St Agnes

31st July 2020

15th July 2020

Today is a bit different, in that the plan is the woods rather than the beach. The weather looks a bit iffy,but to be fair it has started like that everyday so far and most times ended up sunny and warm. 

We meet up with Paul's family again. They know the place well. Three dogs run happily, two children ride bikes another is pushed in her buggy, while the adults enjoy each others company, chatting in small groups. 

The aim is to have coffee and cake ( I probably won't have cake) in the cafe in the middle of the woods. Unfortunately when we get there we find it closed. Another irritation in this Covid dominated time. It's a beautiful area with swans swimming on the pond, the water glittering, so we sit for a while on the benches outside the closed doors. Even the outside toilet isn't open.

"Come back to ours for coffee then," says Paul's mum, "it's nice enough to go in the garden." no going in the house at this time. I say nothing, but think maybe it'll be nice to do something on our own , have our coffee in the camper, go exploring. 

"Where shall we go then?" Peter waits, hands on steering wheel, ready now to drive wherever we decide.

"I'd really like to go to St Agnes, see if we can find the tins mines. It's just a few miles down the coast from  the campsite" 

"OK, let's go."

We drive to St Agnes to find the tin mines. 

Apparently Cornish tin has been produced and smelted in Cornwall for over 4000 years. 

The town of St Agnes grew up around the tin mines. It's boom years were from the 1830s to the 1870s, when the price of tin dropped and many small mines were forced to  closed.The three largest mines in the area,Wheal Kitty, Polberro and Wheal Friendly merged and as one company continued into the  1940s

St Agnes is an unexpected treasure for us. We park about half a mile outside the village and walk in, which is just as well as the roads are all so narrow and windy and there's very little parking. Also, ambling along gives us a chance to take in the beauty of it.

Coming down the hill we get a view of a tin mine in the distance.

Going further, the road down to Trevaunance Cove takes us past some lovey cottages.

 

We get to the cove, it's small ans busy, with surfers braving what looks to me like a rough sea. 

We find a place to sit and watch. We listen to  crashing waves compete  with squawking seagulls for which could be the most noisy - or so it seems to me.

 

We take these precious minutes to just be, to enjoy each others company, a rare moment just for us. We reminisce about old times when we'd have all the children in tow and sitting taking in the world around us was impossible. He holds my hand, I lean into him, grateful for our life. 

But we came here to find the mines , so we go back to the camper and drive a little way down the road to find a car park on the cliffs. From here we can see way out to see and also, apparently quite close, the tell tale chimneys of some tin mines. 

  

The views along the cliffs are stunning, with a dramatic coastline that takes mt breath away. Although we try to capture it in photos, they never do it justice. 

I stand in the wild heather, its colour, its glory , thrilling to me. 

We take a long, sometimes difficult,  walk along the cliff and all the while I'm lifting up my heart to the creator in thankfulness for such astonishing beauty. I can hardly contain my joy, it often brings me near to tears. And it's not only the scenery, but thinking of people, family,  friends, chance meetings, all of it gives me cause to be grateful. 

It's our last night on the campsite with Jo and Paul and we've been asked to come and have pasta with them, probably our last dinner together this holiday. We chill out, me reading and Peter playing the guitar until the children are asleep and they are ready for us, about 8.0pm. 

When we get arrive it's clear Jo has forgotten that she asked us for food, but quickly Paul gets pasta and sauce organised. We have a drink and for a couple of hours make the most of being together.

Hayle

30th July 2020

14th July - Tuesday

Again, this morning, the weather doesn't look too promising, but Paul has promised that he'll take Molly surfing today, "no matter what". 

That's how we end up in Hayle, a safe place to teach her, having stopped at the surf shop so the she could buy a good surf board with some money she had saved from her birthday. To say she was exited would be a huge understatement. In a shop a few doors down, we find a "play" surf board for Raphie. Jo let's him  "choose" one for himself, picking out two she thinks suitable, one with sharks the other with dolphins, "Raphie," she enthuses, "this one or that one". Proudly, determinedly, he makes his choice. 

Hayle is just across from St Ives, with the estuary to the River Hayle  (Cornish: Heyl, meaning estuary)  in between. 

We meet Paul's parents and his sister in the car park, have a quick coffee - we can do that with the camper - and head off to the beach. 

We find a protected spot, between the cliff and a sand dune, away from the wind and lucky for us the sun does shine. 

Peter and I bring nothing with us, no chairs - left them at the campsite in the awning - no rucksack with food and water and swim things. Oh well. I sit on Jo's blanket, aware it's going to be an uncomfortable few hours. 

As the children are covered in sunscreen adults bring out lunch and snacks. I look around. Paul's mum offers me some soup, homemade. I notice the cool breeze touch my face and think, that would be nice.

"No thanks," I say, "we've not long had breakfast,"  which is true and anyone who knows me will be aware of my weird obsession about not eating lunch  if I've had breakfast and on the other hand if I've had no breakfast I'm up for lunch  pretty early.

 

Hayle is just across from St Ives, with the estuary to the River Hayle  (Cornish: Heyl, meaning estuary) in between. 

Clouds start to come our way from out at sea, but looking across to St Ives I can see it sits majestically in the sunshine, the water a beautiful blue turquoise colour reminding me of the mediterranean.

Years ago we were eager to visit such a distinguished place, a small fishing village renowned now for its famous artists and art galleries. Peter, being an artist himself,  had been looking forward to it for months. Maybe we went at the wrong time. All I remember is that it rained and the children, our oldest two, were miserable. So, we were not impressed. I'd quite like to go back one day, get the real vibe,  see what all the fuss is about. And we'll have plenty of opportunity when Jo and Paul move down to Cornwall next year.

Paul's mum, being organised has prepared some pasta and combined it with the leftover salmon from the evening of the BBQ. She offers it around. And although I feel guilty for not having brought anything to share myself,  the thought of the salmon is a temptation I can't/ don't want to resist so I have some. Delicious.

Sitting proves painful and as the children are in at the waters edge, Molly trying out her new surf board with Granny, I take a stroll over. On the way my eye catches some small shells, pretty and delicate. Ten minutes later Peter and I have collected a pocket full to bring home for Mary who uses them for her artwork. 

I think, although It hasn't been warm, my lips are burnt. Darn it. That means I'll probably get some cold sores and they'll be around for at least a week. I have been trying to protect them, but being out all the time in all weathers and not being able to use sunscreen - i have an allergy - it's inevitable, I suppose. 

In the evening, back at the campsite, I reheat the chilli that I brought from home, cook up a bit of rice and we take it, with a bottle of red,  across the lane to share dinner with Jo and Paul. The previous night I'd taken the mushroom and potato curry . This is what's lovely about camping. Sitting together, enjoying a meal,  good wine (  my tastes are defined by alcohol percentage and cost, obviously) and the brilliant company, while watching the sun go down.