24 March  Friday  Lands’ End   A Surprise

I’m up at 7 AM.  (It’s my brother Tom’s Birthday)  The tub/shower is the same high, narrow with weird waterworks as in the White Hart.  Breakfast at 8 AM and after we load the bus at 9:30 AM.  St. Austell is warm and sunny—the cry of gulls in the air (and traffic A390 comes down the hill behind the hotel).  Still no Wi-Fi. TL’s free 30 minute internet is impossible and it takes that long to set up the temporary account.  We are headed to Lands’ End--southwest to the tip of Cornwall.  Just getting out of St. Austell on the south side takes 40 minutes.  We take A39 at Truro and A394 at Tremough—passing several clay mines (for porcelain). Sue tells us about the clay mines and fine china as well as all the old chimneys and ruins we see.  They are tin mine remnants.  First they had to pump the water out of the mine to excavate it and then they smelted it in factories.  She reminds us about ‘Poldark’—all during the tin mining times.  We near the water (A30) and Penzance and are ask to sing songs from G&S’s The Pirates of Penzance—which I do know well (two productions--Music Director, Pirate King).

Off in the distance we can see St. Michael’s Mount, just off shore from Marazion Beach.  St. Michael is a bump of rock off the coast, only accessible by boat and a walkway only during low tides—where the giant of legends, Cormoran, was said to have lived (Jack the Giant Killer, etc.).  There is a café and gift shop as well as an ancient
castle and the ‘Giant’s Well”. We see only a few charming old buildings from a distance in Penzance, before we head southwest, again—passing more 'tin' chimneys and huge fields of daffodils. 

The road gradually narrows to Route A30 and pass by a turn off—B3315,  then The Valley Road at Threthewey, that no coach could ever get down) to the south for the Minack Theatre—an incredible amphitheater build in the stones of a cliff.   This is a very resort oriented area with holiday parks, B&B’s, RV/Caravan parks, and even the First and Last Resort.  We roll into the parking lot at the Land’s End property, a group of a half dozen white stucco grouping of buildings --out on the cliffs.  We are not here during the ‘season’ so everything is closed: gift shops, ice cream shops and even a Wallace and Gromit museum—still getting finishing artisan touches. 

The sky is blue, but the wind off the ocean is powerful.  The view is awe-inspiring. I head out to the last vista point and see Longships Lighthouse out at sea.  The view is worth the walk.  The sea is both beautiful and fierce.  We walk out to the First and Last House, passing the Land’s End sign.  The coast is rough here.  The wind does not let up.  The knit cap was a good choice this morning.  I make my way back the white stucco grouping of buildings at the entrance, use the toilet and walk back to the coach.  We wait for stragglers. 

The time is passing fast and Sue makes the decision to fore-go Newquay (key) and opts for St. Ives instead.  I am so pleased because I have always wanted visit this picturesque coastal town and harbor.  Grant retraces our path back to Penzance and turns up the hill (I think A3311) with some insanely tight corners and close houses.  He is an amazing driver.  We slowly climb to the highest point of the lower Cornish peninsula and back down towards the ocean and into St. Ives—on the northwest side.  We end up on the side of the hill at the Burrow/Trenwith car parks over-looking the harbor town.  Sue walks over to a shuttle bus and negotiates with the driver for a reduced fare for the group.  We ride down into the cool town.  We stop at the Barbershop and get out. 

St. Ives was/is a well-known artist’s colony with long lengths of white row houses stair-stepping down to the harbor the hills to the harbor.  Dylan Thomas (Welshman-Swansea) spent time here in the 1930’s. The St. Ives Society of Artists, formed in 1927, and flourished in the 1930s and 40s, attracting English (mainly) artists who preferred to paint in Cornwall.  The Porthmeor studios played a major role in the artist’s attraction to the town:  James Whistler, Walter Sickert, Emanuel Phillips Fox, Ben Nicholson and Christopher Wood.  Pottery is also big here.  The Leach Pottery studio opened (1920) by Bernard Leach and attracted many other artists.

