Somerset serenity

Rajbir Deswal & Chander Koumdi visit a quiet coastal village in south England that maintains its own rhythm and pace. Even the sun seems to go down in Porlock as if it is not in a hurry...

WE started from London early to avoid the morning rush. A couple of hours’ drive took us to some of the most scenic slopes. Initially we had planned to visit the three most beautiful counties of south England — Somerset, Devon and Dorset. But information collected from a tourist centre on the way changed our mind and we decided to zero down on an English village in Somerset close to the sea.

We passed by many big and small towns before we reached Porlock, a tiny hamlet that boasts of beaches, cliffs and antiquity — visible on houses, churches, marketplace, lanes and farmhouses. Yes, this was the village from where once travelled the mysterious man who shook Samuel Taylor Coleridge off his opium-induced reverie while he was staying in a farmhouse and composing his famous poem Kubla Khan. The ‘person from Porlock’ is said to have distracted the legendary poet, who could not complete his work.

Before checking into a hotel close to the famous Porlock Weir, we took a good one-hour drive through the village to have a feel of the place. We decided to put up close to the shore, so close that the tides could spray showers through the windows of our room. Yes, there was only a road between us and the boats, lying in shallow waters on the mouth of the weir. Porlock is one metre below the mean sea level.

Porlock is at one end of the renowned 10-mile-long Exmoor National Park, which has the most extensive broadleaved coastal woods in Britain. Porlock has a steep jutting cliff as well as vast sloping stretches, which are very attractive and inviting.

From the high-rise land, one can see the Caravan Camping site slightly away from habitation. It can be reached through a meandering lane, which is heavily hedged with greenery. There are hotels and restaurants with a unique inner d`E9cor, a reminder of the times gone by. The facades of the buildings speak volumes of their typically oriental looks.

While sipping coffee in the restaurant, we could hear the trot of horses. On looking out of the window, we found them riding in the middle of the road outside. There is a riders’ school in Porlock.

In the late 15^th century, Porlock had a lepers’ colony, which housed 50 ostracised lepers. Stories are still rife about the priests who served here. After the death of the last leper in early 16^th century, the village had none to visit it for nearly a hundred years, till in the 17^th century when smugglers moved into the lepers’ colony with their loot and booty.

Uphill at Culbone, reached traversing a steep path from Porlock weir, is the smallest Parish Church of England with a seating capacity of just 35. Some distance from here is the Ash Farm where Coleridge is said to have written his Kubla Khan. Porlock has an old Methodist church besides the one with a truncated spire dating back to the 13^th century.

The place is not at all different from the rest of south England, where people do not like to be disturbed. There is a typically English environment all around. It does not hurt others to the extent of discomfiture. You need to follow dyed-in-the-wool English ways and any departure from them is sure to invite attention, if not censure. But then it goes with every other place on earth which seeks to maintain its rhythm.

The evenings are very well lit particularly at Porlock Weir and provide good light for photography. Every leaf and grass blade is literally bathed in sunshine. The pebbles, lying in abundance, appear as pearls strewn all around. The sun goes down as if it is not in a hurry.

The silent Bristol Sea impresses with its dark blue-green resolution. And suddenly you hear a big, fat cat meowing, followed by another, right in the middle of the road, as if announcing and indicating there isn’t going to be any traffic till 10 the next morning. Mind you, it is only 7 pm by your watch, and you are all by yourself.

We are in the embrace of an engulfing but pleasurable quietude. We decide to spend some more time on the beach when we meet a couple, who tell us they had visited this hamlet for their honeymoon 29 years ago. "We have visited Porlock four times since then!" confessed the wife with a blush and her husband smilingly nodded in agreement. It is said that there is nothing, yet enough to do, in Porlock.

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