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Article HOLIDAY HAUNTS.—TORQUAY. ← Page 2 of 3 Article HOLIDAY HAUNTS.—TORQUAY. Page 2 of 3 →
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Holiday Haunts.—Torquay.
long , long ago . Scaling the rugged crags at Scarborough and Flamborough Head ; sauntering along the gaily-thronged Spa at Bridlington ; paddling on the low sandy reaches , < T promenading on the pier , whioh is the glory of Cleethorpes ; scudding in a trim-bnilfc yacht from the Hnmber along the coaat-line past Yarmouth ,
Lowestoft and Harwich to the Nore ; through the Straits , by R ^ msgate and Margate , whose sands are ever teeming with visitors in the snmmer time ; by Brighton and Hastings , on to fche Isle of Wight ; skimming the waters of the Solent , and on to Bournemouth and Weymonth ; passing nnder the beetling cliffs of Portland , and over
the treacherous West Bay , as straight as the crow would fly , to lovely Dawlish , wifch its sandstone cliffs pierced by numerous tunnels , and the sea front belted for miles by fche line of railway ; down to sunny Torquay , nestling amidst its forest of villas ; around the Start , to Plymouth . These ancl a hundred other visions , conjured up from
the " vasty deep" of memory , came crowding in upon ua as we bade eaoh other good-night , with an engagement to catch " The Dutchman " next morning afc Paddington , on our way to the West . This mile-a-minute monster is my ideal of railway travelling , for not only are the arrangements of the Great Western Company
superior to those of many other lines of railway I could mention , but the officials are more courteous and civil than some of their compeers , and the rapidity of travelling is a luxury only surpassed by the cosy comfort of the famous old broad-gauge system . Nine o'clock , there , fore , found us ensconsced in vis-d-vis corners of a first-class carriage
and soon we were whirling with tremendous velocity away from the murk of London skies , past green fields and acres of golden corn , snug villas and old family mansions nestling amidst wooded knolls , and well-watered meadows where cattle and sheep were drowsily pursuing the even tenour of their way—eating , drinking and
sleeping , heedless of fche panting , rushing trains which passed them so often , laden wifch glad holiday-folk on pleasure bent . Less than four hours sufficed to bring us to Exeter , after whioh the pace slackened—a circumstance , by the way , nofc to be regretted , inasmuch as ifc afforded ua an opportunity of gazing upon one of the fine : t
panoramic scenes to be found anywhere along the English coasts . Across the water , whose waves ripple in soft , slumbrous rhythm upon fche beach—right up to onr carriage wheels—fche white terraces of Exmouth are seen reposing under Orcombe Hill , with a shadowy range of headlands beyond , then a broad expanse of heaving sea , and
further on a rugged coast indented by dark coombes . The sandstone cliffs are sculptured by Nature in a variety of grotesque forms , and one of them , "The Parson and Clerk , " is pointed out by fche natives to all passers-by , whose attention is naturally attracted to that curious geological formation . Out to sea the Thatcher and Oreston
rocks stand fixed nnd immovable , as they have done for centuries against the buffetting of many a storm ; while up and down the silent highway of the Channel glide big ships which do business on the great deep ; and nearer shore the fishing and pleasnre boats , each and all engaged in their respective vocations . Even for this fine
stretch of coast scenery alone , from Starcross to Teignmouth , it is worth the trouble of a journey into Devonshire to see . Some bustling and changing , and division of the train afc Newton Abbott having bean satisfactorily accomplished , a quarter of an hour or so lands us at Torquay , at which deliahtful resort Bro . S— - and
I had elected to spend our holiday . Despatching our luggage per 'bus to an hotel , we stroll along by the sea wall towards the ' town , which is little more than a mile distant . Could anything be more enchanting than the scene which here bursts upon the view ? The bosom of the Bay is moved by the ruffle of a gentle breeze , before
which white-winged yachts scud along like majestic swans , bathed in radiant sunshine , while inshore smaller craft and rowing boats dart about in all directions , freighted with people who , like ourselves , have come down on their holiday tours . Before us are gigantic hills with rugged and fantastically-shaped sides , and one stops to wonder how
