A Home With a History: the Dartmoor cottage that sparked a pioneering ceramics studio

There’s a risk that anyone approaching Cath and Jeremy’s house might have a hilly walk on their hands, as low-slung cars are abandoned at the top of its bumpy track. “We’re out on our own, and that’s the magic of it,” says Jeremy, who admits that the couple’s move from east London in 2015 to the wilds of Dartmoor with their three-month-old son Milo in tow was “very impulsive,” lured by the prospect of headspace – and square footage.

“We probably should have thought about it a little bit more, and I remember someone we met just after we moved down saying that she thought it was a courageous thing to do,” says Cath, who left her role as an architectural designer for the move, with Jeremy quitting his globetrotting job with the United Nations.

They first moved into a rental property without phone reception, internet or television. Their nearest neighbours were an octogenarian couple who lived a 15-minute walk away and who’d leave old toys on their doorstep for the baby. “We moved down in the late summer and then by the winter, Cath said: ‘Yeah, I’ve had enough, let’s move somewhere else,’” laughs Jeremy. “I think living in Devon for the spring and the summer is easy enough, you just have to survive the winter.”

The bucolic thatched home they now live in – with its uneven cobbled floors, two-foot-thick walls and inglenook fireplace – belongs to Jeremy’s aunt. (Jeremy lived here as a teenager while studying for his A-Levels nearby.) When his aunt bought it from some elderly farmers in the 1990s, the ceilings were caving in and the walls were crumbling.

But by the time Cath and Jeremy became custodians, the structure was sound so it was just a case of slowly filling the space with furniture. “Whenever we need something, Jeremy makes it,” explains Cath. (The pulley maid above the Aga is one such example.) It was this ethos that planted the seed for their Feldspar brand nearly a decade ago: everyday objects made in slow time by master craftsmen.

With Christmas looming during their first winter in Devon, and the prospect of their families descending en masse, Jeremy and Cath realised they needed not only a table to seat everyone, but a dinner set to eat off. “So, I drove up onto the moor to get a pottery wheel from a really nice guy who gave me a lump of clay and a couple of basic tools, and kind of showed me what to do with his hands. We were pretty bad at it to begin with,” admits Jeremy, combining this rudimentary masterclass with the help of ‘how to’ books and YouTube videos, precariously bumping back across the moor to have their china fired in a kiln.

By 2016, Feldspar (named after an abundant mineral in the Dartmoor clay) launched with a coveted collection of pared-back objects. From cups with perfectly wonky handles to plates with understated flashes of colour on the rims, their collection is now stocked in both The Conran Shop and Selfridges.

“What we make focuses on form, rather than decoration, and the same goes for our approach to the house,” Jeremy explains, each of its rooms the antithesis to the cosy maximalism you might associate with a rural thatched cottage. The walls remain whitewashed and each uneven 15th-century surface is celebrated.

When the couple moved in, they were quick to take down the curtains. “The beams around the windows are so beautiful it seemed a shame to cover them up with curtain poles,” explains Cath. “And we don’t have neighbours anyway, so we didn’t need them. The only exception is in the spare room where we’ve put up some linen ones because guests were annoyed about the no-curtain policy,” she laughs.

While the untouched beams take centre stage, there are plenty of other pieces carefully positioned to stop you in your tracks: an intricate brass candle sconce by the Dorset-based maker Jess Wheeler; an antique screen from the nearby market town of Chagford standing next to the bath; or a plastic lamp crafted by James Shaw.

Inspiration for each of Feldspar’s creations, which are now made in their two nearby studios, tends to stem from a frustration with an everyday piece of kit – whether it’s a lemon juicer, nutcracker or soap dish – and a hunch that a better version could be made. Their designs are also inspired by the storybooks they read to their three small children. “It’s that kind of sketch-like and playful quality of Roald Dahl or Oliver Jeffers’ books, where everything is slightly out of proportion. We’re always trying to capture that naivety and childhood wonder. It means our things can be slightly whimsical but not in a naff way. We don't want it to be kitsch,” emphasises Jeremy. This is about functional, not flouncy, fine-bone china – and a chance to shine a light on the critically endangered craft that is industrial pottery.

Jeremy dreams of eventually building his own house, making every part they’ll need themselves – including copper drain pipes. “If you show an interest in something, there’s always someone willing to share their skill,” reasons Jeremy. “I tried to pay the guy who taught me how to braze the brass for our new lighting collection, but he reasoned that, at some point, he’ll need to make something in ceramic or wood, and maybe I can show him how to do that,” he adds.

“You often have to pinch yourself to remind yourself how good we have it down here, with the garden for the kids and the days they can spend on their bikes cycling around. We’re earning way less than in our previous life, but I think that’s a good sign. We’re really lucky.”

Visits from a nearby farmer – usually when cows escape into their garden – are a reminder of the life that has passed through this house and its surrounding fields. “He remembers the house from when he was a boy, telling a story about an American plane that crashed into one of the fields on a training exercise during the second world war,” recounts Cath.

During those bleak, dark winters which morph into euphoric springs, Cath and Jeremy can set out across the moor for hours, Dartmoor’s luxury of emptiness – and peacefulness – almost unchanged from that farmer’s childhood memories. “Life’s taken a completely different turn by us coming down here,” reflects Jeremy, the capital now a distant blur. “I don’t think Feldspar would exist if we hadn't moved here and had the space – and that need to think about what we could create.”

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