Tuesday 1st October
After breakfast we move to the lay by on the other side of the road, it’s more visible to traffic passing by then we walk down a farm track and onto the South West Coast Path. Immediately we have views of St Michaels Mount. Across white capped waves the island rises from the sea with the dominant outline of the castle on top. The last quarter of our walk ends up being along the beach as the cliffs have crumbled down taking the path with it.
We explore the town of Marazion and have a coffee while we wait to the causeway to be exposed. It is meant to be 11.20 but the wind keeps the sea washing over until 11.40. A few people take off their shoes and wade across. If it had been a nice warm sunny day, I would have definitely done the same but as it is we shelter from a rain squall and by the time it passes so can we.
I am fascinated by the thought of living in a small community that some of the time is part of a larger community. Part time Island life. Your daily routines determined by the elements.
The history of the island…. the Benedictine monks from Mont-St-Michel in Normandy built a monastery here in the 1100’s. Like all other Catholic property it was taken by King Henry the 8th. This one he didn’t destroy, instead turning it into a fortress. At the end of the English civil war the then Commander purchased for £3000 the island and everything on it. He then converted it into his family home. The same family still own it. For visitors it is joint National Trust run, family owned venture, and not cheap I must say. The renowned gardens are closed for the season, they only open for 3 months of the year. We wander around the town, not much, and go up to the castle. The guide you get with your tickets is interesting reading, it is written by the current owner, Lord St Leven, and includes personal memories of the rooms from his childhood. The castle is 2 floors on one side and 4 on the other. We tour through the ground floor and the roof terraces, roof top church and the drawing rooms visited by royalty. The families private quarters are below on the south side. It must be odd to have hundreds of people trooping through your house but some people we’ve been bumping into for the last couple of days said the family hardly ever come here now.
We were lucky with the rain squalls until we’re partway back to the van, bugger! Wet again.
Greg had noted an interesting looking cove to visit so I’d found a free place to stay close by. We call in at the cove but decide we’ll come back tomorrow so go on to the carpark at Cadgwith Cove. It is at the top of a genuine fishing village. We walk down to the pub for a pre dinner drink and learn that Tuesday night the locals get together for a music/singing jam session so I guess we will be going back for a post dinner drink too.
The village is pinch me quaint, thatched houses hugging the gully sides. The path down is just a walking track, there is a road but you need a very small car as the fishing boats get hauled up and stored on the roadside. They still use round logs to roll the boats up on, like the Egyptians did, a concession to modern living they now use a tractor instead of man power.
As we approached the pub there are two old geezers with high belted pants over woollen jumpers, wooden walking sticks and fishermen beards are coming towards us. Greg asks if he can take their photos which leads to a great conversation. One lives local, and is walking home, the other is driving back to a nearby village. He’s probably over the limit and we found out later he’s in his 90’s. They are all concerned about him but he’s been having a drink here after work, then driving home for a very very long time and won’t change now. I’m surprised he’s still working in his 90’s too. He tells us he’s been married for 68 years and.. in a whisper to Greg…. he still fancies her.
After dinner we head back down to the pub, with torches as it’s dark. The pubs not that big as you enter the room, on your right are 3 small round tables. A window above the middle one, lots and lots of framed photos of local fishermen and boats over the rest of the walls. Immediately opposite is a fireplace, unlit tonight. The ceiling is low and crossed by dark beams. There are rope loops hanging at regular intervals. Asked what they are for, I’m told on Fridays when the sailors come back ashore they use them to help keep their balance. Sea legs, though she confesses nowadays it’s other influences effecting their balance. The bar runs the length of the left wall with bar stools all along it. There is a forth table, square this time, tucked against the bar and the wall on your left. There is a lot of people. The first two tables on the right are occupied by the musicians. Greg goes to the bar and buys a couple of drinks. There is a empty chair at the forth table and I ask if I can sit there. Greg stands behind me with his back against the door frame. The male of the two already at the table has 5 harmonicas lined up on the table and he nervously rearranges them periodically.
