Day 72: To Plymouth

My friend Ros, who was with me for a couple of days at the start of my trip, planned to join me in Plymouth for a couple of days too. No idea how we were going to fit any of her luggage into Gloria. Gloria was pretty full before I added souvenirs for the family, lots of craft beer, Morgans birthday present and a hundred brochures. Fortunately Ros is a sailor and used to cramped spaces. It would be lovely to see her again, and hopefully her journey from Wittersham in Kent to Plymouth wouldn’t be too disrupted by the madness that is currently Southern Railways. 

However her train was due to arrive at Plymouth railway station at 3.05pm so I had to get a shift on.

My mother loved Fowey and Polperro and Looe, so I planned to stop off at these villages on route traffic and time permitting.

Yesterday Mousehole and Marazion, also favourites were impossible as there was nowhere to park.  Today I am feeling grumpy as it appears more of the same. We are getting too close to the schools breaking up for the summer so I suspect everyone else is hitting the roads to get their holidays before the summertime price hike.

Fowey was very civilised. The town firmly suggested that visitors use the large car parks at the top of the town, and walk or use the regular small 16 seater courtesy buses to get to the centre. The town was one way, so you never had the altercations with cars going both ways on streets not designed for cars in the first place. 

I had forgotten what a charming place Fowey is.

Who could resist their aquarium offering?

Fowey was the home of the writer Daphne Du Maurier who wrote the famous Cornish inspired stories,  Jamaica Inn , Rebecca and My Cousin Rachel amongst others.

I wandered through the town for an hour or so, had a very late breakfast in a cafe and returned to the car to continue on my way.

When I began this trip in May the whole country was citrus yellow from rape seed. Today there was a noticeable change in the colours around me from the lemon yellow to the more mellow honey colour of the ripening wheat and barley

Spending time in Fowey meant I had run out of time to visit either Polperro or Looe but I needed to reach Plymouth in time to collect Ros.

I got there in plenty of time and found the railway station, but the car park wanted £6 for my 30 minute wait. I drove around until I found a car park nearby for a £1. At this end of my trip every £1 counts. Ros knows this coast well as a frequent yachtman, so also knew Plymouth.

We had a cuppa in the Sailing Club and then spent the afternoon in the Barbican and on the waterfront.

After an excellent supper in the Glassblowers, a very good restaurant in the Barbican, Ros took me to The Hoe where I was appalled to see the Royal naval War Memorial a massive edifice. 23,000 naval personal were commemorated. What a disgraceful waste of life! And that did not include 40,000 merchant navy men.

She showed me where the bomb damage in the last war had decimated the town and how they had rebuilt with wide avenues. The guildhall building was still intact. And although it was getting dark we did see two rather strange sheep on the forecourt.

Enough tonight. We are here are here all day tomorrow so let’s see what else Plymouth has to offer.

Did anyone mention gin?

Day 71: Lafrowda and Falmouth via Penzance and St. Michael’s Mount

Last night was good fun. In the centre of St. Just there is an odd shaped turfed depression with raised sides creating something a bit like a doughnut. It also resembles a shallow amphitheatre. In Cornish they call it a Plain-an-Gwarry, and in medieval times it might have been used to perform mystery plays. This tradition has been revived, and the community at St. Just gather here for all sorts of events. Last night it was a barbecue and Ceilidh which turned out to be outdoor country dancing to a great little band and with a very enthusiastic caller. The food was supplied by locals, including a farm who were doing a great line in Burgers and hot dogs. People not dancing sat on the raised banks with drinks and food.

Lafrowda Festival is now an annual event that began as a music festival in the late 1990’s and has expanded to become a two week community arts festival. The name Lafrowda is the ancient name for the church lands where the village stands today. Next weekend, the festival culminates in three spectacular processions. 

 

Helen took me to see the workshop where they are making the lanterns to carry in the procession. Everything is made of withies and tissue paper and lit up at night. Everything has to be manually portable – no lorries or trucks allowed.

This year’s theme is Fast and Furious. 

Only 4000 people live in this village. It punches well above its weight in terms of community engagement. When I think of a carnival this is what I think of, rather than endless lines of badly decorated lorries that pass off for a carnival in many much bigger seaside towns including my own. I find it creatively very frustrating.  Google La Frowda Festival 2016 and you will see what I mean.

Before I left Helen showed me a You Tube video of the St.Just Womens’ Institute Rag Rug exhibitions. The work is amazing and would be fabulous displayed in any art gallery of National Trust property in the country.

Today I am heading to Falmouth via Penzance. I passed the bank in St. Just.

And then saw this one in Penzance.

But at least they have banking facilities at a time when banks are becoming restaurants and everyone is expected to bank on line. All well and good as long as you get the internet, and as I have discovered so many coastal towns and mountain areas do not.

I liked Penzance. For a small market town it has a blend of branded high street  shops and individual ones too. It’s known to be the most major westerly town in Cornwall and is known as the capital. I think Prince Charles and Camilla are due here for a visit next week.

