Up early, packed, cleaned up and on the road by 9:15. I was tempted to leave a note in the visitors book saying how early man left the caves to live in WOODEN houses for a reason which was now quite obvious to me but instead I mentioned the small toaster, the not-power shower and thanks for the fire. The day was nice and sunny so, of course, the cottage looked lovely.

We were going to go via St Austell but I happened to hear on BBC Cornwall that the A34 was a mess of accidents and road works so we headed up to the A30 and kept going till we reached the motorway then turned off onto the A34 there, deciding to take the (nearly) coast road for a change.

We stopped just beyond Axminster to have a hearty breakfast in Little Chef. Oddly, since returning home, I’ve heard that the Little Chef people have called in Hester Blumenthal (the famous Michelin star chef) to sort out their menu as their trade is dropping off. Damn, just as we’ve returned to the pleasures of Little Chef, which, for so long had been sadly lacking, they want to change it…again! Damn those shareholders and their wily ways. If only I’d known, I would have taken greater pleasure in what may have been my last LC all day breakfast.

Back on the road and we sped by Maiden Castle, Mirinda not convinced that we should go and visit while we were within cooee, and on to the New Forest. It was time for the usual cup of tea so we left the main road for the wilds of Poulner.

The intersection that is Poulner

Poulner appears to be an intersection. On one side is a Baptist chapel which, in the usual way of denominations not Anglican, was locked up tight. Next door was what appeared to be a retirement home with an open gate, directly into the graveyard. I’m sure this was accident rather than design. On the church sign they advertise ‘Ladies Bible Study’. Now I’m really curious to know what kind of women’s secret business goes on during them.

After a revitalising cup of Gary’s Thermos Brew, we once more joined the main road, driving through the pony strewn forest, onto the M3 then, finally, off to Farnham. We made it home all safe and sound with some hours of daylight remaining.

Cornwall was cold, the bread was small (to fit the toasters, I guess) and the beer was fantastic. We had a lovely time and Mirinda forgot all about work by the fourth day, her guitar practice helped a lot.

The photos are here.

The morning started with very little wind but a fair bit of rain. We stayed in the cottage until I was too bored. We decided we’d go for a drive because of the weather.

Halfway to Truro, the weather improved, the sun came out, everything was beautiful. We set off for Trelissick, a National Trust garden.

View of River Fal from Trelissick Gardens

The garden nestles above the river Fal, with great sweeping views across field and valley. The garden began around 1750 when John Lawrence laid out a small park. There was then a series of different families tending the garden: The Daniells (1805-44), the Gilberts (1844-99), the Cooksons & Cunliffes (1899-1937), the Copelands (1937-1955) and, finally, the National Trust. The gardens presently cover 30 acres and are tended by just four gardeners.

The garden is famous for its red rhododendrons which were featured on a series of Spode crockery. There are a LOT of rhododendrons! And azaleas. Apart from daffs and the occasional grape hyacinth, all the colour comes from them. At this time of the year, anyway.

There’s a fantastic cedar in the main lawn. It was brought over from Japan and planted in 1898 by Carew Gilbert. It is very big and sprawling. While we there it was home to a gaggle of children with balloon swords.

Massive Japanese cedar at Trelissick Garden

At one point, there is a ‘Celtic cross’ and local legend has it that a local priest would preach to the fisherman on the river below from this point because of the great acoustics. Unless there were about 50,000 fisherman, I somehow doubt this, as the river is quite a long way down from this point! Unless the priest was just lazy and yelled from here rather than trudge down the hill.

Having walked the entire garden we partook of cream tea in the refreshment barn. We were very fortunate in our timing. When we entered there were about two other groups at tables, as we left there was a queue. The rain could have pushed them inside.

There is a lovely display of local crafts in one of the buildings and Mirinda just had to buy a beautiful glass and enamel necklace for an undisclosed sum. Still, it does look very nice.

