Mist was lifting on the morning when we set off to find a Quantock village called Cothelstone and the sun lit progressively more of the scene as we crossed the moors. There were grazing cattle, orchards where trees were heavy with apples, and bales of hay piled perilously high on the trailers that tractors were hauling along the narrow roads. Then we were in Quantock country, villages built in deep red sandstone. A few miles on and up into the hills we found a singular classical lodge that we had read of, the gatehouse to a mansion, and knew we were close to our destination.

A young man emerged, assured us we were not trespassing, and showed us the curved projections, including curved panes of glass, on his home. And he pointed to where the mansion itself, built in 1818, was now a pile of rubble beyond a screen of foliage. We went on, downhill, to the village, and paused at the triple arch beside a milestone elegantly inscribed "9 miles to Bridgwater". Through the arch, the eye is led down an avenue of walnut trees to an elaborate castellated gatehouse, and beyond it the gabled manor. We made our way down the avenue to where the church stands beside the manor, just beyond a row of ancient cottages.

Church, manor, cottages and farm buildings make up a truly remarkable group, and, with the schoolhouse across the road, constitute the entire village of Cothelstone. In the far corner of the churchyard, beneath a giant beech tree, we found the grave of Ianthe Esdaile, daughter of the poet Shelley. She had lived at the manor.

A magazine article had told us that the best view of Cothelstone was from up in the hills, so we went higher, clambered up a bank and looked down through a gap in the straggling hedge at the memorable cluster of buildings that had grown up over the centuries.