Llanwrtyd Wells – 2

Tags

Charcroft Electronics, Dol-y-Coed, Ffynon Droellwyd, Irfon, Llanwrtyd, Llanwrytd Wells, Mari Lwyd, New Year's Eve, River Irfon, St David's Church Llanwrtyd, Theophilus Evans, Victoria Wells Holiday Park

Back in my room, I perused the Llanwrtyd Wells Town Walk map I had bought at the hotel’s reception, which appeared to be doubling as the local tourist office. Given the weather – it had been mizzling all the while I had been out exploring – and the weather forecast, I decided not to be too ambitious for my afternoon’s exercise, and just do the western half of what was proposed, one way along the River Irfon and back the other.

On the back were very useful instructions and local information.

A wooden footbridge took me over the river, and set me on my way westwards. It was not long before I was in the countryside.

Here the river is in the middle distance.

I could hear a pheasant in a wood to my left, caught a glimpse of it, but was unable to take a satisfactory photo.

I soon left the road, and found myself on a very soggy path beside the river,

which improved somewhat from time to time.

The prescribed route left the river for a bit, and I started to curse myself for having left my walking pole in the car. It was very slippy underfoot, and

just past this rise I slithered onto my back. My small backpack took the worst of the fall, and only my dignity was hurt, as I was obliged to turn over on to my knees in order to get up, thus muddying the knees of my trousers. Good job I had a spare pair (of trousers that is) in my room. I found a sturdy fallen branch to steady me on the rest of the way.

Victoria Wells Holiday Park. It seems to have ceased activity around 2016, and appears now to be occupied residentially.

Dinas Mill

I arrived at St David’s Church, in old Llanwrtyd. “The Celtic cross inside the church [which I couldn’t visit as it was closed] suggests that a church has existed on this site for 1440 years.” (leaflet). From Wikipedia I subsequently learnt a lot more about old Llanwrtyd, including, “The name Llanwrtyd combines the term for church (“llan”) and an otherwise undocumented personal name Gwrtud or Gwrtyd, but the earliest reference to it “Llanworted” appears only in 1543. It is speculated that the original dedication of the church has been replaced by the present one to the more famous saint in whose diocese it was during the Middle Ages.^[1] The name is more traditionally derived, however, from ‘Llanddewi wrth y rhyd’ (David’s church by the ford).^[2] The church is held to have been founded by St David in the 6th century. The curving boundary around the west side of the churchyard and its location beside the river supports the contention that it was established well before the Norman Conquest. “

There being a bench conveniently placed, it being 1 o’clock, and I being halfway round my circuit, this seemed to be as good a place as any to eat my two biscuits and an apple, all I needed after the full English (vegetarian) breakfast I had had. This was my misty view. (I escaped ‘proper’ rain entirely on this walk.)

The road bridge took me back over the Irfon, and I looked back.

After a while I came to a footbridge marked on the map. As I had to leave the road at this point, I was a little worried that I was intended to cross the river using this apparently flimsy structure.

But I didn’t, and in any case it was less flimsy than it had appeared.

The river turbulented on. (Yes, I’ve made that word up.)

And the path continued to be very wet at times, but here its base was gravelly, so much less slippery. I was grateful nevertheless for my branch.

“.. you will see a group of buildings on the left. These were the original pump house and bathing house when the town was in its original heyday as a Victorian spa resort. Here the pure sulphur spring was hermetically sealed in a massive marble and mosaic circular pedestal covered with a disc of plate glass.” (leaflet)

“The springs here were first discovered in 1732 by Theophilus Evans who claimed to have discovered the healing properties of ‘Ffynon Droellwyd’ (The Stinking Well) when suffering from scurvy”. I approached the Dol-y-Coed Hotel which “was once the centre of leisure including tennis courts and bowling greens in the Dol-y-Coed Park.”

(Oops!)

Except that it turned out to be no longer a hotel, but the premises of what is now the town’s largest employer.

They’ve clearly let the staff off early on Christmas Eve. And/or they’re all working from home.

I was unable to find out what this building near the hotel is – perhaps it’s ‘just’ a private home that likes dressing up. I wondered whether it was a care home, but can’t identify it if so.

Back at the hotel I waited until it was fully dark to slip out in order to take some photos of the town’s Christmas lights. Sadly the street lights distract the camera more that they do the human eye.

The red kite sculpture, right, featured in yesterday’s post, turns grey in these conditions.

This notice at the entrance to the hotel, the start of the evening’s Mari Lwyd torchlit procession, gave due warning. I had already been advised to move my car away.

The hotel’s restaurant was full for the New Year’s Eve dinner, and I had been asked if I would share a table with five locals who had booked in. I could see that this would help the proprietors, releasing the solo table I would have been at, but hesitated quite a lot, for Covid reasons. However I agreed, was reassured as we assembled that the others had taken LF tests that day (as I had the previous day), and I had a very pleasant evening in the event. Two of my companions were a couple who had moved to the area from Kent four months previously, two had moved there from Essex six years previously, and the other was Huw (I do hope he spells his name like that!) the Milk(man), who had been doing the job for 34 years. He had a lovely kind face, and I was told he was real social worker to his customers. He can work up to a 15-hour day, and does so seven days a week. I’m sure he has a fund of stories.

