Combemartin is a long, long village, one mile and a quarter--length without breadth--lining the road that runs down to the sea at the bottom of a deep valley, and the inhabitants call it “Kuhmart’n.” Charles Kingsley in his time called it something else, something derogatory; nothing less offensive, if you please, than “mile-long man-stye.” They do not think much of Charles Kingsley at Combemartin.
[Illustration: THE “PACK OF CARDS,” COMBEMARTIN.]
Perhaps it is not so squalid as in his day; at any rate, although the long-drawn street is not even now a pattern of neatness, it does not in these times merit quite so savage a description, even although the large population is made up chiefly of poor market-gardening folk. For Combemartin is the place whence come most of the early fruit and vegetables for the supply of the neighbouring towns. The hotels, not only of Ilfracombe, but also of Lynton and Lynmouth, depend largely upon Combemartin for their choicest supply, and the gardens round about are quite celebrated for their strawberries and gooseberries. No one in the strawberry season, passing through Combemartin, has the least excuse for remaining ignorant of the staple product of the neighbourhood, for numerous pertinacious women, girls, and small boys pervade that long street; offering bags of what is, perhaps, the most delicious fruit these isles produce. To purchase a basketful, you think, at one end of the street, is sufficient to pass you through its length without further challenge; but that is a vain thought. The Combemartin strawberry-vendors have the most generous conception of your capacity for their wares, and appear to think that every bagful purchased is an excuse for another. They are apt not to be cheap, but they are undeniably fresh, and undoubtedly refreshing under the sweltering sun that scorches the blazing street.
There was a time when Combemartin was busy in a far different way. The silver mines of this rugged valley were famous so far back as the time of Edward I., and with varying fortunes they continued at intervals to the early years of the nineteenth century. Not until 1848 was the last heard of them. At the beginning of these things, it is recorded, 337 miners were brought from the Peak district of Derbyshire, to work the silver, tin, and lead. In 1296 “was brought to London, in finest silver, in wedges, 704 lb. 3 dwt.; and the next year 260 miners were pressed out of the Peak and Wales--and great was the profit on silver and lead.” According to Camden, the silver mines here in the reigns of Edward III. and Henry V. were found very useful in defraying the costs of the wars in France; but for more than a century and a half afterwards the industry declined, to be revived in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. This revival was due to the enterprise of Adrian Gilbert and Sir Beavois Bulmer, who provided the working expenses and agreed with the landowner, one Richard Roberts, for half-profits. They realised £10,000 each; the fortunate Roberts therefore appears to have sat still and twiddled his thumbs, and received £20,000. Out of this unearned increment he provided what is described as a “rich and rare” cup of Combemartin silver, which he presented to William Bourchier, Earl of Bath, the Bourchiers being at that time great and powerful personages in these parts. It bore this whimsical inscription: