Jerusalem, Somerset, TA24

Discovering Dunster is like stumbling on an amazing secret that to know fills you with the warm feeling of being privileged and proud. Just a small village on the north Somerset coast it has the power to make you feel patriotic and dominant, whilst retaining the capacity to make you feel small and swept to a land faraway in time or geography.

For over a millennium, the hill at Dunster has been fortified and the castle still rises out of the tree-line subtly but unashamedly; a defensive building bristling with latent power.

Standing on the castle’s main terrace it is curiously easy to feel like a king. With the solidity of Exmoor’s hills on one side, field upon field disappearing into the distance in front and land sloping gently into the Bristol Channel on the left, the visual impression and internal impact is one of positional advantage.

At the foot of the castle the perspective changes, but is no less effecting. In the immediate shadow of the castle are lush, tranquil grounds. Idyllic might fall from ones open lips in initial awe, but the implication of carefree simplicity misrepresents what the place is about. Heaven on Earth comes closer. A Garden of England is more befitting.

In pleasing relief to the formality of the castle building, its gardens appear wild, without defined beds or borders. Nettles are left to grow next to delicate flowers, whilst vague paths and naturally occurring peep-holes are an indifferent guide through the sprawling shrubs and plants. It is testimony to the art of the castle’s army of gardeners that their hands are invisible, though clearly kept busy.

Contrary to naïve expectation, the estate is not dominated with rose and oak. Redwood’s shape the skyline; lilies sprout amongst the ferns beneath; whilst outsized rhubarb leaves easily fill large expanses along the meandering river. These stems are not for filling a crumble to compliment a Sunday Roast, though. The giant foliage belongs to Gunnera originating from South America. For this is what a Garden of England must of course contain – evidence of travel, of empire; of expedition and acquisition, cultivation and integration.

Step beyond the castle grounds and the village that ripples out from the fortifications is full of charm and humility.

A mill once powered by the free-running river that circumnavigates the castle mound now provides fuel in the form of scones and tea served from within for walkers. A petition against the opening of a restaurant by the National Trust hints at an enduring battle between tenant and master. That the village’s uneven cottages, once the homes of smiths and farmhands, are now occupied by the wealthy and well-mortgaged is evidence of where the upper hand still lies.

On the village outskirts is a road half-submerged by the passing River Avill. A stone-built bridge a few strides upstream betrays the capacity for the water to be permanently breached, but the impressively crafted arches are for now only used by visitors looking to play Pooh Sticks.

The ford being left untouched sums up Dunster’s enduring respect for nature and history – a deferential bow to the permanence of the countryside despite the onslaught of progress.