Colourful people give moor character.

(From Western Daily Press)

A final signal box manoeuvre and a short tuneless whistle from a porter were all that met the dying embers of the day when Yelverton Station closed in 1962.

Not long after, Colonel Richard Spencer - or just plain Dick to all who knew him well - reclaimed the station land back again for his family and asked that all buildings, plus the turntable, should be dismantled and taken away, with only the platforms and tunnel left untouched.

He then allowed his wish to run its course, letting nature declare its presence and brush a touch of magical Eden over a natural developing wildlife reserve. Now the tunnel and the cutting's sheer twin face backdrop a sanctuary for all but the permanent presence of man.

Author William Lethbridge, as part of his researches into the history of the railway from Plymouth to Princetown, got to meet the retired officer at his home, only the once and for just a couple of hours. But it was long enough for him to understand the fondness that was felt locally for the colonel and his wife.

He recalls: "I immediately felt at ease in the company of this old soldier. In the mid-morning early summer sunshine, he wore a tie slackened slightly in its knot, a sports jacket, twill trousers and heavy brogues, yet not a drop of perspiration showed on his brow, while my shirt clung firmly to my back.

"The conversation drifted from today, as he reminisced, talking of times gone by, of how the station staff preferred to catch their drinking water from the dripping slate, a bowl-shape dug out of the cutting's face and a length of piped placed just so, to act as an ever-running tap, never stopping even in the driest of summers.