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Archive Rambler: Lynmouth and Lynton

Continuing her exploration into the combination of archival research and walking, Giorgia Tolfo sets off on the second leg of her journey.

Published 27 July 2026 by Giorgia Tolfo

In his book Lines: A Brief History, Tom Ingold writes:

'Drawing a line on a cartographic map is like joining the dots. Such lines... form a network of point-to-point connections. They enable the prospective traveller to assemble a route-plan, in the form of a chain of connections, and thereby virtually to reach his destination even before setting out. As a cognitive artefact or assembly, the plan pre-exists its enactment ‘on the ground’.'

With this in mind, I am exploring the connections between walking and archival research in a blog series titled Archive Rambler.

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Archive Rambler: from Hartland to Clovelly

Colour photograph showing a sloping green cliff leading down to a grey beach and waves crashing against rocks.

How can archival research deepen the experience of hiking, and vice versa? Giorgia Tolfo finds out on a trip down the South West Coast Path.

On my previous expedition from Hartland Point to Bideford, I set off without preconceived ideas and walked taking mental notes of the places I encountered. I planned to later search for references to these places in The National Archives’ collections. For this walk, I took a different approach. First, I explored the collections and formed an idea of what I hoped to see on my journey, and then with this ’pre-existing plan’ (as Ingold describes it), I started walking.

This different approach came from two considerations. Firstly, having done a similar journey, I already had a vague sense of what the archive might reveal, so my encounter with the records would not be completely new. Secondly, after my first walk I regretted not finding certain sites I later found in the archive. This made me want to prepare in advance for what I would see in person, ‘on the ground’.

Wayfaring and transport

In Lines: A Brief History, Ingold writes that the difference between wayfaring (travelling on land) and transport is that the former unfolds along paths created through the lived environment, forming a ‘meshwork of ongoing relations’. The latter links fixed locations through point‑to‑point connections emphasising arrival over experience.

As I approached the catalogue, I found this distinction useful. I knew nothing about the locations I was to walk in, so I was open to following the catalogue’s cues. I approached Discovery, The National Archives’ online catalogue, searching for the places I knew I would cross, and filtered the results based on my knowledge of the collection. Was I wayfaring or moving point-to-point? With this question in mind, I set off on my new journey.

The path I decided to cover extended from Lynmouth to Woolacombe Bay. The first day I would explore Lynmouth and Lynton, the second I would walk from Lynmouth to Combe Martin, and on the third from Ilfracombe to Woolacombe.

A map of the coastline with a red line marking out the journey. — Mapped coastline from Lynton/Lynmouth (right side) to Ilfracombe and Woolacombe (left) (1891), including my route in red. Reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland.

Lynmouth and Lynton

Lynmouth and Lynton are twin settlements where Exmoor meets the sea. Lynmouth rests at sea level where the East and West Lyn rivers meet, while Lynton overlooks it from above.

After consulting the record MT 119/36, I learnt that Lynmouth is geographically in a more vulnerable position. MT 119/36 tells the story of the Lynton and Lynmouth flood of 15–16 August 1952, when a storm dropped 229mm of rain in 24 hours onto already saturated ground in North Devon.

The sudden heavy rainfall caused the East and West Lyn rivers to burst their banks and floodwaters to race down steep valleys toward the village. This destroyed or damaged over 100 buildings, sweeping 38 cars into the sea, leaving 420 people homeless and causing the loss of 34 lives. The scale of the devastation made this one of the worst river flood disasters in modern British history.

The record’s folder includes different documents recording the extent of the damage in Lynmouth and the surrounding area. This includes:

A survey
The proposed plans for reconstruction
Some maps
An envelope with some additional material collated by E. B. Hugh Jones, Chief Engineer at the Ministry of Transport.

Envelopes in an archive often promise interesting findings, so I couldn’t wait to open it.

Brown envelope addressed to E.B Hugh Jones, Chief Engineer, Ministry of Transport — Envelope included in record MT 11/36. It contains 6 photographs depicting ‘Lynmouth, Devon: flood damage. 5 ground views and 1 aerial view. Dated 1952.’ Catalogue reference: MT 119/36

Inside I found six photos by the photographer R. L. Knight depicting the damages in Lynmouth. One picture caught my attention, as it seemed to capture the feeling of shock and powerlessness of humans in the face of natural catastrophes. It shows a man standing in a crack in the ground, possibly to provide a sense of its extent. Bleakly and unintentionally, the picture seemed to suggest that environmental damage is often measured in relation to humans, and to the impact on human life.

As the photograph didn’t come with a caption, I indulged in a bit of speculative storytelling. Was the man an engineer? A surveyor? Had he entered the crack intentionally or had he been asked by the photographer to give a sense of how deep the fracture was? And if so, was it because the photographer felt the photos lacked, literally, the depth of the magnitude of the emergency and the damage?

As critic John Berger wrote in Ways of Seeing:

The camera isolates… Every time you frame a shot, you’re not recording reality – you’re constructing a specific way of seeing it.

Perhaps he wanted to construct a way of seeing that catastrophe.

