Ready for takeoff at Davidstow Moor

Have camera, will travel. And if a liking for historical relics of all kinds is added, should you be surprised that I go out of my way to investigate old RAF airfields that, over eighty years ago in World War II, were noisy with the roar of aircraft? It makes no difference that in 2026 they are windswept spaces with disintegrating runways and buildings, all weatherbeaten concrete, and usually covered with spraypainted graffiti and other low artwork.

Back in April, when it was a lot cooler and breezier than now - just now it's very warm where I am in Sussex! - I was pitched at Camelford in Cornwall, and not far away was the old wartime airfield on Davidstow Moor. This particular airfield is unusual in that (a) the runways are mostly still intact and haven't been bulldozed into rubble; (b) you can actually drive your car onto them; and (c) although the hangars are long gone, the control tower and most other remaining buildings are feely accessible, so that you can explore them. They have certainly seen use as storehouses and garages for a succession of local farmers, but they haven't been altered. There are no pesky safety restrictions, although really it would be irresponsible to venture into the control tower unless adult, fit and able. (I just about qualified)

It's in Wikipedia at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/RAF_Davidstow_Moor.

Really, the only building that was completely out of bounds was the one that housed the radio mast. 

The entire place was the domain of sheep, and they grazed and wandered around as if they were the legal owners, giving me a very haughty 'what are you doing here?' look. But it didn't come to a confrontation. No sheep charged at me, fangs bared.

Given that the airfield isn't a playground, nor an open-air museum - although there are two proper museums on the perimeter - what did I hope to experience? Well, the atmosphere. In such places it's very easy to imagine how it might have been when it was operational as a Coastal Command base, and this conjures up all kinds of ghosts. 

I'd been here just once before, back in 2012. A quick visit on a dull, damp day, and I'd done no more than take Fiona - my car then - out onto the runway. 

In 2026 it was a fine sunny day, and the ground - inclined to be soft and squelchy off the concrete runways - was dry and form. So I could go where I liked. 

The first thing to do was to line up Sophie for takeoff. It was easy to imagine being given radio permission from the control tower. 

I was astonished that the runways still had painted numbers on them. They weren't original of course. The airfield had an afterlife as a motor racing circuit, and is still usable for launching microlights, hence the runway numbers. 

The runways were drivable, but somewhat rough in places, so I was constantly zig-zagging to avoid the worst bits. Inevitably I headed for the former control tower. 

For the life of me, I can't see what satisfaction or fun can be had from defacing surfaces with spray paint. If it were 'art' or some political message, that would be understandable. But it's mostly a grotesque mess. And the perpetrators may not be simply dropout north Cornwall teenagers with no idea how better to spend their time. It may all mean something quite different. None of it spoiled my visit. And it is, after all, only what I see on my photographic expeditions to backstreet Brighton. Although you do see genuinely good examples of street art there.

A couple of families had parked by the control tower, and had established themselves there with a picnic in mind. No doubt they felt that they had rights. Not in my book. I approached closely and took my shots. Then I entered the control tower. And if they didn't like my looking down on them from the gaping windows, then tough. But I think they realised that I was only there for the shots, and would then leave. 

Thank goodness it was dry. In winter weather it would all be very muddy and slippery. Inside it was surprisingly free of detritus, and smelled fresh - the strong breeze whistling through must be responsible for that. And of course, the sheep wouldn't venture up the stairs. 

I had the place to myself. It was pretty light, and not at all creepy. The ground floor was a series of plain rooms opening out onto a big room at the front. In my imagination these rooms and the corridor were busy with uniformed figures doing support tasks for the control staff on the next floor, reached via a concrete staircase. 

I switched from colour to black and white as the impulse took me. On the whole, I thought black and white suited the feeling of the place better. Next, the stairs up, and the first floor, the one from which takeoffs and landings where directed.

There would have been safety rails once, long since salvaged and taken away, leaving this somewhat tricky staircase. Potentially hazardous for unsteady oldies like me. But I didn't miss my footing and fall to my death.

The first floor, as expected, had a great view. 

The staff working up here certainly had a wonderfully good panoramic view of the airfield in front of them. I was amazed how well-built it was. Eighty years on, exposed to the elements for much of that time, and still holding up. In places, the ceiling showed the steel reinforcement of the concrete. Well, no wonder the basic structure was still largely intact.

I didn't go too near the windows. The breeze up here was pretty fierce.

The rest of the first floor was similar to the ground floor. I suppose the graffiti was marginally better. I peered at most of it. 

Time to investigate the other buildings. These were clearly for storage - fuel, ammunition - plus others that could have been canteens and garages. All definitely worth a look.

A stony glance from a territorial sheep.

Latrines, I suppose.

This building was supposed to be important - a notice said so - but nevertheless it had been vandalised by the graffiti boys and was full of rubbish.

That might have been an original wartime door. But pulled off its hinges and kicked to death. 

I looked at most of the other buildings too. They were in various states of decay. But at least one was serving as a farmer's lockup.

It was getting on. Nearly lunchtime. Should I have a quick look at one of the museums instead? Hunger won. On my way off the airfield I passed the wireless station, and then the RAF museum. I was tempted to stop, but was resolute and drove on. Something for a future visit.