Aaaaggghhhhh ‘em be pirates, ‘em be!!!
Let’s get my allegiances out of the way first, I love Cornwall. Ticks a few of my boxes:
- · Family history
- · Hopeless underdog fight for independence (as evidenced by the Cornish Flag being flown everywhere)
- · Celtic
- · Essentially dead language trying to be revived
- · Stunning fishing villages
- · Best weather in the UK
- · Hilarious accent (that don’t pat dogs, they “smoooooooth ‘em”
- · Pirates!
What could you possibly not like?
Well, there is one downside, the clowns voted for Brexit! Go figure.
To get to the ancestral homeland we had to go via a clump of rocks, otherwise known as Stone Henge. We hired a car again (this time at a reasonable hour and in a reasonable direction from Shepherds Bush, we’d done this one before) and headed towards Novichok.
Wait, what?
Turns out we were headed straight to the town where 2 poor souls either had just been poisoned by one of the deadliest nerve agents in existence. We were a bit confused as we drove into Amesbury why there were all these streets were blocked off by the coppers but thought nothing of it until the next day when it was all over the news. Sadly one of the people has subsequently died. I blame Trump’s best mate.
We didn’t know anything of this as we arrived at the big, old pile of rocks. We thought the visitor centre was pretty big 15 years ago when we came before kids but now it is a small town. Extraordinary. And not one druid to be seen. Though clearly there were quite a few who were itching to get the robes on. They’ve changed it now so the centre is about a 1km walk from the rubble and you can either catch a minibus or walk up over the hill to come to them. We walked. Much like puppies, TGT2.5:3-5 need regular exercise. If not, then they tend to start to eat each other. This has been a not infrequent experience on this trip. If we could hose them down we would.
It was a very pleasant way to approach the boulders and I had forgotten that they were only handed over to the government 100 years ago and in that time they had been propped up with a few squirts of concrete to stop some of them toppling over, I’m sure much to the horror of conservationists now as they were a bit cumbersome about it. This is the sort of Pareto Rule approach I probably would have taken which is why it’s a good thing I don’t look after historical objects. So after we got the kids to put their robes on and sacrificed a goat at sunset on the high altar we headed back to the car for we had an appointment at Monkey World we weren’t going to miss: TGT2.5:3 was going to find a new friend but first a quick visit to another old thing, the Magna Carta, inside another old thing, Salisbury Cathedral.
TGT2.5:3: “Do we have to go in ANOTHER cathedral?!??!? I really don’t want to. I’m NOT a Christian”
TGT2.5:1-2: “Yes we do. We know you’re not a Christian but please try to show some appreciation of the architecture, cultural heritage BLAH BLAH BLAH”
Yet another parent fail.
Since when do 13-year-olds appreciate this stuff? Just shut up kid and move on. We had lunch in the grounds of the cathedral but didn’t have a knife to cut our tomatoes or cheese for our sandwiches. That meant I had to nick one from the cathedral café. Does that mean I’m going to hell? Probably just confirmation.
Monkey World isn’t a zoo as such, it’s a rescue centre for primates from all over the world as Far away as Chile (the military helped evacuate about 30 monkeys from a lab to the UK). They pretty much take any and help give their lives back. To our astonishment, it is legal to buy and own a squirrel and capuchin monkeys and people do on eBay here in the UK. They chuck them in a cage and watch them go absolutely loony. There were lots of ex-laboratory monkeys with a few remnant twitches and OCD behaviours which isn’t surprising when you spend the first half of your life in a metal cage with humans poking you. Not surprisingly a lot of these guys have a fairly dim view of humans, but amazingly lots of hearts of gold and develop really warm relationships with the staff. A few chimpanzees have been like that. There used to be lots of chimps in Spain being used as props for photo shoots and being “managed” with sticks and cigarette burns. It took them 20 years but Monkey World has prevented chimpanzees being treated like this in Spain anymore.
TGT2.5:3 did make a few furry friends. There was one chimp who was banging away at his drums in a way eerily similar to the way TGT2.5:3 does and yet again, he staggered us with his extraordinary knowledge of all things animal in a non-smart alec way. Remarkable.
Our guide offered him a job!!!!
After that, it was time to head to Swanage (exactly! Where?), to camp in some farmer’s field. We should clarify, grumpy farmer’s field. A practically empty field about 3 acres in size but he wanted to move us as we put up our tents next to the powered sites (which were empty and we hadn’t hooked up). Almost Monty Pythonesque in his approach: “This isn’t an argument!!!”
