BODMIN
A little south west of Bodmin Moor
Stands Bodmin, which in days before
The Courts were moved, was the county town –
Now Truro
wears that important crown.
Its history goes back to long ago,
When Petroc arrived with some monks, and so
They built a monastery; his name lives on
In the parish church, though he’s long gone.
Bodmin is shown in the Doomesday Book,
For any of those who care to look,
As the only town of any size
In all of Cornwall,
where it lies
Near the centre, away from the coast,
But still had little of which to boast.
The Courtroom Experience is really a must
For all the good people who think they can trust
Their innate abilities, to help them see through
The evidence, and know what is false and what’s true.
Charlotte Dymond was murdered, that much is for sure,
In the year eighteen hundred and forty-four.
Rough Tor was the place where the body was found,
A wild wind-swept spot with the moorland all round.
Matthew Weeks was arrested, and brought to the Court,
Where the magistrates presented the evidence and sought
To get a conviction – was he guilty as tried?
That’s something that you must all help to decide.
And after the trial, there’s a tour of the hall,
The County
Assizes, where criminals
were all
Convicted and held in the cells till the date
When they all moved on to whatever their fate.
And while you’re in Bodmin, you must not fail
To visit the museum that was once Bodmin Jail.
A solid grim building, where prisoners were kept,
Where many a sorry young man must have wept.
No longer a place of despair and of gloom,
A café’s now found in the old Warders’ Room.
There’s also a shop, which has plenty to tempt
Both adults and children, so no-one’s exempt.
Bodmin’s main church is St. Petroc’s which stands
Just out of the town, near the old Priory lands.
The building’s imposing; none
larger was listed,
Among Cornwall’s
churches that ever existed,
Until the Cathedral at Truro
appeared,
Much bigger and newer; St. Petroc’s was cleared
From its place at the top; but it still comes in second,
And to many admirers, St.
Petroc’s still reckoned
More interesting by far than the
rest that are found,
Scattered throughout Cornwall’s rich Christian
ground,
The parish of Bodmin, going back in
the past
To the time of St. Petroc, has always been classed
As a place of much holiness; monks
settled there,
And Bodmin produced the exciting
and rare
Bodmin Gospels, whose early ninth
century date,
Shows it was a place of much piety
and great
Education, producing such fine
works of art,
In which faith and belief played a
critical part.
Another feature in which Bodmin
excels
Is the number of well-known holy
wells.
The Holy Well Trail lists the seven
wells found
In various sites mostly centred
around
The middle of Bodmin; some dating
back
For hundreds of year, to the days
when a lack
Of medical cures caused the people
to come
And visit a well, quite certain
that some
Were able to heal both the sick and
the lame
Who took of their waters; for some
their fame
Spread far and wide, so their
clientele
Believing the water would make them
well,
Arrived from afar, all full of hope
That they’d leave the town having
joined the slope
To return to health; and to this
day,
There are people once sick who are
happy to say
That the waters that flow up from
the earth,
Provided a road to a healthy
re-birth.
They were also used to wish for
luck
By unfortunate souls who felt they
were stuck
In a life without love, or money or
fame;
With a future that promised just
more of the same.
Bodmin Riding and Heritage Day
Goes back in the past to when
Bodmin lay
At the edge of the world where the
King’s writ ran;
To the west was the alien Cornish
clan.
For hundreds of years the event
took place,
‘Til the nineteenth century when
its face
Disappeared from Bodmin and was
seen no more
‘Til returning in nineteen
seventy-four.
The original Riding was tied to the
date
Of Thomas a Beckett, to celebrate
His death; but later remembered
too,
The Bodmin mayor, Nicholas Boyer,
who
Was hanged for taking an active
part
In the Prayer Book Rebellion, for
in his heart
He wanted to keep the Latin rite,
And for his beliefs was prepared to
fight.
The Ridings, combined with Heritage
day
Have changed considerably on the way
From the ancient revels to
something more,
Adding to what was there before.
The Festival’s held every year in
July,
With the town playing host to the
two groups who try
To catch the Wild Beast
which roamed Bodmin Moor
And bring him to face the full force
of the law.
But the trial of the Beast is one
very small part
Of a day packed with fun; from a
quite early start
The whole of the town is involved
with the feast,
Including remembering Nick Boyer,
deceased.
There’s plenty of music from fine
Cornish bands,
With pipes that are native to all
Celtic lands.
There’s dancing and singing along
the main street;
Wherever you turn you are likely to
meet
Someone in costume, perhaps black
and white,
Or orange to make a more colourful
sight.
Ancient Britons may turn up to join
in the fun,
And so might the Vikings – but no
need to run,
For though they might look very
fearsome and wild,
They now come in peace as they’re
all reconciled
To the fact that their raiding
belongs to the past,
And no-one now looks at a Viking aghast.
The Army might also appear on the
scene,
Redcoats, from whom you’ll be able
to glean,
How the overseas wars are
progressing to date,
Whether Napoleon’s met his due
fate.
There are food stalls to tempt you
to eat all the time,
With a range that spreads over the
rich and sublime
To much simpler dishes that just
form a snack;
For places to eat there’s for
certain no lack.
There’s plenty for children, to
keep them amused,
With various groups for the whole
day being used
To provide entertainment with children
in mind,
And other activities, which are
designed,
To make the whole festival ideal
for all,
Not just the adults, but those who
are small.
There’re buskers and jokers and
streets that are lined
With dozens of stalls you can
browse through to find
Local products and produce, and
much that’s home-made,
The new and the modern, or ancient
and staid.
The pubs are all open; those
seeking the Beast,
Tend to find time, for a sample at
least,
Of some good Cornish beer that’s on
offer that day,
Before they continue to search for
their prey.
The schools all take part in the
Heritage Day,
Which gives all the children a
chance to display
Their singing and dancing, which
they have rehearsed;
The mayor acts as judge of which
group has come first.
The whole day looks back, but it
looks forward too,
As it looks at the past, and a
future that’s new.
BOSCASTLE
Boscastle is perhaps best known for
its flood
In two thousand and four, when much
water and mud
Swept down through the town on that
warm August night
As the Jordan and Valency showed off their
might.
When confronted with out of the
ordinary showers
They covered Boscastle in a matter
of hours
From the time when five inches of
rain thundered down
From already soaked hills which
surrounded the town.
The News the next day showed how
Boscastle fared,
But now it’s all fine, with its
buildings repaired,
So it’s ready for tourists to come
once again
Where a welcome awaits from its
women and men.
And once you are there, there is
much to enjoy,
For the mighty floodwater could
never destroy
The fine natural harbour, the steep
valley sides,
The beautiful scenery and so much
besides,
Which help to make Boscastle worth
a stop off,
There are several good pubs where
the thirsty can quaff
A pint of real ale, and there’s
good food as well,
And most of the inns have a good
tale to tell.
In the seventeen hundreds the Cobweb began
As an off-licence Customs & Excise then ran;
They examined the beer and the spirits and wine,
Ensuring the strength and the contents were fine.
When tested, all bottles were then sold anew
To the inns and the pubs – all twenty-two.
The five storey building is set on a hill
Overlooking the river, where some small boats still
With engine or canvas make their way up and down,
But it’s not like the days past when Boscastle town
Was a port which was busy with trade with the West,
And Boscastle harbour were never at rest.
Not only alcohol passed through its doors,
For much of its life, at least two of its floors
Were used for the storage of goods passing through,
Especially the ones on which duty was due.
The imports and exports of Boscastle’s trade,
Where merchants of Boscastle’s incomes were made.,
With timber and bricks, corn and pottery too
Manure and hardware, to name just a
few.
When it was a warehouse, it used to
be said
That drinks in the back room could
always be had
By customers waiting on purchases
made;
The bigger your order, the longer
you stayed.
When The Ship closed its doors at
the end of the War
Its alcohol licence was needed no
more,
So it passed to the Cobweb’s
Launceston Cellar where they
Sold drinks bar on Sundays for many
a day,
Though still not a pub in the eyes
of the law,
Their sales weren’t affected by
that legal score.
Then when the Second World War had
just passed
The ground floor was changed to a
real pub at last;
Its new status meant it should have
a new name
And so Cobweb Inn, Launceston
Cellar became,
Because of the cobwebs which
everywhere hung
From the ceiling, where thick and
black mats of them clung.
The Cobweb now occupies all of the
floors;
Its menu’s enough to give anyone
cause
To pay it a visit and sample the
food,
All locally sourced, and which
tries to include
Things to suit everyone, some with
no meat,
Special diets for those who must
watch what they eat.
Live music is played every Saturday
night
So one can enjoy a nice drink and a
bite
Whilst listening to songs flowing
forth from the stage
As all the musicians seek to engage
With the customers there, for they
want to believe
All will be happy by the time they
must leave.
The Cobweb has other advantages
too,
Dog-friendly, child-friendly, and
also it’s true,
There are real fires to warm you on
cold winter days,
Or in summer when there is a sudden
cold phase.
The Museum of Witchcraft
there houses by far
The largest collection of items
which are
Related to witchcraft and all
things occult –
If you’re thinking of visiting,
best take some salt.
With its clean white washed walls,
from the outside it looks
Quite unimposing, but its three
thousand books
Cover the greatest possible range
Of things esoteric and also quite
strange.
Aleister Cowley’s beliefs form a
part
Of the teaching and tales of the
sorcerer’s art.
There are hundreds of items out on
display,
Which witches once used in their
work every day.
There are also resources which teachers
can use
In planning their visit, if they so
choose.
For part of their aim is to show
witchcraft’s place
In the past in the lives of the
whole human race.
CALSTOCK
Calstock, though it’s fourteen
miles up river from Plymouth Sound
Was in the past an important port,
although so far inland.
Lying on the River Tamar,
boat-building flourished here,
And ships sailed up the river,
coming from far and near.
Decline came with the railways –
better for moving freight;
And as they grew, the shipping was
slowly left to its fate.
The viaduct over the Tamar, which
dominates all the town
Of all of Calstock’s features, it
really is the crown;
Huge and very imposing, of concrete
blocks it’s made,
To carry trains involved in the Plymouth to Gunnislake
trade.
As in the rest of Cornwall, mines grew up everywhere,
Copper and lead and silver and
wolfram and tin were there;
Manganese too was important, and
arsenic had a place
Production quickly expanded, as
demand for it grew apace.
With half the world’s requirements
produced in the Calstock mines,
From eighteen eighty for twenty
years, until it then declines.
Calstock goes back to the Romans,
or even further still,
For a fort found next to the church
once echoed with soldiers’ drill.
In Saxon times the hamlet in the Kingdom of Cornwall was found;
Off and on it remained in that
Kingdom, until all the country was bound
To William, King of England; it
appeared in the Doomesday Book,
Whose meticulous compilation tried
not to overlook
Any town or village or hamlet, with
people who could pay
The taxes that William needed to
continue his kingly sway.
But the people still remained
Cornish until the Tudors came;
From then on Anglicisation formed
part of the government’s aim.
The town features tall white
houses, which firmly seem to cling
To the steep sides up from the
Tamar, where their colour seems to bring
A feeling of calm and beauty, so
clean, yet often old,
So different from towns where the
colours are often bright and bold.
You can go for trips on the river;
there’re boats for hire at the quay,
And on rivers like the Tamar, there
is always something to see.
The parish church of St. Andrew,
from the fourteen hundreds dates;
It’s still in use today, surviving
despite the fates
Of several former chapels, very
popular in their day,
Whose lively congregations have
largely moved away.
Only the Wesleyan Chapel in
Calstock still remains,
Echoing every Sunday with Wesley’s
well-known strains.
One of the former chapels is now a
centre for arts,
A modern, go-ahead venue, which all
the time departs
From the very staid and
traditional, that goes with the countryside,
Providing a very rich mix, where
visitors might collide
With classical, jazz or folk,
films, theatre and comedy too,
Talks and exhibitions, to mention
no more than a few
Of the events that take place at
the centre; it’s really a lively place,
With weddings and private parties
also using the space.
There’s usually a charity bike show
– a regular summer slot,
With a marquee set in a field –
they’re quite a bohemian lot,
Offering four days of music, with a
varied line-up of bands,
Trade stalls and beer and cider, to
entertain all their fans.
The Boot Inn was once a cobblers,
going back over three hundred years,
Where customers while they waited
could have a couple of beers.
Today it’s a cosy restaurant, which
also serves Cornish ales
In the bar with its quirky history,
which somehow never fails
To give a feeling of welcome, as
good pubs always should,
Especially in deepest winter, with
its smell of burning wood.
CAMBORNE
Camborne grew up as a mining town,
Dotted with shafts that went deep
down
Into the earth, where copper and
tin,
Provided the work that would
underpin
The lives of the people; at its
height,
No town could compete with
Camborne’s might
As a copper producer; two thirds
and more
Of whole world’s output, Camborne
saw
Produced by its mines; but then
things changed;
The mines closed down, and the
miners ranged
All over the world; only Dolcoath
mine
Remained to save Camborne from
total decline.