We were to assemble for the Mari Lwyd procession at 10.30 in the Town Square, outside the hotel. A band had started up well before we finished our meal, after which I collected my outdoor gear and camera.

It was tipping with rain, and I hurriedly snatched these poor pictures.

This man carries the Mari Lwyd, a hobby horse with a horse’s skull as its head.

The rain, the crowds, the torches, the anticipated inability to cope with umbrella and camera – not a to mention a torch had I chosen to – I near panicked, and chickened out before the 90-minute procession set off.

Nor did I even stay in the hotel’s bar with my table companions. I went to my room and saw the new year in watching ‘When Harry met Sally’!

But I had been invited to the Kent people, Marion and Pete’s, for coffee the next day, and I was looking forward to that, and to meeting their menagerie.

Uphill, December 2021

Tags

Bleadon Levels, Brean Down, Brownie 127, electricity pylon, Flat Holm, Limekiln, Powder house, saltmarsh, Severn, Steep Holm, T-pylon, teal, tidal gate, Uphill, Uphill Hill, Walborough, Weston-super-Mare

First Friday of the month, so it was time for my next walk with Zoe, and her turn to organise. She chose the nature reserves and environs of Uphill, which is just south along the coast from Weston-super-Mare. For uninteresting reasons my camera was hors de combat for most of the time, so these photos were taken on my phone, with one exception. Despite apparently threatening skies, the weather was kind to us, not too cold, not too windy, and the sun even came out for a short while.

From where we had parked our cars, we set off across a not very interesting golf course, and arrived at the beach. Despite my September holiday in Cornwall, I couldn’t actually remember the last time I had been on one, (though in fact I had crossed one at Marazion, as I walked back from St Michael’s Mount). We looked north to Weston.

We looked out to see the sea. Which we couldn’t, but saw Brean Down, Steep Holm, (owned by the Kenneth Allsop Memorial Trust) and, faintly in the mist, Flat Holm (which I’ve just learned is part of Wales, and managed by Cardiff Council).

The sign says DANGER, SINKING MUD. Many a life has been imperilled along this coast by those ignoring the warning.

And we looked, and then walked, south.

At about the level of Brean Down we left the beach but continued parallel to the sea.

You’d think that the mound ahead gave the area its name, but “The manor is recorded in Domesday Book as Opopille which derives from the Old English Uppan Pylle meaning “above the creek”.^[13] The Pill is a tidal creek which joins the River Axe near where the river flows into Weston Bay to the north of Brean Down. The Pill is connected to the Great Uphill Rhyne which drains the moors to the east of the village.” (Wikipedia)

Whatever it is called, there is somewhat less of the hill left now. The sun came out as we reached the old quarry…

… and the old limekiln. The panel explains that this was a particularly fine example of the species, which were mainly built between 1780 and 1850, and that at the time lime was used for liming acid soils, as a basis of mortar, and for whitewash.

The nineteenth century powder house was considerably further on. Its explanatory panel told us that explosive stores were usually situated well away from quarries, in case of explosions caused by sparks or other sources of flame there.

At one point I looked back over my right shoulder to see Brean Down, now well behind us.

Ahead the sun was low and bright, almost too much for the eyes, as it reflected off the briefly tarmac-ed path. I mused on the fact that you would never have taken a photo straight into the sun at the time of my grandmother’s Brownie 127.

In the course of our relatively short walk we found ourselves on at least three different nature reserves: Uphill Hill, Walborough and Bleadon Levels. At this last, we turned right in the direction of the sea, for a hundred yards – or metres – or so. Had we continued south at that point we would have taken this path.

It would have been foolhardy to attempt to cross the saltmarsh to get nearer the sea.

We started northward again toward Brean Down.

Taking great care to avoid puddles – specially as I had forgotten to put my wellies in the car – it was nevertheless possible to raise one’s eyes to look inland from time to time, and to see Uphill Hill, the quarry, the Old Church of St Nicholas, and a beacon lit for various national celebrations. It is what remains of an old windmill, and probably 18th century, says Wikipedia.

Ahead lay the dock area which we had passed on the way out.

I obliged my camera into action to zoom in on these very small ducks which flew into our view. They are teal.

Beside us in due course appeared the creek (right to left) used, when the tide is in, by boats wishing to leave the dock. That silty mud, swept down the River Severn from the Welsh mountains, is why walking on some parts of the beaches in the area is so dangerous.

This sliding wall of concrete beyond the dock is explained …

… by its label.

We stopped at a café by the docks for a coffee, and in my case a custard tart as well.

It was a 15-minute walk back to our cars through the village, during which this pretty bridge from road to a private garden caught my eye.

On my drive home across the Somerset Moors (Levels), trying in vain to avoid a long detour caused by a road closure, I noticed first an enormous erect pillar, with further bits bits lying on the ground by it, which I assumed was to end up as a new wind turbine – nice and blowy I thought in that vast open space. I couldn’t stop to take a photo, but as I went along I saw more of them, more elaborated, and it became clear that, while they were indeed to do with the generation of electricity, they were not some new design for producing power by centrifuge, (I’ll patent that I think), but a new model of electricity pylon.

In due course I was able to stop for a photo.

