Places

Chilling in Cornwall

Round about this time of year, before Easter when high season starts and the prices rise, Dai and I would do our damnedest to head for the Isles of Scilly, one of our favourite places on earth. We usually stayed on Bryher, one of the smallest of those small islands, our decompression chamber. The only downside when we got there was having to wear a watch to make sure we didn’t miss any boats. Whatever time does, tide waits for no one.

We’d hurry down to Penzance, to get the helicopter or Land’s End for an itsy-bitsy flight on a teeny-weeny aircraft – a grass runway in those days if I remember right. We did our best to avoid the Scillonian – Maureen, probably the most reluctant sailor in the family, perhaps in the country, was on it once and swore she’d never set foot on it again. It wasn’t even particularly rough that day but the waters are shallow and the draft is low…

Spot the Scillonian: the Scilly jigsaw is coming along, though there’s a distinct lack of sea in this snap.

We’d hurtle down the A30 – within the speed limit, of course – zooming past whole swathes of mainland Cornwall, so spending a few days in Lostwithiel – ace name – and surroundings was a new experience for me. There are no sea views in Lostwithiel but the moment I stepped out of the car I felt myself relax and breathe deeply; I hadn’t even realised I was tense enough to need relaxing! No wonder people flock here at every opportunity.

I went with Mrs M and the sainted Alice, so it wasn’t long before we hit the nearest beach, particularly popular with dog walkers because it allows dogs all year round – no summer bans. It’s not the world’s most beautiful bay – lots of seaweed – and no great sweep of golden sand, so it’d never be swamped with sun worshippers but it is a beach and there is sea. Alice dug and I paddled; we couldn’t have been happier.

Alice digging furiously on Par Beach; she must be scratch or better.

We walked and walked and walked, to a pub that wasn’t as nearby as we thought – and the cliff tops of K(n)ernow aren’t always the place for knackered knees! Still, it was well worth the detour.

The view from the Rashleigh Inn at Polkerris.

Last year I rejoined the National Trust and I remembered to take my card to Cornwall, so the visit to Lanhydrock was a no-brainer. It’s described as “Cornwall’s most complete Victorian country home” and has the most wonderful gardens, renowned for its camellias, rhododendrons and Himalayan magnolias. So at this time of year, even on a Monday, it’s packed with people keen to see the magnolias in full bloom. They’re amazing but very short-lived and at the mercy of the next bit of rain or wind.

Magnificent magnolias. Stunning.

If you’re armed with a National Trust card, it’s not a bad idea to have a Senior Railcard, just in case. It won’t save you as much as flying economy instead of business – have you looked at those prices recently? Eye-watering – but if you’re old enough, it’s a good deal; and always handy if the car is on its way out, perhaps hastened along by the odd (very odd) visit to the sister’s rockery. (That’s just trying for a cheap laugh; the car passed its MOT and Mrs M drove us down.)

It took exactly six hours from Lostwithiel station to my front door, with changes at Plymouth and Birmingham New Street, so the train journey could hardly have gone any more smoothly. Mind you, I was a bit worried when the train for St Austell, Penzance, wherever west, pulled in on the opposite platform. It was beyond ancient – you opened the door by pulling down the window, leaning out and pushing down the handle. Can you imagine! Sounds ridiculous doesn’t it? Fortunately my train was a bit more modern.

Still at work on the rails, probably being eyed up by the National Trust…

I left my book in the bag for the entire journey because I was staring out the window, admiring the views and wondering exactly where I was – geography isn’t my worst suit but the phone helped me pinpoint exactly where we were, even though I was travelling backwards and had to factor that in to the equation! Tricky when it’s reckoned that you get 90 per cent of your 50-50 (it’s either left or right) chances wrong; is that even possible or mathematically likely?

About to cross the Tamar from Cornwall in to Devon. Bridge by Isambard Kingdom Brunel.

Ah Brunel, what a genius. Being hopeless at maths, measurements, angles, rivets, anything practical, I’d love to have been an engineer, a builder of bridges. Imagine inventing something so good and ingenious that it stood the test of time for well over a hundred years.

He didn’t always get things right but according to Wikipedia he was very good at railways: “On the GWR, Brunel set standards for a well-built railway, using careful surveys to minimise gradients and curves. This necessitated expensive construction techniques, new bridges, new viaducts and the two-mile-long Box Tunnel…” And the GWR is still chugging along.

Wonder what Brunel would have made of HS2; he’d probably have had it running from London to Aberdeen and Inverness by now, bridging that old North/South divide, turning dreams into reality…