In the nineteen twenties, its
closure came too.
From its heyday things changed, so
that only a few
Mining jobs were available; men
moved away
And so it remains there right up to
this day.
But though the big mines had all
long since closed down,
It didn’t mean mining wasn’t part
of the town,
For the old School of Mines went on
flourishing yet,
Where students the world over all
studied to get
The training required to be skilled
engineers;
And run mines abroad; Camborne over
the years
Saw thousands of students pass
through its doors
Departing to practice on far
distant shores.
It’s now moved to Penryn but it
still keeps the name
Along with its teaching, the source
of its fame.
Although Camborne’s based several
miles from the coast
And so as a town there is no chance
to boast
Of its beautiful beaches, yet it’s
very much worth
A visit to learn how this small
town gave birth
To the greatest of mines in the
world at that time,
So that just a small village in a
few years could climb
To wealth and prosperity, from
copper and tin,
Which all the world wanted, and
brought money in.
The Mining Museum,
looks back on the past,
To the years when mines flourished,
until at the last
Only one mine remained, South
Crofty, by name;
When it finally closed, it had one
claim to fame
The last working tin mine until
output fell,
Not just in Camborne, but in Europe as well.
Outside the library a statue now
stands,
Of Richard Trevithick, whose life’s
work demands
A yearly remembrance, with
Trevithick Day,
When all are reminded of just how
much they
Are indebted to him; his great
interest in steam
Lead to inventions and realised his
dream
To make possible mines at a depth
once unknown,
When he had thought carefully and
afterwards shown
That his pumps could stop flooding;
Dolcoath Mine went down
Over three thousand feet; the
deepest in town.
His working with steam meant that
Camborne’s streets knew
The first steam road vehicle, in
eighteen oh two.
Trevithick Day comes the end of
April each year,
To celebrate Richard’s long life
and career.
During which he invented a huge
range of things,
To which industry still in this
modern day clings.
He never made money; whatever he
earned
He ploughed straight back into new
ideas that turned
Forever within his most fertile
brain,
Producing new patents again and
again.
So important were all the
inventions he made
Trevithick Day toasts all his gifts
to the trade
And industry, which were the town’s
source of wealth
Securing for Camborne its financial
health.
Vintage vehicles take part; there
are models galore;
With the roads closed to traffic,
the choirs’ voices soar
Into the air, while the bands have
a chance
To process through the streets,
accompanying the dance
By large groups of people who
follow their back
All costumed in outfits of bright
gold and black.
Many steam engines and a big steam
parade
Ensure that his history’s unlikely
to fade
From the memories of those who now
live there today,
Especially the children, who’ll all
want to stay
To enjoy all the sights and events
all day long,
The music and dancing, and sound of
each song
Performed by the choirs; there’s a
funfair as well;
Street entertainers, and street
stalls which sell
Various goods, for no fair is
complete
Without arts and crafts and some
good things to eat.
Hundreds of children take part in
the dance
Of Bal-maidens and Miners, who
slowly advance
Behind small steam engines and
Camborne Town Band,
Recalling when this was a rich
mining land.
The whole town’s involved, with
events everywhere,
For Trevithick Day’s not just a
small village fair,
But a major attraction, which
brings people in,
Remembering the days when the
copper and tin
Pervaded the life of the whole of
Camborne,
Now they’re gone, and the town is a
little forlorn.
But this is a chance to remember
the past,
And the good times from history
that don’t always last.
FALMOUTH
Sir Walter Raleigh took the view
While staying with John Killegrew
At Arnwenack House, that it would make
An excellent place from which to take
His ships to sea; Sir John then sought
Parliament’s permission to build a port.
“Pen-y-come-quick” was its former name,
When just a small hamlet without any fame;
But then it was changed by Royal command
To Falmouth,
a major port in the land,
Where hundreds of ships sailed in and out
Every day of the year; it became without doubt
A busy harbour, as trade increased,
With goods coming in from west and east.
The packet ships which carried the mail
To all the Empire, in days of sail
Were based at Falmouth;
up to forty ships
Regularly made their welcome trips
Taking the post throughout the world
Where the Union Jack had been unfurled.
In the eighteen fifties sail declined
As steam took over, though many pined
For the graceful ships, as they sailed the seas,
For steam cannot hope to compete with these,
But steam now meant the ships could sail
From a port nearer London
carrying the mail.
And so for convenience and lesser cost,
Southampton gained what Falmouth lost.
Still remembered as the port
From which the news was swiftly brought
To London,
that a battle was won
At Trafalgar, by England’s famous son
Lord Nelson; soon a hero he,
Although he did not live to see
The fame which would in future fall
On one of the finest of them all
Who helped protect Great Britain’s shores
During the Napoleonic Wars.
No longer a major naval base,
The town of Falmouth
still has space
To house a famous place where we
The history of this port can see.
The National Maritime is there,
Full of interest to those who care
About our past, and want to know,
Of how the navy fought the foe,
And let this island have the chance
To rule the waves and thus advance
The trade which brought us so much wealth
And thus ensured our nation’s health.
Of course it offers more than this,
With lots of things you must not miss,
Like boats of every shape and size
For rescue, fishing and - surprise!
For smuggling too, for that was rife
And much a part of Falmouth’s
life.
But Falmouth
offers much, much more
Than just a museum near the shore.
Finished in sixteen sixty-four,
St. Charles the Martyr Church
is sure
To interest those who like to know
More of history, as they go
From place to place; the Killegrews gave the land
On which the hoped-for church would stand
If Charles the Second would agree to pay
The cost of building the church where they,
The Killegrews and all who live
In Falmouth Haven could honour give
To Charles the First, the Martyr King;
There was also another thing
The Killegrews wanted for their town,
A Royal Charter, to give renown
To what was still a minor port,
But one which was growing, and they thought
A Charter would help, the King agreed.
Naught else was needed to proceed
To build the church, which to this day
Provides a place to learn and pray.
Although the outside looks so old,
The inside has been changed to hold
The range of things that people seek
In a modern church, where every week
There’s not just worship, but so much more
For people to do than ever before.
There’s also a coffee shop where they sell
Delicious snacks – cream teas as well,
With books and home-made jams and such;
It doesn’t really matter much
If you buy a lot, for it’s all so cheap
And every penny helps to keep
The church in funds; other charities too,
Who all have so much work to do.
A visit to Falmouth’s
not complete,
If you’re a person for whom it’s a treat
To browse in a bookshop, or perhaps two or three,
Unless you step into the Bookmark and see
The huge selection of books on their shelves;
A bookworm could easily lose themselves,
Faced as they are with so much choice,
They can but secretly smile and rejoice
That secondhand bookshops still exist,
And the Bookmark is definitely not to be missed.
It covers two floors, and is so full of books,
There’s no room to move; wherever one looks
There are volumes piled high, just waiting their turn
For someone to notice them and discern
Just what they can offer – a link to the past,
And they are then out of the shop at last,
It doesn’t matter that they are old,
They’re off to a new home now they’ve been sold.
Bookmarks are based in a shop near the front,
In Arwenack
Street: it’s a good place to hunt
For anything nautical, aviation or art
For military history, and transport to start,
Cornish history’s another large range that they stock,
With hundreds of volumes that’ll help to unlock
Your knowledge of Cornwall,
from far distant past;
You’ll find that your time there passes so fast,
You’ll want to come back when you’ve more time to spare,
To browse through the interesting books that are there.
There’s another good bookshop that’s not far away,
Where bookworms again will want ages to stay
And look through the books, though this time they’re new;
The Bookseller in Church
Street’s the place for you
If you like to have books that the author has signed;
The seaweeded windows
used to act like a blind,
So you couldn’t see what was inside until you’d stepped
Into the shop, where the owners had kept
The theme of the seaside, with colour scheme blue
And plenty of
nautical furniture too.
But the seaweed has gone, and the window’s now full
Of bright coloured covers that surely will pull
The curious reader into the store
Enticed by displays to go in and see more.
But The Bookseller’s not about books on the sea,
They’ve volumes on everything – biography,
History and music and artists and sport,
Some heavy tomes, and others quite short.
And they’re not just for adults; they’ve children’s books
too,
Tucked away in their section, and all of them new
Some signed by the author – perhaps you will find
One of your favourite’s the author has signed!
The Booksellers also are specialists on
Everything Cornish, from the days that are gone
To the present, with lots of books just off the press;
A booklover really shouldn’t enter unless
They’re prepared to be tempted and splash out and buy
For they won’t avoid something which catches their eye.
And besides selling books they also support
Local authors and artists, as good bookshops ought,
With events and book signings, making people aware
Of all the great talent that’s swirling out there
Among all the students one regularly sees,
Especially those taking Illustration degrees.
They’ve also a Book Group, where readers can bloom
Discussing the month’s choice in Dolly’s Tea Room
Which is just up the stairs, so no need to go far,
And also incorporates Dolly’s Wine Bar.
A bookshop with character must surely be
The one in Bells
Court, where you’ll regularly see
People with pints on the side while they read –
For this shop is one which is different indeed,
Since one half’s a pub, selling excellent beers,
And gives the impression it’s been there for years.
The other’s a bookshop; Beerwolf Books is its name,
Which might sound quite funny, but still just the same
It’s really a bookshop; there are many who come
To drink at the bar, and then later succumb
To buying a book, or perhaps two or three,
On Beerwolf’s shelves there is little space free,
Every inch is stacked closely with volumes for sale,
For people to browse while they’re drinking their ale,
Or perhaps they have coffee or tea while the look,
And also are tempted to buy a new book.
Falmouth
hosts festivals linked to the sea,
And most of them can be attended for free.
Events Square’s the venue where many take place,
While for others the whole town itself is the base.
The Sea Shanty Festival brings to the town,
Musicians and singers to bring the house down.
There’s Fish and there’s Oysters to celebrate here,
Also the popular Festival of Beer.
Falmouth Week’s
August events all provide
Activities both on the sea and shore-side.
December in Falmouth
has many events,
All linked to Christmas, which there in a sense
Starts off with Advent, continuing through
Up to the day Baby Jesus is due.
With carols and Christmas trees; workshops and bands,
Santa runs, markets – each year it expands.
But one thing’s been constant the past hundred years,
The choirs singing carols as Christmas Day nears.
From all over Cornwall
they come to take part,
And leaving from Watersports Centre they start
Their Christmas Eve tour of the town until they
At the end all arrive at The Moor where they stay.
FOWEY
A jewel by the sea, with its golden sands,
And quaint little streets, which to all its fans
Speak only of peace and quiet and sun,
A place to relax and have genteel fun.
Its charter goes back seven hundred years,
When Fowey was home to those bold privateers
“Fowey Gallants”, who plundered the French when they could,
Legally, too, for then pirates were good
As they fought for the king and their country too,
And perhaps their own pockets, as most pirates do.
Fowey was a port, much attacked by the French,
Its story with many invasions was drenched,
As raiders attempted to capture the town,
With various buildings destroyed or burned down.
But Fowey always won; the last battle was fought
‘Gainst the Dutch in the seventeenth century who thought
The town was so small, they could easily land,
But the people of Fowey saw off the Dutch band.
Like many in Cornwall,
they followed the Crown;
King Charles from Hall Walk in those days once looked down
At Fowey below, where they fought for his cause,
To stop General Cromwell from ruling these shores.
Daphne du Maurier spent many years here,
On holiday first; then they bought a house near
The Bodinneck Ferry; Ferryside it was named;
The du Maurier family could not be blamed
For wanting a home in this beautiful spot,
A small Cornish town which has not only got
Streets full of charm, and a river and sea,
Impressing young Daphne so much that she
Set most of her books in this westerly land,
With its beautiful scenery and endless white sand.
She’s still much remembered, and now every May
The town has a festival, where every day
There are readings, and music and literary talks
Lectures, debates and du Maurier themed walks.
Exhibitions and interviews, comedy, and more
Including some boat trips round Fowey’s fine shore.
Plus workshops and other participatory events,
Which help to give those who’re attending a sense
That they’re not just an audience, but also a part
Of a week celebrating the literary art.
Though Daphne du Maurier’s the festival’s face,
And her life and her works have a special place,
The festival’s programme is very wide
With events and activities side by side
Which aim to appeal to the very wide range
Of people who come there to listen, exchange
Their thoughts on the present, and literary past
While taking back memories they hope will all last.
Children and families are catered for too
With plenty of things for young people to do.
Jamaica Inn has its own little shop
With plenty of Cornish gifts on top
Of Daphne du Maurier’s books for sale;
The atmosphere there cannot possibly fail
To impress all those who love her skill
In making her books so readable still.
In August the Royal Regatta takes place;
In the past it has seen Queen Victoria’s face,
Together with other Royals who’ve come;
Most things are free, although they’re some
Which have a small charge, but not too much,
So they rarely if ever touch
The prices charged for some other things -
They don’t want the low attendance that brings.