The streets are narrow with shops lined up one after another—running parallel to the harbor.  There are shops with great names like Three Ferrets, Albatross Fish & Chips, Scoff Troff, Pegenna Pastries, The Yellow Canary, etc.  I split off from Pete (bass) and Faye Benham (from our church—St. George’s in Roseburg) who are heading for the first fish & chips place they find .  I walk downhill with Paul (bass) and Kathy Meyers.  Paul, moving slowly with a cane, was on the school board while I was teaching.  He is a lawyer for the city now. 

We check shops and restaurants along the way and settle on the Union Inn on Fore Street.  It is a true local’s pub with low ceiling and lots of folks and their dogs.  I go to the bar and order a pint of Doom Bar and Fish & Chips with Mushy Peas from a middle-aged bar tender with a gray pinned-up pony-tail.  The room is full of friendly chatter and an English football game on the TV.  Kathy orders mussels in a brandy cream sauce.  Paul has Mac and Cheese.  I see a list of live music lined up for the month—almost every night.

We sit at a table across from the bar looking out on the street.  Right behind the Meyers is an old stone fireplace.  Behind me is a quiet couple with a dog.  The dog is seated at full attention--watching the man eating.  The guy is also having the mussels and stacking the shells in an intricate pattern on the rim of his plate.  I never see the guy feed the dog, but I bet he does.  Folks at the tables over in front on the left side have a sleeping dog.  When a new couple comes in the door with a dog, the barking starts.  The dog seated does not flinch. What a fun scene.  My fish is a massive plank of great fish and the peas are good.  Kathy loves her mussels and offers some to me—thank you!  The mac n’ cheese is too large for anyone to eat.  After lunch we strike up a conversation with the people behind us and find out they are down from Cardiff on holiday.  They do this a lot.  We tell them about the concert we are a part of at Church of Saint Edward, King and Confessor in Roath, Cardiff. Monday night.  They are very interested.  The bartender has come over to clear their table and says his parents lived across the park from St. Edwards when he was young.  Amazingly small world—Welshmen everywhere! 

I part company with the Meyers and head down to the harbor on Lifeboat Hill next to St Ia's Parish Church.  I round the corner on Wharf Road and the view of the harbor is spectacular. 

The tide is out and the boat ramp drops right down to the sandy bottom--wide and broad.  Long ropes with kelp are laid out on the sand.  The boats are beached.  To my right fishermen are joking and smoking on the corner.   Wharf Road has lots of shops and people.  Knowing I have a limited time, I head northeast on Southwest Coast Path--between St. Ia’s and the large Lifeboat Station.  The broad harbor is beautiful.  I walk back around an apartment building onto St. Andrew’s Street and I realize I never looked for anything for Marianne.  Emjems is right there, but I could not make up my mind on what to get. I walk back to the church and up the hill to the shuttle stop. 

Many of us are early, but the shuttle is full and pulls out early, leaving us waiting—hopefully there will be a next one, soon.  More of our group starts gathering in front of the Barbershop and we talk about lunch and the town.  Pete says he had a fish and picklers (sardine-like bait fish) plate.  Still thinking of Marianne, I see The Drill Hall Shopping Arcade and cross Chapel Street and go in, but can’t find anything—mainly old treasures 'junk'.  Suddenly the attached belt on my new waterproof pants fails!?  I can’t believe it.  I realize my pants could drop so I tie up the loose ends of the fabric belt, discarding the plastic buckle and pull my vest down low, so no one can see the embarrassing failure.  Back at the Barbershop, another shuttle shows up, but we have to pay.  Odd.  The driver has gone back on his word he made with Sue.  Kathy and Paul decide to pay for the groups shuttle rides.  How incredible.  Shhh, no one knows.   Grant is back to the Travelodge in good time and we have to get ready for the concert at Par—St. Mary’s. I wash clothes and hang then up to dry in the bathroom and change into performance blacks.