From Trelissick it was a short drive down to the King Harry Ferry. I have no idea if it’s from the time of King Harold (pre-1066) though why he needed a car ferry is anyone’s guess, but it was great fun. We were second in the queue which meant we were also second off at the far shore. Pity it was raining, it would have been fun to get out of the car. Still, it was fun anyway.

Next it was on to St Just in Roseland. Rose, in the name means ‘promontory rather than anything to do with roses. At the bottom of a long hill and just before the mudflats is a gorgeous little church and graveyard. It moved Mirinda to say it was one of the most beautiful places she’d ever been. It was certainly very peaceful.

St Just in Roseland

Not a lot is known about St Just. One legend has him going on a brief trip to Brittany shortly after founding the church. Upon his return he found his cell occupied by a hermit, Efflam. Rather than giving the scruffy guy the boot, St Just decided they should both sit in the window of the cell and the first one to receive the rays of the sun would stay. Not being too clever, St Just lost and had to go found another church somewhere else. Nothing else is said about Efflam but he was not sainted. I guess squatting has it’s downside.

Historians reckon there was some sort of religious edifice here before the Christian church was built firstly around 550AD. The church that is there today was consecrated in 1261 and changed over the years. The tower was built early in the 15th century.

There was an interesting family visiting while we were there. Now I’m about as far as you can get from a religious person but I do know how to behave in a church, especially if there’s anyone else there. After all, someone might be praying…or talking to some dead relative. But there was a family of mum, dad and son who seemed to think everything was funny. The son sat in a small chair, this was hilarious. They read something in the prayer book – it had them in stitches. Very odd. They just looked like normal people. Maybe they thought it was a Disney church.

Interior of St Just in Roseland

It rained while we were inside the church but then the sun came out and made everything shiny. We strolled around, admiring the graves, sniffing the wild garlic. Mirinda chose to ignore the sign on the gate and touched quite a few shrubs. I mean, how silly can you get.

As we were so close and the rain seemed to have vanished for a bit, we decided to visit Mawes Castle, the sister to yesterday’s Pendennis. It sits across the river entrance, a mile away and is supposed to be the cutest castle in the land. It’s certainly small. They tried to tell us it was painted an imposing colour originally. I’m sure they actually painted it a bright colour so they could find it.

We accepted the excellent audio guides at the desk and wandered all over the castle. We were accompanied by the master gunner who was having a particularly busy day. The report had come in about invading Spanish ships so he could only tell us so much as we wandered. Still, he was very helpful.

St Mawes Castle

As it turned out, the Spanish ship never turned up so we managed to see the whole place without being blown up.

From above, Mawes Castle looks like a clover leaf because it comprises three circular sections or bastions. The three sections, each with cannon a plenty, face seaward. As castles go, this one seems to have been a lot more comfortable than Pendennis. Maybe that’s just because it’s so cute. Also it may be because it’s set out nicely and the audio tour makes you feel like you’re really there.

Whatever it is, we wandered all over, up and down, admiring the views and the handiwork of the original builders. There are several inscriptions dotted around the castle, the work of Henry’s antiquary, John Leland. They all praise the king (obviously) in Latin. One of them says “Semper honos Henrice tuus laudesque manebunt” which translates as “Henry, thy honour and praises will remain forever.” The others are similar.

Inscription on outside of St Mawes Castle

The carvings in the walls are still very clear including Henry’s coat of arms on the outside of the central bastion. Actually the whole place looks like it was built last week rather than nearly 500 years ago.

St Mawes Castle was built by Sir Thomas Treffrey, a local landowner. Actually, he supervised the building, which isn’t quite the same thing. He’d supervised the building of a blockhouse so I guess he felt qualified.

Both castles were used up to and during WWII. However, from the mid 1880s, Falmouth Harbour had an electric minefield running across it, under the water. It was one of the first of its kind anywhere in the world. It was designed to upset torpedo boats operating at night. And it was very clever, however, I do not know if it was actually ever used.