There’re lots of boats, but plenty on land
With entertainment at every hand.
For Fowey Regatta’s a time for fun,
Enjoying activities out in the sun.
The carnival floats are a colourful sight;
Also the fireworks that take place at night
Music floats up from the bands on Town Quay;
There’s so much at Fowey to hear and see.
But perhaps the highlight of it all is the day
When the famous red Arrows put on their display.
When December comes round the people of Fowey
Put on yet another event to enjoy.
A Christmas Market, spread over two days,
With plenty of things that will please and amaze.
A typical market begins Friday night,
With music and barbecue and lanterns for light.
Father Christmas arrives, though not here by sleigh,,
Instead it’s by boat, a more modern way
That’s so much more suited to a town by the sea,
Where a sleigh might be faced with some slight difficulty.
After meeting the children, he leads them away
In a lantern procession that turns night to day.
They walk through the town, until outside the church
They finally come to the end of their search,
The place where the town’s Christmas lights are switched on,
And continue to twinkle till Christmas is gone.
A Hog Roast then follows, with carols to cheer
The hearts of the people to whom they’re so dear.
The stalls of the Market are open at ten
On Saturday morning, and Sunday again,
With everything buzzing, till closure at four,
And now with two sites there is so much more
To see and to buy or just browse around,
The best Christmas Market that in Cornwall is found.
With goods of all types, some local, some not,
And stalls selling food, which arrives piping hot.
There’s arts and there’s crafts; on the stalls you will find
Interesting items of every kind.
It’s a good place to look for unusual things,
To give as a present, which hopefully brings
A smile on receiving an item they’ve sought
But which in the proper shops couldn’t be bought.
The list of stall’s endless; and there you will see
Skincare and cards and some quaint pottery,
Coffees and teas and cosmetics and toys
Cider and clothing for girls and for boys;
Cushions and pens, and rich chocolates too,
With real ales and sweets, to name but a few.
The atmosphere’s festive; decorations and lights
Both help to brighten the cold days and nights.
It’s a place to spend time, even just looking round,
All the stalls and their goods, while enjoying the sound
Of the music and chatter which help to make this
A place which for many’s a source of pure bliss,
As they soak up the joy and the feeling of good
As people enjoy life the way that they should.
With the Market comes music; for two days the streets
Are alive with the singing and musical beats
Which help to make Fowey’s Christmas Market the best
Of all of the markets throughout the south-west.
There are also the stores which are open all year,
The pubs and the restaurants with fine Cornish beer.
You don’t have to wait for the Market to shop
For unusual things, Fowey is a good place to stop.
HELSTON
The “Furry” or “Floral” Dance has its home
In Helston, where the dancers roam
Around the streets on the 8th of May,
Behind the Helston Town Band who play
The well-known tune “The Floral Dance”,
While crowds of people move back and advance,
Dressed in top hats and tails and gowns.
Throughout the day the town resounds
To rituals which go back many years
As winter is ended and summer nears.
Flora Day heralds the coming of spring
With all the new life that this season will bring.
The houses and shops all with greenery abound,
With floral arrangements scattered around.
The Hal-an-Tow pageant brings history to life,
With songs of the past, Helston’s joys and its strife.
The Spanish Armada and other events
Which shaped Helston’s past and its present day sense
Of a town with much history, proud of its place,
As home to a vibrant and seafaring race.
As well as true history, the people are thrilled
With tales of Saint George and the dragon he killed;
Saint Michael, who fought ‘gainst the devil and won
Hinting that he was a true Helston son.
By some of the people in Helston it’s thought
The town in the olden times once was a port,
But today it’s inland and the Cober now ends
At the banks of the Loe, where its water then blends
With that of the other small streams which now feed
Loe Pool, which for freshwater lakes takes the lead
For the largest in Cornwall,
that nature has formed;
It’s shape is irregular, as if deformed,
Rather than round, as it surely should be
On low lying ground that’s so close to the sea.
Helson
Museum is largely
concerned
With Helston’s long history, through which it’s turned
From a very small village to the town of today,
With much that’s of interest along the way.
A Stannary town, where they mined and weighed tin,
Ensured that for Helston the money came in.
There was also a market for cattle and sheep
Which also in times that are past helped to keep
In the distance the threat of the wolf from the door,
For many a village was desperately poor.
Agriculture was also important as well
As the mining which over the years helped to swell
The wealth of the town; there they try to invoke
The lives and the lifestyle of ordinary folk
Who worked on the land, and grew all the food
With which every harvest it then was ensured
There’d be something to eat in the long months to come,
And no-one would need to be hungry and glum.
They also host art exhibitions and so
There’s an extra incentive for people to go
And have a look round at the items displayed,
Which chart Helston’s past agriculture and trade.
And then before leaving you might like to stop
And visit the Cornish themed Museum shop.
St. Church of St. Michael
is also well worth
A visit, since it retains much from its birth
In the mid eighteenth century, when at his expense
The Earl of Godolphin ordered work to commence
On building a church to replace that burned down
When struck by lightning; since then the town
Had had no church, where the people could go,
To nourish their faith and to help it to grow.
There are much older brasses that stand near the door,
And date from the time of the church there before.
Inside if you cast your eyes upward you’ll see,
A vast chandelier, which the Earl gave for free.
There’s the newer east window in which Krugar Grey
Shows two angels dancing the Furry Dance way.
In the churchyard you’ll find the quite prominent grave
Of Henry Trengrouse, for his work’s helped to save
A great many sailors, with his rocket to fire,
When they’re in distress and their immediate desire
Is attracting attention of those on the shore,
His gravestone attests to men’s thanks on that score.
LAND’S END & SENNEN
There’s nothing but sea to the west
of Land’s End,
A hamlet in Cornwall, an interesting blend
Of the past and the present, the
old and the new,
Steep jagged cliffs with a
wonderful view
Extending to westward across the
blue sea,
The next land you come to’s “the
Land of the Free.”
The signpost at Land’s End points
west to New York
Over three thousand miles away –
quite a long walk!
Another arm points to north east
and denotes
The way and the distance to reach
John O’Groats.
The Scilly Isles feature on one
further arm –
Only twenty-eight miles – not far
if it’s calm.
The fourth arm is blank, so that
for a small fee,
A home town and distance is enabled
to be
Inserted, and afterwards a
photograph taken,
Complete with the date, so it can’t
be mistaken,
That you have succeeded that day in
your quest
To go to Land’s
End, the furthest point west.
If you like birds, then the next
place to go
Is the Wildlife Discovery on the
path just below.
The Centre is run by the RSPB;
Their aim is to help all their
visitors to see
The wide range of birds that
inhabit the coast,
For Land’s End’s
a site that without doubt can boast
That it is a place for all
twitchers to come,
But also a place that’s for all,
not just for some.
The telescopes help you to see so
much more
Of the wildlife that clusters all
round Land’s End’s shore.
From gannets and kittiwakes,
razorbills, shags,
Who circle and swoop around Land’s End’s steep crags.
Grey seals and sharks you might
well see there too;
If you’re lucky some dolphins will
come into view.
There’s a warden on duty – you just
have to ask
If there’s anything which at first
sight you can’t grasp.
Set back from the cliff edge the site caters for
The thousands of tourists to Land’s End’s wild shore.
With the Land’s End Hotel, and the
Restaurant and Bar,
To stay or to eat, there is no need
to go far.
There’s a small Shopping Village,
where keen shoppers flock,
With plenty of products from Cornwall in stock.
At Taste of the West you will quite
quickly find
Fudge, sweets, jams and ciders and
things of that kind.
Land’s End Trading Company sells
clothes, crafts and books;
The Bake House serves up tasty food
from its cooks.
The large Cornish Pantry has plenty
of choice,
While Penwith House gifts have a
nautical voice.
The Visitor Centre there also
provides
Information on Land’s
End and much more besides,
Selling tickets for all of the
pay-as-you-go
Attractions that add to the site’s
tourist show.
Visitors there will feel Land’s End’s designed
Very much with the needs of young
children in mind,
With lots to enthral them during
their stay,
For just a few hours or throughout
the whole day.
With a playground and farm, and
with bold Arthur’s Quest,
Films and a lifeboat, plus all the
rest
To keep children happy, so leaving
they’ll say,
They’ve all had a fabulous,
interesting stay.
In winter the land may be quite
dull and bleak,
But the spring brings a change to
please people who seek
All the rich colours of gorse,
heather and thrift,
Together with campion; they’re really a gift
For those who love wildness with
beauty entwined;
It’s almost as if the whole land
was designed
To radiate peace and a feeling of
calm,
For those under stress, it’s a most
welcome balm.
If you want to move on when you’ve
been there a while
The village of Sennen’s
just over a mile;
If you feel hungry, then you can
pop in
The famous (or infamous) First and
Last Inn.
For this was the haunt of the
smuggling bands,
Who with the ship-wreckers
brought fear to these lands. ;
Murder and robbery were part of
their trade,
And so passing ships in the past
were afraid
That if in bad weather they
foundered or sank,
The wreckers would come, and these
men never shrank
From killing and robbing all those
that they found
Aboard any ship which had there run
aground.
It was also well-known for the
wreckers to lure
Ships on to the rock, where they
then would endure
The same fate as those who got
caught in a storm,
For infamous deeds were these men’s
usual form.
The wreckers have gone, but the inn
still remains
And it is now guided by more honest
reins.
But a voice from the past there
still makes herself known
Though her soul has long since from
her poor body flown.
Annie George and her husband
managed the Inn;
The blackmailed the owner because
of his sin
In running a smuggling ring; hoping
to gain,
A rent-free existence, which seems
quite insane,
Since Joseph, her husband, was a
smuggling man too,
And an agent for the landlord and
his devious crew.
The landlord decided that the
Georges must go,
But the answer from Annie was a
very firm “No.”
She went to the Excise men; told
what she knew,
And they quickly discovered her
statements were true.
The owner was sentenced to a long
term in gaol,
But after this happened, Annie George
didn’t fail,
To report many others, in general
whose fate,
Was imprisonment, or with the
hangman a date.
The villagers were angry, and
decided to stop
Annie George in the future
increasing her crop
Of men she’d denounced; they hit on
a plan,
And so Annie George’s swift
downfall began.
She was tied on the beach, with
nets holding her down,
Where the incoming tide would make
certain she’d drown.
They then took her back and then
laid her to rest
In a room at the end; and then
thought it best
To bury her next to the inn, where
her grave
Was unmarked; her memory no-one
wanted to save.
But it’s said that today, Annie
still haunts the inn,
With touching of hair or cold chill
to the skin.
People who sleep in the room where
she lay,
Dream of drowning and fishing nets
down to this day.
Cats have been found shut in
wardrobes and drawers,
And other things contrary to
nature’s firm laws.
On the landing her figure still
sometimes appears,
Still wandering the Inn after all these long years.
Apart from their ghost, they are
now just an inn,
With everything legal - there’s no smuggled gin
Or brandy or wine, and no criminals
now meet
Within their four walls, their dark
plans to complete.
So while you sit there with your
food and your drink,
There truly is no need at all you
should think
That a smuggler just might sidle in
through the door
As they so often did in its wild
days of yore.
LAUNCESTON
Although it’s just over the border, very much it’s a Cornwall town,
Built above the floodplain, it spends its time looking down
At the rivers that flow in the valley, the Tamar and Kensey
and streams;
With its castle and shops and its history – it’s really a
place of one’s dreams.
Its motto Royale et Loyale refers to the Civil War
When Launceston supported the monarch, and Roundheads were
shown the door.
At one time the people spoke Cornish; the name comes from
“Stephen’s land”;
The oldest known mint was at Launceston; its tin was in
constant demand.
Its castle goes back to the Normans; it was built by the Count of
Mortain,
Half-brother of William the Conqueror, who gave him his
Cornish demesne.
Cuthbert Mayne has a host of memorials; ‘twas there that he
met his end,
Determined despite all it meant, the Catholic faith to
defend.
Now a church there is named in his honour, with a shrine
where people can pray;
Over four hundred years from his death, he is still much
remembered today,
And the folk in one of the houses that stands in the market
square,
Could have watched his execution from the windows which
faced out there.
For those with an interest in history, it’s wise to make a list,
And the Lawrence
House Museum
is one place that shouldn’t be missed.
It’s free and has plenty for children, including a room with
toys,
And costumes for dressing up for little girls and boys.
The castle, though ruined, still stands, and dominates all
around,
No longer used as a prison where those in trouble were
bound.
George Fox was a well-known inmate, in sixteen fifty-six,
His crime was the length of his hair – the men there were
quite a mix!
The Bell Inn in Tower
Street is ancient, and it’s almost certainly true,
It’s the oldest pub in Launceston, one of the very few,
Which dates from the fifteenth century, though many are also
old,
With many improvements and changes, as the building was
bought and sold.
