Our Best Picks Of South Devon Historical Buildings

Exploring South Devon’s Hidden Historical Treasures

In this blog, we’ll take you on a journey through some of South Devon’s most fascinating historical attractions. These are not the headline-grabbing castles and cathedrals, but instead the hidden gems — places where time seems to stand still, and where the spirit of history lingers in the walls, fields, and landscapes. From the haunting remains of a deserted medieval village to the quirky tale of a house that was literally moved from one street to another, each site has its own unique character and story to tell.

Let’s step back in time and discover the history woven into South Devon’s towns, villages, and countryside.

Budlake Old Post Office Room

Tucked away on the Killerton Estate, Budlake Old Post Office Room offers a fascinating glimpse into rural village life in the early 20th century. Unlike the grand houses or ancient ruins that often dominate heritage landscapes, this modest building holds its charm in the details of everyday existence. The post office was once the beating heart of the community, a place where letters arrived bringing news from distant family members, where parcels carried goods otherwise hard to obtain, and where gossip and neighbourly news were exchanged across the counter.

Stepping inside, one immediately senses the intimacy of the space. The counters and pigeonholes evoke an era when communication was both slower and more treasured. The wooden fittings, worn smooth by years of handling, tell stories of countless letters sorted and delivered. It is not difficult to imagine the village postmistress diligently organising mail, her role central to keeping the community connected in an age before telephones and the internet transformed communication.

What makes Budlake Old Post Office especially evocative is its ability to transport visitors into the rhythm of a quieter, simpler time. Here, the business of daily life revolved around tangible connections — ink on paper, carefully wrapped packages, and face-to-face exchanges. Rural post offices such as this were far more than functional spaces; they were lifelines to the outside world, fostering social bonds in villages that might otherwise feel isolated.

As part of the broader Killerton Estate, Budlake Old Post Office also reflects the layered history of land and community. Estates such as Killerton were not only about stately homes but also the villages, farms, and workers that kept them alive. This small building is a reminder that history is not solely about kings, queens, and great battles, but also about the everyday men and women whose quiet routines built the fabric of society.

Today, Budlake Old Post Office Room stands preserved, allowing us to reflect on how communities once functioned and how communication has evolved. It is a modest place, but one with a profound story to tell: that the threads of history are often found in the simplest of settings, where human connection was once measured not in speed but in care.

Church House, Dartmoor

High on the windswept moorlands of Dartmoor lies Church House, a remarkable survival of medieval community life. Built in the early 16th century, Church Houses were common across England at one time, but few remain intact today, making Dartmoor’s example particularly special. These buildings were not churches themselves, but rather spaces for parishioners to gather, feast, and raise funds for the upkeep of the church. They were community centres long before the concept existed, places where faith, fellowship, and daily life intertwined.

The Dartmoor Church House is built from sturdy granite, quarried from the moor itself, its thick walls designed to withstand centuries of storms. Inside, the space retains a rustic simplicity: wooden beams, open hearths, and a large hall where villagers once met. This was where ale was brewed for church festivals, where feasts celebrated saints’ days and harvests, and where the profits from gatherings supported the parish. In an era when the church was at the heart of both spiritual and social life, the Church House played a crucial role in binding communities together.

What makes this building so evocative is the sense of continuity it conveys. Dartmoor itself feels timeless, its tors and valleys largely unchanged for centuries, and the Church House fits seamlessly into this landscape. Standing inside, one can imagine the warmth of a roaring fire on a winter’s night, villagers gathered together, drinking, laughing, and perhaps discussing the latest happenings of the wider world beyond the moor. For many, the Church House would have been the largest indoor space they ever entered — a place that offered both shelter and celebration.

The survival of Church House is a reminder of the importance of community infrastructure in medieval life. It reflects how villages organised themselves around shared responsibilities, with religious devotion intertwined with practical needs. Though many Church Houses across England disappeared with time — their stones repurposed, their functions replaced — Dartmoor’s example stands as a rare and atmospheric link to this lost tradition.