The statue outside the bank is the town’s most famous historical figure Sir Humphrey Davy who was the scientist who also invented the Davy safety lamp. It was just what miners needed ,so that the flame would not ignite any gases underground.

Don’t you just love the seagull on his head? I seem to remember that my photo of Captain James Cook in Whitby weeks ago, also had a seagull on his head too.

Chapel Street in the old town is full of interesting buildings but this one looks very odd and rather flamboyant. It has an ‘Egyptian’ facade  and a royal coat of arms presumably to remind us that we are actually in Britain not Cairo?

Apparently it was commissioned at a time in Europe when people were fascinated by all things exotic and particularly exotic Egypt. Its architect was John Foulston of Plymouth and it was intended to be a museum of natural curiosities. Today it belongs to the Landmark Trust and it has retail premises on the ground floor, and the top two floors comprise of holiday flats available for renting.

Penzance has singing pirates I believe but I never saw or heard any. (Sorry I couldn’t resist - attempt at a bad joke.)

My real reason for visiting was to get close to St. Michael’s mount, a small island in Mount Bay. Failed miserably as Marazion was so crowded I couldn’t park there at all.

At low tide one can walk along the causeway in Marazion to reach St. Michael’s mount but today the tide was well and truly in so it was off limits to me as I would have had to take a boat. The National Trust are responsible for the upkeep of the gardens, the castle, and the medieval church on the island. I think this landmark and the Minack theatre are the most famous of the Cornish landmarks and the most recognisable. Visiting this one will have to be another time and definitely not in July.

I liked Penzance but I LOVED Falmouth.

It’s on the river Fal on the south coast of Cornwall and I thought it was quite beautiful. One of my favourite places I think. To begin with I could park there!

It’s winding streets had a wonderful variety of shops and good foodie places.

It is home to the National maritime Museum on the waterfront

It has a castle called Pendennis Castle built by Henry the Eighth, and great walks along the estuary.

While I have been away Eastbourne Council was proposing that a new restaurant planned to replace the Wish Tower Restaurant was going to be run by Rick Stein. How odd. How can he be in two places or even three places, at once?  Falmouth and Bridport have Rick Stein restaurants.

  

In Falmouth I stayed with a lovely lady who was far more travelled than me. An intrepid backpacker there were few places in the World where she hasn’t set foot. Charlotte travels with a small black dog called Sacha, and I had been in her home less than twenty minutes when she was encouraging me to undertake the coast of Ireland!!  She had a VW transit van with windows inserted and a normal sized bed in the back. That had served her well for years all over the place but she has bitten the bullet and tomorrow she becomes the sheepishly proud owner of a small neat Ford motor home with all mod cons.

We drank a bottle of good red wine to celebrate.

Mmmm food for thought. At least it is small and neat and a Ford – unlike my bête noire the Monster Camper vans and if I were to do Ireland sometime.......

Day 70: Capes and Coves, Miners and Minack

St. Just is a small place with a big history as part of a Mining World Heritage Site. It has tiny back to back cottages that originally would have been miners’ homes. Botallack Mine is was one of the tin mines very near St. Just. It is between St Just and Pendeen village. You can see the two engine houses and the actual mine shaft goes 400 metres out under the Atlantic. The national Trust look after them and the arsenic mine nearby.

It's the one used by the BBC in the making of their historical drama series Poldark. My St. Just hostess Helen was unimpressed. She thought the acting wooden, the hero too dashing and the costumes too pretty and the sunsets too coloured up. She rather dismissed the series as an extended advert for Visit Cornwall! This is a view my eldest daughter could not disagree with more - she loves Poldark! Helen is a colourful character herself. She is originally from Manchester but has carved a niche for herself here by becoming very much involved with the community, particularly in the arts.

Not only is her little house crammed to bursting with arts projects...

...but she runs all kinds of events for the village too. The local Women's’ Institute makes fabulous rag rugs and Helen has a house full.

Helen used to work for Tourist information so straight away suggested my must see must do list:

• Cape Cornwall  - just two minutes away
• Sennen Cove – in her opinion the most beautiful places in the county.
• She told me not to bother with Lands End  – “its rubbish and they will charge you £6 to park there to take a photo and then fleece you with tourist tat!"
• Minack theatre “a total must do”
• And St. Ives

The weather was not brilliant but the scenery didn’t need good weather to impress me.

Cape Cornwall was just a minutes or two away from her home as she said, down narrow lanes where I met this chap and a couple of his friends.

Cape Cornwall is also a small headland also managed by the National Trust. It’s about four miles north of Lands End.

There are supposed to be Choughs there, black birds recently re-introduced to Cornwall, but I have no idea what the difference is between a chough and a rook or a crow, so I have no idea what the birds were that I may have seen.

On to Sennen Cove, famous for surfing. The waves were certainly spectacular today. Very rugged and part of the Lands End Peninsular. 