The streets there are medieval; the layout has little
changed
Since the time when the town first existed and the buildings
were only ranged
A short way each side of the Tamar; though it’s somewhat
further now,
The atmosphere still remains present, as if wanting to show
people how
A small town felt to its people in the days that are long
gone by
When the square was full of people, and the merchants would
loudly vie
For the custom of those who were passing, their stalls in
the market place,
And everyone knew each other, and could recognise every
face.
The town still has its markets, that take place every week,
Which are wonderful places to visit, especially for those
who seek
To sample the local produce, and crafts and gifts and
plants;
They’re bustling places where people can easily see at a
glance
The latest of Launceston products, stallholders have made
themselves,
From crafts and pictures to jams, which are just off their
kitchen shelves.
There are indoor markets on Fridays, which occupy two church
halls,
One in St. Mary Magdalen; the other within the walls,
Of the Central
Methodist Church,
where crowds still come to buy
The output of local people; one hopes they will not die
As large shops try to enter, and take their business away;
If people do not support them, there’ll surely come the day
When the little shops have closed, and every town centre’s
the same,
And no-one can tell from just looking, what is the city’s
name.
And then from March to December, there’s the Butter Market
too;
First Saturday of each month, a lively place where you
Can purchase cakes and biscuits, pickles, eggs and
preserves;
It doesn’t just sell butter, for the market also serves
As a place which sells local products, from fruit to honey
and wax,
And new stalls can introduce there, whatever they feel it
lacks.
As well as food there are
jewellery, and novelties crafted by hand,
With cards and soaps and handbags,
and other things in demand;
There’s also a market tombola to
raise funds for charity,
While the Town Band provides the
music, and also sells coffee and tea.
For those with an interest in
steam trains, the Launceston Steam Railway’s a must
Two miles and a half up the
valley, and once you’ve a ticket you just
Hop on and hop off as you want to,
enjoying a day out of doors,
On a line of the North Cornwall
Railway, through the Kensey
Valley which draws
Not just the ones who like steam
trains, but also the people who share
A love of the landscapes of Cornwall, and the
beautiful scenery there.
Launceston Station has Railway Worshops,
an Engineering Museum as well,
With items related to transport,
many working, which help to tell,
The story of Britain’s railways, from days when
their fame spread wide,
And our engineers were the envy of
countries on every side.
There’s also an excellent gift
shop, where books are also sold,
And a café selling refreshments,
with food both hot and cold.
LIZARD
The most southerly point in England,
with a character all its own,
A village of just a few houses,
which over the years hasn’t grown.
Set as it is on the cliff tops, on
three sides facing the sea,
Surrounded by beautiful scenery,
with an air that is wild and free.
There’s a pub called the Top House
with pictures, depicting the Lizard’s past;
Its bar boasts a fireplace and
benches, from a shipwreck which probably cast
A shadow over the village; through
the years many lives have been lost,
As ships driven on to the rocks, by
the sea were pounded and tossed.
There are shops where one can buy
trinkets, including the Serpentine rock,
For the Lizard’s a place where in
summer, so many visitors flock.
There’s also a shop selling
pasties; fish and chips are of course to be found,
For this is very much Cornwall, and fish meals
are always around.
It’s a wonderful place for
birdwatching, especially the birds of the sea;
There are also dolphins and seals,
basking sharks – and watching them’s free.
Boats constantly sail round the
Lizard, despite the wrecks from the past,
And the fact that the tides are
lethal, so strong and uncertain and fast,
But the Lizard Lighthouse is there,
to warn them, as it wasn’t before
Of the danger that’s always present
if they come too close to the shore.
It’s also a great place for
walking, with paths that follow the coast,
In an area famed for its beauty,
and one which can certainly boast
Never-ending spectacular scenery,
with cliffs rising out of the sea,
Pretty villages scattered around,
and fishing coves set the lee
Of the pounding waves of the ocean,
which thunder against the rocks;
And your stroll may be interrupted
by a passing rabbit or fox.
One thing you can’t miss is the
lighthouse, whose beam reaches far out to sea
Warning ships entering the Channel,
how dangerous these waters can be.
First built in the sixteen
hundreds, then rebuilt a century on,
When the original owned by the
Killigrews, through lack of money had gone.
It’s a very impressive building,
with a sixty foot tower at each end,
Whitewashed, and looking quite
lonely, the lighthouse is able to send
A flashing beam every three
seconds; the light can be seen far away;
With a thirty mile reach it is able
to stop ships from going astray.
It today has a Visitor Centre,
where people can learn more about,
The valuable work of the
lighthouse, whose lights must never go out.
For the sailors rely on their
presence, to know where the dangers are lurking,
And many a ship would founder, if
the lighthouse beam wasn’t working.
Today it is automatic – no
lighthouse keeper on hand
To ensure the light stays flashing,
and ships keep away from the land.
LOOE
A small coastal town and a fishing
port,
It’s one of those towns that
everyone ought
To explore and enjoy, for there’s
much to be seen;
The town’s very pretty; its beaches
are clean.
The steep sided valley Looe River
flows through
Divides up the town into East and West Looe.
Ancient Britons once lived here, as
the Giants Hedge still shows,
But exact dates are something that
nobody knows.
St.
Nicholas Church now stands proudly again
After use as the Guildhall and
schoolhouse and then
Restored as a church, which is what
it had been
Before Cromwell’s Roundheads
arrived on the scene.
St. Martin’s
is named after Martin of Tours,
A soldier of Rome, who found the allure
Of the cross more important than
progress in life
Defending the Empire in those times
of strife
The museum is Tudor; it once was a
court,
Where various cases from history
were fought;
The magistrate’s bench there
reminds people still,
And probably sends through their
heart a slight chill
As they think of the cells to be
found down below,
And the sentences that from the
court then would flow.
The museum contains much on Looe’s
vibrant past,
When smuggling was simply a way
that was fast
To make a small fortune; for Looe
had its share
Of the Gentlemen who were so
prevalent there.
Looe’s railways are also a feature
to see,
For the coming of trains made it
possible to be
Much closer to London and all that that brought,
To the people of Cornwall, who always had sought
To reach out, but previously mainly
by sea;
The railway line meant that
henceforth it would be
Much quicker by train, and more
comfortable too,
To travel to London when living in Looe.
Also there’re sections for fishing
of course;
Geology, tourism and wars are the
source
Of other displays; model boats are
there too
With quite a good collection for
visitors to view.
Bosco Books, based in Shutta Street’s
long been a mine,
Of secondhand books, but they’re
mostly online.
Although their stock’s huge of the
rare, out-of-print
Of all types of genre, it’s only by
dint
Of checking the website, that you
can be sure,
Of reaching the shop, or by phoning
before
You go to the street, for their
hours vary so,
But for anything rare they’re worth
giving a go.
MEVAGISSEY
First town in the country where
electric light shone
Down on the streets, with a glow
pale and wan,
But still ‘twas electric, and on
Cornish soil,
With the power station running on
fresh pilchard oil,
Which came from the fish which were
plentifully found
In the harbour and also the seas
all around.
For at that time Mevagissey was
famous for fish,
With catches as large as the
fishermen could wish.
Mevagissey is home to three old
holy wells,
Which date back for centuries,
tradition there tells.
You can find one of them to be
visited still
In the old rectory garden on
Vicarage Hill;
The Brass Well and Lady’s Well,
making the three,
Are in Treleaven Manor, less easy
to see.
Some say that the wells all go back
to the day
When Meva and Issey were passing
this way.
From over the water from Ireland
they came
Sixth century saints, who in Cornwall found fame,
Converting the Cornish, from old
pagan ways,
Though much of their past’s still
remembered these days
In feasts and in festivals still
taking place,
Which first saw the light ‘mongst
the old Cornish race
Before they converted; but today
they’re a part,
Of many a Cornish community’s
heart.
Mevagissey Museum
it is known began life
As a boat-builder’s yard in a time
of much strife,
When smuggling was rife and they
needed good ships,
The sturdy and fast that could
easily eclipse
The power of the Customs men,
always around
The harbours of Cornwall, where often were found
Professional smugglers, who landed
the goods
And hid them away in the caves and
the woods
Until they were sold – the south
west was well-known
As a place which the smugglers had
long made their own.
The last of the boatmen one day
retired
Reducing the price of the yard if
desired
To purchase the building, to house
for the town
A place where it’s past could for
all be set down.
The trustees desired it, and money
was sought;
Mrs. Matson was generous; the
boatyard was bought.
Today it’s a treasure trove,
bringing the past
To life in a way that now surely
will last
In the minds of the visitors, both
young and old
As they see Mevagissey’s long
history unfold,
In all the exhibits that make it
place
For everyone entering there to
embrace
The fact that the present is just a
small part
Of the history of Cornwall, which is said had its start
Many thousands of year in the past,
when the first
Of the Celts on the desolate
landscape then burst.
There are plenty of artefacts which
all relate
To fishing and smuggling, both of
which date
Back through the centuries, as
you’d expect.
But the shelves and the floor space
also are decked
With other exhibits from life
that’s gone by,
Apple crusher and cider press, both
of which vie
With a thresher for barley, and a
kitchen of old,
Where school children visiting now
can behold
The ways of their grandmothers; and
they can give
Some thought to how so many then
used to live.
There are also photographs, helping
to show
What the town looked like two
centuries ago,
And lots of small objects that come
from the past
And now have a permanent home that
will last.
But through the Museum has so much
to see,
The best of it all, is that
everything’s free.
Donations are welcome, of course,
but if not,
They’re still pleased to show all
the items they’ve got.
The Feast of Saint Peter is firmly
marked here,
With a week’s celebration late June
every year,
With dancing, processions and
various events,
Concerts and drama; it is in a
sense
Not just remembering the
fishermen’s saint,
Especially for those whose religion
is faint,
But more of a chance for the
village to share
In various events that are taking
place there.
And then before Christmas the
lights are switched on,
And the gloom of December is bidden
“be gone”.
And Christmas is followed straight
on by New Year
Traditionally when all the people
appear,
In costumes which they will wear
just for the night
And so New Year’s Eve is an
interesting sight,
With fancy dress everywhere, all on
display
Before they’re put back until next
New Year’s Day.
Mevagissey has plenty of places to
eat,
With food freshly cooked which is
quite hard to beat.
And then it’s ideal for all those
who would wish
To try out a meal based on locally
caught fish,
For the fishing fleet still goes
out fishing today,
And brings back the fish that
they’ve caught in the Bay.
For the cafes and restaurants which
all rely
On getting fresh fish that was just
caught nearby.
MILLBROOK
Set on the Rame peninsula, at the
head of a tidal creek
Which now is dammed to stop the
flood, and attractive to those who seek
To spend their time with
binoculars, watching the wetland birds,
With cameras ready, they
concentrate, with little time for words.
The Flower Boat Ritual was part of
life since long before records began,
Apart from the years when almost
for sure it fell under Cromwell’s ban.
But then in the nineteen sixties,
this pagan Christian mix
Died out, but was re-instated, in
nineteen eight-six.
The Ritual again takes place on
Monday, the first in May,
When Millbrook’s people again turn
out to celebrate the day
With endless music and dancing,
while a boat which is decked with flowers
And carried aloft by four sailors,
parades through the towns for hours,
Taking in not just Millbrook, but
Kingsand and Cawsand as well,
While crowds, young and old, follow
dancing, at which they all excel,
With a new simple tune to guide
them, one written especially,
For no-one remembered the old,
which accompanied the Boat to the sea.
The boat is called the Black Prince,
just as it was before,
Though how it came to be named
that, no-one knows for sure.
It lies on a bed of blooms, blue
and white to resemble the sea,
With garlands of white and red, as
it sets off from Millbrook Quay
To make the journey to Cawsand,
where it’s then consigned to the waves,
Going to join all the others in
their unmarked watery graves.
There are fireworks to end the
evening, as the Black Prince is cast adrift,
Perhaps as a votive offering, to
pagan gods a gift
To guarantee plentiful harvests,
from fishing and from the land,
Maybe also to stop the storms which
arise at the gods command.
It’s also perhaps marking in
symbol, the end of the winter at last,
With the Boat carrying off the dead
season which thankfully now has past.
Not just the Boat, but the houses,
have garlands of flowers this day;
The shops as well are all festive,
as they mark the beginning of May.
Red and white are the colours for
wearing, for the women and also the men,
As the people revive the old
customs, and celebrate once again,
A time which looks back to the
past, but binds them together today,
As they join in the age-old ritual,
and dance while musicians play.
If you’re hungry and thirsty, don’t
worry, there’re plenty of places to eat;
Pubs like the Devon and Cornwall which are always
ready to greet
And make welcome young families
with children; they’ve also got rooms to stay
For those with more time for
exploring, and want to spend more than a day.
The building is seventeenth
century, with stone floors and open fires,
Modern, but still with the
character that everyone usually admires;
With a wide variety of dishes,
there’s something for everyone’s taste,
And if you’ve a dietary problem,
they say they don’t mind being faced,
With preparing you something
special, just tell them your needs when you book,
And they will ensure your
requirements are passed straightaway to the cook.
