West Cornwall

Often described as the jewel in Cornwall’s crown, St Michael's Mount, with its 14^th century castle perched on a great granite crag, occupies a majestic setting overlooking Mounts Bay. The original 11^th century chapel was set up by the monks of the Benedictine order of Mont St Michel in Normandy. Fortunately, not suffering the same international tourist notoriety as its cousin, it still retains its own serene charm. We were able to wander around in the quiet of the evening and early morning, when the low tide allowed us easy access.

Finding ourselves close by the mythical setting of Faulty Towers, Glenleigh House B&B in Marazion seemed to be the most likely to fulfill the entire cliché, right down to the “don’t mention the war ...” guests in the breakfast room. Fortunately, the manager was both congenial and efficient. As well as the classic view from our window shown below, it also featured a charmingly furnished lounge where Dad could read his paper in peace and I could watch Formula 1 on the somewhat incongruous mega-screen TV.

The Minack Theatre is perched spectacularly and precariously on the granite rocks overlooking the crashing waves on the south coast at Porthcurno. It remains as a functioning memorial to the indomitable Rowena Cade, who from 1931 to 1983 almost singlehandedly built the entire complex. Unfortunately, as with many places, it has become extremely commercialised since the last time Dad visited. He was charged for the pleasure of waiting whilst Ingrid and I clambered down to inspect the amphitheatre. We made a point of not buying anything in the café or tacky gift shop.

Dylan Thomas described Mousehole as “the loveliest village in England”. It remains an idyllic, tiny fishing port  built of local, fine grained Lamorna granite, sitting on Mounts Bay a couple of miles out of Penzance. I’m not sure if Spanish tourists are yet welcome, as in 1595 a group of them led by one Carlos de Amesquita apparently razed the entire settlement, except the local pub, which still stands. With its sonorous seagulls, tangy salt air and kids playing cricket on the port beach, the whole place almost risked appearing corny. We were treated to an excellent lunch at "2 Fore Street" which featured a Provencal menu, delightful service, a decent Sauvignon Blanc and mandatory view over the harbour. Fortunately, what was not offered was the local delicacy, Stargazy Pie – a recipe of eggs, potatoes and pilchards, but essentially, with the fish heads poking out through the pastry.

  

Until a proper survey was carried out 200 years ago, Cape Cornwall was thought to be the westernmost point in Cornwall. It has thus been saved the ignominy of a tacky theme park, as has befallen Land's End. It is the point at which the Atlantic currents split and is hence a true cape. It features a golf course whose fairways cascade down the hillside into the Atlantic Ocean. Its exposure to the prevailing westerlies would suggest that, to be fair, par for each hole should vary according to the relative wind strength.

Just offshore are the Brisons, an impressive rocky outcrop from where an annual swimming race back into Priests Cove is held. Even in the day's benign conditions, you could see that they would have to pick their weather window wisely.

We travelled along the north coast from Zennor down to St Just which is the true tin mining area of Ross Poldark’s Cornwall. The famous Botallack and Levant mines with their labyrinth of tunnels up to a mile out under the Atlantic Ocean led to some very rich investors and early deaths for the miners. The ruins of engine houses and chimney stacks remain as memorials to the incredibly hard lives led by the workers and their families. Many of them eventually reached Australia, including our great grandparents on Mum's side of the family who emigrated from Pendeen.

  

In our travels so far, due to Ingrid’s diligent research, we have had many excellent meals. This continued at the Mount Haven Hotel back in Marazion that evening. Although it was a little too brisk to dine on the terrace, we still enjoyed panoramic sunset views over Mounts Bay and St Michael’s Mount.

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Fowey, Eden Project and Falmouth

A perfect early Spring morning – a light haze, a chill in the air but warm sunshine on our faces. We headed south down the estuary to Fowey, a jewel of a place at the mouth of the eponymous river. Whilst Dad caught up with the news, we dawdled around the waterfront absorbing the idyllic atmosphere.

We then wandered back up into the surrounding hills above the coast  looking for “Manderley”, the mythical setting of the Daphne du Maurier novel “Rebecca”. About 2 miles west of Fowey, alerted by a substantial gate house, we reckoned we had stumbled on “Menabilly”, the house tenanted by Daphne du Maurier from 1943 to 1969. From the church yard of the Tregaminion Chapel of Ease, across the fields we could just make out the silhouette of an impressive pile almost hidden by the surrounding woods.

Heading west towards St Austel, we visited the Eden Project, set spectacularly in an abandoned kaolinite pit. The self-supporting geodesic domes create separate bioms, the tropical one being the most impressive. For lunch, we sampled our first Cornish pasties. There was an interesting looking zip wire ride traversing the pit. Ingrid and Dad declined to try it.

Our destination for the evening was Falmouth, where we were lodged in very neat surroundings, looked after by a cheerful landlady. Next day, I caught up for lunch with a fellow student from Southampton days. Fortunately for Ingrid and Dad, the food at Castaways Wine Bar on the harbour at Mylor was excellent as Peter and I had 35 years of boat talk to catch up on. That evening we had a rollicking dinner at the Wheelhouse Restaurant on the Falmouth waterfront. It featured excellent seafood, interesting fellow diners and a more eclectic conversation.

   

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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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