I have made it a policy to be extremely accommodating and friendly on this trip and it has been met with a similar response from all we have encountered. Except for this time! Man, I wanted to smash this old git. Thankfully TGT2.5:2 instantly picked up my raised hackles and stepped in to smooth things over and pacify the octogenarian before he gave himself a heart attack. I bet he voted for Brexit too.
We didn’t move our tents.
In fact TGT2.5:2 and myself have been very good at the yin and yang stuff on this trip. Often swapping roles but overall complementing each other well and stepping in when needed to cover the other’s moment of madness. Of course, we have had a few tiffs. Mostly about buying another bottle of wine (TGT2.5:2 against)
We headed to Swanage and yet another Ship Inn (TGT2.5:2:“They must be a chain”. Ahhhhh no, they would be the West Country Coast version of The Red Lion, every town has one).
The next day we headed to Lyme Regis to hunt for fossils on the Jurassic Coast (pleasingly found a few ammonites). We met one fossil hunting fella (we knew he was by his t-shirt “Keep Calm and Hunt Fossils”.) Very knowledgeable and friendly chap. He showed us the ammonites we had in our hands but didn’t know and then filled our pockets with rocks with potential other ammonites like we haven’t had issues with excess luggage before!!
Then on to Axminster to have a coffee at River Cottage Canteen. Despite my efforts HFW didn’t reply to my invitation to discuss the urban agriculture model a colleague and I published last year. Rude
Nevertheless, lovely to visit. Then on to Cornwall and the ancestral home.
A quick summary. The first Symons to come to Australia was Johnson Bennett Symons in 1866 (yes, that is why TGT2.5:3 got his name). He travelled with his missus from his home village of Tywardreath to Plymouth to catch the ship, the Salamanca, from Plymouth to South Australia. Wallaroo, in Little Cornwall, to be precise, to continue his copper mining ways. My mother’s side, Hosking, are also Cornish folk, so whenever I cross the Tamar to enter the Land of St Piran, I feel a bit like I’m coming home.
There were other ancestors who came from other parts of ole blighty, including the 2 convicts, but the Cornish folk are the ones who resonate. There was even one who was a coast guard who died at sea chasing pirates apparently. Aaaaggghhhh, me hearties.
We camped at Carlyon Bay Caravan Park near St Austell and near the surprising Charlestown. I’d never heard of it, but it has featured heavily in various period dramas and in Poldark especially. A truly remarkable old stone harbour and really, really charming.
We then headed out to the Eden Project which is several hug geodesic domes with different ecosystems in each one. Perhaps an option for the La Trobe valley? A beautiful place with amazing plants and conservation ideas and TGT2.5:3-5 were quite engaged which I wasn't prepared for.
There were visits to fishing villages and ye olde pubs and all timed so that they fitted in with the World Cup matches. We watched Belgium knock out Brazil while sitting in the Smugglers Bar of the Fountain Inn (400 years old) in Mevagissey. Old oak beams and plaster walls where I had to duck my head to get in the door. (Well mostly remembered to duck. I have this issue about the size of my head.) I thought the poms would like to see Brazil get knocked out but apparently not.
We ended up in Tywardreath (no idea how to pronounce it despite my obvious Cornishness) and wandered around the cemetery looking for the graves of Symons. It was also where TGT2.5:2 and I had been 15 years before where TGT2.5:2 picked up a tent someone had left behind in the graveyard which I think we are still using. I felt a bit dodgy about it then and still do to this day. Odd woman, TGT2.5:2, very moral and upstanding citizen nearly all of the time and then BAM, batshit crazy stealing stuff. Weird. Anyhoo, we then had a drink in The New Inn (1751 and chatted with the owner who was a local lad and showed us photos from the 1860s with lots of Symons and Bennetts (was JBS’s mother’s maiden name). We were getting a bit carried away and next thing I knew TGT2.5:2 and TGT2.5:4 were jumping the fence of St Blazey Church like hoodlums looking for more gravestones.
So after a wonderful few days we had done most of the things we wanted to do except TGT2.5:2’s extreme desire to have some quality clotted cream. For that we had to journey to a remote tea room down a side road of a side road of a side road beside a stream in an apple orchard. Truth be told it was pretty delightful and worth the detour but it was a race against time and London traffic to rush back to Shepherds Bush in time to watch England and Sweden. The less said about that the better.
However getting back in time we had to zoom along the motorways. In England they absolutely effing fang. Not quite used to that and it’s like a racetrack out there. Never changed lanes so many times in my life. Back to London for a couple of days staying with my old boss Rani, in Tufnell Park. More soon.
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