AFTER living in Barnard Castle for over twenty years, the decision to leave it was not taken lightly. The timing was right and we had sound family reasons for leaving and yet . . . I am not sure if it?s a good thing or not but I have an ?instant? feeling about people and places. For instance, the very first time I visited Barnard Castle, peering at the town as we came over the bridge and up The Bank, I said ?I could live here?. It was some years before that happened but, when it did, I was delighted. Our twenty years there were happy. Of course there were some problems, particularly health problems latterly for my husband Ken, but I took the view that it was just as well we were living in a town we loved surrounded by friends. So why move? It was all about timing and family and making it easier for them and us and also ? dare I say it? ? a slightly uncomfortable feeling that Barney was changing, becoming different and that I was finding it increasingly difficult to hang on to what used to be. Maybe it?s something to do with growing older, children growing up, that sort of thing. Maybe it?s a desire to hold onto what used to be. Maybe it was losing some dear friends and knowing that, however much you wanted to stop it happening, things did change. Whatever it was, it was making me have itchy feet. Having made the decision, feeling the weight because of Ken?s frail health, I was instantly full of indecision. Were we doing the right thing? What I really wanted to do at that moment was to wrap Barney up, together with all my wonderful friends, into a big bag and transport it to a pretty spot in Devon. We knew it would be warmer ? and wetter! And we knew that living there was not quite the same as visiting. Somewhat apprehensively, we made preparations for the long journey south to look at properties. I was on the look-out for a market town, something like Barney. As a novelist, I remembered my first editor giving me advice about the next book ?We would like something similar,? she told me. ?We don?t want your readers becoming confused. If possible, we want the same yet different.? Quite. And so, we came to Tavistock. As we drove over the bridge over the River Tavy into Bedford Square, it hit me, that very same feeling I experienced over twenty years ago when I first saw Barney. It?s not quite fair to compare the two towns for Tavistock, affectionately called Tavi, is about double the size. But in so many ways, it is the same. Tourists visit. We have a continuing problem with car parking and continuing grumbles from businesses and public alike about increased charges. But once you are parked, then the pannier market is a treat and you can take a stroll along the three main streets that make up the town. You can stop off for a cream tea at The Coffee Mill, one of several cafes, and for a special lunch ? for which Ken and I find frequent excuses ? Browns Hotel takes some beating. And, at the library, I have a new contact in Moira, every bit as helpful as Anne Briggs was at Barnard Castle library, supporting me by arranging promotions and talks. Tavistock prides itself on being the western gateway to Dartmoor and you do feel the presence of the moor all around as it can be seen from the town itself. Like Barney, it has a long fascinating history and the ruins remain of the medieval abbey. A statue of Sir Francis Drake, who lived at nearby Buckland Abbey, takes pride of place in the centre of a small roundabout on the road leading to Plymouth. In October, there is the goose fair, one of the oldest traditional fairs in England, which bears a distinct resemblance to The Meet Weekend. And not least, The Tavistock Times Gazette, the local weekly paper, is surely a sister edition of The Mercury. So, eighteen months on, here we are. We live just outside Tavistock, in the village of Grenofen, in a lovely apartment in a converted manor house with spectacular views. Amongst our small community, there are more than enough ?northern folk? and, as in Barney, we were made very welcome from the beginning. I have made new friends but I still keep in touch with my Barney friends and love to keep up with the news. The arrival of The Mercury on a Thursday morning calls for a sit down and a cup of coffee while I see what?s happening. I am still busy writing. My last novel ?Emily?s Wedding? was set here in Devon, the house in the story bearing some resemblance to the manor itself. For my next book I am back up north in familiar territory. Everyday, walking the dog up the lane from the manor, I look across the fields to the valley that dips down to the River Walkham. If I need my creative vibes recharging, all I need to do is look at that view. It is so easy in both towns to get away for a few minutes from the hustle and bustle and find country peace and quiet. I love them both for that reason. The same yet different. I think I may have achieved it.