You can see why the beach is very popular even today when in spite of it being mid July it is cold enough for jackets and very windy.

My friend John Kidson had suggested parking there and walking to Lands End to avoid the extortionate car parking fees. I didn’t walk to Lands End, I drove to the car park, informed the traffic kiosk attendant  that I was not staying, took a photo and left. I could see what Helen had implied. It was a bit of the theme park. They didn’t charge to park at John O’Groats but Cornwall is very seasonal in terms of work and I suppose they have to make money where and when they can.

I already knew about the Minack theatre at Porthcurno. My mother loved it there and introduced it to us when we were children first on holiday in Cornwall.  My daughter’s friend Vicky has just been there to see a show. It was already busy with tourists by 10.30am.

Minack is built over a gully on a granite cliff.  

It’s remarkable not just because of its location but because it was constructed by one woman, Rowena Cade and her gardener Billy Rawlings, over a period of many winters, hauling the building materials down from the family house or up from the beach.

Current touring theatre companies have to do the same with their sets, props and costumes every Saturday. The Trust that now manage the theatre still do it every day with the rubbish from the night before and catering supplies for the forthcoming performances. 

Minack has landscaped gardens of succulent and exotic plants. It’s beautiful.

My original plan was to scatter mums ashes on the stage, but it was scuppered because a theatre company was already there rehearsing and doing sound checks for a forthcoming performance of ‘A Winters Tale.’ There were lots of tourists around too, so I could not do it surreptitiously. No choice then. I would have to be more blatant. I called over to one of the production team.

“Excuse me, can I ask you to do something a bit weird for me?”

“Probably. What do you want?”

“I have a little pot of my mother’s ashes. Could you just scatter them onto the stage for me?”

Kitty never turned a hair.

She opened up the barrier and told me I was so welcome to do it myself. So I did. 

She called the young company director over and I told them a bit about Dreda and a little about her love of theatre and performing, and about Freya and her skills and how I would love to see Freya performing one of her own pieces on that same stage. Their company, ‘Moving Stories’ was here with around 30 students from the Central School of Drama and the production of 'A Winter’s Tale' was a musical version of Shakespeare’s play – not unlike opera! Freya would have loved it. I would have loved to see it too, having watched with the other tourists, little bits of teckie run through. But sadly by the time it was on for real, I would already be near Exeter.

St. Ives was a nightmare. Nowhere to park and far too many people.  How dare they? Whatever happened to me being the only tourist in England?

No chance. This is July in Cornwall and this does mean pedestrians sauntering in the too narrow streets, no car parks and pasty and fudge shops!

Eventually I found a half space on the building site that is the Tate Gallery refurbishment, just big enough for Gloria to squeeze in and went in search of food, which being in St Ives was likely to be pricey. Yep - found some food I could eat and it was pricey and a bit pretentious.    

The beaches in St Ives, like so many on that side of England were sandy and wide. The RNLI have a lifeguard station with loud speakers and tannoys to try to keep swimmers within the red and yellow flag area....

While allowing kayak and surf board training schools to work without drowning swimmers and no-one noticing.

At a distance the wetsuit clad lot looked like sharks!

St Ives is famous for a couple of things: a) its art school and almost every other shop an art gallery and b) the fact that there are so many second home owners that recently the council decided that new homes should only be sold to local people. It was noticeable how many pretty houses were holiday lets. One estimate puts holiday/second  homes there as high a 45% and that some cottages go for as much as £2000 a week. Given that Cornwall’s main industry is tourism and that is seasonal and low paid, how can local people afford to buy?

The St Ives Society of Artists were holding their Summer Exhibition in a somewhat damp smelling church building.

There were also artists like Nina Brook working in a studio in full view of passing trade.

I had been looking forward to seeing St. Ives but if I'm honest I was a bit underwhelmed. It is a kind of nostalgic advert for Cornwall, and I don’t mean 1950’s style with children in hand knitted swimmers playing on the beaches. This is all about a dream sequence: sand, surf, men like male models strutting their stuff, sporting shiny black wetsuits and designer pony tails, expensive branded clothes shops, yet more fudge, and one shop after another claiming title to “The World’s Best Award Winning Cornish Pasties.” Evidence? Toothpaste? Torch batteries? Tins of baked beans? Where did the real people do their shopping for life’s essentials like toilet rolls? I did see a greengrocers and it was flagging up as the oldest in the town and almost a museum.

I am rather afraid this is setting a pattern since I have not visited Cornwall for at least twenty years.

Tomorrow I am taking mum to some of her favourite places; Marazion,  Mousehole and St. Michael's Mount so we shall see 

As  for tonight, I am off to The LaFrowda Summer Ceilidh back in St. Just. It’s part of their arts and music festival week and at the weekend, the town will close to traffic for their carnival.

What is a Ceilidh and who or what was Lafrowda?  Remains to be discovered.