Anyway WHO is that man in the middle, looks like a prison warder!

Brumas. In 1965 I lived in a lovely newly built, small housing estate called Dousland. 200 yards from a great pub a very nice walk to a reservoir which was ideal for walking, photographing, or just messing around in general. In the house opposite me lived the chief warder of Dartmoor prison with his wife. (not the bloke in your photo). He offered to show me around the prison but I politely refused. I found he was a great bloke just back from running a prison somewhere in Africa. His wife was a bit on the posh side but we got on well with her.

One weekend the builders had left a huge pile of topsoil ready for spreading on gardens the following week, and I asked the foreman if I could pinch some for my garden, he told me to help myself and gave me the keys to a dumper-digger. The posh lady over the road saw me doing this and ran out and I thought "Oh no! she's going to complain and report me to the authorities". But I was dead wrong, she said "Can I have a ride on that thing?" So we ended up moving topsoil in to other people's gardens. We enjoyed the day and it only ended when she said "If my husband comes and catches me I will probably end up in Dartmoor with him".

The foreman was delighted some of his work had been done for him when he got in work on the Monday morning.

I've just been talking to my partner and we will be going down that way for a week when the weather improves a bit. Reminiscing is the name of the game.

Sorry to disappoint you Brumas, I've driven round it in a car quite a few times. But never had the (dis)pleasure of serving time in there.

The pub was on the junction of the road, going from Plymouth toward Princetown you turned left at the junction. I was trying to remember the name of the pub and it has obviously changed since I was last there. (I've got photographs of the hunt meeting outside the pub and having their little drinkies, before riding off to catch the dreaded fox. I used to walk down the lane to the village at night to a smaller pub to play dominoes with the locals, and my eldest lad went to the school there. He has pleasant memories too. He even remembers running around the Maypole when the village had it's annual fete.

I have some bad memories of walks (night compass marches etc.) across Dartmoor and must have visited the top of every Tor at least three times. Never did sink in to the bogs further than my knees however. But in life you tend to forget the hard times and only remember the good ones. So on the whole I like the place very much.