My dad* spent a large part of his youth in Somerset - in Street, IIIRC. He used to traipse up to Glastonbury Tor with a guitar strapped to his back to play Donovan tunes. As he tells it, on one occasion he was halfway up the hill and there was a sudden gust of wind, a bird started from a small bush in front of him and took off into the air and the strings of his guitar sang out. He was quite impressed. The place makes one impressionable, I think.
I spent some of the earliest years of my life in Chard, and my sister was born in Taunton. One of my most vivid memories of Chard is being at school and being scared out of my wits by a short film about the dangers of playing with farm machinery - the boy who drinks fertiliser and dies, the children caught in the burning barn, and so on. Most probably this one - it seems to be quite famous:
* as I was typing this, my finger hit caps lock by mistake and I ended up writing "My DAD". Make of that what you will.