on earth the occupants of those stately villas which range along their summits ever manage to perform the operation of getting into the town and back again . They seem perched up so high that they must have been carried there , ready-made , and planted by some huge balloon process , and that the same means must be adopted for
communication with the tradespeople and the inhabitants far below them . But you grow wiser as you proceed , and find that wellconstructed carriage-ways—of a circuitous fashion , certainly—render the elevated positions quite easy of access and pleasant to traverse . At the foot of the cliff are nattily laid-ont shrubberies , dazzling with flowers
and plentifully supplied with garden seats , where visitors leisurel y repose and read , and gaze upon tbe rapturous seascape that is spread at their feet . On the right , just beyond the railway station , stands Corbyn ' s Head , a huue block of conglomerate , jutting out into the sea ; and old inhabitants will tell you that years ago this was enclosed by acres of fertile land , which have long since been washed
away by the encroachments of the tide . Beyond this is the quaint "ttle village of Paignton , of which , however , little can be seen except rows of fine houses along tho Esplanade , and a curious Oriental structure , after the fashion of a fortified castle in Calcutta or Bombay . Thence , stretching along for miles , are corn-clad hills .
reaching along to the furthermost point , Berry Head , close nnder which lies Brixham , famous for its "trawlers" and the excellent suppl y of fish it sends daily to the Loudon markets . On our left is
the spacious harbour , whose brawny arms are thrown out seaward , and here the yachting fleet , so frequently seen westward in the season , find safe anchorage , and every convenience their owners can desire .
It is difficult to tear yourself away from a prospect so charmingl y Picturesque and tranquil , but the unfortunate gnawings of appetite remind us , as Byron haa somewhere said , that man ,
" When hungry , just then would take , Like Esau , for his birthright , a beefsteak . " And so we wander on , under the shadow of huge Waldron Hill , whose P ^ k is embellished by a castle , and along whose ridge runs the nock Walk , the tryatiug-place of lovers—past Gary Parade , faced bv
Holiday Haunts.—Torquay.
its pleasant Green , where a " Russian gun" shows its teeth to all would-be invaders of that " sacred soil , " and we are at once in the most fashionable centre of the town proper . Fleet Street fco left of us and tbe Strand to right of ns , cause a momentary doubt as to whether we are not still in London , after all ; but the illusion is soon
dispelled . The soft cadences of an Italian band fall gratefully on the ears of fche elegantly-attired throng of people who meander up and down , looking into fche shops along the Strand and Victoria Parade , many of whioh would not discredit our own Regent or Oxford Street ; and long before we arrive at Bro . Bolt ' s splendidly
appointed hotel , "The Royal , " we have come to the conclusion that nowhere , except afc this " Queen of Watering-places , " can there be found so magnificent a promenade as thafc whioh lies between hia famous old hostelry and fche railway station we quitted just two hours before . It was afc "The Royal" thafc , more than half-a-century
ago , the Duchess of Kent , with her daughter—our present Queen , then Princess Victoria—stayed whilst visiting Torqnay ; and it is recorded that fche youthful Princess appeared on the balcony aud " addressed her future subjects in a few well-chosen words . " What a transfer , mation in Torquay since that time j what changes both in the town
and its environs ! Bufc I digress ; are they nofc all written in tha chronicles of the local historian , White , whose name , both as a journalist and a " snapper-up of unconsidered trifles , " will go down to a long and honoured posterity ? It wonld be superfluous fco say more than thac Bro . Bole ' s hotel ,
wifch its superior arrangements and—what is a great thing in these depressed times—economy , is par excellence . No wonder that so many distinguished visitors' names appear in the local weekly journals as staying afc " The Royal . " In fche evening we had time to stroll along the Parade , and mounting Beacon Hill , just to peep into
the Bath Saloons—fche home of the mnsic-ioving folk—and pious meeting . going people too , for thafc matter ; the votaries of the " poetic motion " of skating and dancing in tbe winter ; and of sea bathers all fche year round , for ifc is notorious thafc some do bathe in the open sea , even afc Christmas-fcime , when other parts of the country are snow