More information, by the National Grid, about these new T-shaped pylons can be found here, including a two-minute video of one being erected. It shows how monstrous they are in size – though they are apparently a third less tall than the traditionally lattice shaped pylons. They will carry electricity produced at Hinkley Point C Nuclear Power Station.

The Glastonbury Way, Part 2

Tags

British Pilgrimage Trust, Chalice Hill, Chalice Well, Glastonbury Tor, Glastonbury Way, Gog and Magog, Holy Grail, Joseph of Arimathea, Mendip Transmitting Station, Somerset Levels, Somerset Levels and Moors, St Cuthbert's Wells, St Michael's Glastonbury, Wells Cathedral, White Spring and Temple

Thanks to the British Pilgrimage Trust, I have now been able to include a plan of the Glastonbury Way, and not just provide a link to the Way’s Facebook page to see one. (Sadly it does not include the Board numbers, being concerned rather with spiritual points of interest.)

In September, Zoe and I had walked Part 1, nearly all of the western half of the Way, cutting out just a little from each end for the sake of convenience. Likewise in November we cut the very beginning of the second part, joining it as it turns east off the central ‘square’ portion.

I took fewer photos this time. The scenery was very attractive, but there was not a great deal of variety. The overall length of the walk was about the same, as can be seen.

On the slopes of Chalice Hill. A myth has it that Joseph of Arimathea buried the Holy Grail somewhere around here.

The original wooden St Michael’s Church, on the top of the adjacent Glastonbury Tor, crumbled in an earthquake in 1275. Only the tower, visible through the trees, and lower than it once was, of the 14th century stone church now remains.

Over the left shoulder, Bushy Coombe and beyond it the town centre.

A brief rest at the beginning of Paradise Lane

The views to the north across an outpost of the Somerset (Levels and) Moors, all along the west-east ridge that is Paradise Lane, are lovely, and it was difficult not to overshoot – photos that is.

According to the weather forecast, we should have lost the sun by now, but we didn’t for another hour or so.

Double take

In the distance,

using the zoom on my camera, can be seen the tower of St Cuthbert’s Church in Wells, and the city’s cathedral. The radio mast (Mendip Transmitting Station) can be seen for miles around, and even in Wales when its red safety lights show up at night.

‘Gog and Magog [I quote from the app] are the only surviving exemples of the Avalon Oaks. These were a group of oaks that were mostly felled in 1906. One of these great oaks possessed a diameter of 10 feet 9 inches, (3.35 m) and a circumference of 34 feet 4 inches (10.5m). This suggests an age of at least one thousand years. Gog is now expired having been damaged by fire in 2017. Magog survives and provides a living link with our mediaeval past.’

It was a hard slog up the long Stone Down Lane, parallel with Paradise Lane, and this is the only photo I took on the way.

Once arrived at the Tor, we decided not to go up, but to take the alternative route round it.

Once round the other side, we came to the Chalice Well area. One of the houses had a most beautiful fuchsia at the side of the road. I took lots of photos of the bush, and chose this one.

This is not in fact the Chalice Well, which is accessible only behind a pay wall (as it were!) This is the White Spring and Temple. Whenever I have passed it before it has had many ‘alternative’ people there, and I have not ventured close.

Chalice Well is round the corner.

The description of the formal Way ends here, but those who parked their car near Glastonbury Information Centre, where the Way starts, would have ten minutes further to walk. It was eight minutes or so in the opposite direction to my house. We noted this panel on the side of a house on the main road we had to cross.

Once you get past the Gattle, Goats, Garriages and Garts, the Gows and the Galves (I like that spelling in principle) the charge for hippies sort of gives the game away.

We headed away from Glastonbury for our ‘pub’ lunch, and found that our destination in Butleigh no longer served food at lunchtimes. That led to the serendipitous discovery of a very nice coffee shop there, which served much more than its description suggested.

The Glastonbury Way, Part 1

Tags

Ackidock, Glastonbury, Glastonbury Thorn, Glastonbury Tor, Glastonbury Town Council, Glastonbury Way, Joseph of Arimathea, Mendip District Council, Morland, Pomparles Bridge, River Brue, Royal Bank of Scotland, Somerset and Dorset Railway, Somerset Rivers Authority, St Bride, Towns Deal, Wearyall Hill, Who'd a Thought It, Zigzag Building

Not meaning the way Glastonians do things, (that’s way beyond my comprehension!) but a waymarked walking route created a few months ago, with finance from the Towns Deal, and expert contributions from Glastonbury Town Council, Mendip District Council, (soon to be abolished, as Somerset County Council becomes unitary) and a host of volunteers.

My friend Zoe and I have done it in two parts as our first Friday walks in September and November, and I thought I would write the two walks up in consecutive posts. (It was Zoe’s turn to organise our October walk.)

The Way starts at the information office in the centre of town, but it suited us to start from my house on the edge, and to pick it up somewhat before Point 2. (The Way’s Facebook page of the Way is headed by a map. There are two sets of numbers, mostly coinciding but not always. I think the alternative set is something to do with the ‘mystical’ side of Glastonbury, which does tend to escape me. My references are to those preceded by ‘B’,which I think stands for ‘board’.)

As it happens, we walked back to my house after lunch past the official starting point at the Information Centre, and here is Board 1. A plan of the walk is bottom left, and that day we did (most of) the western circuit.