The View lives up to its name; they
are stunning, as most will allege.
There’s also the Honey Room Café,
within Widdicombe’s Fruit and Veg.
As well there’s the Mark of
Friendship, white walled with pots of blooms.
It’s tiny; a pub which consists of
little more than just two rooms.
But it serves up three
cask ales, there’s a pool table and board for darts;
It’s a very traditional
pub, the sort that’s much seen in these parts,
Though on Friday they also
have music, there’s a welcome for those who enjoy
An evening of peace and
quiet, with nothing around to destroy,
The atmosphere that
pervades it, an old, traditional pub
Where beer is the main
thing they offer, and there’s little interest in “grub”.
MOUSEHOLE
A dear little village which prettily sits
On the shore
of Mount’s Bay, where
neatly it fits
In an area where beauty is all around;
In its leafy streets you can hear the sound
Of birds chirping happily in the trees;
To many people it’s things such as these
Which help to make Mousehole a wonderful place
To get far away from the urban rat race.
Some think that the name
of the town is derived
From the cave in the cliffs, which has not survived
As “Mouse Hole” – though it must have been quite a large
mouse,
To have such a super-sized cave as its house.
Each year in December, with music and song
The lights in the harbour are always switched on,
And twinkle each evening till January comes;
The people who visit give quite generous sums
To collectors with buckets, to fund next year’s lights,
Which form one of Mousehole’s most interesting sights.
The lights call to mind all those brave Mousehole men
Who manned Penlee lifeboat the December night when
It sank and the eight crew were drowned in the sea.
The lights have been lit each year since in their memory.
When Mousehole was raided fifteen ninety-five,
Every one of its buildings then failed to survive,
Except for the Keigwin Arms pub which is now
Just a house with a plaque to tell visitors how
Jenkyn Keigwin was killed there, defending his house,
Proving that he was a man not a mouse.
Dolly Pentreath’s remembered
as one of the last
Who spoke only Cornish, the tongue of the past,
Although some believe she learned English as well
It was Cornish that Dolly made use of to sell
Her goods in the market, where she was well-known
As one from whose lips many curses had flown.
Some thought her a witch; but she’s perhaps best described
As a rather rough fishwife, who often imbibed
Keigwin Arms pints, where she spent her spare time
And all there accepted her loudness and grime.
Although born in Paul, she made Mousehole her home
While down to Penzance she
would regularly roam.
A Keigwin Place
plaque marks the house where she lived
With her only son John whom she nearly outlived.
The Mousehole in Quay Street’s a
good place to go,
If you’re looking for something which you want to know
Is locally made, not brought in from abroad,
And also at prices that you can afford.
Paintings and prints, glasswork, pottery too,
Cards, jewellery and miniatures, all brought to you
By artists and craftsmen who’re locally based;
When you enter the shop you’re immediately faced,
With so much that’s tempting, encouraging you
To buy at least one thing and not just pass through.
Not everything’s local, of course, but much is
And so worth your while to spend time in, for ‘tis
The small shops which help to keep Mousehole alive,
And they all need your business to help them survive.
NEWQUAY
If you’re visiting Newquay, it’s
quite certain you
Will never be lost for something
different to do.
When you start to look round you
will find it’s the case
That Newquay is not just a small
seaside place.
First there’s the Zoo; Cornwall’s largest by far,
Well worth a visit, for in it there
are
Huge numbers of species – hundred
and thirty or more
And one can’t be certain just what
is in store
For along with activities, talks
and the rest,
There might be what children
consider the best,
New baby animals, only just born,
So any small children will likely
be torn
Between moving along or just
staying all day
And watching the cute little babies
at play.
As to events, there are lots of
those too,
Bringing constant excitement to
Newquay’s own Zoo.
Trails to discover the Zoo’s rarest
birds,
For saving rare species in part
undergirds
The work of the Zoo, which seeks to
maintain
Those who’re endangered, so they
flourish again.
Teddy bear picnics are fun for all
those
Who still love their teddies; as
everyone knows
Most children like teddies, and
bringing one there
Means they get in for free, along
with their bear.
Exhibitions of art, all with
wildlife their them,
They give so much pleasure to
people who dream
Of animals, birds and the wild
outdoors too,
Where the beauty of nature is given
its due.
Wild breakfasts let visitors come
there at dawn.
Starting at five, as the animals
yawn
And slowly begin to awake form
their sleep,
And out of their night rests they
all start to creep.
They also have days when there’s
music and dance;
And visiting children all have a
chance
To listen to stories and see puppet
shows,
They’ll all be quite sorry when the
time comes to close.
And if you are hungry, the Lemur
Café,
Together with Tippy’s, is open all day.
And best of all from a visitor’s
view,
It’s just a short walk from the
town centre too.
If you enjoy surfing, then
Newquay’s the place
To choose as your favourite holiday
base,
For the surfing at Newquay’s the
best to be found;
In Cornwall its beaches are justly renowned
As providing for all, both the
expert and new
Who still have a great deal of
learning to do.
For those who like miniature
railways there’re three
To choose just from within the town
of Newquay.
All different gauges, they rattle
along;
One’s steam, and so they quite
clearly belong
To an age that is past; they spell
romance and fun,
A time when this century hadn’t
begun.
The Blue Reef Aquarium is by Towan
beach,
It’s right near the centre, so easy
to reach.
It’s aim is to show what a
wonderful world
Exists in the oceans, and there are
unfurled,
Details of so much of life in the
sea,
Where thousands of creatures roam
widely and free.
There’s marine life from Cornwall, as one would
expect,
But the Blue Reef Aquarium’s
managed to collect
Species whose homes are in seas far
away,
Where the tropical sun shines down
brightly each day.
There are crabs and seahorses, and
lobsters and sharks,
Starfish and stringrays; when one
embarks
On a tour, there are so many things
to take in
It’s hard to know just where one
ought to begin.
With “gardens” and corals, a
nursery and eels,
The Blue Reef Aquarium definitely
feels
Like a world that is far from what
life’s like on land,
From the fish in deep oceans to
crabs in the sand.
It’s a world full of colour, pure,
dazzling and bright,
Though deep in the ocean there’s so
little light.
There’s a tunnel which makes you
feel under the sea,
And as close to the sharks as it’s
possible to be.
And then there are forty recreated
displays,
Where visitors all are encouraged
to gaze,
To learn more about all the
creatures they’ve seen,
And admired through the walls of
the tunnel’s clear screen.
There are lectures and talks; their
aim’s partly to reach
Out to the public; Blue Reef tries to teach
How important the oceans are, and
their real place
In the past and the future of the
whole human race.
Because it’s so big, you might need
to stay
Several hours, if you want to see
all in one day.
The Harbour is sheltered, and when
it’s low tide,
It’s ideal for lazing or swimming
beside
All the boats which still work,
bringing in all the fish,
Which end up in many a smart
restaurant dish.
And of course there are boat trips,
which people can take,
Round the Harbour; or further,
should they wish to forsake,
The feeling they’re still really
close to the shore
And know they’ll enjoy the whole
trip so much more
With the wind in their hair and
salt spray on their cheeks,
An adventure that not every
landlubber seeks.
Newquay’s Fish Festival gives chefs
a chance,
To show off their skills and the
same time advance
People’s knowledge of cooking,
especially of fish,
Which they turn on the quay into
many a dish,
Using only fresh produce, locally
grown,
And thus they all help in
supporting their own.
Along with the cooking, there’s
music as well,
And plenty of stalls with fish
products to sell.
Competitions for children and
organised games,
The sizzling smells from the
barbecues’ flames;
For experts in beer it’s a good
chance to try
Newquay’s own brand from the
brewery nearby.
Just ask for Atlantic,
and afterwards rejoice
In sitting and drinking the one of
your choice.
One point in their favour, for
vegans at least -
Isinglass is not used for removing
the yeast.
It’s a weekend where all have a
chance to enjoy,
Something that not even rain can
destroy.
PENZANCE
Away to the west lies the town of Penzance,
The Great Western Railway’s further
advance
Which stops just short of reaching Land’s End.
Over the years, Penzance
came to depend
On its railway links to the world
around,
For its farmers and fishermen very
soon found
That they could send perishables
quickly by train
As far as to London; no longer a chain
Tied them to local sales; they
could charge more
For super fresh produce, sent to a
store
In one of the cities, where it was
bought
Just hours from the time it was
picked or was caught.
The station at Penzance
saw fast special trains
Which carried just produce, and
brought many gains
To the people of Penzance,
who came to rely
On the railways ensuring that they
weren’t passed by
But their goods reached their
markets the very same day,
Straight from Penzance
without any delay.
Morrab Gardens
is close at hand,
Made up of a three acre strip of
land
Which runs from the centre down to
the shore,
Once owned by a brewer, but not
anymore.
His house is a library; the grounds
are a park,
Where visitors now can be heard to
remark
On the beautiful plants, some of
which are quite rare,
Brought in from all over, now
flourishing there.
Many are tropical, and when in
bloom
Emit in the air a delightful
perfume.
A local coal merchant gave money to
build
The bandstand, which used to be
frequently filled
With the sound of the trumpet and
cornet and drum
Which entertained those who would
happily come
To sit on the grass and to hear the
bands play,
Especially if it were a bright
sunny day.
There are still sometimes concerts,
but not every week,
It’s essential to check if your aim
is to seek
A bit of nostalgia, that’s
vanishing fast,
Sunday afternoon concerts, a piece
of the past.
There’s a statue that goes back to
nineteen oh four,
Remembering the dead of the recent
Boer War.
Two ponds and a fountain add much
to the charm
Of this beautiful park and the
feeling of calm
That pervades it in summer and all
the year round,
When strolls are accompanied most
times by the sound
Of the birds as they merrily chirp
in the trees
Singing or not all the day as they
please.
Penlee House is just opposite;
there you will find
A well-stocked art gallery and
museum combined.
The park that surrounds it is
beautiful too,
Extensive and obviously planned
with a view
To providing a place just to sit
and relax,
With a café that offers both light
meals and snacks.
The Sensory Garden
is full of the scents
That help to unwind anyone who is
tense.
There are trees that give shade
from the hot summer sun
And a place where small children
can play and have fun.
The Art Gallery
houses a great many prints
And original paintings, which often
change since
They run exhibitions and constantly
add
New items to those that they
already had.
Of particular interest are those
from the school
Of artists at Newlyn, who as a rule
Saw the people of Penzance
very much as a kind
Of ideal of the countrymen that you
would find
Away from the cities – strong,
stable and true,
With courage and faith and
integrity too.
This area’s alive
with historical sites;
It’s avoided the change which in
most places blights
The efforts of experts who try to
look back,
Into the past, but are foiled by
the lack
Of evidence which is still there to
be found
Whether above or now well below
ground.
The Museum, therefore, has much to
display
On Penzance’s
past and the interesting way
In which things have changed, since
the first settlers came,
Though the people, of course, still
look much the same.
There’s a special display for their
most famous son,
Humphrey Davy, an artist, but also
the one
Who invented the safety lamp miners
still use;
So it’s hardly surprising that Penzance would choose
To erect a fine statue to honour
the name
Of a polymath chemist who brought
so much fame
To the place of his birth; though
he travelled afar,
His inventions still make him the
town’s greatest star.
If you’re looking for books there’s
the Edge of the World,
A place where good books round its
walls are all curled
Together with stationery, gifts,
paper and cards,
And tee-shirts displaying the bookshop’s
regards.
There’re lots of new titles, along
with their stock
Of classics, the quirky and books
to unlock
Your knowledge of Cornwall, its people and land,
Right back to the time when the
first Celtic band
Arrived on these shores, perhaps
fleeing from harm,
And found they’d washed up on a
good place to farm.
Market Jew Street’s the place where the bookshop
is found,
Just opposite Wharfside, where
those will be bound
Who love going shopping; the big
stores are there,
And it’s only just yards from the smell
of sea air.
PERRANPORTH
A fairly small village, which lies by the sea,
With three miles of beach it must constantly flee,
As over the centuries sands crept ashore
Constantly burying more and more
Of the buildings on land which once proudly stood
On the shore, but have all of them vanished for good.
The Church
of Saint Piran, a once
famous shrine,
Is now just a part of a very long line
Of buildings which lie ‘neath the sands which have blown
And covered them all, both the known and unknown.
The Norman Church also lies under the sand;
‘Twas in eighteen oh four that it last stood on land.
There’s little remains of the tin mines of yore,
They too have now been engulfed by the shore.
Winston Graham once lived here; it was here that he wrote
The first Poldark novel; on a bench there’s a note
“Poldark Author”, “Winston Graham” and the dates of his
life;
For many long years he lived here with his wife,
Writing dozens of books, of which many were set
In the past and in Cornwall,
made him famous, and yet
Though everyone’s heard of Poldark, it’s just part
Of the many fine novels that flowed from his heart.
