for john and ann pennington.
thanks for the memories.
"PARADISE – PART TWO"
On the north coast of Cornwall, at a point midway between Tintagel and Boscastle, there lies a tiny village called Trethevy. It is a beautiful, rugged and ancient place, not always welcoming to those who seek a sun-drenched holiday, but it does have an indefinable quality, which, once discovered, will stay in the bosom of most folk for the rest of their living days.
It has a permanent place in mine.
It was dark as we motored slowly along the coast road in search of a place to camp for the night. Our little old car was almost as tired as we were of our long journey from the north. The two children and our Thirty Bob Dog were asleep on piles of blankets and gear that we needed for a couple of weeks stay - and they were hot too. It was the summer of ’76, that long, hot, wonderful summer which seemed to go on forever. The dim headlights of our car picked out a sign that read, "Trewethett Farm Camping and Caravan Site" and, because we were now becoming desperate to find somewhere to stay, we turned and followed the long drive down to the office, a tiny smugglers cottage. We were directed to a field and, with some difficulty because of a lack of light, we erected our tent. After a quick meal, we snuggled happily together with Trudy in our midst and snored the night away to a lullaby of breakers dashing against rocks and with the smell of saltwater in our nostrils. It was a good sleep – perhaps an omen of the good times to come.
Early the following morning, as we stirred from our slumbers and ventured out to discover what we had let ourselves in for, we were confronted with a vision that was breathtaking. Below us, about two hundred feet down a steep grassy slope, the mighty Atlantic dashed itself against sharp rocks, sending spumes of spray high into the air. In the bay that lay before us, fishermen in their tiny bobbing dinghies were busy pulling up lobster pots from the depths of the mottled seas and a few hundred yards offshore three mighty rock formations rose from the sea. These formations were intensely populated by sea birds and their cries echoed across the water to us, giving the whole place a sense of the sea, a sense that we British find so enchanting. By chance, we had come across this tiny piece of Ancient Britain that had remained unchanged for thousands of years. It would remain our favourite family retreat for almost two decades.
We spent three lovely weeks at Trethevy that year. Our days were spent walking along the coastal footpath, which wended its way above majestic cliffs that rose sheer from the ocean. Stone walls, which lined the paths, sprouted tufts of Sea Thrift from every crevice and purple Heather contrasted splendidly with the bright yellows of Gorse that grew thickly to the cliff’s edge. A hard but spectacular scenic walk to the north led to the lovely fishing village of Boscastle and there on the quayside, tanned and hardy fishermen in their blue sweaters and peaked sea caps sat and repaired nets and lobster pots whilst waiting for the tide to turn. Lying in the mud of the harbour, their brightly painted vessels awaited the inevitable surge of the sea that would raise them from their peaceful sojourn. Paradise was sitting in the warm sun of that summer, watching this wonderful scene with a plateful of scones and Cornish clotted cream. If small tired legs were too weary for the long walk home, the local bus would drop us off directly by our campsite, including the Thirty Bob Dog.
A day at Polperro.
On other days, when walking was out of favour, we would wend our way down the steep and precipitous footpath that lay adjacent to our site. Not a path for the faint hearted but, if ventured, it was the key to a wonderful day on the golden sands of Bossinney Bay. Was there a place on this earth more beautiful than this and could it give such unbridled joy to those who sought its solitude? I have yet to discover it. A children’s haven with rock pools and caves in abundance for them to play the day away and enjoy the company of newfound friendships. To hear their laughter echoing from the caves as they played with unbridled freedom was a joy itself. To watch them searching in the warm rock pools for tiny crabs and fish, their beautiful tanned bodies, sun-bleached hair and ever-happy faces a joy to parents who love them deeply. Paradise was walking back from Bossinney with a tired family and a Thirty Bob Dog.
Many are the times we returned to the beauty of this wonderful land: to leafy lanes adorned with innumerable varieties of wild flowers: to wild, rugged and desolate moorland: to quaint and ancient churches in quaint and ancient villages: to old fashioned values and old fashioned friendships; to Paradise - part two.
A link to more photo's of North Cornwall.