Great escape: Cornwall
Peter Baber headed west to glorious Cornwall, to explore the extraordinary ancient history of this popular touring destination
Peter Baber heads west to Cornwall to explore its extraordinary history and gorgeous landscapes
Many of us have done the annual jaunt down to Cornwall. We’ve joined the throngs driving steadily down the M5; we’ve inwardly gasped at how long it takes to get to Watergate Bay; and we have reassured the kids that yes, we will spend one day at the Eden Project.
But do we notice anything else? Like the villages you see signs for, named after saints you have never heard of? Or the occasional Celtic cross you might whizz past on the road? Or the
strange formations you can occasionally see in the distance as you finally cross Bodmin Moor?
All these should be a sign that there is another side to Cornwall – more mysterious, and more ethereal. The people we have grown to call the Celts attached great religious importance to the region, partly because they felt that seashores and river estuaries were important borders between this world and the afterlife. Such beliefs were not entirely crushed when Christianity took over, because, for a while at least, this area kept its own rather unique religious identity – one where, among other things, women were treated as equal in the eyes of the lord. It was only
the version of Christianity promoted by the Roman Empire that put men at the top.
It’s this sense of spirituality that the organisers of a new long-distance walking path, the Cornish Celtic Way, are hoping to promote.
Devised by a Cornish Church of England vicar, Nigel Marns, the 125-mile route links St Germans in the east with well-known St Michael’s Mount in the west. It also crosses over the peninsula to take in north and south coasts, and passes many ancient churches, a surprising number of which still bear evidence of their Celtic origins despite the best efforts of Victorian ‘restorers’.
In the footsteps of saints
Such a path is of interest even to those who, like me, are staunch atheists. Apart from the promise of many heart-aching views of sea and rolling hills, there are the fantastic stories associated with some of these Celtic saints that you learn about on the way.
Take St Fimbarrus, for example. He was sitting under a hazelnut tree one day, when a passer-by asked him to prove that God was with him. The catkins on the tree immediately turned to nuts which fell to the ground. Or there’s St Piran, a man so holy that he managed to swim to Cornwall even after a jealous Irish king threw him off a cliff with a millstone around his neck. Apparently the sea was immediately calmed.
Or there is St Ia, who cried so much when she learned she had missed the pilgrimage boat to Cornwall that an ivy leaf which her tears had landed on expanded into a little boat that could carry her there. You’ll soon discover that the pilgrimage route from Ireland to Cornwall was an important one.
In fact, the section of the Cornish Celtic Way that I decided to sample this August runs along the route from Padstow to Fowey that the pilgrims took to avoid the treacherous seas around Land’s End.
(We are talking about a time when the most common mode of sea transport was the coracle, not much bigger than St Ia’s ivy leaf.)
This section has actually been in existence as a signposted path, the
Saints’ Way, since 1984. I figured that with signs there was less chance of me getting lost, so I decided to head out from Fowey.
‘There are some fantastic stories of Cornish saints to learn along the way’
Celtic crosses & churches
But, of course, Cornwall is the kind of place that it’s easy to get diverted in; and just as you enter the county there is one of the best examples of its Celtic origins. Nestled in a little valley, the village of Altarnun (a short drive from Plusha Services, where one of the party could possibly stay with the caravan and car if you are driving in convoy) is picture-postcard perfect in its own right, partly thanks to the efforts of locals to bedeck virtually every available space with gorgeous flowers, and the Cornish flag.
The local church dedicated to St Nonna (yes, she is a proper saint – she was the mother of St David, who moved from Wales to Cornwall in 527) was largely
rebuilt in the 15th century. But the square Norman font, with faces at each corner, has survived, and even includes some of its original paintwork.
In the churchyard outside, you will find a remarkably well preserved Celtic cross, dating all the way back to the 6th century and the time of St Nonna herself. Its shaped is movingly echoed in a nearby war memorial.
Also, don’t miss the intricate pew ends inside the church itself, which depict both village life and the lives of the saints. They were carved between 1510 and 1530 – around the same time that the Reformation was ushering in new systems of belief that would no doubt not look kindly on such imagery.
Methodism in particular had a huge impact in Cornwall, and not far from the church there is an unusual side relief of John Wesley on the front of the former Wesleyan Chapel. It was carved by
Neville Northey Burnard, a native of Altarnun who won early national fame as a sculptor, even being introduced to Queen Victoria, until grief at the death of his daughter caused him to lose everything and return to Cornwall as a vagrant.
Fantastic Fowey
Still, Fowey was my main destination; so, having unhitched the Bailey at the Caravan and Motorhome Club’s Trewethett Farm site, that was where I went.
This town has always been one of my favourite places in Cornwall. From the hills on the outskirts you can get glimpses of tantalising coves where you can easily imagine smugglers running ashore in a boat – one of them is even called Readymoney Cove. And the narrow streets at the bottom seem to have remained unchanged from olden times, even if they now house mostly upmarket souvenir shops, delicatessens and cafes, and you hear a surprising number of different European languages being spoken.