Today, it continues to inspire as a symbol of fellowship and resilience. Its weathered granite and simple beauty serve as a testament to the strength of communities that, in the face of isolation and hardship, created spaces to come together, celebrate, and support one another. Dartmoor’s Church House is not just a relic of the past, but a reminder of the enduring human need for gathering places where life is shared.

Clyston Mill

Clyston Mill, nestled in the village of Broadclyst, is a watermill that embodies the industrious spirit of rural Devon. Dating back to at least the 18th century, though with much older origins, it is a working reminder of a time when water power was at the heart of local economies. Mills like Clyston were essential to rural life, transforming grain into flour, providing employment, and sustaining communities through their labour.

The building itself is a picture of rustic charm. Constructed from local stone, with a timber-framed interior, it sits beside the River Clyst, whose waters once turned the great wheel that powered the grinding stones. Inside, the machinery still bears witness to centuries of use: iron cogs, wooden shafts, and great millstones worn smooth by years of turning grain into the flour that fed generations. It is an immersive space where the smell of timber, the sound of trickling water, and the heft of the old machinery combine to create a vivid sense of the past.

Clyston Mill was not just a workplace; it was a focal point of village life. Farmers brought their grain, neighbours exchanged news while waiting for their flour, and the miller himself was a central figure in the community. Milling was skilled, physical work, requiring an understanding of water flow, mechanics, and grain quality. The miller’s role was both respected and essential, for bread was the staple food of rural England.

What sets Clyston apart is its sense of continuity. Though industrialisation brought about the decline of many traditional mills, Clyston survived, adapting through the centuries and remaining a part of village life. Its survival today offers not only a glimpse into the practicalities of pre-industrial agriculture but also a deeper appreciation for the ingenuity and resilience of those who lived in rural Devon.

Mills like Clyston remind us that history is not only about grand events but also about the humble technologies that sustained daily life. They were engines of subsistence, ensuring food on the table and stability for communities. In exploring Clyston Mill, one is reminded that progress has always been built upon countless acts of labour, craftsmanship, and adaptation — and that even the quietest corners of rural England hold stories of innovation and survival.

Cricklepit Mill

At the heart of Exeter lies Cricklepit Mill, a historic watermill that bridges the gap between Devon’s rural traditions and its bustling urban life. Dating back to the 17th century, Cricklepit Mill stands as a reminder of Exeter’s industrious past, when the city’s prosperity relied not only on trade and commerce but also on the practical labour of milling.

The mill is built from sturdy local stone, with its charming arched windows and timber interior evoking a sense of timelessness. Its waterwheels once turned with power drawn from the River Exe, grinding grain into flour for the city’s population. In its heyday, Cricklepit was one of many mills that dotted Exeter, reflecting the city’s importance as both a market hub and a centre of production.

What makes Cricklepit Mill especially fascinating is the way it connects industrial history with environmental heritage. Today, the site is managed as a base for wildlife conservation, with the surrounding riverbanks and green spaces providing habitats for kingfishers, otters, and countless bird species. This dual role — both as a historic mill and a haven for wildlife — adds an extra layer of richness to its story. It is not simply a relic of the past, but a place where heritage and ecology combine.

Inside the mill, the surviving machinery speaks volumes about the craft of milling. Wooden gears, iron cogs, and heavy millstones all tell a story of mechanical ingenuity. One can almost hear the steady rhythm of the wheels, the grinding of stone, and the hum of work that once filled the air. Mills like Cricklepit were engines of survival, ensuring food production for the growing city.

What sets Cricklepit apart is its urban setting. While many mills are tucked away in rural landscapes, Cricklepit Mill is entwined with Exeter’s urban identity. It stands as a symbol of how cities once depended upon the labour and technology of mills, long before the rise of industrial factories.

Today, it is both a historical treasure and a living environment, demonstrating how old buildings can be adapted and given a new purpose. Cricklepit Mill is a reminder that history is never static: it evolves, adapts, and continues to shape the lives of those around it.

Finch Foundry

In the village of Sticklepath lies Finch Foundry, a rare survivor of the Industrial Revolution in Devon. Built in the early 19th century, this water-powered forge was once a bustling centre of activity, producing agricultural tools such as sickles, scythes, and shovels. At its peak, it turned out around 400 tools a day, supplying farmers across the region and beyond.