and ice bound . I have seen them do ifc , and therefore I know . Ten minntes more brought us up to " Land's End , " so named , I suppose , because the sequestered little roadway is abruptly barred by a stone wall , which says " Thus far shalt thou go and no further . " But , peering over the stone wall aforesaid , you obtain a glimpse of a
natural arch , locally named " London Bridge . ' Why ifc was so designated nobody seems to know , for though a quaint and interesting geographical formation , it has nofc the slightest resemblance to that busy artery which spans the Thames ' . At your feet , some fathoms down , and reached by a flight of uneven steps , is the bafching-place
for men , and here advantage is freely taken of fche excellent accommodation provided by the Local Board of Health . To the right , near the Bath Saloon , is the ladies' bathing cove , and here may be seen diurnally scores of fair swimmers disporting themselves like so many mermaids , langhing and chatting , as is the wont of the
female kind when engaged in exercises of natation . Between these two points , on the side of the bill , is the Imperial Hotel , a leviathan establishment of aristocratic luxury and refinement , presided over by Bro . G . Hussey . Here royal and other distinguished personages take up their quarters , and after discussing the incomparable
excellence of the interior economy of the mansion , they are enabled from splendidly laid-ont terraced gardens to sit and revel in the gloriei of the Bay , to which even that of Naples has been described as diminutive in beauty . Bufc we have no time to loiter . Back again to the main road , and up a steep ascent , turning to the left , and then
again to the right , we emerge upon Daddy Hole Plain , a plateau of considerable altitude above the sea level , and as we gaze over its rugged and precipitous cliffs the mind is led to speculate upon the terrific volcanic disturbances which at some time or other have pro . dnced those yawning chasms , and pitchforked those colossal boulders of
stone into such fantastic attitudes . The view from this poiufc is simply sublime , and on mounting the rising ground to the left you command a grand expanse of scenery from Hesketh Crescent , a stately alignment of houses , in their own grounds , along the Meadfoot Beach and the promenade thafc fringes ifc , right away to Ilsham
Valley—in itself a theme for the poet or the artist . Beyond this ia Hope ' s Nose , which forms the termination of the eastern arc of Torbay ; and about a mile or more outside are the Thatcher and the Orestone—or " Big Rock " as we called ifc when I was a boy—round which there is some capital pollack and conger fishing in due season .
As the evening shadows were closing we found ourselves smoking a quiefc pipe on era of the seats placed along the "New Cut" — rather different' rom tbe secluded thoroughfare known by thafc name in thn Waterloo Road ' . —and wifch the gathering darkness seaward , shutting out the forms of passing vessels going up or coming down
Channel , and the rosy sunlefc to our right , fche panorama is one of miraculous grandeur and sublimity . A sunset such asis so often seen iu Torbay is a sight fco behold , and on this evening Old Sol looked really as thongh he were on fire with rage and disappointment at being compelled to leave , even for a few hours , such a magnificent
scene as he had been smiling npon since dawn . A ramble home throngh Wellswood Park to our hotel finished the day ' s work , and those who know anything about the place will believe us when we say we did nofc allow much grass to grow under our feet . The band was playing in the Hotels Square till late in the evening , and crowds
of happy listpners lingered about until after " The Midnight Echoes had reverberated over the harbour and rebounded against the hills ; bet before midnight they had all gone home , and the pretty town lay hushed in tbe slumber of a peaceful lullaby . Next morning we were up betimes , for a dip in the briny is part
and parcel of a seaside trip . This having been satisfactorily achieved , a-id breakfast over , our route lay through the Torwood Gardens on the way to Babbacombe , one of the most unique and lovely spots in
England . Just before arriving at the Bishop ' s Palace , as it used to be called on account of its being the residence of the then Bishop of Exeter—Philpott , I believe—is a pathway leading through a coppice , but you must be careful in treading this rugged ground lest you
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Holiday Haunts.—Torquay.