Back to Sidney, then off down to St Mawes itself. A lovely seaside town with pastel painted houses, the waves lapping at the shingles, the over vicious signs warning against dogs. I mean, how excessive is a £1000 fine for a dog going onto the beach? We’re not talking fouling the beach, mind. No, just stepping onto it. I think any dog caught on the beach is not going to have an owner. If it was me I’d say “Not my dog, mate. Maybe you should fine the dog.”

Then there’s the set a good example sign. Apparently there’s a bye law in Cornwall that claims adults should set an example by not climbing on stone walls. Not sure how that works if the children sit on the walls completely on their own.

Sign on wall at St Mawes

Signs are all well and good (and we’ve seen a few today) but one that is badly need in the car park at St Mawes is “Remember, granny’s die in locked cars“. This can’t be stressed enough. We saw one. I was about to smash a window and let her out when she suddenly took a gasp of breath. Mirinda reckons the family left her asleep to go and explore the town, thinking she’d be safely comatose for a few hours. Maybe she’s right.

We decided lunch was in order. After all it was 4 o’clock. The pub claimed it served food all day and, surprise, surprise, it actually did! The staff were lovely, the food was lovely, the beer was lovely. A splendid time was had by all.

After lunch it was off round the town, visiting the little church up the incredibly steep hill. Well, I did, Mirinda kept to the beach side level. We spotted some lovely holiday cottages that may get our business one day. It’s certainly a lovely spot.

But all good things must come to an end so we collected the car and headed back to our lonely, cold, rocky cottage and sat through the horror that is Stealth, a film about a robot plane and how he went bad, then was fixed by the tough human, then saved everyone from certain doom. Stupid film. For some strange tax reason Richard Roxborough was in it.

Foul weather kept us indoors for most of the morning. Finally, feeling penned up and stuffy, I ventured out to the top of the hill behind the cottage.

I climbed the steep bridle path, pushing hard against the wind. As I rose so did the wind speed. Right at the top is the remains of a quarry. This means it’s a big pool of water. This one has all the charm of a tarn. There were even a couple of guys fishing it. How do fish get to such place?

Quarry on the top of the hill

I took a few photos and managed to keep my glasses on my head…just. The temperature is supposed to be 9° but the wind dragged it down to about 1! It was a lot easier walking back down, wind assisted AND downhill. On the way down, and in the department labelled ‘Odd Things Seen Out Walking’, I spotted a bunny in a shopping bag wedged in some rocks. Actually all I saw was its ears and the top of its head. Very odd.

Bunny in a bag

Back at the cottage I assured Mirinda that the weather was indeed improving and we should go out. It was decided we’d try Falmouth. That way, if the weather did turn worse, we could always go somewhere dry. Like a pub.

We reached Falmouth very quickly as it’s only seven miles from the cottage and parked in the station car park on Avenue Road. We walked down to the dock area which has been done up and looks a little like Darling Harbour or like a little Darling Harbour. It was very windy and lunchtime so we decided to pop into Pizza Express to find shelter and pizza. We certainly found both.

After eating pizza, we wandered down Falmouth high street, dodging cars on what should be a pedestrianised strip of one way road. It was all a bit glum, mainly populated by high street chain shops with little of interest. The second hand bookshop which held a lot of interest was, unfortunately, closed. One of Falmouth’s great claims to fame is the fact that in 1917, the great spy Mata Hari was detained on a liner that had docked here. She was then sent to France to be tried and subsequently executed. It was a lucky break for her she didn’t stop.

We wandered back to the dock area then decided to visit Pendennis Castle.

What a difference. A mile and a half away onto the headland is one of Henry VIII’s coastal defence castles. It is set in some lovely open land with wide ranging views of the river and the sea.

View of Falmouth from Pendennis Castle

Back in the day, Henry was concerned with an attack from the French and so set about building coastal defences all along the southern coastline of Britain. These castles were very impressive and managed to frighten off the French so they never attacked. Two of the finest of these castles are Pendennis and St Mawes which stand opposite each other across the mouth of the river Fal.

