Mr & Mrs Smith

Reviewed by Ian Dollamore

Salcombe, Devon. This end-of-estuary destination on the south-west coast of England conjures retro picture-postcard images of children with ruddy cheeks playing on the sandy beaches, and families strolling on the seafront, ice-creams in hand. Unless maybe if it's January, which is when we’ve headed to South Sands to escape post-festive season gloom. (‘Who says we can’t have a cheeky ice-cream? I say reaching for some extra woollies; Mrs Smith looks less enthusiastic.)

Tastefully renovated, this beachside hotel at the end of a winding coastal road is decorated in that pretty nautical New England style that befits its secluded cove location and views of the Channel. It’s like an instant hit of summer and seaside whatever the weather. These Smiths have arrived just in time to exploit the lookout at sunset: as that large orange orb disappears behind the watery horizon, we pace ourselves until tomorrow to scope out South Ham’s dramatic coastline.

‘Instantly welcoming,’ says Mrs Smith with a nod, surveying South Sands' cosy reception area. ‘Just how you want your first hit of a hotel to be.’ And it’s also staffed by people who are relaxed and chipper. Well, what else would you expect of their demeanours? Working here must be one of the best jobs in the world – there’s a beach in grabbing distance, the ocean a pebble’s throw, and now in winter, a crackling open fire with its comforting oaky smoky smell. (Please mark CVs ‘For the attention of South Sands Hotel, Salcombe’).

Checked in quickly and with no fuss, a guest – or so we think – offers to take our bags to our room. ‘Well, this really is a personal touch,’ smiles Mrs Smith. As it turns out the genial chap is actually the hotel’s porter, but the staff uniform of Jack Wills, Chinos, deck shoes (flip-flops in summer) and sea-air-kissed rosiness made him seem more like a helpful holidaymaker than someone who’s actually on duty.

Driftwood-crafted picture frames and abstract images of seacraft keep the coastal theme running, and each of the 22 rooms are named after various vessels. ‘Dragon’ is the a fiery moniker of our space and it ticks all the boxes for a relaxing and lazy break. There’s a bed the size of a passenger ferry, a slipper bath, a walk-in shower and full-height windows that overlook the beach and welcome in the sound of crashing waves. A gulp of that fresh air and our minds drift to dinnertime…

Our original plan was to eat somewhere in Salcombe on our first night, but at the mention of half-hour walks in torchlight, we venture only as far as the bar area. With a roaring log fire and comfortable leather club chairs as compensation, this suits us just fine. The menu in the bar is simple and well considered and perfectly cooked fresh local fish with broad-bean mash is followed by a deliciously creamy vanilla panacotta.

At the hotel’s heart is the restaurant and adjoining terrace, which we bookmark for our summer sojourn. Floor-to-ceiling windows promise more panoramic views across the bay. Nice. On a sunny day, I’ll bet that deck is the perfect place for lunch. My mind’s eye envisages us both in the black Lloyd Loom chairs picking at chips and quaffing chilled white wine. (‘How lovely, if we brought the kids we could watch them play on the sand, while us grown-ups enjoy a post-lunch coffee and that fresh sea breeze,’ offers Mrs Smith – ever the sensible one. I remind her we don’t actually have kids.) Yes sir, sign us up for a spell here in summer.

Fast forward to more scran: a full English breakfast of locally sourced produce guzzled and we’re driving to the naval town of Dartmouth just 30 minutes away. As cute as can be, and famously abuzz in the summer months, off-season we have its shops and cafés to ourselves. Down on Foss Street we find the gallery of celebrated local pen-and-ink artist, Simon Drew, and we even get to meet the man himself. Mrs Smith insists that a ‘Prawn to be wild’ shrimp-on-a-motorbike apron is a necessary souvenir.

With vows to return to Dartmouth for the Regatta at the end of August, we continue our tour to Noss Mayo, a preposterously charming village on the River Yealm estuary. Perched on the water’s edge is the Ship Inn: a genteel gastropub with a world-class boat-and-bankside-cottages view. Having been warned about the high tides, we dodge any maroonings and park just high enough to allow us enjoy a relaxed fish ’n’ chip lunch.

Returning to South Sands as contented as can be, and the fire is still crackling and the comfy leather chairs still muttering ‘come hither’. Oh no! But what is this? There, in our favourite spot, is a young couple sipping champagne and giggling contently. After learning that they’ve selected South Sands as their wedding rendezvous we begrudgingly forfeit our prime fireside perch, and in another blue-and-white enclave, we concentrate on planning our summer return. The main question? Do we keep this special place our secret, or do we rent one of their two beachside holiday cottages and invite some friends? Thinking about it, I’m not sure we could bear to share our favourite corners again. Do you mind if we keep this corker entre nous...