The foundry’s setting is idyllic, with the River Taw providing the water power that once drove its massive tilt hammers, drop hammers, and grinding wheels. Inside, the atmosphere is one of grit and labour, where the clang of metal on metal would once have rung through the air. The machinery, much of it still in place, tells the story of an industry that combined skill, strength, and the raw power of water to shape iron into tools that sustained agricultural life.

Finch Foundry is more than just an industrial relic; it is a monument to the men who worked there. The forge was a demanding place, hot, noisy, and physically punishing, but it also embodied the craftsmanship of the highest order. Each tool produced was a piece of practical art, designed for durability and efficiency. In many ways, the foundry was the beating heart of the local economy, ensuring farmers had the tools they needed to cultivate the land and feed communities.

The Finch family, who ran the foundry for generations, exemplify the entrepreneurial spirit of the age. Their story mirrors the broader shift of rural England into an industrial society, where traditional crafts were transformed by mechanisation. Yet the foundry never lost its connection to the land; its success was always tied to the rhythms of farming life.

Today, Finch Foundry stands as a tribute to Devon’s role in the Industrial Revolution, a reminder that even rural areas contributed to the sweeping changes of the 19th century. It offers a vivid glimpse into the lives of blacksmiths and craftsmen, whose labour underpinned the agricultural world. In its combination of natural beauty, mechanical ingenuity, and human perseverance, Finch Foundry captures the essence of a bygone age where water, fire, and iron came together in a symphony of industry.

Gallants Bower Fort

Perched high above the Dart Estuary near Dartmouth, Gallants Bower Fort is a striking reminder of the English Civil War and the turbulent 17th century. Built in 1643 by Royalist forces, the fort was designed to defend Dartmouth from Parliamentarian attack. Its earthworks remain today, overlooking the river and the sea, offering a commanding view of the town’s approaches.

Gallants Bower is a simple structure by modern standards, consisting of defensive ditches and banks rather than stone walls, but its position gave it immense strategic importance. During the Civil War, Dartmouth was a key port, and control of its harbour meant control of valuable trade routes. For the Royalists, Gallants Bower represented both a stronghold and a symbol of resistance.

Standing on the site today, one can easily see why it was chosen. The views stretch for miles across the estuary and out to sea. In the 1640s, sentries would have kept watch for approaching ships, ready to defend the Royalist cause. However, the fort did not hold out forever; in 1646, Parliamentarian forces captured Dartmouth, and with it Gallants Bower. Its occupation was relatively brief, but its significance was enduring.

What makes Gallants Bower especially evocative is the way it connects military history with the natural landscape. Unlike stone castles that dominate their surroundings, Gallants Bower feels integrated into the hillside, its earthworks blending into the curves of the land. It is a place where history feels both present and fleeting, its traces subtle but powerful.

For those who visit, the experience is as much about atmosphere as archaeology. The wind whistles across the hilltop, seabirds wheel overhead, and the river sparkles below. In such a setting, it is easy to imagine the tension of watchmen scanning the horizon, uncertain of what the next day might bring. Gallants Bower is a reminder that the English Civil War was not just a series of grand battles but also a conflict fought in local landscapes, shaping communities and leaving marks that endure centuries later.

Hound Tor Deserted Medieval Village, Dartmoor

Dartmoor is a landscape of mystery and legend, and few places capture this atmosphere better than the deserted medieval village of Hound Tor. Nestled beneath the granite outcrop of Hound Tor itself, the village consists of the ruined remains of longhouses and other buildings, abandoned sometime in the 14th century. Today, it is one of the most evocative medieval sites in Devon, a place where imagination brings the past vividly to life.

The village was likely established in the 13th century, when Dartmoor’s uplands were more extensively farmed. The longhouses, built from local granite, were typical of the time: single-storey buildings with living quarters at one end and space for animals at the other. Families would have lived side by side with their livestock, eking out a living from the harsh but fertile land.

What caused the abandonment of Hound Tor is uncertain. Some suggest the Black Death played a role, devastating populations across England in the mid-14th century. Others point to changing climate conditions, with harsher winters and wetter summers making farming on the high moor increasingly difficult. Whatever the cause, the villagers left, and the stone walls slowly crumbled back into the earth.

