Thursday 6 February 2020

Crantock


Stepping off the London train at Bodmin I am struck by the brightness of the sunlight and the clarity of the air. London in sunshine is thick with fumes and noise. Cornwall in sunshine is all brilliance – of sound, of air, of light. I breathe deeply and there is a minty flavour. It is clean. Arriving in Crantock for a January stay, I am immediately enveloped by the mystical landscape so familiar to me after sixty years of Cornwall visits. If Port Arthur in Tasmania (see February 2017 blog) is the saddest landscape I have stood upon then this village on the north coast of Cornwall may be the most romantic.

For many visitors the pretty and charming coves around St Mawes, Fowey and Falmouth are the favoured attractions in this un-English and Mediterranean-like peninsula. For me, the wildness of the north coast has always been my preference. I recall the first autumnal storm of 1981. I sat on the cliff top on West Pentire and watched the massive blue-grey waves rolling in across the beach. The noise from the waves below and the wind above was frightening. The sea birds could not fly in a straight line. Here was the land under full-scale attack. Was being in the trenches in 1916 remotely similar? I think so. If I, or a foolhardy surfer, had stepped into the watery maelstrom we would have been sucked under and then left smashed on a sandy no-mans-land.
Celtic cross in Crantock

Whilst I sat precariously on West Pentire I was contemplating a horrible upcoming activity at my place of work. I was to stand in front of two dozen loyal and longstanding colleagues, some WW2 veterans, and tell them they were redundant. Unnerved by the physical storm around me I was reminded that mankind has no control over such activity. Unnerved by the impending emotional task at work I felt comforted that man can influence human storms. This was powerful stuff. I had to find the right words for these wretched workers. I believe I did.

Novelists, poets and fantasists have been inspired by Cornwall. One outstanding writer, Daphne du Maurier in her book Vanishing Cornwall, notices “Cornwall projects from the body of England much as Italy falls from the land mass of Europe. The two peninsulas, so dissimilar in size, are curiously alike in shape.” She goes on to describe further geological and geographical similarities. Yet she does not write about travellers. Sun worshippers from towns further north to each peninsula have found warmth, tranquillity and exotically different food and drink. Whilst the village of Crantock only came into existence in the late fifth century AD (when Irish visitors established a site of worship), it has been visited increasingly by travellers from England and from northern Europe.

Another who was drawn to this village was Leonard Greenwood. Leo was born in Gisborne, New Zealand; elected to a fellowship at Emmanuel College Cambridge where he taught classics from 1909 to 1950; was a lifelong bachelor; and became a member of the Cambridge Apostles in 1903. In 1928 he acquired a cottage between the beach and Crantock village and invited his undergraduates, including my father-in-law, to reading holidays. He established quaint and eccentric practices for guests. E.M. Forster, a Cambridge contemporary of Leo and another Apostle, may well have taken an interest, but there is no evidence he visited Kareena.
Leo Greenwood's Kareena


First timers to Kareena, both men and women, underwent an initiation ceremony, involving sitting on a ‘throne’ in the garden, being dubbed with a length of seaweed and allotted by Leo (aka Lion), the king of the jungle, a beastly name such as Whale, Dog, Panther, Bruin and Mink. Their fellow ‘Beasts of the Jungle’ would attend, attired in Grecian dress. Skinny-dipping in the surf before breakfast was common, something I copied on my first visit to the same cottage in 1972. (I thought one sighting of my nakedness was enough for the local dog walkers and fishermen in the bay.) One recent Christmas Day I wore my daughter's wetsuit!


For travellers to the north Cornish coast today – both real and armchair – their thoughts may associate with King Arthur, mining of copper and tin, Poldark, pasties and scrumpy. If you are a surfer then Newquay may be your bag but don’t go there if you are not. If romanticism is what you seek then by all means experience the Arthurian legend at Tintagel. Horrendously commercialised today here you can still sense the myths and legends. Allow your mind to wonder deliciously about the magician Merlin, jousting, chivalry and the rescuing of maidens. Daphne du Maurier asserts that “there was an Arthur, a Christian warrior, perhaps a Cornish thief…the rest is supposition”.
A romantic’s lost love is evidenced still on Crantock beach. On the rock face of a cave my family call ‘Marnot’ appears an inscription reputedly etched by a local man whose lover was swept to her death whilst riding her horse on the sands: -
  Mar not my face, but let me be                                                                                                                                                                               Secure in this lone cavern by the sea                                                                                                                                                                         Let the wild waves around me roar    
  Kissing my lips for evermore.

Polly Joke, Crantock
A leading eccentric from these parts – and there are plenty of them past and present – is one Robert Stephen Hawker (1803-75). An Oxford undergraduate who won the Newdigate Poetry Prize, he married at the age of 19 his 41-year old godmother. In 1934 he was appointed vicar of Morwenstow, up the coast from Crantock. He worked hard amongst the locals who comprised smugglers, wreckers and drunkards. He succumbed to eccentricity, and possibly a bit of wrecking himself. He talked to birds and invited his nine cats into his church. I love the fact that Hawker excommunicated one such feline because it caught a mouse on a Sunday. From the timbers of the shipwrecks on the beach way below (Morwenstow’s cliffs are amongst has the highest in Europe) this priest built a hut where he composed poems. None other than Alfred Tennyson lauded his mystical Arthurian composition, The Quest of the Sangraal. When Hawker’s first wife died he married again, this time to a woman forty years younger!

I often say that Australians are constantly reminded that the landscape and the elements shape their daily lives, a phenomenon that most contemporary Europeans do not experience. On the landscape and in the seascape at Crantock I come nearest in the whole of England to this feeling that the land moulds the character, mood and direction of its inhabitants and not a few of its visitors. It has a power over the people that is never withstood.
Cornish folk say that there is only one good aspect to Devon; that it leads to Cornwall. Early Celts from Brittany in the first century BC avoided Devon and halted at the River Tamar. “A wise decision” say some today. In 2017, whilst Sturgeon and May haggle over the future of Scotland, don’t bet against an uprising from Mebyon Kernow.

Surfers in a Crantock seascape

If you would like to share your experiences of the places discussed in this blog please record them in the Comments section.
Since my first visit to Cornwall in 1955 I have read many entertaining books, (fiction and non-fiction), that capture a part of what this landscape was and is. In no particular order I can strongly recommend the following: -
Non-fiction:
·      Vanishing Cornwall by Daphne du Maurier; 1967
·      Murray’s Handbook for Devon and Cornwall published by John Murray; 1859
·      Hawker of Morwenstow by Piers Brendon; 1975
·      Tudor Cornwall by A.L. Rowse; 1941
·      The Companion Guide to Devon & Cornwall by Darrell Bates; 1976
Fiction:
·      Frenchman’s Creek by Daphne du Maurier;
·      Jamaica Inn by Daphne du Maurier;
·      The House on the Strand by Daphne du Maurier 
·      The Poldark series by Winston Graham; 1945-2002
·      Zennor in Darkness by Helen Dunmore; 1993


Books by the authors referenced can be bought at: https://bookshop.blackwell.co.uk

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