Each year in October the village can boast
That though it is small it’s still able to host
A pan-Celtic festival over five days,
With music and dancing and singing that says
That the Celts have a culture, that’s very alive,
And one which the young Celts should constantly strive
To foster and grow to pass on up the line,
So the rich Celtic past will continue to shine
Through the children to come, who will also belong
To proud Celtic nations, whose music and song
Go back through the centuries, and still have a place,
Recalling the past of the old Celtic race,
Which today just exists around Europe’s
west edge,
And the Lowenden Peran is Perranporth’s pledge,
That they won’t be forgotten; their culture will live
Through all that the talented artists can give.
St. Piran some time seventh century came,
From over the seas;
it’s from him that the name
Of the town derives; in today’s Perranporth,
Remembrance of all that he did still shines forth.
Piran is Cornwall’s
Patron Saint,
Though factual details about him are feint.
Tied to a millstone, he was cast
Into the sea, travelling ‘til at last,
He’s said to have landed at Perranporth.
Where he built an oratory, and then went forth
Converting all men and creatures there,
Including a badger, a fox and a bear.
Piran’s not only famed for the souls he would win,
But he accidentally discovered tin,
And paved the way for the county’s wealth,
Though unaware of this himself.
Over the years his fame spread wide,
And the tinners felt he was by their side,
And he became their patron saint,
A person to pray to without restraint.
He also liked a tipple or two,
But that didn’t stop him being one of the few
Who lived to the age of two hundred and six –
His story is obviously quite a mix
Of fact and fiction, but nobody cares,
For his legend is something that everyone shares
When Piran’s festival each year comes round,
And Perranporth’s people rejoice to the sound
Of music and dancing, remembering the date
They all have a reason to celebrate
The fifth of March, dressed in black, white and gold,
And carrying the flag of Saint Piran of old,
As they make their way over the dunes and the sands
To the place where the cross of Saint Piran still stands.
If you’re looking to eat there is plenty of choice,
From Italian to Cornish, or you can rejoice
In an Indian meal, or a meal in a pub,
As The Watering Hole offers excellent grub.
The beach is superb, and you might want to spend
Lazy hours in the sun, or you may want to blend
Sunbathing and swimming with other things too,
For Perranporth offers
a great deal to do,
With lots of activities you might want to try,
So many that time will too quickly pass by.
From riding to kiteboarding, to surfing and gym,
There are plenty of sports that will help you keep slim.
At Perranporth Airfield, located nearby
They offer trial lessons in leaning to fly.
Or perhaps you like tennis – there are courts you can hire,
You can also go bowling there if you desire.
And of course since it’s Perranporth, there are all sorts
Of chances to practise some new water sports.
POLPERRO
A Heritage
Museum of Smuggling and
Fishing –
There aren’t many towns who can boast such a thing;
But Polperro is proud of its infamous past,
It’s something to which all the people still cling.
For the smuggling is very much history to them
Taking place long ago, when most Cornish ports plied
A mixture of trade, both illegal and not –
And many a man was arrested and tried,
For smuggling and all of the crimes that go with it;
Murder was common in those far off days,
As goods were brought in by the ships in the harbour,
As far as they could from the Revenue’s gaze.
But Polperro is more than just smugglers and fishermen,
Though both of them played such a prominent role
In days long ago when the town was more lawless,
And keeping authority out was their goal.
Today it’s a beautiful town by the seaside;
Narrow alleys and streets are a part of its charm;
Its crime-ridden past is now over and vanished,
The port
of Polperro is peaceful
and calm.
But that doesn’t mean that it’s not worth a visit,
For those who love beauty it certainly is;
Though smuggling is finished, life still far from dull,
With local events like an Old Mill House quiz.
For the locals there are plenty of organisations,
And activities that they can all join if they wish;
With choirs, arts and crafts, dancing, singing and poetry,
Life here is much more than just about fish.
Though fishing is still very much the main industry,
Leaving out tourism, which these days provides
A source of much income, especially in summer,
Presenting the things in which Polperro prides.
And then there’s the Festival, nine days in all,
Which Polperro hosts in the third week of June,
With poetry, drama, parades, arts and crafts,
And bands which play many a good stirring tune.
Coastal walks, treasure hunts, schools’ days as well –
Morris dancing is also a part of the fun;
Entertainment is also provided for children;
It’s a chance to enjoy some time out in the sun.
And most of it’s free, which helps even more
To make it a festival all can enjoy,
With plenty to interest all ages and tastes,
From grandparents down to each small girl and boy.
The Shell House is small, but it’s almost unique,
A house that is covered entirely with shells.
And then Sunday morning you’ll hear if you listen
The wonderful sound of Polperro’s church bells.
Polperro is squeezed in a steep, twisting valley,
Built on both sides of the Pol River’s
mouth;
Its pastel washed houses, all clustered together
Make it the prettiest town in the south.
Because all its streets are so winding and narrow,
No cars are allowed throughout much of the year,
But this doesn’t matter, for they have provided,
A very large car park, located quite near.
You can easily walk from one end to the other,
Or ride in a cart or a Polperro tram;
Enjoying the fact there’s so little pollution,
And no-one here frets in a long traffic jam.
There are plenty of places for those who like shopping,
Most independent, as one would expect;
Some aimed at tourists, but all of them of them offering
A choice that will make it quite hard to select
The items you want, be it jewellery or paintings,
Souvenirs, pottery, or good books to read;
When the shops are so quaint with
an air of olde-worldiness ,
It’s easy to come out with more
than you need.
There are also good cafes and
restaurants and pubs;
Of places to eat there is
shortage here,
Whether a full meal or just a few
sandwiches,
A nice cup of tea or a
thirst-quenching beer.
Although picturesque, it is no
place for swimming;
The tides are too fast and the
shore is too wild;
It’s the scenery that brings many
thousands each year,
By Polperro’s air of unspoiltness
beguiled.
PORTLOE
A small fishing village,
that’s squeezed in between
A very steep valley on Veryan Bay,
With a small shingle beach; it’s a rare thing to find
A seaside in Cornwall
still unspoilt today.
It once has a drift fleet and seine fishing too,
But that’s been reduced to just lobster and crab;
Compared to the past when the industry boomed
The fishing at Portloe is minor and drab.
There aren’t many houses, but one place to note
Is the Lugger Hotel, whose history goes back
To the seventeenth century, when it’s well known
That smugglers were something that it didn’t lack.
One of its landlords, Black Dunstan by name,
Was hanged as a smuggler, so it was his fault
That the Customs took action; its licence was lost
With the inn’s ceasing trading the obvious result.
After that it was used for a wide range of things
Until nineteen-fifty when it was once more
Refurbished and opened
- a hotel again
But minus the smugglers who’d run it before.
Today it’s upmarket; the past left behind;
It’s not very cheap, but for those like peace
It’s a quiet place to stay; its refurbishment means
The life of the inn now has a new lease.
REDRUTH
Redruth was once just a small
market town,
Overshadowed by neighbours whose
tin was much sought,
So they grew apace, while Redruth
stayed the same,
Without all the wealth that the tin
mining brought.
But one of the products tin mining
discarded
Was copper, which industry brought
to the fore
For the making of brass; and
Redruth was surrounded
By numerous seams of good grade
copper ore.
So Redruth expanded, and later
became
One of the largest and richest of
towns,
With its mines at the forefront of
all of its life,
As production soared upward in
quick leaps and bounds.
Most miners stayed poor, despite
the town’s wealth,
For miners were never paid what
they were worth
For bringing up minerals that
industry needed
From down in the dark, dusty bowels
of the earth.
Decline then set in, as the ore was
imported
At much lower cost from the mines
based aboard,
And the factories who used it over
time all decided
That ore from Redruth they could no
more afford.
But though Redruth’s glory was
based on its mining,
And copper’s no longer the source
of its fame,
Redruth has moved on, and has so
much to offer,
Now pollution from mining’s not
linked to its name.
There’s the Tregellas Tapestries, spread though the town,
Depicting the story of Cornwall’s
long past;
The concept behind them was clearly intricate,
And the skills that went into them obviously vast.
One of its sons was the great William Murdoch,
Engineer and inventor, whose fame spread afar;
Working on gas and on steam he developed,
The very first model of a steam driven car.
His house was the first in the world to be fitted
With newly invented gas lighting which formed,
Another invention which changed mankind’s history,
As through new ideas Murdoch’s brilliant mind stormed.
Murdoch House is no longer a large family home;
It’s use has now changed to preserve Murdoch’s fame,
And provide education on everything Cornish,
Especially ones bearing a Cornish surname.
For their database lists many thousands of families,
Who migrated far from their old Cornish home,
Including the miners who when the mines closed
Throughout the whole world were encouraged to roam.
The town’s oldest building’s the church of St. Euny,
Though re-built, it stands on the very same site
As the one built by Euny when in the sixth century,
He brought here to Redruth the new Christian light.
Part Tudor, part Georgian, there’s much to be seen,
In the church and the graveyard, whose long past affords,
The chance to learn more about all those who lived here,
From all that their ancient existence records.
Moseley Museum is also worth visiting,
Based in two sheds on the Tumblydown Farm.
With tramways and trains, toys and mining equipment,
A mile from the town in the countryside calm.
Gwennap Pit is unique; it’s an open air amphitheatre,
Probably formed in the town’s mining past;
John Wesley preached there on eighteen occasions,
Its acoustics ensuring his words were all cast,
Clearly and audibly, throughout the whole pit
To the thousands who gathered whenever he spoke;
For he was most welcome wherever he travelled,
Gaining conversions among Cornish folk.
Then there’s the Treasure
Park, built on the site
Of a tin mine, abandoned a long time before,
With its outdoor activities it is a place,
That nearly all children will really adore.
But it’s not just for children; the gardens will make
The adults all want to just stand and admire
The beautiful flowers and the river which flows
Through a park that has everything one could desire.
The Treasure
Park’s perfect for
passing the time,
‘Midst tranquil streams, water wheels and the displays;
Also the statues, and tin mines as well,
And a chance to indulge in some gold panning days.
The Park also boasts a museum where you
Can explore a real tin mine and learn how it ran,
Look at the artefacts, finding out more
About how the mining in Redruth began.
And if you feel hungry, there’s no need to leave,
For the Park’s Cornish Pantry offers snacks and full meals;
From coffees and cakes, to a large Sunday roast,
You can order whatever to you most
appeals.
ROCK
It’s thought that Rock village
takes its name
From the former Rock Quarry which
lay on the site,
Providing the ballast for
offloading ships
Which then found that they had
become far too light.
Rock has been nicknamed as
“Kensington on Sea”
From all the young wealthy who’ve
spent some time there;
Including some princes and film
stars of note,
And other young people with money
and flair.
Because of the wealthy that like
paying visits,
Rock has a helipad all of its own;
Its five star hotels and its
excellent restaurants
Now give the village an upmarket
tone.
Rock is a place for all those who
like water sports,
Swimming and sailing and
windsurfing too;
Fishing and boating and great
water-skiing –
In Rock there’s a wide choice of
things you can do.
Not just the wealthy enjoy what
Rock offers –
Others who have less are also
enticed.
By all the facilities, many make
use of
All the self-catering, that’s
reasonably priced
For them a foot ferry crosses the
Camel,
To Padstow, where cheap pubs and
restaurants abound,
So staying at Rock doesn’t mean
isolation,
The ferry ensures that they too can
get round..
St.
Enodoc Golf Course awaits the keen golfers;
It’s said it’s the finest
throughout the South West.
A James Braid design, it has all
one could wish for,
With sea views that most would
consider the best.
The Church of St. Enodoc is thought
to be built
On the site where the hermit once
lived in a cave;
Today it’s more known for a newer
slate headstone,
Which marks out the spot of John Betjemen’s grave.
SALTASH
It sits on the River Tamar, the
west bank, not the east,
So Saltash is in Cornwall, and is worth some hours at least
To wander around it byways, with
their stories at every turn –
A thousand years of history means
there’s quite a lot to learn.
It was founded as a market town, by
Trematon Castle’s Lord,
At a point on an ancient highway,
where a ferry would afford
The means to cross the Tamar,
leaving Devonshire behind,
And moving into Cornwall, where the traveller would find
A county that was different, where
all the country folk,
Had never been Anglo-Saxon, and the
Cornish language spoke.
Being at the mouth of the Tamar,
Saltash soon became a port,
Controlling all the shipping that
the estuary soon brought;
Though very often challenged and
involved in many a fight,
The twentieth century had dawned
before it lost the right
To rule the Tamar waters,
collecting taxes from all those
Who sailed into their harbour; much
wealth from that arose.
The Civil War saw fighting in the
streets of Saltash town,
And many of its buildings in the
battles were knocked down;
And resulting from the battles
there were many men who died;
Some of them were Royalists, but
most were on Cromwell’s side.
