Dingle Dell Story

A wonky holiday home, rebuilt with love

Dingle Dell is one of five — originally six — small wooden chalets tucked down a quiet private lane in the heart of Croyde. In most villages, being at the centre means being close to shops, pubs, and restaurants. But Croyde is different. Its roads form a loose horseshoe, so the centre is quiet — away from the traffic, yet still within walking distance of everything that matters: the surf and South West Coast Path to the west, and the shops and pubs where the road through the village splits.

A postwar beginning

Family folklore tells us that Dingle Dell was built in 1948, just after the Second World War. It began life as a modest four-room chalet, clad in timber with a nailed-on felt roof. There was no electricity, no water, and no drainage. As Ron Smith recalls, the clout nails used for the roof came right through the timber ceiling — their points lined up like neat little soldiers.

In 1958, Frank Smith, manager of the Express and Echo, was given a company loan to buy Dingle Dell from the Seymour family. Though now a respected elder in the village, Johny Lewis remembers how his father dowsed for water to find the best spot for a freshwater well — and the unforgettable bang when a little too much leftover war explosive was used to make digging the soft sandy soil easier. The Lewis family, well known locally for running the donkeys on Croyde beach, have long been part of the village’s story. That original communal well still lies beneath the flagstone at Heatherdale, a neighbouring chalet.

Modern comforts arrive — slowly

A few years later, the South West Electricity Board brought power to the chalets. Frank Smith, together with a small group of neighbours, negotiated with Colonel Ingleton Webber at Ruda for permission to dig and lay mains drainage across the field. With the arrival of plumbing and lighting, the chemical toilet and paraffin lamps were finally retired, and Dingle Dell was ready for letting.

Holiday rentals began in 1963. Frank and Joan Smith managed the bookings for several of the chalets. The first entry in the book was 18 May 1963, when Mr Darke paid eight guineas for his week by the sea. That first season was a full one, with sixteen families enjoying the simplicity of Croyde life — many returning year after year, right up until the Covid lockdown in 2020.

For generations of families, Dingle Dell became a place of tradition and reunion. Boxing Day meetups were a staple — a time when the family came together, swapped stories, and shook the sand out of their boots before tea.

A wartime past and a changing future

Frank Smith had served as a Desert Rat in the Western Desert, which perhaps explains his lifelong talent for digging. Photos show him on the beach, but the sand must have felt familiar either way. When he gave up driving in his nineties, Dingle Dell passed to his daughter Claire — who, in truth, had spent a lifetime here already.

When Covid lockdowns paused the essential maintenance that kept Dingle Dell ticking over for guests, the to-do list started to grow. One urgent job was the bunk room — an early addition built to squeeze in a few more holidaymakers. As the room was cleared and the tools came out, someone casually suggested, “If we move this wall…”

That sparked a wave of ideas. Back then, you had to walk through one bedroom to reach the next. Privacy was limited, and the loo — in the very early years — was in a stand-alone shed on the back patio. Giving each room its own door seemed a modest but meaningful improvement. Then came the question of relocating the bathroom… and soon we were imagining a whole new layout.

Reimagining without erasing

We saw Dingle Dell through new eyes — not just as a rental property, but as a space for grandparents entertaining the next generation. A place shaped by family, love, and laughter. And so began the careful, almost archaeological task of rebuilding it without losing its soul.

The original foundations were, quite literally, a few large stones, a broken paving slab, and a chunky bit of timber laid straight onto grass. That, combined with 70 years of coastal weather, created one of Dingle Dell’s defining quirks: the centre stayed dry and firm, but around the edges, the building tilted, sagged, and settled. Nothing was level. Every repair was done by eye. Each chair at the dining table had its own perfect spot. The table legs had been trimmed to suit the sloped floor. A 3- or 4-inch wooden block under the bed was essential for a level night’s sleep.

The decision to rebuild was never taken lightly. Every piece of timber we removed had a memory, a story, or a scar. This was not just a structure — it was part of the family. Only once did Claire cry, when Dingle Dell no longer looked like itself. But we pressed on — gently.

Each wall was replaced in sections, cutting the old timber away and shifting it just enough to work around. The result is a total rebuild, with new timber, insulation, wiring, and plumbing — yet the shape, feel, and charm of Dingle Dell remain. We didn’t rebuild Dingle Dell. We reloved it.

Stealth, craft, and care

Wherever possible, we blended new materials with the old. Modern timbers don’t have the character of postwar salvage, so we paid obsessive attention to detail — even sharpening a traditional wooden moulding plane to match the profile of the old boards. Some of the wonk remains, but now it takes a trained eye to spot where the new meets the old.

The little shed at the end of the veranda has been reinstated. It still holds the buckets, spades, belly boards and fishing nets. There’s still the same mix of practical comfort and seaside nostalgia — but now, with plumbing that works, beds that are level, and no need for a chemical loo.

What we’ve ended up with is a thoroughly modern holiday home, quietly shaped by two generations of memories and joy.

That’s our story so far. And now, after a five-year interlude, Dingle Dell is ready for its next act.