Cornwall (Kernow)

St Ives beach

My first visit to Cornwall was when I was a toddler. I have no active memory of it, but I do have vestiges of the feeling of liking it. The family story is that I adored Tintagel castle. Part of my mother’s family originated from there, or so we think. My parents have a story of them on a visit once, going into a pub there and seeing people who looked identical to the family reunions usually taking place in country New South Wales. Only these old men wore woolly jumpers and drank pints of bitter or ale flavoured by the log fires warming their stone pub, whereas the Aussie folk would have been in work trousers and downing Tooheys or the like.

Since moving to the UK, I’ve travelled to Cornwall a few times. I stayed in Penzance once, back in November 2006. I stayed at the Youth Hostel and went on a few walks along the coast. I visited St Michael’s Mount one day before hail storms drove me to a pub. On another night, a storm whipped the sea up onto the road and I discovered the Ship Inn and a fabulous sea food dinner.

Two Australian friends announced they were visiting Europe this northern spring and asked if I would like to go with them to Cornwall. They were hiring a car and planning on visiting Tintagel, Boscastle, St Ives and as one of them is a bit of a foodie who loves seafood, to check out Padstow. 

I said yes.

We caught the train on 25 April 2012 from London Waterloo to Salisbury where we picked up the car. We drove to Boscastle via Stonehenge and the northern tip of Dartmoor, mostly dodging the rain. That bucketed down in sheets mostly while we were on the main roads but we were lucky in that when we stopped for a nice pub lunch at the Mulberry in Cheriton Bishop (Devon) we didn't get soaked. I had a tasty enough Otter Ale in a fun glass (see right) and the first of many fish meals, a not bad fish and chips. The weather (and the car) was against us so we pressed on to the Atlantic coast.

The rain lightened up when we got to Boscastle so after we parked in the expansive car park that doubles as a flood plain, we wandered up to the harbour area (see left). The tide was obviously out, but as it wasn't tipping down with rain pretty much everyone was out clambering over the rocks and looking at the amazing coastline with its jagged grey rocks and pounding sea. 

But, the rain returned just as we were heading back to the village to check into the Riverside hotel. Friends of mine had recommended we go to see the Museum of Witchcraft (see right) as an example of something odd. We paid over our three quid each and were immediately into a 1970s film appreciation school or something, focussing on the various depictions of witches dating from then. I understood the point that they were trying to make: that the popular image of witches is a confused one and not exactly accurate. The next little section was into the historic suppression of witchcraft and women (and some men) who were believed to be witches. This was immediately sobering because while I was certainly aware of some of the medieval tortures and tests, seeing a selection of these implements along with contemporary and more modern descriptions of how they were used highlighted just how brutal they were. Seen through the prism of the resurgent war on women in parts of the USA, that brutality is horrifying. The next room was devoted to various old rites and festivals, many of which are still celebrated today in parts of England and Cornwall. Then through an interesting array of folk medicines and biographies of traditional healers, then upstairs to a collection of various items including devil and satanic items. All in all, I'm glad I went to it, and it did provoke some interesting discussions about belief and non-belief, and history, and interpretation while we three nursed a pint each of Cornish ale in an atmospheric pub surprisingly full of locals rather than tourists. But, the museum is such a bizarre mis-match of things and ideas that jar it really does need a good curator to come and give it a good think and shake up.

The hotel was not full, and we had a pleasant enough dinner although the fish was not cooked too well. We planned out the next day but retired early to the sound of rain. I had a good night's sleep, but my friends had to deal with an alarm clock left set for 3 am by some American tourists the day before, so the hotel people explained.

In the morning, one of my friends and I went for a short walk around the harbour and through some fields and back down into the village before breakfast. The weather clear, cool, and the paths surprisingly not too muddy given the amount of rain. We met a chap walking his Jack Russell, both of whom were very friendly. As we were going the same way as the walker, he chatted to us about the village. He and his missus had moved to Boscastle five years ago (so after the flood) from Yorkshire. She is an artist but they both loved the place and stayed. The bluebells and wild garlic plants were out in full bloom and my friend and I were ready for a good breakfast when we returned to the hotel.

We drove the short distance to Tintagel and headed to the castle, which had a few school parties. We mostly avoided them and enjoyed the spectacular views in peace. English Heritage has done a pretty good job with the castle in terms of laying out information on the different sections. The ascent to the peak on the island part was in good nick, as were most of the other parts. I loved the place again, mostly because of the sea, the rocks, the windswept wildness of it. It might not actually have anything to do with Arthur, the Round Table, his knights, Merlin and dragons, but the place is so evocative it's not at all surprising that various poets and novelists have drawn inspiration from here.

After the awesome might of Tintagel, we headed to Padstow, which was a contrast. We arrived a bit after the lunch time crowds, but they were still ambling about. After a bit of a meander, we found Rick Stein's Fish and Chip shop down on the south quay and managed to grab some lunch before it closed up for the afternoon. I had a grilled bream, which was rather nice. It reminded me of Doyle's in Sydney.

We then roared off to Penzance where we had rooms waiting for us in a new guesthouse - so new, it didn't yet have its name plate up. Ameria House is the name, and I have no problems recommending it. We went for a wander about the town and I found the Ship Inn again, where we had dinner. 

After a lovely breakfast, we packed up the car and headed to St Ives. There, we were greeted by the sun and a chap practicing his para-gliding. We walked along the beach, then through the town and to the harbour. We visited the Tate and were all disappointed by the exhibition there and the lack of any permanent exhibition showcasing local art. But, the views from the cafe were magnificent. We went to the Barbara Hepworth sculpture garden and while I'm not really a fan of her work, in situ I could understand more about what it is she was trying to capture being the great ancient stones and how humans interact with them.

On the advice of a person at Boscastle, we headed to the small village of Lamorna on the south western end of Mount's Bay. This was to try a Newlyn crab sandwich, which we did, and it was delicious. Unfortunately, the rain had returned, and while we stopped off at Mousehole so my friends could have a Cornish cream tea (one used the clotted cream as butter, the other didn't - who is right?) we headed back to Penzance to have a final wander around. On advice from a ticket office bloke in Penzance station, we deposited our luggage at a nearby pub / hotel and then headed back to the Ship Inn for dinner. It again didn't disappoint. 

Finally, it was time for the sleeper train back to London. We had a chat in the dining/lounge car before heading to bed. I slept amazingly well, but woke as we  were heading into London Paddington at 5 am. Interestingly, they allow you to stay on the train until about 7 am. I had breakfast then farewelled my mates as they headed off to mainland Europe for a bit.