There are 5 other men with instruments. They take turns playing a song. It seems to be there are a core three who accompany whoever is playing/singing and another two who are clearly regulars as well. Sometimes the others will play along on their turn, particularly one who plays a tin whistle. He borrows a guitar for one of his songs and sings another couple a cappella. The guy at our table had obviously been practicing some tunes with one of the core group and they did some upbeat catchy duets, guitar and harmonica. He got a lot more relaxed as the evening progressed so I think it was his first time. The instruments in total are 2 regular guitars, 2 pear shaped guitars 2 harmonica players, 1 banjo, 1 tin whistle, 1 of those rubber band mouth thingies and an interesting instrument that was triangular, had 24 strings and he played it with a almost half circle bow. Plus a whistle thing that sounded like a train.
The songs were mostly folkish but there was a variety. Sometimes it would be a mournful solo, other times a jolly jig and the whole bar would join in on the chorus. After a short time, one of the musicians pushed over a seat for Greg, joking about him photographing the floor. They’d stop and chat to people coming and going, clearly they all know each other. It’s an interesting evening, a glimpse into small community life. The pub has things on every night, music, quizzes, curry night etc and is obviously the hub of the village.
It’s raining again when we walk back up to the van, bugger! Greg is fighting off getting another cold and this rain isn’t helping.
2nd October
We decide to walk the tracks around here instead of going back to Kynance Cove. It’s all part of the Lizard headland.
The South West Coast path runs over 600 miles and a lot of it is along the old paths used by authorities to try and catch smugglers. We’ve picked up a booklet outlining a circuit. It’s back down the footpath again. This morning there are a couple of fishermen securing their boats. Today it isn’t raining but there is a tropical rainstorm due tomorrow and it will bring extra high swells. We cross the cove and climb up to the headland. There is an old shed there. It was a coastguard signal station but before that it was a Huer’s Hut, used by pilchard shoal spotters. This is the origin of the term hue and cry, coming from Huer’s cry when he spot the fish.
The path carries on over several small headlands with tiny steep coves. You can picture the smugglers, they had plenty of spots to chose from. We arrive at the ruins of the Poltesco serpentine works. Serpentine is an unusual local rock of a green and red marble like appearance. In the Victorian age this was a large factory making vases to gravestones. Queen Victoria had a mantelpiece made here. There is also a round building that used to contain a winch for manually hauling the boats up out of the water. I explore every cranny, reading all the information panel then look around for Greg. Takes a little while to spot him, he is lying on the stone beach photographing the water. His grey hoodie blending into the rocks.
The path continues on to Kennack Sands, a surf beach. There is a cafe there so we relax with coffee. We then wander along the beach and up the next headland to look back where we’ve been.
The circuit we are following goes along some roads from here back to close by the Serpentine works so we opt instead to backtrack along the cliffs then up a side path to the old mill at Poltesco. The upper mill was rebuilt in the 1970’s and used for a while so is in reasonable condition. It has ivy growing up the walls, blending it into its landscape. Next it’s along a sleepy lane to the small village of Ruan Minor. A church, covered in red ivy, a school with children playing at lunchtime, a community noticeboard and thatched cottages. Public walkways leads us through stream valleys and around fields eventually back to the carpark and our van.
Greg comments that we’ve not being hiking but rather ambling and he’s certainly correct. The weather has been pleasant, chilly but with sunshine and only a gentle breeze. This makes such a difference to our experience. But this is a lovely area, unaffected by tourism and better for it. Greg feels it’s untouched by the 21st century too and with no cellphone coverage there are different ways of doing things.
We’re due to go into a campground tonight and I’ve found a small family run one close to Eden Project that I want to visit tomorrow. Then we’ll be leaving Cornwall behind. Mixed feelings about Cornwall but when you hunt for it, you can still find the genuine Cornish lifestyle.
BAGGAB 