Eight centuries of history unfold within the walls of Buckland Abbey, a house of faith, power and adventure.
Words by Jamie Crocker
The road towards Buckland Abbey twists through the Devon countryside, past high hedgerows and sloping fields, until it gives way to a landscape that feels as though it has barely changed since the days of Cistercian monks and Tudor seafarers. As I approach, the house looms ahead, a structure that has shifted and adapted through time, absorbing the ambitions of those who have claimed it as their own. The past is embedded in its stones, and with each step, I feel the weight of history pressing in.
Standing before the entrance, I picture the abbey as it once was, its quiet halls filled with the murmured prayers of monks. Founded in 1278, Buckland Abbey was the last Cistercian monastery built in medieval England and Wales. For more than 250 years, monks farmed the vast estate, their lives dedicated to austerity, prayer and manual labour. The Dissolution of the Monasteries shattered that tranquillity, and the medieval walls were reshaped into a grand house. The hand of Sir Richard Grenville, the man who made it a home, is still evident in the Tudor embellishments that replaced the solemn austerity of its ecclesiastical past. But it is another name – more famous, more formidable – that dominates the Abbey’s legacy: Sir Francis Drake.
It would be remiss of me not to break my exploration and offer some more on this fascinating character from English history. Sir Francis Drake strides through history as both hero and scourge, his legacy forever caught between admiration and accusation. To England, he was a master mariner, a man who encircled the globe and held the Spanish Armada at bay. To Spain, he was El Draque – the dragon – a ruthless privateer whose raids burned their ports and plundered their treasure fleets.
LEFT: Plaster statue of Sir Francis Drake (1540 - 1596) by Sir Joseph Boehm (1834-1890) in the Lifetimes Gallery | ©National Trust Images/Chris Lacey CENTRE: Model of the four-masted sailing ship in the museum | ©National Trust Images/James Dobson RIGHT: An oblique view of Buckland Abbey, viewed from the South East | ©National Trust Images/ John Millar
Born into relative obscurity in Tavistock, Drake’s rise was propelled by ambition and an unrelenting will. He cut his teeth on the lawless waters of the Caribbean, where piracy and patriotism blurred. His circumnavigation of the world, completed in 1580, cemented his reputation, filling Queen Elizabeth’s coffers and earning him a knighthood. But it was in 1588, during the battle against the Armada, that his name was truly forged into legend. As enemy sails darkened the horizon, he played bowls on Plymouth Hoe, unruffled, before leading his fire ships into the fray and scattering the Spanish fleet.
Yet, away from the high seas and the theatre of war, Drake’s later years were spent in quiet authority here at Buckland Abbey, which he transformed into his estate.
He died, fittingly, at sea in 1596, felled not by battle but by dysentery. Buried in full armour off Panama’s coast, his grave, like his life, remains elusive – lost to the sea he once commanded.
But back to my walk of discovery. Inside, the air is cool, thick with the scent of oak and stone. I move towards the Great Hall, where the remnants of its churchly origins merge with the confident flourishes of the Elizabethan age. The stone floor beneath my feet has been trodden by men who shaped the course of history, and the Tudor panelling bears the marks of an age of expansion, of daring voyages across uncharted seas. It is here that I begin to understand Buckland Abbey’s true nature – not just a place of residence, but a vessel for the ambitions of those who have called it home.
Onward through the nave, I find the Pym Murals, a bold and evocative depiction of Drake’s exploits, stretching across the walls like a tapestry of conquest. The Golden Hind rides the waves, a prize ship is seized, the Armada scatters before English cannons. These murals, painted centuries after the events they depict, speak to the enduring grip Drake holds on the imagination. But there is another treasure here, quieter yet no less commanding – a Rembrandt self-portrait, its gaze both penetrating and enigmatic, a reminder of the house’s evolution beyond its maritime past.
A narrow passage leads me deeper into the Abbey. The kitchen, still marked by its Tudor origins, feels as though it could spring to life at any moment, filled with the crackle of the hearth and the bustle of preparation. Volunteers occasionally cook here, reviving centuries-old techniques, filling the space with the ghostly echoes of past meals and feasts.
Beyond the kitchen lies the chapel, a place of quiet reverence. Discovered in 1917 by Lady Drake during renovations, it holds the site of the high altar, where monks once gathered in worship. The stillness here is profound, a contrast to the energy of the rest of the Abbey. It is a space where time seems suspended, where the past lingers more keenly than anywhere else within these walls.
LEFT: ©National Trust Images/Sarah Davis CENTRE: ©National Trust Images/ John Millar RIGHT: ©National Trust Images/James Dobson
Climbing the staircase, I enter the Lifetimes Gallery, dedicated to Drake’s world and the tumultuous era he navigated. Here, maps unfurl routes taken by his ships, letters recount victories and controversies, and objects recovered from voyages tell of distant lands and uncertain seas. A silver chest, believed to have belonged to Drake himself, sits among these relics – a reminder that wealth and renown were often gained at great cost.
I step outside, drawn towards the Great Barn, a feat of medieval craftsmanship that has stood unwavering through the centuries. Built by the Cistercian monks to store wool, fleece, cattle hides and crops, the barn is a testament to their industriousness. Within its cavernous interior, once used by monks for winnowing corn, a cider press stands as a nod to the Abbey’s agricultural past. I imagine the fields stretching out, the orchards heavy with fruit, a time when this estate was not only a home but the heart of a working farm.
LEFT: ©National Trust Images/James Dobson RIGHT: ©National Trust Images/James Dobson
Fire nearly undid centuries of history in 1938 when flames tore through the Abbey, consuming much of the upper floors. It took years of careful restoration, supported by Plymouth City Council and the National Trust, to return the building to what we see today. The scars of that fire remain, hidden within the beams and walls, reminders of how close this place came to vanishing altogether.
Through every archway and passage, Buckland Abbey reveals itself in layers – a place of devotion turned into a stronghold of power, a house rebuilt from fire and neglect, a relic of the past that refuses to fade. Each stone holds the ambitions of those who shaped it, from humble monks to men of fortune. As I walk away, I glance once more at the walls, their surface bearing the marks of centuries.
And before I leave, I head to the Ox Yard café for tea and to contemplate what I’d seen and read about. This is no mere museum. It is a living testament to the tides of history, and as I leave, I feel the inescapable pull of its story, urging me to return.
LEFT: The south front of Buckland Abbey, with the Tower rising up in in the middle | ©National Trust Images/Sarah Davis
RIGHT: The Great Barn, Buckland Abbey | ©National Trust Images/George Wright