled up the beach by the jeep and then we would all jump in, scrabbling to get a hand hold on the cold green, rusty metal as it swayed its way up the slip, round the corner, down past Jean Thom's shop, the boys hooting and hollering with glee and Billy shouting orders to "hang on". If we were lucky, he would take us to Looe. If not, we would buy a bottle of Corona, perhaps, and make our way down to the beach, sit by the boats and listen to the old men telling sea stories. What a wonderful childhood it was!