Swincombe—saved for the second time

30 July 1975: At last, at five o’clock, the phone rang and I grabbed it immediately.  And as I heard Sylvia Sayer’s voice my heart leapt, for I knew that Swincombe was saved.  She would never have phoned if the news was bad.

So reads my diary (the exuberant outpourings of a 20-year-old) for that euphoric day 40 years ago.  A student at Exeter University, I was spending the summer working for the Dartmoor National Park Committee (then part of Devon County Council).  That day I was based in the prefab offices at County Hall, Exeter, with the other students who were geographers (I was the sole biologist).

Decision
Syl (then Patron of the Dartmoor Preservation Association) had been to Plymouth, with others from the amenity societies, to hear the decision of the South West Water Authority about future sources of supply for the south west.  As I explained in a previous blog, the Swincombe Reservoir, in the wild heart of Dartmoor, had been rejected by parliament on 3 December 1970.  But despite this it was now back in the frame.  The South West Water Authority came into being on 1 April 1974 and it quickly began to review the sources of water supply in the thirsty south west.

When the authority published and consulted on its options for reservoirs in November 1974 we were dismayed to find that Swincombe was on the list, along with Roadford and Townleigh to the west of Dartmoor, and Bickleigh near Plymouth.  Ian Campbell, secretary of the Commons, Open Spaces and Footpaths Preservation Society (now the Open Spaces Society) asked me to provide a written report on these: my first assignment for the organisation with which I have been involved ever since.

Swincombe valley from Ter Hill.

So, despite having protested strongly at the revival of the Swincombe scheme, we were really worried that we might have to fight the whole battle again.  I had spent that day in a state of jitters, wishing that I could have gone to Plymouth instead of being stuck in a small room with students who seemed not to share my concern and thought my obsession with Dartmoor was rather a joke.

Assured
After Syl had assured me that Swincombe was indeed safe and had rung off, my diary records:  I wanted to tell the world, but the world at County Hall didn’t care.  Most of them hadn’t even known it was decision day.  I raced off to ‘the hut’ [where the county council’s national park staff worked] and found Bill [Parnell, the kind, good head of administration for the park, who died prematurely aged only 56]. Of course he was pleased but he didn’t shout and sing and jump up and down.  No, I had to get back to Cator, for there would be rejoicing.

The view north from Fox Tor.

I was staying with the Sayers that summer at their home near Widecombe, which was blissful because I was right on the moor, ready to set off to survey woodlands or stand in car-parks with a clipboard to question visitors, whatever the day’s assignment was.  And I could spend evenings and early mornings on the moor too.

I arrived at Cator simultaneously with Syl, Guy (her husband) and Lis (Hawkins, a good friend).  Lis wanted to get home and so Syl and I drove her back to Lustleigh.  My diary continues: After Lis had been returned to Lustleigh and Syl and I were driving back to Cator, with the long hazy ridges of Corndon, Hameldon and Holne Moor stretching away before us beyond the wide valley of the East Webburn, we suddenly felt we must go to Swincombe.

‘I’ll have to see what my old man feels,’ she said.  ‘He may be exhausted.’

I was praying that her old man would feel it was a good idea, for the evening was perfect and Swincombe was where we should all be.  Guy was less opposed to the idea than I had feared, and despite weariness said we must do it tonight to get it over with.  ‘We can’t have it hanging over us’ he said [he was rather an Eeyore!].

Ethereal
And so, after hurried preparation of ‘spamwiches’, we were off.  It was a heavenly ethereal evening.  The moor was silhouette beyond grey silhouette—misty ridges and fading sunlight.  We rounded the bend on the track down to Whiteworks and there lay Swincombe, silent and free, wild and safe for ever.

We made our way over the Strane and along the side of the great basin, and I kept reminding myself what a great and wonderful occasion it was and that I must appreciate it now.  

I wrote that it could not be more perfect, in this valley surrounded by the smooth ridges and little turreted Fox Tor.  I felt honoured to be there with Syl and Guy, who had done more than anyone to save Swincombe.

Land at Swincombe which now belongs to the Dartmoor Preservation Association. Photo: DPA

The diary continues: We sat at the gorge above ‘the boiling cauldron’ having found the tinner’s hut with the inscription HC1753, and ate our supper looking downstream to Hameldon.  And Syl read us the report of the meeting and the all-important statement that  ‘Swincombe should be eliminated from further consideration’.

And then, as the light faded we turned for home along the valley with the silent hills all around.  

Swincombe was safe.

Ter Cross and Swincombe