long , long ago . Scaling the rugged crags at Scarborough and Flamborough Head ; sauntering along the gaily-thronged Spa at Bridlington ; paddling on the low sandy reaches , < T promenading on the pier , whioh is the glory of Cleethorpes ; scudding in a trim-bnilfc yacht from the Hnmber along the coaat-line past Yarmouth ,
Lowestoft and Harwich to the Nore ; through the Straits , by R ^ msgate and Margate , whose sands are ever teeming with visitors in the snmmer time ; by Brighton and Hastings , on to fche Isle of Wight ; skimming the waters of the Solent , and on to Bournemouth and Weymonth ; passing nnder the beetling cliffs of Portland , and over
the treacherous West Bay , as straight as the crow would fly , to lovely Dawlish , wifch its sandstone cliffs pierced by numerous tunnels , and the sea front belted for miles by fche line of railway ; down to sunny Torquay , nestling amidst its forest of villas ; around the Start , to Plymouth . These ancl a hundred other visions , conjured up from
the " vasty deep" of memory , came crowding in upon ua as we bade eaoh other good-night , with an engagement to catch " The Dutchman " next morning afc Paddington , on our way to the West . This mile-a-minute monster is my ideal of railway travelling , for not only are the arrangements of the Great Western Company
superior to those of many other lines of railway I could mention , but the officials are more courteous and civil than some of their compeers , and the rapidity of travelling is a luxury only surpassed by the cosy comfort of the famous old broad-gauge system . Nine o'clock , there , fore , found us ensconsced in vis-d-vis corners of a first-class carriage
and soon we were whirling with tremendous velocity away from the murk of London skies , past green fields and acres of golden corn , snug villas and old family mansions nestling amidst wooded knolls , and well-watered meadows where cattle and sheep were drowsily pursuing the even tenour of their way—eating , drinking and
sleeping , heedless of fche panting , rushing trains which passed them so often , laden wifch glad holiday-folk on pleasure bent . Less than four hours sufficed to bring us to Exeter , after whioh the pace slackened—a circumstance , by the way , nofc to be regretted , inasmuch as ifc afforded ua an opportunity of gazing upon one of the fine : t
panoramic scenes to be found anywhere along the English coasts . Across the water , whose waves ripple in soft , slumbrous rhythm upon fche beach—right up to onr carriage wheels—fche white terraces of Exmouth are seen reposing under Orcombe Hill , with a shadowy range of headlands beyond , then a broad expanse of heaving sea , and
further on a rugged coast indented by dark coombes . The sandstone cliffs are sculptured by Nature in a variety of grotesque forms , and one of them , "The Parson and Clerk , " is pointed out by fche natives to all passers-by , whose attention is naturally attracted to that curious geological formation . Out to sea the Thatcher and Oreston
rocks stand fixed nnd immovable , as they have done for centuries against the buffetting of many a storm ; while up and down the silent highway of the Channel glide big ships which do business on the great deep ; and nearer shore the fishing and pleasnre boats , each and all engaged in their respective vocations . Even for this fine
stretch of coast scenery alone , from Starcross to Teignmouth , it is worth the trouble of a journey into Devonshire to see . Some bustling and changing , and division of the train afc Newton Abbott having bean satisfactorily accomplished , a quarter of an hour or so lands us at Torquay , at which deliahtful resort Bro . S— - and
I had elected to spend our holiday . Despatching our luggage per 'bus to an hotel , we stroll along by the sea wall towards the ' town , which is little more than a mile distant . Could anything be more enchanting than the scene which here bursts upon the view ? The bosom of the Bay is moved by the ruffle of a gentle breeze , before
which white-winged yachts scud along like majestic swans , bathed in radiant sunshine , while inshore smaller craft and rowing boats dart about in all directions , freighted with people who , like ourselves , have come down on their holiday tours . Before us are gigantic hills with rugged and fantastically-shaped sides , and one stops to wonder how
