C. D. York
is a freelance photojournalist currently writing a novel based on the life
of Sir John Harman, a seventeenth century English Admiral. Canadian by
birth, global by inclination, she also designs gardens and paints portraits
and landscapes.
If you’ve
ever responded to an image presented in a travel illustration you will
understand. A strange and distant shore, rocks the size of large houses
flung along a beach, cliffs towering and riddled with caves, an endless
horizon line where the sea meets the sky. A sense of wild, elemental freedom
ruled only by Nature’s moods. A photograph in a travel book was the signpost
at the beginning of my own journey to the west of England.
I was looking
for a quiet, inspirational place to write, a place far removed from the
expense, noise and crowds of London.
‘Why not
Cornwall?’ I thought, with that memory of the beach below the cliffs
stuck in my mind. As things turned out, I came for a break and stayed for
two years. I was seduced by landscape and seascape, by the lure of mythology
and romantic legends. But the reality of life in Cornwall turns out to
be both more and less than anyone could imagine.
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Here is a land
for the terminally curious. It is steeped in historical remains, from bronze
age mounds to medieval hermits’ hideaways.
Legends of
King Arthur in the tumbling stone walls of Tintagel Castle pre-date the
grand bastion of Henry the VIII’s Pendennis Castle at Falmouth. An annual
signal fire on the eve of the summer solstice flares at midnight at the
summit of St. Agnes Beacon. Fishing boats, pleasure craft and three-masted
replicas sail from dozens of harbours. Surfers from every country gather
in their thousands along the lengthy coast. Abandoned smugglers caves,
tin mines and china clay quarries echo with the voices of the past. Hedgerows
line a hundred (or two) narrow twisting roads while sheep and cows graze
the gentle slopes rising from the coastline. The Coastal Path offers
short and long distance walks through the most spectacular scenery imaginable.
In
short, Cornwall is a naturalist’s heaven, from long distance views to the
more focused venues offered by specialist sanctuaries for seals and owls.
For sanctuaries of a different sort, loiter in the mould-laden air of village
churches and town cathedrals and hear their bells: St. Columb Major,
St. Enoder, St. Enodoc, St. Petroc, Truro Cathedral.
Litanies of
prayers from the time of the Celtic saints onward have seeped into the
roof beams.
The accented
speech of the Cornish people harkens back to a time when they had their
own language, and still the natives cling to a pride born of isolation
from the rest of England. Make no mistake: you will never be one
of them. The halls of local government are reserved for contemporary members
of those families who have influenced Cornwall’s development for centuries.
But once they’ve gotten beyond your foreign accent and its anticipated
promise of a healthy cash flow, once they’ve summed you up for your real
qualities, you may get a toe in the door of their hearts.
If you want
a job, look no further than seasonal work in one of a thousand hotels.You
have higher ambitions? Better results might come if you were an entrepreneur
with your own cash to back you. Are you entitled to work in the United
Kingdom? I used one route to a work visa: my grandparents were born
in England. All you have to do is obtain copies of the necessary birth
and marriage certificates to apply for an Ancestry Permit. Three hundred
dollars (U.S.) later, the British High Commission may stamp your passport
accordingly and it is valid for four years.
You have heard
about the class system. You’ve heard that it is a thing of the past. Don’t
believe it. Where you were born, your family’s fortunes, the type of education
you have had, all conspire to influence your ‘acceptance’, if acceptance
and a place in the community are your goals.
This region
is known as the Duchy of Cornwall, officially under the auspices of
the Prince of Wales as Duke of Cornwall, though you’d be hard pressed to
hear many endearing words for the Royals from the common folk. It has been
designated one of the poorest places in the United Kingdom and as such
is currently receiving large grants of cash from European Union funding
agencies to promote development of all kinds. Wages are consistently lower
than in the rest of England; taxes are just as high. Perhaps fifty percent
of the prime real estate is owned by out-of-towners who choose Cornwall
as a place for second homes or vacation get-aways.
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A four-bedroom
splash of a place on the coast may be listed at 350,000 pounds sterling.
And a modest two-bedroom town house in a village might be found for L 80,000
(some refurbishment required). Be warned: the realities of England’s real
estate business are fraught with stalemate, cutthroat bargaining and disappointed
hopes. Your dream of a cottage in the Roseland Peninsula, that quiet cul-de-sac
of privilege in south Cornwall, may never be anything other than a dream.
The sun, when
it appears, brings maximum ultraviolet damage with it, contributing to
high incidences of skin cancers and glaucoma. Given the current state of
emergency vehicle availability, you may find distance and time against
you if an emergency occurs. The climate is damp, often windy, with
moderate temperatures. Barbeques and picnics are always on a ‘stand-by’
basis: a situation that should appeal to those who appreciate spontaneity
but drive the planners among us mad. I’ve wondered if this situation contributes
to the way the Cornish regard the passage of time. Things get done “d’rectly”,
if not next month or next year.
Well, I haven’t
touched on Bodmin Moor yet, or cliff climbing or the vast number of shipwrecks
that lie in the waters stretching form Land’s End to north of Padstow.
Nor have I mentioned Cornwall’s magnificent historic gardens or the groundbreaking
Eden Project; the fondness of many for locally-produced real ales, or the
cholesterol-building glories of clotted cream. Cornwall’s beef, pork and
chicken cannot be matched for quality and flavour in North America. If
you decide in the spring, at low tide, to harvest mussels from their clinging
places on the rocks below the cliffs, take the advice of a Cornishman:
let your mussels sit overnight in a pot of water to which you’ve added
a handful of oatmeal. The bivalves will process the oatmeal through their
digestive systems, clearing them out. Your chances of ingesting water-borne
pollutants will be reduced! Water pollution exists here, as elsewhere.
Surfers have organized a grass-roots pressure group to lobby government
bodies and encourage better stewardship of Cornwall’s corner on the Atlantic.
It would
take a lifetime to explore, taste and experience the pleasures of this
place but such an undertaking is best done in stages – a month or two now
and then, with a pocketful of cash not dependent on local employment. A
constant diet of Cornwall’s riches tends to lead to complacency and this
is the last place on earth that anyone should take for granted.