A black and white photo of a man standing in a crack in the ground — Photograph taken by R. L. Knight depicting a man standing in a crack on the ground (1952). Catalogue reference: MT 119/36

The envelope also contained a hand drawn map with an overview of the damage reported in the wider area between Somerset and North Devon. While the map doesn’t convey the emotional intensity of the photographs, it helped me understand the magnitude of the event. By comparing the visual records with the map, I could grasp a fuller sense of the tragic flood of August 1952.

A hand drawn map of Lynmouth after the flood — Hand drawn map showing documenting the extent of damages of the North Devon Flooding of 16 August 1952. Catalogue reference: MT 119/36

The reconstruction of Lynmouth

The flood was so harmful that most of the infrastructure of Lynmouth had to be rebuilt. This could not happen without financial support from the state and long debates on the best plan of action.

These discussions are recorded in the record MT 119/36.

Typed document — Excerpt of the Devon County Council Report compiled by the Ministry of Housing and Local Government outlining three proposed schemes for the restoration of Lynmouth, February 1953. Catalogue reference: MT 119/36

Eventually, an intermediate solution, or ‘scheme B’, was approved by Devon County Council and reconstruction began, but something was lost forever. In reply to the claim that the character of Lynmouth would be changed by the approved plan, Geoffrey Clark, Country Director of Planning, stated:

The character of Lynmouth in some respects has been changed. Nothing on this earth can put it back again. [But] I would like to impress on this audience that you are replacing that old beauty, which was lovely in its way, with a new beauty. [We have] to try to take advantage of the forces of Nature [and] improve the local infrastructure [to] ensure that the flow of tourists continue for years to come and in greater numbers than before.

section of newspaper clipping title — Newspaper clipping from the Western Morning News (Plymouth), 14 January 1953.
This article is titled 'Middle-course’ plan is accepted by Lynmouth. Catalogue reference: MT 119/36

The old beauty of Lynmouth

What was the old beauty of Lynmouth? Though it is hard to tell, I thought returning the folder to the shelf, there might be ways of finding out. I went back to the catalogue and browsed INF 9, the James Dixon-Scott collection. I had already seen the work of the photographer in Clovelly (some 40 miles away), so I thought he might have passed through Lynmouth and Lynton as well.

A black and white photograph of a harbour — View of the harbour of Lynmouth by James Dixon-Scott (undated). Catalogue reference: INF 9/562/2

The National Archives holds 14,000 photographs by Dixon-Scott that were shot in rural Britain during the interwar period. 34 of these photographs were taken between Lynmouth and Lynton. I knew Dixon-Scott had published his photographs in an array of publications, from newspapers to magazines and travel books. To my surprise, five photographs had also been published in The Homeland Association Handbook of Lynmouth and Lynton.

Founded in 1896 by Prescott Row, The Homeland Association Handbook series was composed of small affordable volumes written by local authors. The books were created to help readers to ‘know that every district of these islands possesses scenery of beauty and even of peculiar distinction, often, moreover, hallowed by inspiring memories’. They often included maps, transport information, walking routes and local business listings.

A open book. On the left page is a black and white photograph of a mountain and text is on the right page. — First pages of the ‘Lynton, Lynmouth and the Lorna Doone Country’ Homeland Association series (vol. 32). On the left page is a photograph by James Dixon-Scott.

Lynton and Lynmouth writes the author of the guide, 'of which the beauties and interests are touched upon in the following pages, have become well-known and popular resorts for summer holidays by the sea. Their proximity to the notable Exmoor hunting country, brings visitors of another type during the hunting season; in spring and early summer the rivers are the resort of fishermen, so that an all-the-year-round season prevails in these localities.'

Guided by the immersive voice of the book’s narrator, I looked at the different shots of the harbour and the coastline held at The National Archives. From here, I imagined the different people who visited or lived in Lynmouth. I considered what life in the area might have looked like in the period when Dixon-Scott travelled there. Did he reach the coast on the new Barnstaple-Lynton railway line before it closed down? Did he walk on the shore? Talk to fishermen? Did he really see the ‘old beauty’ of Lynmouth that Geoffrey Clark spoke about?

With the photographs still scattered on the table in front of me, something caught my attention. The title, ‘The meeting of the waters’, suddenly brought me back to the flood of August 1952.

Black and white photograph of flowing water. Handwritten text reads, 'The meeting of of the waters' — Photograph of the East and West Lyn rivers titled ‘The meeting of the waters’ by James Dixon-Scott (undated). Catalogue reference: INF 9/562/18

While the title of the photo refers to the area called Watersmeet (the gorge where the East and West Lyn rivers meet), it seemed to contain a dark and gloomy irony that I could not ignore. It was indeed the meeting of waters in Lynmouth that caused its devastation, the same ones that Dixon-Scott had frozen in an idyllic picture almost 30 years earlier.

I put the photographs back into their folder and thought about Geoffrey Clark’s reassurance to the population in the aftermath of the tragedy. He promised that a new beauty will be created, which perhaps is different from the previous one, but no less touching. That’s certainly what I found when walking up the eastward coast to admire the twin towns from afar. After this walk, I went back to my hotel and got ready for the second day of my journey. I was set to head further west along the coast, from Lynmouth to Woolacombe.

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