After mistakenly taking a garden path and being chased by a Glen of Imaal terrier, I visited Saint Saviour's church, with its old oak porch door with medieval ironwork repaired in 1631 (obscured here by a disability ramp), and its stone carved pulpit from 1480 with emblems of Charles II carved in wood added in 1665 for his visit to the town. The church was built without the permission of the Bishop of Exeter or the Abbot of Torre, as a chapel of ease (ie easier for the locals to get to) in the early fourteenth century. The Mayor and landowner thought that they had got it consecrated when the Bishop of Damascus paid a visit, but subsequently found out that this had not been the foreign Bishop at all, but a mischeivous imposter. Eventually, in 1372, the consecration took place by the Bishop of Brantyngham.


































I can imagine that this was a church which had used 'hymn of thankgiving after a dangerous tempest' from the Book of Common Prayer

"But as the heaven is high above the earth : so hath been his mercy towards us.
We found trouble and heaviness : we were even at death's door.
The waters of the sea had well-nigh covered us : the proud waters had well-nigh gone over our soul.
The sea roared : and the stormy wind lifted up the waves thereof.
We were carried up as if it were to heaven, and then down again into the deep : our soul melted within us, because of trouble;
Then cried we unto thee, O Lord : and thou didst deliver us out of our distress."

Or perhaps not. I do picture the church and this town on the slope of the hill suffering from one of those terrible storms which sweep half the population to thier deaths, and wip roof tiles into the air like so much shrapnel. However, the river was certainly a picture of stillness on this day, and sun was out to show all the ships off for thier best.

The church keeps a fire engine from 1743, last brought into action in 1906 (although it was found to be unusable because the leather hosepipes had rotted).

I pottered up and down the lanes, where families, old ladies, policemen and policewomen were cheering runners on the downhill slope. From here I could sea the river 'bay', old sailing and steam ships taking part in the regatta, the castle in the distance, and the ferries shuttling visitors to and fro. There were air acrobatic displays from various aircraft, including (as I was departing on the train) from a chinook helicopter, like a metal scarab beetle, which when hovering above the river, raised up discs of water.