BUCKS MILLs
The approach to Bucks Mills winds down a steep valley. On reaching the public car park, we found ourselves at the edge of a quiet village, enclosed by densely wooded cliffs. Surrounded by a canopy of trees, a row of fisherman’s cottages sit alongside a stream that makes its way down towards the sea. Some of the cottages had thatched roofs, others quaint porches with roses or wisteria growing up them.
In the centre of the tiny village, we noticed a number of plaques with the word ‘Braund’ inscribed on them. We learnt that for a time, every cottage here was once lived in by relations of the Braund family. For over 200 years Bucks Mills was the domain of the Braunds, with people even referring to the head of the family as the king. He lived in the last cottage, standing above the others and overlooking the beach, a spot fit for a royal! Very little is known about the family’s ancestry, but they were described as being unlike anyone else in the area.
One suggestion is that they came from survivors of a Spanish galleon, sunk around the time of the Armada. It is said that local women married the survivors and formed a tight community in the village. The Braund clan were known for being self-sufficient, living in natural isolation, and supposedly unfavourable to outsiders and newcomers. They were also renowned seamen and local legend tells of them launching boats in the wildest of weather to rescue mariners in distress. Whether hostile or heroic, they certainly left their imprint on Bucks Mills. Walking around the village, it was easy to understand the want to settle down there, cutting yourself off from the rest of the world.
To artists Judith Ackland and Mary Stella Edwards, Bucks Mills was just such a place to get away from it all. Walking on from the village and about halfway down the steep path to the beach, we came across a small stone building. It really caught my attention, teetering on the edge of the cliff, with unbroken views out to sea. Even more so when I reached the front door, painted green with the golden face of an Egyptian Sphinx as the knocker. Above the door, a small faded wooden plaque read ‘The Cabin.’ Above this and carved into a slate slab was the inscription J.A. & M.S.E. In the sunlight, the windows reflected the waves rolling into the shore below, but cupping my eyes and peering through them, I was delighted to be transported back in time.
Once a former fisherman’s store, the cabin was later used as a summer house and studio by the two artists from the 1920’s until Judith’s death in 1971. The couple were inspired by the beauty of the North Devon coast, painting views around the area, coastal scenes and still life compositions with shells and other found objects. Judith went on to invent a method of making tiny figures from cotton wool, naming her process ‘Jackanda’. She would make figures and objects for dioramas, with detailed backdrops painted by Mary Stella. As well as a painter, Mary Stella considered herself foremost a poet. Her poetry is filled with references to sea and sounds of the beach. In nearby Bideford, The Burton Gallery holds a collection of their work and is worth a visit. They travelled widely making and selling their art, but Bucks Mills remained the place that they loved most, and The Cabin somewhere to retreat to together.
After Judith’s death, The Cabin was locked up with all the contents left like a shrine. The interior to this day remains preserved. Peering through the glass window panes, I looked into the shared life of the two artists. Well-worn wooden furniture, bric-a-brac, blue and white china, a wood-burning stove, newspaper clippings, gas lamps, wicker baskets, candle holders, a pair of binoculars perched on the sill, collections of shells and feathers. Fragments from the past that, with natures unruly contribution, feel almost on the verge of disappearing.
Now owned by the National Trust, The Cabin is open to the public a few days a year. It is also used for occasional artist residencies, a wonderful way to preserve its spirit. How good it feels to come across a humble summer house, that survives just a notch above being derelict and is all the more charming for it. Having been left to just be, it has escaped the holiday-let makeover that so many have been subject to. The little cabin has really stayed with me and I hope to return for one of the open days to take a closer look inside.
From the cabin, you can hear the distant sound of a nearby waterfall, where the stream that runs through the village spills from the cliff tops into the sea. To reach it, we followed the path down to the beach. This steep inclined plane was built to carry away lime brought across from Pembrokeshire and used locally. The remains of two lime-kilns that we passed could be mistaken for the bulky ruins of a castle. Arriving at the quay, I imagined it busy with the fishing boats that would have once frequented it. Now, the wave-lapped shingle beach is sprinkled only with rubble from long abandoned lime kilns, rusty winches and sea washed boulders. There are rock pools to explore, interesting rock folds and formations to study, and great views out to Lundy Island to take in.
I have read that the name Bucks Mills supposedly derives from the Saxon term ‘Buccas Htwise’ meaning a homestead. This is somewhat at odds with the fact that many of the cottages here are now holiday lets, seemingly far removed from its past as the self-sufficient kingdom of the Braund family, or time as a thriving industrial quayside. Even so, the hamlet felt happily trapped in a bygone era. We didn’t cross paths with another person during our time here, and yet it felt like a member of the Braund family, a fisherman, Judith Ackland or Mary Stella Edwards, could have easily appeared around the corner. A beautiful and unspoilt little place that has many stories to tell.