Saltash was famed for rowers, and
from eighteen thirty on
When ladies were supposed to be
both delicate and wan,
Ann Glanville formed a team of four
gig rowing girls who then
Travelled to regattas, often
beating all the men;
Her husband was ill and couldn’t
work, so when she was still young,
She’d taken on her husband’s trade,
a waterman, and clung
To heavy work, to feed them all;
she was both large and strong,
And it was obvious on the boats Ann
Glanville did belong.
White caps and dresses must have
looked quite odd to those who saw,
But none could doubt the ladies’
skill when managing an oar.
They even beat ten French male
crews, thus bringing England
fame,
So everyone in Saltash then had
heard of Ann’s proud name.
In Fleetwood Ann once met the
Queen, who praised her for her win,
Against an all-male rowing team;
that must have raised a grin
Amongst the Saltash ladies, whom it
easily was seen
Were robust working women, so
different to the Queen.
Ann also met the Prince of Wales,
in Plymouth
when she was old;
One wonders if today her team would
have won Olympic gold.
She died when she was eighty-four,
her coffin was six foot two;
Her funeral was attended by those
many there who knew
Her exploits as a waterwoman, and
the races she had won,
In all the long eventful years
before her life was done,
The churchyard of St. Stephen’s
Church is where she lies today,
A headstone with her details there
also has this to say:
“She shall rejoice in time to come,
her children shall rise up
And call her blessed”; for her life
was like an overflowing cup,
Full of action until the end, her
life on earth’s now passed,
And from the endless heavy toil Ann
Glanville can rest at last.
The railway bridge is worth a look;
the Royal Albert is its name;
A masterpiece of Brunel’s work,
when he to Saltash came
In eighteen hundred and forty-eight
to plan a bridge to take
The railway line from Paddington, a
line that soon would make
A difference to those who lived so
far from the bustling London
streets,
Its elegant lines, all painted grey
give an air which surely meets
The need for something practical,
which doesn’t spoil the view
Across the River, but adds to it,
with majestic beauty too.
Prince Albert came for the opening in
eighteen fifty nine
Arriving by train from Windsor; there were
thousands by the line
For the bridge’s official opening,
though on that auspicious date
The Liskeard train broke down, so
the Cornish group were late.
There’s also a small museum; Lower Fore Street
is where it’s based
It deals with the history of
Saltash, and is very conveniently placed
For those who want to just drop in
and have a quick look round;
As well as the permanent
collection, in the summer there’s usually found
An interesting exhibition, each
year on a different theme,
All carefully set out for viewing
by the Museum’s volunteer team.
The Bookshelf is small, but invites
a good look,
Not just for the chance you will
find a new book,
But it also sells toys to delight a
small child,
Along with its books which are
everywhere piled;
Both fiction and fact find a place
in this shop,
Whose staff make sure all are most
welcome to stop
And browse through the shelves
where booklovers will find
An eclectic selection to suit every
mind.
From railways to dockyards, from
cooking to sport,
It’s a place where so many rare
books can be bought.
If the volume you want isn’t there
on the shelf,
You don’t need to continue to look
for yourself,
For they’ll soon take your order,
and then let you know
When the books have arrived –
usually three days or so.
The stock in the shops includes
books old and new,
Adults and children’s are both
there to view.
As well as the books there’s a
tearoom next door,
Which is part of the shop and can
add so much more
To your visit, for there they serve
coffees and teas,
Cold drinks and milkshakes, with a
menu to please
Those who want lunch, with the food
all home-made,
Including the cakes on the counter
displayed.
Upstairs or downstairs, it’s a good
chance to spend
More time in this shop, that’s an
interesting blend
Of bookshop and café – what more
does one need,
Than a lovely cream tea and a
really good read,
To pass a few hours in the
pleasantest way,
With the Bookshelf to help make the
most of your stay.
SCORRIER
It’s just a small village, two miles from Redruth,
With little to see there, to tell you the truth,
But it’s home to a creamery, Rodda’s by name
Which many long years ago shot into fame
As makers of some of the nicest of cream,
The sort of rich product of which people dream.
They took it to London,
to shops for the rich,
Like Fortnum & Mason; they made a good pitch,
And their cream was so good that they very soon found
That orders came quickly; much cream was soon bound
For London’s
top homes, where they loved its rich taste,
With Rodda’s fine products their strawberries were laced.
Eighteen ninety saw Rodda’s start selling their cream,
When Elizabeth Jane and the rest of her team
Found a way to preserve clotted cream, make it last
Long enough to be sent up to London where vast
Little pots of her products were soon on the shelves;
All of them made in her kitchen themselves.
Since then there’ve been changes, as business increased,
It outgrew the kitchen, which very soon ceased
Being the place Rodda’s cream was produced, and now they
Can make twenty-three tons of their cream every day
In their bright modern factory, which stands as you know
In the same place it started those long years ago.
The milk’s now delivered from farms all around,
Where fields are alive with the quiet country sound
Of cows chewing the cud, which produces the milk
Which turns into cream which is softer than silk,
And has the bright colour that comes from the grass
Which is carotene rich, the best in the class.
They also make butter, and custards now too,
And always are seeking ideas that are new
For using their cream, on desserts or as sauce,
As well as with jam and with hot scones, of course.
The family of Rodda have chosen to stay
On the farm where all generations each day
Work in the factory or office, to make
The lovely rich cream which they set and they bake.
There’re places to eat within Scorrier’s bounds -
Plume of Feathers and also the Fox and Hounds,
Where real ale is served, and delicious pub food
Which as you’d expect, both most definitely include
A range of good meals, home cooked just for you,
With a wide range of drinks to accompany them too.
ST. AGNES
In days long past, St. Agnes once feared
The awful giant Bolster, with
straggly beard,
Who roamed through the village,
destroying at will –
The terror he brought is remembered
still.
It’s said he could stand with feet
six miles apart,
And his poor wife was frequently
forced to cart
Great piles of stones to the top of
the hill;
She had to work always, even when
she was ill.
But though he was married, the
giant never ceased
From looking at girls, and his
ardour increased
If said girls were virtuous, or
promised elsewhere.
If he wanted to have them, the
giant didn’t care
If his love was returned, and the
giant usually got
Whatever he wanted, which was
usually a lot.
The giant fell in love with a
maiden whose name
Was Agnes; a virtuous maiden whose
fame
Has passed down the years and
recalled by the Church
As a maid who’d let nothing her
good name besmirch.
She arranged with Sir Constantine,
plus some good men
To fight with the giant, and to
kill him and then
Both she and the village would
henceforth be free
Of the giant who made life such a
sad misery.
The day came for battle, and both
sides sailed forth
And met for the contest atop Chapel
Porth;
Sir Constantine lost, and giant
Bolster renewed
His wooing of Agnes, who henceforth
pursued
A new plan of action, to rid all of
this man;
Pretending acceptance, she hatched
out a plan.
Asking for proof of his love,
nothing great;
The giant, sensing victory,
accepted the bate.
At the bottom of Chapel Port,
there lay a hole,
Just a small one, and Agnes then
said that his goal
Was to fill this hole up with his
blood; he agreed;
It all sounded simple, almost
nothing indeed.
But his blood kept on flowing; the
hole did not fill;
It continued to flow from his body
until
The giant was so weak he rolled
over and died,
Not knowing the hole in the rock
opened wide
Into the sea; and so that was the
end
Of Bolster the giant, who was
nobody’s friend.
But the giant’s not forgotten, and
each year today
His ending’s recalled the first
weekend in May.
The young spend a Saturday working
in clay,
To have houses ready when comes the
great day
When they will join in the procession which goes
From the church to the cliff, all
led there by those
Who are carrying lanterns, which
also they’ve made.
At the top there’s a fire, where the
houses are laid
To bake so they’re ready for
Sunday’s parade
Where in the procession they’ll all
be displayed
As a symbol of all of the homes in
the town,
Those now, and the ones that giant
Bolster tore down.
There’s also a barbecue Saturday
night,
While the clay houses bake; it’s a
wonderful sight,
With the bonfire and lanterns, and
darkness all round,
Where much joy and laughing also
abound.
Come Sunday lunchtime, the people
don’t pause
From talking and seeking support
for their cause.
The Mayor and Sir Constantine,
Bolster’s poor wife,
All of them willing to give their
own life
To get rid of Bolster, the tyrant
they hate,
And send off the giant to his
well-deserved fate.
The Railway Inn pub forms the start
of the day
And they visit the others while making
their way
To find the giant Bolster and give
him his due,
Accompanied by bands and by much
drumming too.
Of colour and atmosphere there is
no lack,
With the people all dressed up in
bright red and black.
The giant is quite large, and at
twenty-eight feet,
And ugly, is definitely not one to
meet.
The children all scream when they
see him appear -
Though it’s part of the game and
there’s nothing to fear.
By four thirty everyone’s climbed
Chapel Porth
And all of the people prepare to
show forth
How giants there are dealt with;
evil Bolster is slain,
And the folk of St.
Agnes can rest once again.
The day of course ends with much
music and food
With live entertainment, which well
may include,
Some very good bands; it goes on
until late,
And this is just one thing that
they celebrate.
ST. AUSTELL
The capital of the Cornish Alps;
Not snow, but china clay their
scalps.
Surrounding the town they rise
above
As if they were a bit in love
With the bustling market town
below,
Which kao-lin has helped to grow.
Previously only in China
found,
But now much mined from Cornish
ground,
Replacing the earlier copper and
tin,
Enabling St.
Austell’s mines to win
Business from all over the earth,
Greatly increasing St. Austell’s worth.
Sacred Place in High Cross Street
Is very much a place to meet
Fellow Christians who’re looking
for
Books and cards and much, much more
Like gifts and groceries, all
Fairtrade,
So they know that the workers were
fairly paid.
Founded in eighteen fifty-one,
By Walter Hicks; his
great-great-grandson,
Now runs the company, his knowledge
honed
By years in the company, still
family owned.
St. Austell’s Brewery’s not just
for those
Through whose veins there regularly
flows
The rich brown liquids they
produce,
But they, of course, will need no
excuse
To spend at least and hour or two
At the Visitor Centre and imbue
A knowledge of how the beers are
made,
An insight into the brewing trade.
There’s much interaction, which
children will love –
It’s not just for those of eighteen
and above.
Brewery tours are a popular way,
To see how it operates day by day.
Lead by a knowledgeable member of
staff,
A tour in the course of an hour and
a half
Will show you the mill, thus
letting how see,
How complex the making of good
beers can be.
Numbers are limited, so usually
it’s best
To book up before, so your mind is
at rest.
After the tour, you might like to
try
The popular Hicks Bar, located
nearby,
To sample the beers, or have
something to eat,
To ensure that you visit’s even
more of a treat.
Lastly the Gift Shop and Warehouse
might be
The end of your visit, where you
will see
A selection of wines and of spirits
and beers,
Clothes, gifts and obviously,
bright souvenirs.
For St. Austell’s Brewery doesn’t
just sell,
The beers it produces, but also as
well,
Juices and spirits, wines, lagers,
too,
And they’re always looking to sell
something new.
Eating’s no problem, in a town of
this size;
Whatever your tastes are, St. Austell can rise
To provide for your wants; you just
have to search,
But no-one need fear they’ll be
left in the lurch.
And if you like shopping, there’s White River Place,
A new modern centre, to come face
to face
With all of your favourite chain
stores – they are here,
Open and waiting for you to appear.
ST. IVES
A neat little town which has grown through the years,
Its history a mixture of joy and of tears,
From the time when St.
Ia arrived via the sea –
Her name still survives in the church near the quay.
Its charter was granted in twelve ninety-five
By Edward the First; the town was alive
With the sounds of the fishermen, plying their trade
For St. Ives was a place
where large fortunes were made
From the fruit of the sea, which brought wealth to the town
–
St. Ives at the time was a
place of renown.
The tin mines were also a source of great wealth,
As also the smugglers, well-known for their stealth.
But the fishing and tin have now largely moved on,
And the old source of money has now firmly gone.
St. Ives has now changed and it is no longer trade
That brings all the goods on which fortunes are made.
Instead it’s become a place very much sought
By those who are seeking a sea-side resort.
All over the town, just wherever there’s room
Are plant pots and gardens, so best “Britain in Bloom”
Has been won by St. Ives
more than once in the past,
And with all their hard work it should not be its last.
The beautiful flowers are just one thing that draws
The thousands of tourists that come to its shores.
St. Ives is creative, and
famed for its art,
With so many galleries playing their part
In making St. Ives a real
haven for those
Whose idea of heaven, one could easily suppose
Is looking at pictures, both the old and the new;
St. Ives has it all; only
there can you view
The work at the Salthouse, Wills Lane and ArtSpace,
Where so many locals now all have their base.
There’re not only paintings, but all kinds of arts;
Sculpture, ceramics, and various crafts
Are offered for sale; the choice is so wide,
It can be quite difficult, trying to decide
What to buy, when so much of the craftwork displayed,
Can be bought nowhere else, as it’s locally made.