The walk is described in some detail in an app, (‘The Glastonbury Way’) which also gives all the information supplied on the boards, in writing and aurally.

We joined the Way at Wearyall Hill, (sometimes written as Wirral). The origins of the name are unknown, possibly coming from the legend that Joseph of Arimathea came to Glastonbury bearing the chalice used at the Last Supper. He is said to have arrived by boat (Glastonbury then being an island, or perhaps a peninsula, in the middle of marshy, swampy land) and, weary, he planted his staff in the ground, which became the famous Glastonbury Thorn, of which a sprig is given to the monarch on Christmas Day to decorate her breakfast table.

Looking back over right shoulder to the town. The towers of St John’s Church and St Benedict’s Church, and the Abbey ruins can just about be made out.

Looking directly back, to the Tor and, somewhere in there, where I live

Looking right, due north, to a small retail park

At the end of the ridge which is Wearyall Hill we came to Board 3.

At useful, and usually rather scenic, points along the Way there are welcome seats.

Down from Wearyall Hill, you can still see the Moors (aka Somerset Levels), the fairly recently opened Premier Inn to the right, and on the left the old Morland (‘Bauhaus’) factory, now known locally as the Zigzag building, which is in the process of renovation and new purposes.

Some features on the Way have been around for a long time.

We then took:

though it’s not even straight.

Pomparles Bridge crosses the very busy main road linking Glastonbury to Street, It’s name is a mutation of Pons Perilis, assumed to mean bridge of peril, (though if it does, it must be a mediaeval abbreviation of the classical latin word, ‘periculis’.) The app tells us that ‘Its name is related to Siege Perilous, the seat at King Arthur’s Round Table kept for the knight destined to find the Holy Grail but fatal for any other occupant.’

The River Brue was incredibly low that September day. I have never even seen the grasses above water level, let alone laid down like this.

Nor have I seen elsewhere any sign saying in effect ‘beware of the badger works’! This was after we had crossed the busy road at, fortunately, a lights-controlled pedestrian crossing.

‘Bride (pronounced ‘Breed’) was one of the most widely worshipped goddesses in Celtic Britain.’ Archaeology shows that there was a small chapel on the site of Bride’s Mound, and also a cemetery dating from Romano-British times. 12th and 4th century writings say that St Brigid of Kildare visited Glastonbury in 488 AD, and spent some time here.

At this point we were following the river bank, and theoretically we should have been able to follow signs right, across to Bride’s Mound, subsequently retracing our steps, but we couldn’t find those signs. Pity, because in 10 years, I have not yet seen the Mound.

It was extraordinary to see the banks of the Brue so deep, due to lack of water. Water levels across the entire Somerset Moors and Levels are incredibly closely managed by the Somerset Rivers Authority.

Came a point where we were a little perplexed as to where to go, as there appeared to be a kink which did not appear on the plan. But we trusted to the waymarks and all was well.

Now a footpath, this bridge once carried the single-track Somerset and Dorset railway line over the river. It is known locally as ‘Ackidock’, from the aqueduct that was also here once.

I know nothing about this, nor does the app/board say anything. On enlarging to a maximum, I can just read, centre-left top, ‘The Royal Bank of Scotland’, which also appears once more in the otherwise illegible text. Please add a comment if you can enlighten.

Willow Walk is well-named.

A lovely spot for a picnic lunch we thought – though we were planning to eat at a pub.

The explanation for the creation of the pleasant spot however was sad.

It was perfectly possible to read Board 8 – but impossible to take a photo of it in its entirety.

We shortly came into a light industrial area, and as we neared the centre of town, we cut a little away from the Way’s official route, to make more directly for our lunch place. We passed my doctors’ surgery.

And ended up at the ‘Who’d a Thought It’, just off the Market Place, where we had a good lunch, and also a discussion with the innocent waitress as to whether it was really necessary to wrap our cutlery and paper napkin in horrid little plastic ties, single use to boot. (I will get around to that Glastonbury Mural Trail some time.)

The walk back to my house took us through the Market Square. The official route, in effect starting part 2, would have taken us up the High Street, off right in this photo. I have blogged on that previously.

To be continued.

Cornwall 3 – 10. Godolphin and Porthleven

Tags

Bal maiden, Bickford-Smith Institute, Common Hawker, Godolphin, Godolphin House, Mary Lanyon, Mary Schofield, Porthleven, Robert Organ, South-west Coast path

Thursday, 9th September was to be the high point – literally and figuratively – of my time in Cornwall, fulfilling a lifetime ambition. Two months previously I had booked a helicopter flight to the island of St Mary’s, on the Scillies. As I checked over its arrangements on the Wednesday evening, I had had a shock, which I should have anticipated, given the weather. All helicopter flights that day had been cancelled, because of fog both at Penzance and on the Scilly Isles. I was also beginning to worry seriously about what I would do there once arrived, given the forecast of about 80% rain on St Mary’s for much of Thursday.

However, having also checked my right to a full refund, when I woke up on the day I found myself really hoping the company would cancel, given that weather forecast. It was also very misty in Penzance.

Dead-on 9.00 the company called me. They weren’t yet cancelling but were running huge delays, so [since I was booked on a day trip, not going over to stay] they were offering me the choice of rebooking, free of penalty, or receiving a full refund. I accepted the latter, obviously, and felt hugely relieved, my disappointment having already been overcome the evening before. I would have to fly in a helicopter for the first (and probably only) time in my life on some other occasion.

