Could I find a different kind of light in the dark?

In the latest in his series of reflections on place and pathways, Will Gore recalls a literally breathtaking moment under Devonian stars

The wonders of the night sky are something to behold (ESO)

One of the great joys of not living in London is the existence of darkness.

In big cities, light seeps everywhere, even into parks and commons, making nighttime perennially dusky.

Out in provincial towns and villages, the night can feel like a different thing altogether, although even there light pollution can take the edge off the blackness.

Still, real darkness can be discovered in Britain, you just have to know where to look for it.

Fifteen years ago, my wife to be and I had travelled to north Devon, staying in a farmhouse bed and breakfast around half a mile away from the seaside village of Croyde. It was February and the days, spent mostly strolling on deserted beaches and headlands, were short.

One evening we decided to walk to the next nearest village, Georgeham, for dinner at one of its pubs. It wasn’t far to go, a little over a mile perhaps, mainly along a quiet road – the kind of lane on which you don’t expect to meet a car, but worry whether you’ll be seen if you do.

It was shudderingly cold that winter but we wrapped up and headed into the night armed with torches lent to us by the owners of the B&B.

The track from the farmhouse to the road was lined with trees, and even after we escaped the modest cover offered by their bare branches, the steepness of the hill and the high verges of the lane meant we barely looked up at the sky.

But as we reached the top of the rise, we became aware that our torches had become redundant. Turning them off, we could see one another perfectly easily.

The moon wasn’t full but was no less luminous for that. As for the stars, I had never seen them in all their glory before. It felt as if there were so many in the sky above us, that there was more star than black: a canopy of fairy lights.

It was utterly breathtaking. So much so, in fact, that my other half became worryingly wheezy – asthma playing up in the cold. Without an inhaler to hand, I wondered what we would do in the event of a full-on attack.

Soon enough the lights of Georgeham came into view and we reached the warm safety of the Kings Arms. The journey back a couple of hours later was equally beautiful, but thankfully less asthmatic.

Of course, the paradox of proper darkness is that, when the skies are cloudless, there is no shortage of light emanating from space: the kind of soft radiance that makes you feel that all must be well. Awesome in its real meaning.

We should all from time to time get out of our well-lit homes and away from street lamps and the glare of busy roads.

Being in the dark is good for the soul, revealing the world as it might view itself; and on a clear night, you can unexpectedly – and very profoundly – see the light.