Walking among the ruins today, the sense of history is palpable. Moss covers the stones, and the wind whistles across the open landscape. Yet the outlines of houses remain clear, offering a window into the daily lives of medieval farmers. One can almost see smoke rising from hearths, hear the lowing of cattle, and feel the resilience of those who once called this wild place home.

Hound Tor Deserted Village is also steeped in folklore. The granite tors nearby inspired Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Hound of the Baskervilles, and local legends speak of ghosts haunting the abandoned settlement. Whether fact or fiction, the site captures the imagination, blending archaeology with myth.

Ultimately, Hound Tor is a place of quiet reflection. It reminds us that history is not only recorded in books but also etched into the land itself, in the stones of ruined houses and the fields once ploughed by forgotten hands. It is both a monument to human endurance and a testament to the forces of nature and time that shape all communities.

Kirkham House

In the heart of Paignton stands Kirkham House, a remarkably well-preserved medieval townhouse dating back to the 14th or 15th century. Built from local stone and timber, the house offers a rare glimpse into the domestic life of a prosperous Devon family during the late Middle Ages. Unlike castles or grand manors, Kirkham House was a home — practical, intimate, and full of character.

The house consists of a hall, parlour, and chambers, arranged around a central space that would have been the hub of family life. The great hall, with its open hearth, was where meals were shared, business conducted, and guests entertained. The parlour offered more privacy, while the upstairs chambers provided sleeping quarters. The architecture is simple yet elegant, with carved beams, stone fireplaces, and leaded windows that speak of both comfort and status.

What makes Kirkham House especially interesting is its sense of lived-in history. One can imagine the family who once occupied it: perhaps a wealthy merchant or local landowner, whose prosperity allowed them to build such a fine home. The house would have been a centre of both domestic life and social standing, reflecting the rising fortunes of the middle classes in late medieval England.

Kirkham House also reflects the broader social changes of its time. The 14th and 15th centuries saw the decline of feudalism and the growth of towns, trade, and individual prosperity. Homes like this symbolise the shift from subsistence farming to a more commercial, urban way of life. While not a castle or palace, it represented ambition and achievement for those who built it.

Today, Kirkham House stands largely unchanged, a rare survival in a town that has otherwise grown and modernised around it. Its enduring presence allows us to step directly into the world of the medieval middle class — a world often overlooked in favour of kings and nobles. The house is a reminder that history is not only about grandeur but also about the quieter, personal stories of families who lived, worked, and thrived in their communities.

Loughwood Meeting House, Axminster

Hidden in the wooded hills near Axminster lies Loughwood Meeting House, one of the oldest surviving Nonconformist chapels in England. Built in the mid-17th century, at a time when religious dissent was often persecuted, it is a building that speaks of faith, resilience, and the struggle for freedom of worship.

The Meeting House is a modest structure, built from cob and stone with a thatched roof, blending seamlessly into its rural surroundings. From the outside, it looks like an ordinary farmhouse, and this was intentional. In an era when Nonconformist worship was illegal or tightly restricted, secrecy was vital. The hidden location and humble appearance of Loughwood allowed its congregation to meet without drawing attention from hostile authorities.

Inside, the simplicity continues. Wooden benches, a raised pulpit, and whitewashed walls create an atmosphere of quiet devotion. There is none of the ornamentation of Anglican churches or Catholic cathedrals; instead, the focus is on the spoken word, on scripture, and on the shared faith of the congregation. This austerity reflects the values of the dissenters, who emphasised spiritual integrity over material display.

The history of Loughwood is inseparable from the story of Nonconformity in England. Following the Civil War and the Restoration of the monarchy, those who refused to conform to the established Church of England often faced fines, imprisonment, and harassment. Yet in places like Loughwood, communities gathered in defiance, keeping their faith alive despite the risks.

What makes Loughwood Meeting House so powerful today is the atmosphere it retains. It is easy to imagine worshippers gathering quietly, perhaps by lantern light, their prayers mingling with the sounds of the countryside outside. The building is not just a place of worship but a symbol of courage and conviction.