You wouldn’t want to drive down here – fortunately, there are plenty of car parks at the top, and a regular bus will take you up and down for £1.50 each way. On the bus on the way back up I overheard a Spanish family praising the place wildly. I was glad that they should choose to come here at a time when so many Brits are flooding their own seaside towns.
And I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many hydrangeas, in so many different colours, in one place. But Fowey never was just a sleepy little fishing village. A contingent of fine Cornish seamen sailed from here to join Francis Drake’s fleet that defeated the Spanish Armada.
Joining the Celtic Trail
Leaving the town behind me, I headed onto the Saints Way proper. You lose sight of the sea surprisingly quickly; but, with the worst of the slope behind you coming out of Fowey, it’s a relatively gentle up and down along foxglovelined sunken lanes, with Helman Tor a clearly visible destination point ahead of you. Even here, you walk past tiny churches in various states of repair.
At Helman Tor you join the new Cornish Celtic Trail too, it having taken a detour to visit a viaduct and the Eden Project. For the next mile or so you are on a Tarmac road, but it’s so sunken and narrow that the appearance of a car comes as something of a shock.
Eventually you come down a steep hill with a fine view (albeit including the A30), and there, straight
in front of you is St Ingunger’s Cross: another fine Celtic cross which is all that remains of what was once an important Christian centre and holy well.
Go under the dual carriageway and into the village of Lanivet, and you will find two more Celtic crosses in the churchyard: one from the 10th century and one from the 13th. Unfortunately the church itself was extensively redeveloped in the 19th century, and holds little interest, unless you are a bellringer.
Brilliant Bodmin
But it’s only a short detour from here to Bodmin, which boasts an interesting centre with kerbless pavements (no danger of knocking the wheels here), lots of parking alongside a fine park with playgrounds for kids, and at least a couple of Georgian streets. I had a fantastic endive and radish salad in one of the cafes on the suitably named Honey Street.
Don’t forget to visit the Parish Church of St Petroc, named after the man who brought Christianity to Cornwall, and whose tomb you can see inside. St Petroc lived a fairly typically ascetic life as a Celtic saint: he spent many hours up to his neck in Little Petherick creek singing psalms, and lived on a diet of barley bread only (except for pulses on Sundays). The Cornish King Constantine was only persuaded by him when a deer that had escaped the royal hunt lay down at Petroc’s feet. It sounds absurd, but these stories clearly had an impact. St Gemma’s Well outside the church was still being used as late as 1894. Feeling sated with all things Christian – and wanting to find out a bit more about the kind of culture that preceded these beliefs – I headed up into Bodmin Moor. There, near the village of Minions, you’ll find The Hurlers, a set of three stone circles that is, effectively, Cornwall’s version of Stonehenge.
In later centuries it was alleged that these stones were actually men who had been turned to rock for daring to play football on the Sabbath – it’s that Methodism at work again! But belief in something more ancient than that must still hold strong, because on the day I arrived there was a group of German hippies sat around the stones beating out incantations.
Walking country
I find the word ‘moor’ odd in connection with Bodmin Moor, because it’s not like any moor I’ve known up north. The grass that covers it is lush – a word that I would never use to describe the tufts on the Pennines. What’s more, the granite it’s formed from creates sharp rocks, not like the crumbly limestone we have up north. That can make for tough walking – I was impressed by the two five-year-olds I saw going strong in a party ahead of me. But that same granite is probably the reason why the Cheesewring, the weird rock formation we were all heading to near The Hurlers, is so interesting. You get a great view all around when you get to it. Needless to say, there is a legend associated with this landmark as well, about local saints winning out over local giants in a stone-throwing competition.
After a brief detour to see the holy well in the nearby village of St Cleer (again partly dolled up by the Victorians) I thought it was time to revisit the one place you really ought to visit in Cornwall if you have an interest in things Celtic.
Witches and Wellington
I have been to Tintagel before, and think that it looks spectacular, particularly at sunset. There are plenty of car parks, too, including one next to the
King Arthur’s Arms where you can get your first hour of parking paid back if you spend more than
£20 at its perfectly adequate bar/restaurant.
Unfortunately, the day I visited was just after
English Heritage had opened its new footbridge to the castle (see p23). As a result the place was heaving, with all visits fully booked by 2pm. I did, however, have a superb Cornish pasty, with local Davidstow cheddar and really crumbly pastry. Yum.
I consoled myself by visiting nearby Boscastle instead. This fishing village, now fully recovered from disastrous floods in 2004, has one of the most perfect natural harbours I have ever seen. If your interest in things spiritual verges on the sinister, you can visit the Museum of Witchcraft and Magic, a nationally renowned place that includes its own parking space for broomsticks.
I settled instead for a fine meal of local octopus and chorizo at the Wellington Hotel. I even managed to bash my head on the pendant lamp in the bar – one of three given to the hotel by one Thomas Hardy. Yes, the Thomas Hardy. He was touring the area as a young architect, looking for – guess what? – ancient churches. He’d certainly have been spoiled for choice here.