What to do instead? I could have occupied myself in my room, knitting, reading, listening to the radio, but they didn’t seem like ideal holiday pass-times. I decided to take a risk with the weather (not forecast to be quite so bad on the mainland) and to go to Godolphin (National Trust), to spend time indoors in the large house there. It didn’t need pre-booking.

The surface of the sea in the harbour was like a mirror as I passed, but sadly it was not possible to stop to take a photo.

It turned out to me much less house than I thought, so it was as well that the weather also turned out to be much better than forecast. At the exit of the car park was a notice board suggested various walks in the wider estate, so I decided to start out on the orange walk before making for the house and its grounds.

But I turned back when it started to drizzle, not least because I wasn’t really properly shod or dressed for a damp, muddy walk. (The drizzle soon stopped, fortunately.)

Checking in to the charging part of the property, I was given a ticket for the house for 1 o’clock, an hour off. Coffee (studying the plan – yes, I like plans and maps),

and a wander round the more formal grounds filled in the time nicely.

The door behind the colonnade I would take at the start of the tour

(If only I knew enough to photoshop out that turquoise coat.)

Notice by one of the shippons (cowsheds)

I knew I had been to Godolphin House in 1973, (though I could remember almost nothing of the visit), with some of my non-participant helper colleagues on the International Musicians Seminar, so I was somewhat surprised to learn from the welcoming guide that the Trust only took the house over in 2000. I checked out with her – yes, the previous owner, painter Mary Schofield, née Lanyon, did show people round sometimes. My memory also told me that the house was bigger when I visited – the Wikipedia article says that it was once much larger, but does not say when it was reduced.

The guide explained that the house was only open for visits like this when it was not let out as a holiday ‘cottage’, details here. Going round the house I was reminded by its style how some of us had rented my local NT ‘cottage’ Lytes Cary, for music-making holidays in 2013 and 2014.

Linenfold panels

A kitchen fit for a 21st century letting

When I came to this final room, called the King’s Room I believe, I thought how wonderful it would be for music-making with friends. It displayed large paintings by West Country painter, Robert Organ, a friend of John Schofield, (Mary’s son presumably).

30 minutes and the house was thoroughly ‘done’. The exit from the one-way system was into the King’s Garden, where I sat for a few minutes, just enjoying the quiet, and contemplating what to do next.

I returned to my car, and asked my satnav what attractions there were in the vicinity. ‘Helston Railway ‘ it replied. Super! Take me there, James, I commanded. After a few minutes it led me to a firmly closed gateway to what appeared to be a private property. I could not get an internet signal to find out more about the attraction. OK, thought I, I’ll go to Helston itself (car and I were several miles away) and find out more.

With a signal in the Lidl customer car park on the outskirts of the town, I found out that Thursday was one of the three days each week the volunteer-run railway was, um, running, and that I had in fact been very near to it at those gates.

But they were miles back, through narrow country lanes, and time was rolling on, so no way was I returning. I decided instead to go to the coast, to Porthleven just 2 miles away. It was heaving with people, but fortunately I found somewhere to park right by the harbour, allowed just 30 minutes. Given the crowds, I reckoned that was all I’d want.

These photos reveal neither the great crowds of people nor the touristy souvenir and other shops trying to tempt them, apparently successfully. I walked firstly along the left hand quay.

The inner harbour

And the outer. I don’t think the paddle boarders are in any danger. Not from the cannon anyway.

Returning along that quay, I waited a while to clear this view, over my right shoulder, of as many people as possible.

‘Bal Maidens’ were those women and girls who broke up the metal ores, after their menfolk had mined them.

When I walked along the right-hand quay I was not tempted to take pictures, as the crowds were really heavily gathered there, around the many tourist shops and cafés. The road rose sharply, and I took this looking back.

Past the last houses there was path off to the left, and I found myself once more on the South-West Coast Path. Indeed, technically, I had been on it all the time.

Perhaps it was as well that there was nowhere to sit, because it was time to turn back and recover my car from its 30 minutes’ permitted time.

Female Common hawker, I think

My final picture was a zoom in on this building, which I have since discovered is the Bickford-Smith Institute, which opened in 1884 as a gift from a former MP.

I confess to having been 10 minutes late back to my car, but that is how long it took to be served with an ice cream. As can be seen from the photos, the sun was out when I arrived, but it had gone by then, and as I drove back to Penzance, there was sea mist rolling inland.

So many possibilities for Friday, my final full day: including a walk in the Lizard area; further exploration of the Tin (= north Penwith) Coast; the Penlee Art Gallery; or a drive well north to Lanhydrock (to follow up Captain Thomas Agar-Robartes MP, of the memorial hall in Luxulyan).

Cornwall 3 – 9. Ecclesiastica

Tags

Breage, Cornwall County Council, Hiberno-Saxon cross, John Miller, mediaeval wall paintings, Nine lessons and carols, Roman milestone, Royal Cornwall Museum Truro, St Breaca, Truro cathedral, Truro Museum

I may have made that word up.

