Santa Rosa High School - Echo Yearbook (Santa Rosa, CA)

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THE ECHO. Ilfracombe itself is not very interesting, but there are some interesting places near by. A few miles off the coast is Lundy, a barren island, useful only because of its granite auarries, and here one morning in a dense fog, stich as we have on San Francisco Bay, tler Majesty’s ship “Montagu” stuck on the rocks and was never gotten off, although she was werth $7,250,0c0. The drive or walk to Watersmouth is a favorite amongst the residents and visitors, for there are some very interesting caves there. Boats are generally in attendance to take visitors through the caves, and this is considered the best way to visit them. From Ilfracombe we went to Bideford, the home of Charles Kingsley. One of the most noticeable things in Bideford is the “Long Bridge.” It consists of twenty-four arches, pointed at the top, and is six hun- dred and seventy-seven feet long. It was ult by the merchants, each merchant yuilding an arch, consequently the arches vary in size, according to the wealth of the builder. This naturally gives the bridge a remarkable appearance. It was first begun in 1340. A great many mussels have grown 1 on the arches and the city government does 1ot allow them to be removed, because they protect the masonry, which would be eaten away by the tide which is exceedingly strong there. The merchants of Bideforx were the first in England who traded wit =) America. The little town has some very handsome buildings. At the Royal Hote is the room in which Kingsley wrote part of “Westward Ho!” and near Bideford is a little place called Westward Ho, to whic! we went, and saw the remarkable Pebble Ridge, which stretches for some distance along the coast. These pebbles are banked up many feet high and form the only bar- rier which keeps the sea from flowing into the low lands of Westward Ho. The peb- bles vary from the size of a marble to those which weigh three, four and five hundred pounds. ‘They are all rounded and smooth- ed by the waves, and each has a streak of white in it, which is a harder substance than the rest of it. The sea is continually casting up more of these rocks, and thus the bar- rier becomes ever higher and higher. Near our hotel in Bideford was an old church which has a lovely peal of bells—the first we had ever heard. In the grave-yard of this church are some very old graves, some of which bear some very curious in scriptions. One of which we saw was: “Here lies the body of Mary Sexton, Who pleased many men, but never vexed one; Not like the woman under the next stone!” One morning we took a coach from Bide- ford and drove for some miles through love- ly country lanes and woods to one of the most picturesque spots in England—Clovel- lv. This beautiful fishing village, which the writings of Charles Kingsley did so much to popularize, is one that cannot fail to im- press the stranger with its unique beauty. It consists of one steep street, leading from the small fishing harbor to the summit of the hill. It is formed by a series of steps or divisions that can only be ascended on foot, or by means of little donkeys, which we saw, carrying goods to and from the har- bor. The population is mostly dependent on the sea for a livelihood; that is to say, »v the herring fishing in the winter, and by landing and embarking passengers from the numerous excursion steamers in the sum- ner. The houses are quaint, old-fashioned ones, many of them covered with ivy, creeping vines and roses. With its many ovely views of the water and harbor, it is a favorite spot for artists and tourists, Americans especially. With Clovelly our delightful trip was finished. We were to have gone on to King + O Arthur’s Castle, at Yintagel, but rain com- ing on prevented us, as we were coaching; so , not relishing a wetting we returned to busy London once more, with many pleas- ant memories in our minds and beautiful pictures lingering in our eyes of England’s sweetly-picturesque country—North Devon. Dorothy Westrup ’12.

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THE ECHO. the horizon, sending out its last many-col- ered rays, and tinting the fleecy clouds above, before it sunk below the waters. The following morning we decided to go to “ Watersmeet,” two and a half miles from Lynmouth. We reached Lynmouth by a steep, winding path down the hill-side. Lyn is derived from the Saxon word “hlynna,” or turrent, hence Lynton is the town of, and Lynmouth the mouth of the Lyn, or torrent. Lynmouth was originally a small village, the inhabitants depending for their liveli- hood on the sale of cured herrings. The earliest establishment of a herring fishery there appears to have arisen from the in ducement offered by the abundance of the herrings, to some Dutch fisherman, about the middle of the sixteenth century. After exploring this old village, we pr¢ ceeded 1p the river Lyn, following its banks through luxuriant woods, and passing many pretty cottages, nestling among the trees, until we came to the well-named spot, “Waters- meet,’ where two streams meet and become one. Up the stream, to the right, is the great water slide, made famous by the ex- pense and is probably the longest and ploits of John Ridd, the hero of “Lorna Doone,” the world-known novel by Black- more, when he was escaping from Carver Doone. This part of North Devon is known as the “country of the Doones.” When we returned to Lynmouth, we de- cided not to walk back to Lynton by the steep path by which we had come down, but to take what is called the “Lift,” or the Cliff Railway. This was built at great ex- pense and is probably the lolngest and steepest of its kind in the world. It is forty- five per cent grade and the length is nine hundred feet. It is worked by water, which pours into the tank under the car, when it is at the top of the cliff, and is emptied when it reaches the bottom. There are two cars, connected by an endless steel rope running on the wheels at the top and bottom of the rail. Hence the water pouring into the tank of the top car provides the necessary extra weight to hoist the car from the foot as it proceeds on its downward journey. That afternoon we took a walk through what is known as the “Valley of Rocks,” and it is certainly well named, for all over the valley are queer shaped piles of rocks, which look as if Nature had been making a huge garden somewhere, and had taken all the rocks she had gotten out of it and had dumped them from her apron in piles all over this valley. There is one, almost perpendicular, column of rocks, which is called the “Devil’s Cheese-wring”’; the rea- son for this queer title is unknown. 1, j The following morning we took a car- riage and went for a drive. One of the points of interest which we saw was Morte Hfoe Church. This church, though small, is full of interest to the lover of the an- tique. Much of the carving on the pews, which is most beantiful, is as old as the church itself, although much has been ad- ded from time to time. One of the prin- cipal features is an old tomb, which is said to be that of William de Tracey, one of the murderers of Thomas A. Becket; the date of its erection is given as 1170, and it is hewn out of solid rock. From Lynton we went to Ilfracombe, a large town also on the coast. We drove there in an old-time coach, with the seats for the passengers on top as well as inside, and drawn by four horses, the driver of which wore a high, white, silk hat, and the euard, as we went along, wound his horn and played some old ttnes, such as “Buy a Broom,” and made us feel very much as if we might be living a century or two ago. s the coach bowled along, children follow- ed, and turned handsprings and “summer- salts” in the hope of getting some of our extra pennies. We passed through Comb- martin, a village consisting of one street a mile long. There is an old church at Comb- martin, dedicated to St. Peter, and built in the earlv English style. Within are some interesting remains of old carving, but it is chiefly interesting because it is the scene of the plot of Marie Corelli’s “Mighty Atom.”

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