Powderham Castle

Listen first. Across the flat water of the Exe estuary, a train hums along the shoreline, wading birds call from the mudflats, and the wind carries the smell of salt and wet grass. Rising above the reeds and parkland on the western bank stands a long, pale castle of reddish stone. From Exmouth, you see it across the water. Up close, it feels less like a fortress and more like a family home that has grown slowly, room by room, over six centuries.

This is Powderham Castle. It sits near the village of Kenton, on the opposite side of the estuary from Exmouth. The castle has belonged to one family, the Courtenays, for most of its long life. The head of that family carries the title Earl of Devon. That continuity is unusual in England. Many great houses changed hands through debt, war, or marriage. Here, the same family name has stayed attached to the same stones since the late Middle Ages.

The story begins in the late fourteenth century. A knight named Sir Philip Courtenay, a younger son of the Earl of Devon, built a fortified manor here. In those years the estuary was busier and more open, and the house stood close to the water's edge. The site made sense. It watched over the river traffic and the rich farmland around it. The oldest parts of the building still hold the bones of that medieval house, though you will need a careful eye to find them under later changes.

Time was not always gentle with the castle. During the English Civil War of the seventeenth century, when King and Parliament fought for control of the country, Powderham was caught up in the fighting. The house suffered damage during a siege. Afterward, it needed years of repair. When you look at the walls, try to read them as a record. Patches, rebuilt sections, and changes in stone colour all show a building that has been mended more than once.

Now, here is the first surprise. The castle you see today is largely a creation of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Later generations of the family wanted comfort and elegance, not arrow slits. So they reshaped the house. They added grand rooms, new wings, and battlements that look medieval but were built long after real sieges ended. Those crenellated rooflines are partly a romantic costume. They tell you more about Georgian and Victorian taste than about medieval defence.

Inside, one space stops many visitors in their tracks — the staircase hall. Its walls and ceiling are covered with rich plasterwork from the middle of the eighteenth century. You will see curling leaves, flowers, birds, and musical instruments, all moulded in high relief. The style is often called rococo, a light and playful decorative fashion from that period, full of curves and natural shapes. Against the darker wood of the stairs, the white and pale-coloured plaster almost seems to float.

Another celebrated room is the music room, designed in the late eighteenth century by the architect James Wyatt. He was one of the most fashionable designers of his day. The room has a domed ceiling and a calm, balanced feeling, very different from the busy energy of the staircase. It was created for a young heir of the family whose life later became tangled in scandal. His story is a reminder that grand rooms were built by real people, with real ambitions and real troubles.

Powderham also has a quiet life on screen. The castle was used as a filming location for the 1993 film The Remains of the Day, a story about an English butler serving in a great country house. Watching that film and then walking these rooms is an odd experience. The house plays a role, but it is also simply itself. Many visitors find that the real place feels warmer and more lived-in than any film set could.

That lived-in feeling is the second surprise. Powderham is not only a museum. The family still lives here. Portraits on the walls show ancestors whose descendants may be just a few rooms away. Furniture, books, and objects belong to a working household rather than a sealed collection. Guided tours often share family stories, and they are worth listening to closely. Some are documented history. Others are cherished family tales, and good guides usually tell you which is which.

One of the best-loved residents was not a person at all. For many years, a tortoise named Timothy lived in the castle grounds. According to the family's account, Timothy had an earlier life at sea as a ship's mascot, before settling in Devon. The tortoise lived to a very great age and died in the early 2000s. Children who visited often remember Timothy longer than any painting. Ask on site, and you may hear more about this unusual member of the household.

Step outside, and the landscape becomes the main event. The castle stands in a large deer park, and herds of fallow deer graze across the open grass. Fallow deer are medium-sized deer, often with spotted coats in summer. Watch quietly, and you may see them lift their heads together, then drift away. On a hill above the park stands a tall tower called the Belvedere, an eighteenth-century folly built mainly to be seen and to offer a view.

Between the park and the estuary runs the railway line, close to the water's edge. It is part of the historic route along the Exe, and trains pass surprisingly near. The contrast is striking. On one side, deer, oaks, and an old stone house. On the other, trains, mudflats, and wide skies over the water. Birdwatchers come to this estuary for its waders and wildfowl, especially in the colder months, when flocks gather on the tidal flats.

Before you leave, pause and look back at the castle from a distance. Notice how the reddish stone changes colour as clouds pass over it. Notice the battlements, now that you know many were added for style. Listen again to the birds and the distant train. Six centuries of one family's choices stand in front of you, mended, extended, and still lived in. As you walk away, let the estuary wind follow you home.