Building started in 1540 and they were completed in around 1545. Over the centuries Pendennis has seen many changes as it was continually used for coastal defence up until 1956 when its battery was dismantled.

Pendenis Castle

We wandered inside and up Henry’s castle. It is still largely as it was 500 years ago. The views from the top are fantastic, though still pretty windy.

I had a long friendly chat with Amanda in the gift shop and we collected Sidney for the trip back to the cottage. Here I was entertained by Mirinda on her guitar.

Afterwards we watched a lamentable movie called The One with Jet Li.

And the wind continued all night and all day. Actually we had snow today but the wind blew it all away.

After topping up the wood supply at the Caraharack Feed Store, we made our way to Lanhydrock, a National Trust property near Bodmin. It is massive. Altogether there are 70 rooms though the public can only visit 50. Such a shame. We could have spent so much longer there.

Lanhydrock, Cornwall

The car park is so far away that they offer a vintage car ride to the house. When I say offer, you do have to pay. Given that you have to walk a few miles visiting all the rooms, the relief of the car ride up to the house is probably justified. We didn’t take the car up, preferring to walk with the other 5,000 people out for Easter Saturday.

Our usual tea & coffee to start had to be altered as the refreshment room (the barn) was packed to queuing. We tried the restaurant but this also had a bit of a glum line up waiting. We settled on the restaurant and had lunch while we read the guidebook. We rushed a bit because there was a real chance of someone being sat at our table, something we particularly dislike.

Lanhydrock is a house that is meant to show how much money and power a family has. This is so obvious as you first catch a glimpse of this massive place. At one time, the house was staffed by 80 people for a family of two adults and 10 children. The servant’s quarters were pretty swish though some poor bugger had to empty the bedpans down the giant lavatory sink.

Anyway, a house has stood here since the Robartes first settled in the area in 1621. The family has been here ever since, each generation making little changes. In 1881 the house burnt down. Well, most of it did. And it was up to ‘Little Lordy’ Thomas to rebuild it.

He was called ‘Little Lordy’ because he was only 5′ 4″ tall. He is responsible for the tiny door from his bedroom into his bathroom. Some believe he made this door small so he could look bigger. If that’s true then I would have thought the door to his wife’s bedroom would have been the better option. Her room also connected to the bathroom.

So we wandered all over this massive building. In and out of the many rooms, crowded by the crowds, bashed by the heads of the many small children dashing to and fro. Mirinda was very annoyed at the obvious display of wealth as well as the crowds, so we didn’t really enjoy it as much as we normally would.

Interestingly the house was used in WWII to house kids evacuated from London. Bet dad would have preferred the holiday the kids had here rather than the workhouse environment he experienced in Potterne! Apparently they had games and marmalade sandwiches on the lawns and adventures with smugglers and a little dog called Timmy. So Enid Blyton it’s just not true.

Once we’d emerged from the house we managed to get a tea, coffee and cake at the Barn and sat in peace for a bit. It was then off to the church, St Hydroc, which sits just behind the house. It has actually been there longer than the house. No-one is really sure of its age but the tower dates from the 1450s.

The church had fallen into some disrepair (probably something to do with the reformation) so when Sir Richard Robartes bought the estate in 1620, he repaired it, putting a plaster panel of James I on the wall, indicating his loyalty to the crown. Fortunately the lovely Tudor porch still has its original wooden bosses, which are really lovely.

Wooden ceiling boss, St Hydroc

Out the front of the church is a lovely granite four-holed Cornish Cross probably carved in the 13th century. Overall it’s a pretty little church and not so crowded with all things Robartes as one would expect. Unlike the church at Petworth!

We’d had enough after the church so we hailed the chap in the vintage car to chauffeur us to the car park. It was very cold in the vintage car. So cold that the chap driving was forced to wear gloves. He told us about the snow that fell on Bodmin Moor last night.