on earth the occupants of those stately villas which range along their summits ever manage to perform the operation of getting into the town and back again . They seem perched up so high that they must have been carried there , ready-made , and planted by some huge balloon process , and that the same means must be adopted for
communication with the tradespeople and the inhabitants far below them . But you grow wiser as you proceed , and find that wellconstructed carriage-ways—of a circuitous fashion , certainly—render the elevated positions quite easy of access and pleasant to traverse . At the foot of the cliff are nattily laid-ont shrubberies , dazzling with flowers
and plentifully supplied with garden seats , where visitors leisurel y repose and read , and gaze upon tbe rapturous seascape that is spread at their feet . On the right , just beyond the railway station , stands Corbyn ' s Head , a huue block of conglomerate , jutting out into the sea ; and old inhabitants will tell you that years ago this was enclosed by acres of fertile land , which have long since been washed
away by the encroachments of the tide . Beyond this is the quaint "ttle village of Paignton , of which , however , little can be seen except rows of fine houses along tho Esplanade , and a curious Oriental structure , after the fashion of a fortified castle in Calcutta or Bombay . Thence , stretching along for miles , are corn-clad hills .
reaching along to the furthermost point , Berry Head , close nnder which lies Brixham , famous for its "trawlers" and the excellent suppl y of fish it sends daily to the Loudon markets . On our left is
the spacious harbour , whose brawny arms are thrown out seaward , and here the yachting fleet , so frequently seen westward in the season , find safe anchorage , and every convenience their owners can desire .
It is difficult to tear yourself away from a prospect so charmingl y Picturesque and tranquil , but the unfortunate gnawings of appetite remind us , as Byron haa somewhere said , that man ,
" When hungry , just then would take , Like Esau , for his birthright , a beefsteak . " And so we wander on , under the shadow of huge Waldron Hill , whose P ^ k is embellished by a castle , and along whose ridge runs the nock Walk , the tryatiug-place of lovers—past Gary Parade , faced bv
Holiday Haunts.—Torquay.
its pleasant Green , where a " Russian gun" shows its teeth to all would-be invaders of that " sacred soil , " and we are at once in the most fashionable centre of the town proper . Fleet Street fco left of us and tbe Strand to right of ns , cause a momentary doubt as to whether we are not still in London , after all ; but the illusion is soon
dispelled . The soft cadences of an Italian band fall gratefully on the ears of fche elegantly-attired throng of people who meander up and down , looking into fche shops along the Strand and Victoria Parade , many of whioh would not discredit our own Regent or Oxford Street ; and long before we arrive at Bro . Bolt ' s splendidly
appointed hotel , "The Royal , " we have come to the conclusion that nowhere , except afc this " Queen of Watering-places , " can there be found so magnificent a promenade as thafc whioh lies between hia famous old hostelry and fche railway station we quitted just two hours before . It was afc "The Royal" thafc , more than half-a-century
ago , the Duchess of Kent , with her daughter—our present Queen , then Princess Victoria—stayed whilst visiting Torqnay ; and it is recorded that fche youthful Princess appeared on the balcony aud " addressed her future subjects in a few well-chosen words . " What a transfer , mation in Torquay since that time j what changes both in the town
and its environs ! Bufc I digress ; are they nofc all written in tha chronicles of the local historian , White , whose name , both as a journalist and a " snapper-up of unconsidered trifles , " will go down to a long and honoured posterity ? It wonld be superfluous fco say more than thac Bro . Bole ' s hotel ,
wifch its superior arrangements and—what is a great thing in these depressed times—economy , is par excellence . No wonder that so many distinguished visitors' names appear in the local weekly journals as staying afc " The Royal . " In fche evening we had time to stroll along the Parade , and mounting Beacon Hill , just to peep into
the Bath Saloons—fche home of the mnsic-ioving folk—and pious meeting . going people too , for thafc matter ; the votaries of the " poetic motion " of skating and dancing in tbe winter ; and of sea bathers all fche year round , for ifc is notorious thafc some do bathe in the open sea , even afc Christmas-fcime , when other parts of the country are snow