Before going round the Truro museum, in the morning of Wednesday, 8th September, I had had a coffee (ordered by QR code!) in the café next door, and shared a table with a stranger visiting from Leicestershire. (Covid-wise, I managed to sit a good few feet away from her.) She asked me if I had yet visited the Cathedral, and I decided to do so in the afternoon. She in turn thanked me for various ideas she had gleaned from my own visits already done. We both said that there was so much to see in Cornwall that we would have to return to the county.

The rain had fully stopped by the time I left the museum, though the air was still very damp. It was only a short walk to the Cathedral.

I couldn’t take a view of its west front from further back because of this:

It was rather fun to watch. I think they were replacing old benches, and adding to seating capacity in the square.

Inside all was much quieter.

I particularly liked all the verticals of this aspect.

As well as the architecture, there were many objects of interest.

The origin of a 141-year-old tradition:

This is half of a beautiful piece of embroidery, but I could not see what its function was. It was about 2 ft/60 cm high, and presented behind glass at ground level in a side aisle.

This fantastic painting is explained below.

With commentary by the artist:

A backward look as I was about to leave.

After that, there was another church in my sights. One of the booklets I had been studying to prepare the Cornwall trip was an old one by the Archaeological Department of Cornwall County Council, but I had not yet been able to use any of its suggestions. However, the village of Breage could be on my way back to my BnB in Penzance with a little diversion. (Though I do wish I’d not relied on my satnav which, so helpful in finding me a car park in the morning, led me a totally unnecessary merry dance through single track lanes to get there. I should in this case have looked at my maps.)

The 15th century church of St Breaca‘s attractions, from the booklet, were a Roman milepost, which took a while to find, mediaeval wall paintings and a cross.

This sundial was over the entrance to the church. I took this photo as I went in. By the time I came out, there was a wan sun, but will as I did, it was never strong enough for me to check how well the dial was keeping time after 226 years.

John Miller, in the commentary to his painting in the cathedral, had referred to Cornwall as the land of the saints. Here is a reference to the local ones. Another panel gave a description of each.

At last I found the Roman (3rd century) milestone, tucked away in a corner.

Discerned by those who could read it was its abbreviated transcription of ‘the Emperor Caesar our lord Marcus Cassianus Latinius Postumus, pious, fortunate, august’.

The church was as wide as it was long,

as can be seen from this model.

There was an impressive list of every incumbent of the parish since 1219, and one before.

The cross, in the churchyard, is described as Hiberno-Saxon.

The next day was meant to be the peak experience, though I was having my doubts as to whether it would happen…

Cornwall 3 – 8. Truro Museum

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beam engine, blister copper, Chalcedony, copper mining, Cornish language, Cornwall gold, directors' vehicle, Dolly Pentreath, fluorite, Fool's gold, Frank Brangwyn, goethite, iron pyrite, Philip Rashleigh, Roy Billingham, Royal Cornwall Museum Truro, Tetrahedrite, tin mining, Tony Foster, Trewinnard coach, Truro Museum, Vicar and Moses

Wednesday 8th September was one of my ‘un-pre-planned’ days, but my wishlist was long. High up it was the geology section of the Royal Cornwall Museum in Truro.  My knees, unaccustomed to so much strenuous walking over the previous few days, and which had much disturbed my sleep the night before, pushed it even further up. The weather forecast for the day cemented its new position.

St Michael’s Mount was nowhere to be seen as I drove along Penzance’s Western Promenade in the morning. Rain and/or heavy mist accompanied me to Truro, (as did much very slow traffic in the city itself). I was pleased that it was only a few minutes’ walk from the car park, (found courtesy of satnav), to the Museum. The main hall:

set out Cornwall’s history, and the very impressive and beautiful geology collection was in the first room off to the left.

But first there was a showcase of Cornwall gold.

Middle/Late Bronze Age arm ring

Gold lanula, Beaker period (2000-2300 BC)

Water-worn nugget, largest ever found in Cornwall, 1808. It’s about 5cm/2 in long.

I  have no idea how many of the world’s minerals were represented there. I  just enjoyed the visual feast. For real scholars it must be a treasure chest.

As you enter the room, there are firstly some paintings on the wall to your left. I found this one particularly striking.

Roy Billingham, ‘Wheal Maid, the Majesty of the Morn brings with it Hope.’ The painting was made in response to local grief as the falling price of tin made mining it unviable.

The title of this display cabinet is ‘Rocks and Minerals of the Lizard Peninsula’.

Vince had explained at the Levant Mine on Sunday how minerals separated out in a lode. This diagram shows how the various grades of copper settle out.

Tin smelting

Miners’ tools

I took dozens of photos. Here are just a few. (I have no specialist knowledge. When I did my Open University module on geology in 2007/8 it was the macro stuff that interested me most, and in any case, in one basic module, you don’t get much detail on individual minerals.)

Hopefully detail on labels can be seen by clicking, then clicking again, on photos.

(‘Fool’s gold’)

The museum also commemorated individual mineral collectors.

Chalcedony – theological associations?

This photo does not give fully replicate the rich purple colour of the ‘Blue’ John.

Blister copper, ‘partly purified copper with a blistered surface formed during smelting‘

Finally in this room there were models of a beam engine.

Moving on round the main hall:

I ‘did’ the rest of the Museum, with lesser or greater intensity,

Earliest surviving passenger rail vehicle in the world, dating from about 1810. It was used to transport the directors of the Poldrice to Portreath (horse-drawn) railway in Cornwall.

