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Phil’s Travels – Dawlish, England (08.24)

Phil’s Travels – Dawlish, England (08.24)

Fortunately, I had booked our tickets some days before our trip to Devon, including reserving seats for the two-and-half-hour journey. Paddington Station was packed on a Thursday lunch time. More so even than its eponymous bear’s hat would be with marmalade sandwiches. Who said staycationing was dead?

On the train, as soon as a seat came free, passengers materialised out of thin area to fill them. Nearby empty seats were filled at one point by a pair of young ladies carrying and pulling all kinds of battered luggage and plastic bags. Despite appearances, definitely not bag-ladies. Too well spoken and adorned.

As soon as the train skirted the iconic river scenery of the Exe Estuary, we arose and prepared for our arrival into Dawlish. We disembarked and I was saved from having to heave our luggage up and down flights of stairs to cross over to the car park by the new lift and bridge arrangement. The latter was certainly not pretty but it worked a treat. Let us see how long this new structure lasts come the next major storm. If its ugliness was anything to go by, the sea will be too afraid to touch it.

We dumped the bags in our waiting car and walked up East Cliff to home. The first evening was lovely and warm and sunny and we enjoyed fish and chips at sunset with a delicious white burgundy.

Our second day was full of business and calls for my wonderful wife, super son and me. Only my darling daughter was without responsibilities at the moment, being in her pre-university honeymoon period. Evening weather was good enough for a BBQ evening in the garden. We bid a very fond farewell to the faithful, 21-year old Outback with a final cook-off of fine Hampstead ribeyes and spicey merguez sausages and drank a luscious bottle of Bandol. There was no better way to say goodbye to such a valuable culinary burner. What will we do next visit for such cremations?

Saturday morning rendered the sea invisible. Heavy rain and high winds meant we stayed home and chit-chatted. By noon, the sun emerged and we walked into town for a coffee, Weekend FT and bakery goods. We soaked up the sun on a walk to Dawlish Warren along the seafront. After some staring and reminiscing at the Warren, some of them ate quintessential Dawlish doughnuts and then we walked back via an inland route along a babbly brook and round the back of East Cliff (where major new residential development was digging into the red-earthed landscape and transforming this quiet town into a bigger metropolis). They will need another supermarket soon.

On the outbound to the Warren, I noticed the huge changes to the coastline. Who knows if the two are connected, but the new railway line coastal defences are completed and the beach was a fraction of its old self. The waterfront had lost acres of sandy beach. The height from walkway to beach below was now dangerously high. The situation was so dramatic that formerly buried concrete structures were now in full view, including old sewer pipe defences that now crisscross the beach. Swimming here now looked very undesirable and downright dangerous.

In downtown Dawlish the situation was also disconcerting. Even though the population is expanding (currently around 13,000 and rising rapidly), tourism here is in decline. I don’t know where all those staycationers at Paddington were going, but it wasn’t to Dawlish. As a consequence, the heart of Dawlish has quite a few more empty shops and shops closed for the ‘season’. Closed for the season! The strange changes happening to this delightful seaside town were reflected in Dawlish Water, the river that runs through the centre and into the sea and is home to the UK-famous black swans. In many parts, the Water was blemished by great lumps of sediment. In one section, the sediment was so much that people were walking on it, in the middle of the river, to get closer to the swans. The whole situation was very unsightly and yet the Water is the key to Dawlish’s appeal as a tourist town. Apparently, the council has no money to dredge the Water and to restore its serene beauty. Do residents pay less than tourists? Or does the council recognise the death throws of its tourism appeal and thus cannot be bothered?

We had some sundowners on our third evening but ate inside as too windy and cold. It was eery this summer. In previous years we have enjoyed the company and cacophony of varied birds around the skies and rooftops of East Cliff at wine o’clock and over dinner. However, this year, the number and variety of feathery fellows was much reduced. Could it be that birds don’t want to visit Dawlish any more either?

Our super son returned to London a day early and his Sunday morning train was cancelled. Best alternative was adopted. We drove to Newton Abbot for the next London train, thereby securing a seat ahead of the next, very busy stop – Exeter St Davids. I grabbed a Claims Form for the delay and fingers crossed GWR.com will be as compassionate as BA.com (ref Phil’s Travels – Cyprus (07.24)).

Our train home was not cancelled. It left on time and shot across the country until we came to Hounslow, when the driver advised that our final approach into Paddington could take as long as the previous 200 miles from Devon. Reason for the slow finale? The August Bank Holiday in the UK is the time of the Notting Hill Carnival and Notting Hill is en route into Paddington and trains were being told to go slow because of streamers on the overhead cables. Yes, streamers can now stop trains (a new one on me after the wrong kind of snow, leaves, rain and other lame excuses – it is a wonder that any trains run at all given all their frailties and sensibilities).

We walked home from Paddington under a fine sunny evening (a la Dawlish), serenaded by the Carnival (no streamers in sight), along the canals of Little Venice (without any sediment blemishes) and surrounded by lots of photo-snapping tourists (and not just staycationers). No chance of London neglecting its appeal and tourists. Dawlish may be dying. Long live London.