and ice bound . I have seen them do ifc , and therefore I know . Ten minntes more brought us up to " Land's End , " so named , I suppose , because the sequestered little roadway is abruptly barred by a stone wall , which says " Thus far shalt thou go and no further . " But , peering over the stone wall aforesaid , you obtain a glimpse of a
natural arch , locally named " London Bridge . ' Why ifc was so designated nobody seems to know , for though a quaint and interesting geographical formation , it has nofc the slightest resemblance to that busy artery which spans the Thames ' . At your feet , some fathoms down , and reached by a flight of uneven steps , is the bafching-place
for men , and here advantage is freely taken of fche excellent accommodation provided by the Local Board of Health . To the right , near the Bath Saloon , is the ladies' bathing cove , and here may be seen diurnally scores of fair swimmers disporting themselves like so many mermaids , langhing and chatting , as is the wont of the
female kind when engaged in exercises of natation . Between these two points , on the side of the bill , is the Imperial Hotel , a leviathan establishment of aristocratic luxury and refinement , presided over by Bro . G . Hussey . Here royal and other distinguished personages take up their quarters , and after discussing the incomparable
excellence of the interior economy of the mansion , they are enabled from splendidly laid-ont terraced gardens to sit and revel in the gloriei of the Bay , to which even that of Naples has been described as diminutive in beauty . Bufc we have no time to loiter . Back again to the main road , and up a steep ascent , turning to the left , and then
again to the right , we emerge upon Daddy Hole Plain , a plateau of considerable altitude above the sea level , and as we gaze over its rugged and precipitous cliffs the mind is led to speculate upon the terrific volcanic disturbances which at some time or other have pro . dnced those yawning chasms , and pitchforked those colossal boulders of
stone into such fantastic attitudes . The view from this poiufc is simply sublime , and on mounting the rising ground to the left you command a grand expanse of scenery from Hesketh Crescent , a stately alignment of houses , in their own grounds , along the Meadfoot Beach and the promenade thafc fringes ifc , right away to Ilsham
Valley—in itself a theme for the poet or the artist . Beyond this ia Hope ' s Nose , which forms the termination of the eastern arc of Torbay ; and about a mile or more outside are the Thatcher and the Orestone—or " Big Rock " as we called ifc when I was a boy—round which there is some capital pollack and conger fishing in due season .
As the evening shadows were closing we found ourselves smoking a quiefc pipe on era of the seats placed along the "New Cut" — rather different' rom tbe secluded thoroughfare known by thafc name in thn Waterloo Road ' . —and wifch the gathering darkness seaward , shutting out the forms of passing vessels going up or coming down
Channel , and the rosy sunlefc to our right , fche panorama is one of miraculous grandeur and sublimity . A sunset such asis so often seen iu Torbay is a sight fco behold , and on this evening Old Sol looked really as thongh he were on fire with rage and disappointment at being compelled to leave , even for a few hours , such a magnificent
scene as he had been smiling npon since dawn . A ramble home throngh Wellswood Park to our hotel finished the day ' s work , and those who know anything about the place will believe us when we say we did nofc allow much grass to grow under our feet . The band was playing in the Hotels Square till late in the evening , and crowds
of happy listpners lingered about until after " The Midnight Echoes had reverberated over the harbour and rebounded against the hills ; bet before midnight they had all gone home , and the pretty town lay hushed in tbe slumber of a peaceful lullaby . Next morning we were up betimes , for a dip in the briny is part
and parcel of a seaside trip . This having been satisfactorily achieved , a-id breakfast over , our route lay through the Torwood Gardens on the way to Babbacombe , one of the most unique and lovely spots in
England . Just before arriving at the Bishop ' s Palace , as it used to be called on account of its being the residence of the then Bishop of Exeter—Philpott , I believe—is a pathway leading through a coppice , but you must be careful in treading this rugged ground lest you