Loughwood reminds us that history is not only shaped by those in power but also by ordinary people who stood firm in their beliefs. It is a testament to the enduring human quest for freedom — the freedom to worship, to believe, and to live according to conscience.

Marker’s Cottage – Killerton Estate

Marker’s Cottage, situated on the Killerton Estate, is a rare survivor of medieval domestic architecture, dating back to the 15th century. Built from cob and timber with a thatched roof, the cottage offers a vivid impression of what ordinary homes looked like centuries ago. Unlike grand houses or castles, Marker’s Cottage is modest in scale, but its preservation makes it a treasure of historical insight.

The cottage retains many original features, including smoke-blackened thatch from the days when open hearths filled the interior with smoke. Its small rooms and low ceilings reflect the intimate, practical needs of its inhabitants. The timber framing and cob walls showcase traditional building techniques that were once common across Devon but are now rare.

What makes Marker’s Cottage so remarkable is its authenticity. While many historic buildings have been heavily altered over time, this cottage has survived largely unchanged. It stands as a direct link to the lives of medieval villagers — farmers, labourers, or craftspeople who lived simply but securely within its walls.

Marker’s Cottage also highlights the ingenuity of vernacular architecture. Built entirely from local materials, it demonstrates how communities once relied on the land around them for both sustenance and shelter. The cob walls provided insulation, the thatch kept out rain, and the timber gave strength. These were not luxurious homes, but they were durable and practical, perfectly suited to their environment.

Visiting Marker’s Cottage today is like stepping into another world. One can imagine a fire crackling in the hearth, the smell of woodsmoke filling the air, and the hum of everyday life — cooking, weaving, storytelling — unfolding in its small but warm rooms. It is a place that brings history down to a human scale, reminding us that the essence of the past is not only in palaces and battlefields but also in the humble dwellings where countless lives were lived.

The Royal Citadel

Dominating the Plymouth waterfront, the Royal Citadel is one of the most impressive fortifications in South Devon. Built in the 1660s during the reign of Charles II, the Citadel was designed both to protect the city from seaborne attack and to remind the townspeople of the king’s authority following the turmoil of the Civil War.

The fortress is a massive complex, with high walls, bastions, and gates, all constructed from limestone. Its design reflects the influence of continental military engineering, with angled walls and defensive outworks intended to resist cannon fire. The Royal Citadel was state-of-the-art for its time, a symbol of both military might and royal power.

Its position on Plymouth Hoe was strategic. From here, the Citadel’s guns could command the approaches to Plymouth Sound, one of the most important naval harbours in England. But the guns also pointed inward, towards the town itself — a clear reminder that the king’s authority was not to be challenged. This dual role, both defensive and symbolic, makes the Citadel a fascinating reflection of the politics of its age.

Over the centuries, the Citadel remained a key military site, housing garrisons and serving as a base for the Royal Artillery. Its walls have witnessed centuries of change, from the expansion of the Royal Navy to the devastation of World War II, when Plymouth was heavily bombed.

Today, the Royal Citadel stands as a monument to Plymouth’s martial heritage. Its imposing walls and commanding views are a reminder of the city’s strategic importance and its long association with the sea. More than just a fortress, it is a statement of power — a place where history, politics, and military engineering converge.

Shute Barton

Shute Barton, near Axminster, is one of the most significant examples of a medieval manor house in Devon. Built in the 14th century, with later additions in the Tudor period, it was once the seat of the influential Bonville family. Today, it is renowned for its remarkable architecture, including some of the largest fireplaces in England and an extraordinary collection of medieval stonework.

The house is built from local stone, with a mixture of defensive and domestic features that reflect its origins in a turbulent age. The great hall, with its soaring roof and massive fireplace, was the centre of family and social life, while the private chambers offered comfort and seclusion. The combination of strength and elegance in its design speaks of both the practical need for security and the aspiration to display wealth and status.

Shute Barton’s history is intertwined with the politics of medieval England. The Bonville family rose to prominence in the 15th century, only to be caught up in the Wars of the Roses. Their fortunes waxed and waned with the shifting tides of power, and the house itself bears the marks of these turbulent times.