Trewinnard coach, c. 1700. An ‘obvious statement of wealth’ which took 15% of one family’s household expenses.

Not all the exhibits came from Cornwall.

‘Vicar and Moses [the clerk]’, Staffordshire, c 1760.

So Dolly Pentreath (see post on St Michael’s Mount) did not speak only Cornish…

I went upstairs.

and walked round a room whose theme I could not diagnose, but where I much enjoyed this painting,

‘Work’ by Frank Brangwyn, 1867-1956

and this piece of pottery, about which I have no details.

In a separate room was a temporary (to 24th December) exhibition called ‘Fragile Earth: Watercolour journeys into wild places’, featuring the paintings of Cornish painter, Tony Foster. He travels the world and comes back not just with paintings he has made, but mementoes of each location which he incorporates in each work. A little map,

samples of vegetation,

a twig,

models of what is harming the relevant environment,

or paintings of leaves and seeds.

The last wall of the museum downstairs marked more recent times, the 19th and 20th centuries.

A resined felt hat, such as shown us by Vince on Sunday.

So that was Wednesday morning.

Cornwall 3 – 7. Tremenheere Sculpture Gardens

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Dolphin Penzance, James Turrell, Michael Chaikin, Michael Johnson, Penny Saunders, Penzance, Penzance Harbour, Peter Randall-Page, Philip Rae Scott, Phoenix masted brig, Phoenix square rig, Richard Long, Shelia Williams, Tremenheere, Vong Phaphanit

The signpost I had noticed on my way to St Michael’s Mount, on Tuesday 7th September, was for the Tremenheere Sculpture Gardens. I spent a happy hour-plus wandering around. There were several sculptures to be seen even before reaching the hard-to-find reception kiosk.

This colourful bench was by the ticket shed, the dappled sunlight adding to the effect.

Shelia Williams, ‘Winter Heliotrope’

More Cornish large lushness

Michael Johnson, ‘Wall of Taps’

A dragonfly pretending it’s not there.

You had to walk right into this sculpture, an oval room open to the sky, with an ante-room. It would appear that it was inspired by the sculptor’s Quaker background. I took this sitting on the ledge.

James Turrell, RA, ‘Tewlwolow Kernow’, twilight in Cornwall. Here’s a blog someone wrote about it after a visit when the sky was blue.

View from near the furthest point of the gardens. St Michael’s Mount can be seen peering over the shoulder of the trees.

Richard Long RA, ‘Tremenheere Line’

Philip Rae Scott, ‘Crypto-Synthesis’

These towered over me.

Peter Randall-Page RA, ‘Slip of the Lip’. The whole is about 2 metres across.

Vong Phaphanit, ‘Field of Rods’

Having finished my tour, I bought a hot chocolate from the snacks kiosk. I sat on the base of Michael Chaikin’s ‘Tree of Life’ and was mesmerised by Penny Saunders’s ‘Restless Temple’. The longer I watched it, the more I realised that it was not mechanically driven, and that its angle of drunkenness was entirely dependent on the strength of the breeze.

I heard a buzzard mewling.

And realised there was a second.

My last stop was at Penzance Harbour. I had by now driven past it thrice, and did not want to let the week pass without exploring it on foot. Combined with a visit to a Post Office for some stamps to put on three postcards I had bought on St Michael’s Mount, this was time efficiently spent, I felt!

It was this that really attracted me to the harbour.

Sadly, it was not possible to get really close, as there was another boat in the way. Men were working very hard on, apparently, restoring and adapting her.

But I was able to take a photo of his rather worn panel.

In her present state she would not be fit to star in anything. I’d have loved to find out more from the workers, but they were – probably deliberately – not lifting their heads, and in any case they were quite far away. I have managed to find out that she left Charleston, Cornwall, around two years ago, headed for Liverpool, and that she arrived in Penzance, probably to be her permanent home, in February of this year. I wonder where Portsmouth fits in.

The Dolphin is a favoured eating place.

As I returned to my car, I noted that the very inner part of the harbour is now a swimming pool at high tide,

and loved the action of a devoted father pulling his children around in the boat.

Another full day, and a happy return to Chiverton House. The weather forecast was not so good for the next day…

Cornwall 3 – 6. St Michael’s Mount

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Black-backed gull, Cornish language, Dolly Pentreath, Giles, Little egret, Marazion, St Aubyn family, St Michael's Mount

It was time to cross another causeway. After all, it was nearly twelve weeks since I had driven across the one to Lindisfarne. But this time it was to be on foot.

For the first time this week, the view to St Michael’s Mount was clear as I set off along the Western Promenade in Penzance for Marazion and the causeway to the castle on Tuesday, 7th September. Booking ahead was imperative; entry would be denied without a pre-booked ticket. The attraction is run jointly by the National Trust and the St Aubyn family, who still own much of the island.

You are told to arrive at the gate of the castle at the time of your ticket, and to allow 15 minutes beforehand to cross the causeway, whether on foot when the tide is low enough, or by ferry. I was pleased to have allowed even more time than that, since the car park fee took time to pay, at one of those horribly complicated machines that wants to know all about you.

At the castle gate I appeared to get special, expedited, treatment. Was this because I was a National Trust member? Anyway, I was soon on my way to the visitor centre.

