Sourced by Colin Burbidge

Arthur Wilde a former JP from Sussex, came to Moretonhampstead at the outbreak of WW II and enjoyed walking on Dartmoor. Being an able writer, he put his thoughts on paper, which the “Western Times” published under the heading “My Moreton Scrap Book” during the early 1940’s. What follows is part of an article entitled “Off the Beaten Track” from 22nd May 1942.

 Princep’s Folly

“My friend and I have lately been exploring the byways so that we could browse amid the antiquity of old habitations. We were off the beaten track the other Sunday and found ourselves at the foot of Gidleigh Tor. The Tor seems now to be known as Princep’s Folly, because a house was built on the summit over 90 years ago, by Thomas A. Princep. Judging from the boundaries of this old dwelling, it was not a large house and to gain added strength, its walls had been incorporated in some massive natural rocks. As we stood there I wondered what prompted the building of a house in such a lonely and exposed spot. I understand Mr. Princep never lived there and after his death his widow sold the contents, and the house was demolished. A few steps from the ruins of the house is an old tower, octagonal in shape and roofless, it is entered through a doorway with a pointed arch, and an elderberry is thriving so well inside that it has already outgrown the tower itself.

Higher Murchington Farm

 My friend was already acquainted with Mr. Arthur Endacott, and we had the pleasure of his company along the lane that led to his father’s farm at Murchington. I was charmed with their home, which was approached along a path bordered by clumps of aubretia and wallflowers, and I was able to gratify a long-held wish to sit before a real Devonshire fireplace. At Higher Murchington Farm the fireplace is so big that a person of fair height is able to stand upright in it. I liked the stout blocks of stone that must have been selected and cut to build it, and its builders certainly intended it to last for centuries.

I was particularly interested when Mrs. Endacott showed me the baking oven at the side- the first I have seen.

The very sight of this oven seemed to make me smell the delicious loaves of bread being taken out of it, and this took me back to my boyhood in Lancashire where my family loved bread baked at home.

We enjoyed our chat with Mr. Endacott as he sat on one of the chimney seats and felt we could have stayed for hours in the company of those good, homely folk. Alas all good things come to an end, but their cheery farewells put us in good heart for our tramp to Moreton town.

Footnote: A year later George Endacott retired from farming due to ill heath, all stock and equipment was sold at auction

Reproduced by kind permission of the Trinity/Mirror Group