A good place to go is behind the Sloop Inn
And browse the Craft Market, enjoying the din
As the crowds in the summer look over the work
Produced by so many; on the tables may lurk
Just what you want, but had not thought to seek,
A piece that is beautifully made and unique.
For potters the Leach is a place you must see.
While sculpters alight on Barbara Hepworth with glee.
Like London,
St. Ives has its very own Tate,
A magnificent building, which many would rate
Worth a visit, or two – there is so much to see,
Though unlike in London,
the entry’s not free.
The climate is good – much more warm than the north,
So even in winter many people sail forth
With just a light coat and no boots or a hat,
Knowing that they will be fine just with that.
If you’re hungry St. Ives has good places to eat
Just a snack or a really nice meal for a treat,
With fresh fish a specialty, just caught that day,
By fishermen working just out in the bay.
When the Prayer Book in English was forced on the land,
The Cornish revolted at this royal command.
Few then spoke English – they Latin preferred
As the language which all through their lives they had heard
In their churches; they knew of no reason to change,
For both were quite foreign and equally strange.
The Provost Marshall arrived when John Payne was the Mayor;
He took him to lunch, and while they were there
At the George and the Dragon, the order was given
And poor Mr. Payne was immediately driven
To put up a gallows, unaware that the rope,
Was destined for him, who still followed the Pope.
The Bookseller’s one place to visit if you,
Love reading books and like browsing them too,
Located in Fore
Street, it’s quite near the front,
And a real must for anyone wanting to hunt
For presents from Cornwall
that are different and nice;
Some of their volumes will surely suffice,
Especially if signed by the authors themselves.
The Bookseller’s shop is just full up with shelves
Of books about Cornwall;
there’s much on St. Ives,
Its history, geography, and residents’ lives.
But they don’t just do Cornwall
– they aim to provide
Something for everyone who might decide
They want that new novel, or DIY book,
In which case The Bookseller’s worth a good look;
Though their range is extensive, not everything’s there,
But their staff are the sort who love books and they care;
Not only that, but they’re knowledgeable too,
So if it’s not there they will get it for you.
Events take place regularly, helping to keep
People’s interest in books from going to sleep,
The bookshelves are sturdy – they’re all solid oak,
The sort to appeal to all book-loving folk,
As they walk round the shop on the Cornish slate floor
Having entered the shop through the white painted door.
The street outside’s cobbled, like much in St.
Ives,
A town where so much from its past still survives.
ST. MAWES
A village that stands at the mouth of the Fal
Looking as if it’s a quite junior pal
Of Falmouth,
which stands on the westerly bank,
And obviously is of a much higher rank.
But St. Mawes is so pretty,
with steep sloping streets
And a harbour that’s constantly flooded with fleets
Of yachts and small boats; it’s a popular port,
Though small, it’s so sheltered, that boats don’t get caught
In the storms that could sink them, were they exposed
To the rough seas that batter a port less enclosed.
St. Mawes is a village
which might be called quaint,
Whose name is derived from an old Breton saint,
St. Maudez, whose chapel
has now disappeared,
Although in his day he was greatly revered.
Because it’s so pretty it’s often been used
For TV and filming; one might be amused
That the films Crooks
in Cloisters and Murder Ahoy,
Partly were shot there, though there’s little to annoy
Those who are charged to keep crime levels down,
Ensuring St. Mawes is a
quiet, peaceful town.
St. Mawes can also most
proudly declare,
That a part of Hornblower
was also filmed there
Together with Poldark,
a series well-known,
For its setting and people, both Cornwall’s own.
St. Mawes has a castle,
which dates from the days,
When Henry VIII, in a fort building phase
Had it erected, to counter the threat,
That came from the Continent; some there hoped to get
A foothold in England, at that time a prize
That would have brought joy to the Spanish Court’s eyes.
When the Civil War raged it was not of much use,
As its guns were all aimed out to sea to reduce
The threat of invasion, and soon put to flight
The enemy ships, till they vanished from sight.
The Castle was several times fortified more,
And still was in use in the Second World War.
Today it is open, for people to look,
And marvel at then just how little it took
To keep out the enemy, coming by sea,
Defeating their ships and so making them flee.
Falmouth
is just a short distance away,
Across Carrick Roads, and there run every day
Regular ferries, which in summer depart
Three times an hour, with a nine o’clock start.
They run through the winter, though just once an hour,
And all have protection against any shower.
If you’re thinking of food, there’s the Victory Inn,
But not for the people who want to stay thin!
They’ve a pub and a restaurant, with terrace attached,
And the wonderful views from their upstairs is matched
By all the fresh food, mostly locally bought,
And cooked the same day on which it was caught.
The Victory is situated down by the Quay,
Its white walls and plants make it easy to see.
The Rising Sun is a much larger place,
With many more rooms and a much larger space
For eating your food, both inside or out,
But the fact it’s so big doesn’t leave any doubt
It’s more a hotel or a comfortable club
Than an ancient and typical warm Cornish pub.
Though there aren’t cafes and restaurants galore,
The few offer fresh food
that most will adore.
St. Mawes has two beaches,
and often they’re quiet,
Ideal for all those who don’t like a riot
Of people and noise, but just want to spend
Some time on the beach, perhaps with a friend,
Just swimming or sunbathing, as they decide,
Without crowds of people on every side.
TRURO
The smallest cathedral in England, a John Loughborough
Pearson design,
Its highest spire soars upwards – in feet, to two
forty-nine.
Built on the site of St. Mary’s, which stood for six hundred
years,
A tribute to the Gothic revival; a place where one
constantly hears
The beautiful sounds of church music; it’s a joy to just sit
for a while
And listen, absorbing its history and vibrant musical style.
The Father Willis organ, is widely believed to be
Among the best in the country, and it is hard to see
How there could be any improvement, so fine is the organ’s
sound
As its soaring notes fill the Cathedral, so stirring and
profound.
It also contains the largest glass project ever made,
Where the Anglican Church’s history and the Gospel are
displayed.
The Cathedral’s unique in containing a church within a
church,
For the remains of the old St. Mary’s can be found by those
who search.
Cornish saints feature widely within the Cathedral’s walls,
In wood and glass and stone, each image there recalls
Those who brought the Gospel, alone or in little bands
And preached the faith of Jesus throughout the Cornish
lands.
John Miller’s famous painting “Cornubia The land of Saints”,
A picture made striking by using a series of rustic paints.
It shows a view of Cornwall,
with the sun setting in the West,
A county still quite pagan, but one soon to be blessed
With the preaching of saints from Ireland,
from Wales and Brittany,
Who back in the long Dark Ages sailed across the sea,
Bringing the Gospel with them; one really needs to pause
And look at the little boats, striving forward to Cornwall’s shores.
All over the map can be seen a large series of Celtic
crosses,
Marking the parish churches – Christ’s gains, the pagans’
losses.
Truro Cathedral is crooked; it’s six feet out of true;
The reason was one of cost, for the architect took the view
He’d need to buy extra land, to make the Cathedral straight,
Which of course would have meant that costs would escalate.
The reredos sculpture of Christ ought also not be missed,
And the frieze of the Way of the Cross should also be on the
list,
Along with the Calvary
paintings from Craigie Aitchison’s hands;
There’s also another small item, one which most surely
demands
A look , for it marks all the “war damage”; some blue glass at the east
end,
Caused not by bombs but a choirboy, who one day felt led to
descend
To easing his boredom by shooting his air rifle in the air,
It was meant to have been repaired, but the result of his
action’s still there.
Another advantage of Truro,
is that entry to all this is free,
Though as is the case in most places, there’s always a nice
little plea
To put something into the box, for Cathedrals cost fortunes
to run,
And though many people don’t know it, the funding from
Government is none.
If you’re hungry and feel like eating, their restaurant is
open all day,
And the shop is as well worth a visit before you go on your
way.
Cobbled streets are a well-known feature of Truro’s ancient past,
With little streams running beside them, some slow and some
quite fast.
It’s a port, though it feels like it’s inland; but the Truro flows out to the
sea,
And ships in the past sailed up it, offloading their goods
at Town Quay.
The Hall for Cornwall’s
the largest of theatres the county possesses;
Based in the centre of town, with a thousand seats it
blesses
The people of Truro
with shows, over two hundred and fifty a year;
Except for much bigger towns, few other places come near
To the culture existing in Truro, where plays intersperse with gigs,
And the range of music can vary, from classic to Irish jigs.
Musicals, shows for children;
ballet and drama are there;
With workshops for theatre and voice, it is extremely rare
For it not to be busy with people, and most audiences would
concede
With so many world-class performers, they are very lucky
indeed.
The Hall is home to a restaurant, with a coffee shop too for
those
Who just want a drink and a snack to revive them before the
shows.
Flea markets also feature among the Hall’s events,
Several times a week, the Boscawen foyer is dense
With people looking for bargains; there really is no doubt,
With the thought one might find a treasure, there’s a sense
of magic about.
ZENNOR
A very small hamlet, half a mile
from the sea,
But its history’s as long as any
settlement could be.
People have lived her for four
thousand years,
So Zennor can boast both of joys
and of tears.
Matthew Trewhella’s a name that’s
well known
A squire’s son and chorister; the
beautiful tone
Of a mermaid’s sweet singing lead
him to the sea
Where Pendour’s dark waters
engulfed him with glee.
Today in the church if you look you
will find
A bench whose carved mermaid still
seeks to remind
All those who see it, of Matthew’s
sad fate –
Though when it all happened,
there’s none knows the date.
Zennor Gentlemen featured in
Zennor’s near past,
For smuggling was rife, as the
profits were vast.
At that time few locals saw
anything wrong,
In smuggling, for there the
tradition was strong,
That the duty demanded by those far
away
Was unjust and so they should not
have to pay.
Small ships brought the contraband
in via the sea
And landed their goods on the shore
duty-free.
Then it was hidden, kept well out
of sight,
‘Till the Gentlemen took it off
during the night.
John Wesley once preached here; he
said of the town:
“Much goodness in them, but no
life” had he found.
But still over three hundred turned
up to hear
Him preaching his message of hope
and of fear.
A large stone still stands, which
still marks the spot,
Where John Wesley spoke, and gave
all he’d got.
D.H.Lawrence stayed there for a part of the War,
But his wife was a German; it was
not long before
The people started talking; it was
no great surprise
That the pair were suspected of
being German spies;
So they had to move on leaving
Zennor behind
And go somewhere else, to a place
where they’d find
That not everyone person they met
there would say
All Germans were spies and in
Kaiser Bill’s pay.
The church of St. Senara
probably stands
On a site which formed part of the Celtic Church
lands.
It is said that she founded the
village when she
Returned after crossing the wild Irish Sea,
With her son, now a bishop; in
Zennor she made
Her home, built a church and there
the saint stayed.
The first church has gone, but the Norman remains,
Though partly rebuilt; the church
still retains
Much of the one that was built in
the days
When Cornwall
was under the Normans’
strict gaze.
The Tower contains tombstones,
including a one
For a man who was henpecked – was
that just for fun?
Outside on the west wall, should
you look you will find
A memorial plaque of an interesting
kind.
Remembering John Davy, the last one
who spoke
Fluent Cornish; and then when he
died, at a stoke
There was no-one to speak it; the
language was gone,
And English took over, as people
moved on.
There’s also a graveyard; for centuries now
Local people have ended their days
in its bower,
Though its boundaries pre-date all
the churches for they
Go back millennium, to the Bronze
Age’s day.
The church remains open, and so you
can still
If you’re there on a Sunday, attend
if you will.
A large miller’s cottage, five
hundred years old,
Is now a museum, the Wayside; all
told
It has five thousand artefacts,
that people may see
A snapshot of Zennor’s so proud
history,
Dating right back to the first
people there,
When Cornwall was distant, its lands wild and
bare.
The Mill is still working and there
you can buy
Freshly milled flour, so that you
can then try
To make your own bread, or perhaps
make some cakes,
Or anything else using flour that
one bakes.
There’s also a shop, with a wide
range of things,
From books, souvenirs, Cornish
pottery and rings.
There’s also the icecream, a fresh local brand,
Made of milk from the cows grazing
rich Cornish land.
And speaking of icecream, Moomaid
of Zennor
Is something you must try and
sample before
You leave Cornwall’s shores, it’s all over St. Ives
With lots of shops selling it as it
arrives
Straight from Tremedda, the farm
where it’s made,
With milk from their cows or from
Rodda’s best grade
Clotted cream; it’s delicious, and
you’ll want some more –
It’s another thing Cornish that you
will adore.
The Tinners Arms dates back to
twelve seventy-one,
The date when much work on the
church was begun
And the masons who came needed
somewhere to stay;
And an inn it’s remained right up
to this day,
With its open log fires, its stone
floors, Cornish beer,
Low ceilings which give it a great
atmosphere.
It also serves food, if you fancy a
bite,
With music to welcome you each
Thursday night.
