Westward Ho! Just Don’t Go There
How to ruin a seaside resort
Today I visited Westward Ho! so that you don’t have to. My day job takes me around the UK occasionally, which is good as I don’t get out much. This is a town on the North Devon coast of the UK. Normally when you think of the beautiful West Country coast, you think of scenic fishing villages with picturesque white-washed cottages, perhaps with agapanthus or palm trees in the gardens, thanks to the balmy climate, maybe with friendly locals sitting on the harbour wall mending fishing nets, and children crabbing or “tomb-stoning” into the water. Wrong.
Westward Ho! is everything that can go wrong with a seaside resort. It is as though the local council and businesses set out to do everything possible to ruin the town, as though they sat down one day, and planned to maximise all the things that destroy natural beauty, the full Monty of malevolence, a cruel joke played on the residents. Their efforts are truly heroic.
The town should be on a plinth with an award for the most disfigured resort in Devon, the Rhyl of England. Perhaps every county has to have its share of less fortunate features, and Devon decided to keep the rest of county beautiful, it would concentrate all the ugly bits in Westward Ho!
There are ugly blocks of flats right on the seafront, endless kiosks selling seaside tat and industrial quantities of ice-cream, bars, chip shops, a huge amusement arcade, the added insult of a pebble beach rather than sand, and as a crowning accolade, the promenade is disfigured by an epic concrete wall of monstrous proportions, that would be better deployed as part of Putin’s nuclear bunker than a Devon coastal town. Perhaps the mayor at the time of its construction had shares in a concrete factory. I know the winter storms are harsh on the North Coast, but there must have been a more scenic solution. On the day of my attendance, there was a lifeguard in attendance, and after the shock of seeing so much concrete and cultural abomination, I was close to needing their assistance.
There is an interesting fact about Westward Ho! in that it is the only UK place name with an exclamation mark in its name, which incidentally gives “Grammarly” a nervous breakdown. I do like to get my revenge on AI!
Westward Ho! really is most unfortunate. It had so much potential. Even its name conjures up romantic visions of a colourful history, perhaps of smugglers and pirates. I am reminded of Rudyard Kipling’s great poem on this theme.
If you wake at midnight, and hear a horse’s feet, Don’t go drawing back the blind, or looking in the street; Them that ask no questions isn’t told a lie. Watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by! Five and twenty ponies, Trotting through the dark — Brandy for the Parson, Baccy for the Clerk; Laces for a lady, letters for a spy, And watch the wall, my darling, While the Gentlemen go by! Running round the woodlump if you chance to find Little barrels, roped and tarred, all full of brandy-wine, Don’t you shout to come and look, nor use ’em for your play. Put the brishwood back again — and they’ll be gone next day! If you see the stable-door setting open wide; If you see a tired horse lying down inside; If your mother mends a coat cut about and tore; If the lining’s wet and warm — don’t you ask no more! If you meet King George’s men, dressed in blue and red, You be careful what you say, and mindful what is said. If they call you “pretty maid,” and chuck you ‘neath the chin, Don’t you tell where no one is, nor yet where no one’s been! Knocks and footsteps round the house — whistles after dark — You’ve no call for running out till the house-dogs bark. Trusty’s here, and Pincher’s here, and see how dumb they lie — They don’t fret to follow when the Gentlemen go by! If you do as you’ve been told, ‘likely there’s a chance, You’ll be given a dainty doll, all the way from France, With a cap of Valenciennes, and a velvet hood — A present from the Gentlemen, along o’ being good! Five and twenty ponies, Trotting through the dark — Brandy for the Parson, ‘Baccy for the Clerk; Them that asks no questions isn’t told a lie — Watch the wall, my darling, While the Gentlemen go by!
However if you go to Westward Ho! today, rather than being offered brandy and baccy, you are more likely to be assailed by queues at ice-cream vans parked against the monstrosity of the concrete sea wall, next to the amusement arcade which promises that it is “the best in the South West”, though if it is the best I would hate to see the worst.
At least the sun was shining, which for the UK is about as much as you can hope for!
As always, thank you for reading.
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