Cardinham, Port Isaac and Blisland

Despite driving on the wrong side of the road and the wrong side of the car, we had a relatively uneventful seven hour drive across southern England, arriving in Lostwithiel, on the head of the Fowey estuary a couple of miles south of Bodmin. Our accommodation for the next couple of days was at the Earl of Chatham Inn. We were not disappointed, it was a classic village pub with dangerously low ceilings, noisy plumbing and gargantuan portions served at breakfast and dinner. Our first task was to source a new walking stick for Dad as he had left his back in Luxembourg. As if by magic, as we wandered down the deserted main street of Lostwithiel, we came across a magnificently archaic emporium specialising in walking sticks and boot repairs.

On our first morning in Cornwall, we were greeted with some exceptionally pleasant weather. We headed off in the direction of Cardinham, briefly visiting Restormel castle, the home of the Black Prince. Although we came across hosts of daffodils and other wildflowers, it was apparently too early in the season for the mythical carpets of bluebells in the woods. We found the house in which Dad was born on the road up to Bunny’s Hill. After a slightly awkward introduction, Dad had quite a conversation with the present day owner, who having only been there for 40 years, was not yet considered to be a local.

The delightful parish church of St Meubred in Cardinham features a solid granite structure, vaulted wooden ceilings and some wonderful stained glass windows, several of which refer to departed members of the Runnalls family. We wandered in the Spring sunshine around the churchyard, which afforded a lovely view over the village. Dad was in his element, remembering or making up bits and pieces of his life here 86 years ago.

Heading towards Padstow with the bright idea of lunching at Rick Stein’s flagship seafood restaurant, we were a bit put out to realise that any number of others were of the same idea. However, they had had the sense to reserve a table up to a year beforehand. The thousands who had missed out on a table were now milling aimlessly about the port eating their fish and chips on the hoof. Similarly in Rock, across the River Camel estuary. Fortunately, we happened upon a very pleasant cafe in Trebetheric where we dined on solid sandwiches al fresco. Here Dad discovered a taste for the local cider. A bonus was a more than decent espresso.

Port Isaac is an extraordinarily pretty North Cornwall fishing port, well worth a visit, but especially so as it is the location for numerous films and TV series including, of course, Doc Martin. We were quite disappointed not to have spied any of the principal characters of the series. The closest we came was up near Tintagel where they were apparently filming on the day. At least, this was what Ingrid understood from a local, speaking in an almost indecipherable Cornish brogue in the self-proclaimed official Doc Martin service station.

  

All over Cornwall we were impressed by the number of Methodist chapels, seemingly every village and town supported at least one. These were inevitably solid granite edifices of grand and sometimes fanciful design - nothing like their weatherboard cousins back in Australia.

We wandered back up on to the western edge of Bodmin moor to visit St Breward, the village to where Dad has traced his family origins. The churchyard contained quite a number of references to past Runnalls. A couple of miles south lies the delightful village of Blisland. Unfortunately, we were unable to visit cousin Shirley Runnalls as she was away, but we did have a drink at one of dad’s all-time favourite pubs, the famous Blisland Inn. It was extremely pleasant sitting out in the late afternoon sun overlooking the idyllic village green. We then  finished the day with a hearty dinner back at the Earl of Chatham.

 

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