What makes Shute Barton especially compelling is the way it bridges the medieval and Tudor worlds. Later alterations introduced elements of Renaissance style, softening its medieval austerity and reflecting the changing tastes of the 16th century. Yet its core remains firmly rooted in the Middle Ages, with thick walls, mullioned windows, and a sense of solidity that has endured for centuries.

Today, Shute Barton stands as a testament to the endurance of medieval architecture. Its survival is remarkable, offering an authentic glimpse into the lives of England’s gentry. Walking through its rooms, one feels the weight of history — of families who rose and fell, of political intrigue, and of the quiet persistence of stone walls that have outlasted generations.

St Catherine’s Almshouses & Canon’s House

In the city of Exeter, St Catherine’s Almshouses and Canon’s House stand as poignant reminders of both charity and devastation. The almshouses were founded in the 15th century to provide shelter for the poor, while the adjacent Canon’s House was part of the medieval cathedral precinct. Together, they represent the intertwined history of faith, charity, and community in the city.

The almshouses were built with the support of the church, reflecting the medieval belief in the importance of providing for the less fortunate. They offered not only shelter but also dignity, allowing the poor to live within the protective embrace of the cathedral community. The buildings themselves were modest but sturdy, constructed of stone with simple details that emphasised function over grandeur.

Canon’s House, by contrast, was a residence for senior clergy, more substantial in scale and design. It reflected the authority and influence of the cathedral, standing as a symbol of ecclesiastical power in the heart of Exeter. Together, the almshouses and Canon’s House illustrate the stark contrasts of medieval life — between wealth and poverty, authority and need.

Much of the complex was destroyed during the bombing of Exeter in World War II, leaving only ruins. Yet these ruins are profoundly evocative. Standing among the remains, one senses both the resilience of the city and the fragility of its heritage. The bombings, part of the Baedeker raids of 1942, targeted Exeter for its cultural significance, and the ruins of St Catherine’s bear silent witness to that dark chapter.

Today, the site is preserved as a memorial, a place of reflection on both the charitable traditions of the past and the destruction of war. It reminds us that history is not always about triumph but also about loss, resilience, and remembrance.

The House That Moved, Exeter

Few buildings have a story as unusual as Exeter’s “House That Moved.” Dating back to the 14th century, this timber-framed house once stood in the path of a planned road development in the 1960s. Rather than demolish it, engineers undertook the extraordinary task of moving the entire structure to a new location — inch by inch, on rollers, across the street.

The house itself is a fine example of medieval urban architecture, with its timber frame, overhanging upper stories, and intricate woodwork. It would once have been home to a prosperous merchant family, its prominent position reflecting both status and ambition. Like many medieval houses, it combines practicality with aesthetic flair, its jettied upper floors allowing more living space on narrow city streets.

What makes the story so compelling, however, is the feat of preservation. In an age when historic buildings were often sacrificed for modernisation, Exeter chose instead to save this remarkable house. The process of moving it captured the public imagination, symbolising both engineering ingenuity and a growing respect for heritage.

Today, the House That Moved stands proudly in its new location, a living monument to both the craftsmanship of the past and the preservation efforts of the 20th century. It is more than just a building; it is a story of survival, resilience, and adaptation.

Walking past, one cannot help but admire both its medieval beauty and the determination that saved it. The House That Moved reminds us that heritage is not static — it can be preserved, protected, and even relocated when necessary. It is a quirky, endearing landmark that embodies the spirit of Exeter: rooted in history, yet adaptable to the demands of the present.

Final Thoughts

South Devon is a region where history lingers not only in castles and cathedrals but also in humble cottages, mills, and meeting houses. Each of these sites tells a story — of community, resilience, faith, labour, or survival. Together, they paint a picture of a land shaped as much by ordinary people as by great events.

From the windswept ruins of Hound Tor to the bustling ingenuity of Finch Foundry, from the quiet devotion of Loughwood Meeting House to the quirky tale of Exeter’s House That Moved, these places reveal the many layers of South Devon’s heritage. Exploring them is not just a journey into the past but also a reminder of the values that endure: community, perseverance, and the human spirit.

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