Sadly, it would not be possible to visit the gardens, which had closed for the season just a few days beforehand.

Then over to the wall for some views,

Black-backed gull

before starting the long, steep and difficult cobbled and/or stony upward trek to the ‘top’.

Nearly there

There were people at the ‘top’.

There were lots of people at the ‘top’, which proved not to be the top. It was at least 20 minutes before I was able to enter the castle, the queue was so long.

I amused myself looking for dolphins (unsuccessfully)

Nearly there

I also filled in the time reading about the castle on an app I had downloaded thanks to a QR code at the bottom of the steps. Annoyingly, that app is no longer on my phone. I suppose it’s possible that it could have auto-deleted as I left the premises, but, much more likely, I deleted it myself thinking I would have no more need of it, forgetting that it would be really useful in identifying my photos. My memory serves me poorly…

I do recall that this particularly appealed to me in a whole roomful of delightful drawings by Lady Catherine Someone.

“Pugilist”

The route led to an upper terrace

They’re still queuing down there on the lower terrace.

Despite the number of people there, the 15th century chapel, where a service is held every Sunday in the summer months, brought a sense of palpable calm.

I recall that the guide described this blue room as Strawberry Hill Gothic.

I could have spent a very long time in the maps room, and took photos of several of the exhibits. I limit myself to sharing just one of them.

In the same room was this cork sculpture of the island.

This is a portrait of Dolly Pentreath, said to have been the last person to have spoken only Cornish. (Though the next day was to moderate that claim in my mind – see two posts on in due course.)

At last there were no other people around for a short while, as I looked back along a corridor of pictures.

A room described as the Museum was closed for renovations, and the Garrison Room did not interest me too much. But a few more pictures towards the exit did. For colour and style…

… and for nostalgia: Giles, Vera and Gran!

View from exit of castle

When was looking, without success, to see if I could find any more detail about the castle’s contents on the internet, I came across this walk-through film lasting about 15 minutes.

The walk down the uneven path could have daunted me, but this time I had my walking pole with me. Without it, I would have found the descent a miserable experience. Once down, I was reminded that the ferry, which I was planning to take back for the sake of having a boat ride, would not be running until well after 2.00 pm, given the state of the tide.

Not really hungry after the very copious breakfast served by Alan and prepared by the unseen Sally at Chiverton House, (despite my taking neither sausage not bacon, nor any of the carbohydrate-packed offerings) I went to sit on the big lawn for a few minutes.

I usually try to avoid taking photos with people in them unless they are part of the story, but I think they add something here – others may disagree.

I was delighted to see a little egret on the near shore and zoomed in on it.

Having patronised the Island Shop, I then walked back to the car park. I saw no point in hanging on for more than hour just for the sake of having a short boat ride. The cobbles were not kind to sore feet,

so I cut off leftwards to take the hypotenuse back to my car. Sadly the ripple marks on the wet sand were almost as uncomfortable as the cobbles.

On the way to Marazion, I had noticed a signpost to an attraction I had added the evening before to my ever-increasing list of ‘Things I’d like to do’…

Cornwall 3 – 5. Trengwainton Garden

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Bolitho, National Trust, slave trade, Trengwainton

Trengwainton Garden (National Trust) was my destination for the Monday afternoon, despite my very tired legs and feet. My plan was to have a gentle stroll around the gardens and then have a drink in the tea-room at the end. Sadly, the last part was thwarted, as the tea-room shut at 3.00 (staff shortage?). But the tea-tray in my room at my BnB was only minutes away.

The entry was at G below, right. I first explored the walled gardens, then went along the main avenue (gently ascending but not gently enough!) to the lawns by the main house, and returned via the woodland area with the stream running though it.

Proof of acid soil or what!

As everywhere I went in Cornwall, my impression was ‘lush and large’ with a dash of exoticism.

I wondered what this huge tree with red flowers could possibly be.

A close up with my camera revealed that it was a fuchsia.

And reaching its origins, I saw that the fuchsia was supported by a sequoia.

The house itself is still owned and lived in by the family that bought it in the 19th century, and a discreet rope keeps the public at bay.

I had been told at reception that the views from up here were ‘spectacular’. She didn’t know where I had been in the morning!

An original orientation table

What a shame!

There were several benches up by the lawns, but it took a while for one to be vacated, and how my legs were longing to sit down. Eventually I was able to rest on this bench. I’ve been unable to find anything about the coat of arms – but I have a plea out to the Fleur-de-Lys History Society by social media!

I was intrigued by the apparently perfect square shape of the hole in this trunk.

It turned out not to be a perfect square, and to contain some fascinating fungi.

Back through the tree ferns of the woodland area. I was reminded of my trip with a friend to Tasmania.

One final picture near the entrance.

When eating my huge sandwich at Perranuthnoe at lunchtime, I had been sitting on a bench, with a local woman at the other end. When I told her of my plan for the afternoon, she told me I would learn of the slavery connections of Trengwainton. I didn’t, but, local paper style, it is here. A more sober account, part of a very long description of the property, is by Historic England.

The coolness of the mainly shady gardens of Trengwainton had been most welcome, on the hottest day of my stay in Cornwall. The rest of the week remained largely dry, during the day, but at times was very misty.

I slept well that night.