I disembarked from the pilot cutter, Mascotte, at Falmouth yesterday at 5 pm. I spent two nights in the sumptuous mahogany panelling of that old beauty and two long days sailing from Falmouth to Fowey and back again. When I got back to my car I booked a last minute room at The Beach Club in Penzance.
My room overlooked the new promenade beside the sign into Wherrytown at the west end of town. To my left I could see the jagged outline of St Michael’s Mount. Straight ahead powerful autumn swells crash into the sea wall. To my right Newlyn was neatly spread out across the first half of the peninsula.
The promenade has been rebuilt recently and stretches from the Jubilee Pool to the end of town. It was strewn with seaweed flung over the concrete, railings and seats that line the walkway by the sea.
Last night children were screaming and running towards the railings and then running away from the spray as it reared up the wall like lava being spat from a volcano.
It took me back to my days watching kids doing the same thing when I was living next to the sea in Kingsand on the Rame Peninsula while doing my teacher training. That was fifteen years ago.
I am back at Porthmeor. Last time I was here was shortly after the Queen’s death. I walk down to Porthmeor, a perfect arc of a rainbow creates a dome over the bowl of the valley. There is only the sound of the rush of the stream and the rush of the waves. Small snowy flashes appear out in the sea and above them equally bright white dots. Seagulls. Sometimes I wonder wouldn’t it be obvious to believe in a god when you see things like this?
And then the rain kicks in and I’m not so sure.
Near Gurnard’s Head the sun comes out and everything is changed. The sea reveals its green blue in the cove. Birds cheep in the hedgerows. Bugs drift about in the deep clefts between the cliffs lit up like motes of dust. A seal bobs its head up in the water. And the water is so clear I can see the rest of its body beneath the surface. I’m green with envy and kick myself for leaving the trunks in the car. It looks inviting but how cold I wonder. There were a couple in the sea this morning in Penzance.
Chapel Jane is a medieval chapel which perches precipitously overlooking Treen Cove. It is possible to make out the four walls. The only obvious feature is the altar stone perched beside the cliff. Archaeologists have dated the chapel is being built sometime between 1100 and 1350. It’s recorded that the people of Zennor used to make an annual pilgrimage here. Am I a pilgrim? I suppose so but one unsure of who or what he worships.
As the cove starts to curve there is a house and after that a rather sad and spooky half building. I can’t tell what it is. A mine building? But surely not with that aperture. There is a hole in front of it which might be a give away. I imagine there being a very long drop. One block is almost totally removed from the side of the building like a piece in a game of Jenga.
Soon after this I tire. The weekend’s sailing and a horrendous day at work on Friday involving an abusive year 10 who just went at me for twenty minutes and refused to leave the room has wrung me out. I wonder when I’ll next be back. Probably not until next year. What will have changed? I might at last be living in my own flat. I might have left my profession because of the stress at work. I hope I’ll still be in love. I might be a new man. Or not…
The Slow Walker 