There is exactly one place in the UK with an exclamation mark in its official name, and it turns out to be a genuinely good family holiday, not just a pub-quiz answer. Westward Ho! sits on the north Devon coast, tucked under steep cliffs where the Bristol Channel starts to feel like the Atlantic, and it has quietly become what one returning visitor calls a secret surf village.
The name comes from an 1855 Charles Kingsley novel, and the Victorians built it as a seaside resort before cheap flights to the Mediterranean pulled the life out of so many British coastal towns. Unlike the static-caravan-and-soggy-chips resorts it never became, Westward Ho! has modernised on its own terms: scallop-roofed apartment blocks, surf schools, wetsuits everywhere. Lines from Rudyard Kipling's If are set into the cobblestones of the promenade — the writer spent teenage years here at the United Services College.
The practical hook for families is big: in a country where August accommodation is brutally expensive and scarce, this was one of the few south-west spots with an affordable family-sized apartment in peak school holidays. The beach delivers, too. A seawater pool sits by the sea wall — bracing even in August, and a bracing alarm-call swim is a legitimate way to start the day. At low tide, kids can rock-hop across to the sand in reef shoes (adult supervision and tide-awareness essential), and the surf is forgiving enough for bodyboards and wave-jumping, with the usual flag-swimming rules applying.
But the real reason families come back is the village green, a strip of grass above the sea ringed by bars, restaurants, surf shops and a puzzlingly spider-themed playground. The food scene is surprisingly international for a small Devon village — a Thai restaurant-cocktail bar, a burrito truck parked next to the ice-cream van, a curry-focused pub, giant pasties. Evenings settle into a rhythm: fish and chips on the benches while a brass band works through the Rocky theme and Pink Pony Club, Uno over pints of cider in the Guillicon-sized beer garden of the Guillemot pub, wood-fired pizza on a terrace while kids chase seagulls at the sea wall. Across the water, Lundy Island — known for its puffins — catches the setting sun.
For anyone priced out of Cornwall or tired of dated seaside strips, this is the pitch: affordable August stays, an actual swimmable surf beach, and a village centre designed for unhurried evenings rather than day-tripper throughput. Bring a bodyboard, bring reef shoes, and don't leave without the fridge magnet — or, if you're unlucky, a giant stuffed crab destined to be named Ho!race and hauled back every summer.