We then set off for Restormel Castle near a town called Lostwithiel. The castle was built before the town, located above the valley of the River Fowey. It would have made a strong statement about the man who lived there. The castle remains that stand there now are the 14th century keep. The Black Prince (son of Edward III) once owned it though he only visited twice. At that time (late 1300s) it would have been lime washed a bright white surrounded by an extensive deer park. Its impressiveness, however, never amounted to much except, presumably in the minds of a few peasants.

By the 16th century it was in poor repair and fell into neglect and ruin. The tenant who worked the farm in the 18th century, incorporated the ruin into his romantic picturesque garden.

It’s the sort of castle that you can walk around and touch and really feel like you are part of history as it sits in the landscapes and slowly rots. So much better than a museum of a stately home full of rotten kids.

Restormel Castle, nr Lostwithiel

And you can climb all over it! The views from the top of the castle were magnificent, overlooking the sweeping valley. Mirinda managed to steel her nerves and climb the ramparts with me, peeking nervously through the castellations as she went.

The castle probably started life around the early 1100s, though no-one is really certain. There was a castle there in 1265 when Thomas de Tracy surrendered it to Simon de Montfort. For anyone who doesn’t know, de Montfort is basically responsible for the way that parliament works in the UK today.

Restormel was a pretty amazing place in the 14th century if the reconstruction in the guidebook is anything to go by. The only real military action the castle saw was during the Civil War when a parliamentary army led by Lord Essex retreated to it prior to his escape by boat. The royalists, led by Sir Richard Grenville, took it for the crown.

Queen Victoria visited Restormel with Albert in 1846. She said, among other things, that “…it was very picturesque…“. Her son, the future Edward VII also visited in 1865. It has been looked after by English Heritage since 1984. It was wonderful.

The ferocious wind blew us both back down the hill to Sidney and we trekked home to the cottage. It was freezing so a fire was ignited. Just as the place warmed up and started to feel comfy, it was off to the Fox & Hounds for dinner.

I can’t recommend this pub too highly. The food is fantastic, the service is great, it’s lovely and warm and they serve St Austell’s Tribute which is one of the top 50 beers in the world. And I have to agree. It is a brilliant beer. I’m going to get me some of that!

Dinner was lovely (Mirinda had the lamb shanks, I had the pork fillet) and we were soon full and sleepy. Back to the cottage to stoke up the fire and gradually drift off to sleep.

Lovely sleep-in until 9. Though my sleep was disturbed by the doona thief who hasn’t been around for a long time. Wind still blowing with a persistence most admirable, though the clouds have parted a bit and blue sky is peeping through. Also managed to glimpse the sun. Had a leisurely wake-up period then worked on my essays while Mirinda read her strange Japanese book.

Eventually we set out for Truro, the capital of Cornwall. It seems we have picked a good spot to stay as it’s in the middle of everything. Truro is just a short drive away. We were going to be very good and do the park & ride but the council doesn’t seem to feel the need to advertise it properly (if at all) so we drove into town and parked in the first car park we found.

It seems the council would rather charge you a lot for parking in the centre rather than use the park & ride. It was £4.30 for 4 hours. I think this is extortionate. Especially when there appears to be little alternative.

From the car park we wandered the lovely cobbled streets of the city, the cathedral very much in evidence where ever we trod. It’s quite a small and cute cathedral. It has been built on the site of St Mary’s church. The cathedral was built between 1880 & 1910. It was designed by John Loughborough Pearson who is included in the façade of the building as a statue holding the plans of the building. I have no idea if this was in his original design or if someone thought it would be a nice touch.

Approach to Truro cathedral

We were going to visit the cathedral but being Easter Friday, there was a bit of a thing happening out front with crosses and people in red dresses so we decided to find a coffee shop for morning tea.

After a bit of a wander looking for a chain (like Starbucks) we settled on La Bevanda, a small restaurant on the second floor of Casa Fina, a trendy design store. The coffee and toasted tea cake was lovely and I thought the surroundings were sweet. Mirinda said it was the most artificial flowers she’s ever seen in one place.

The plan was to then visit the cathedral. There was a three hour service going on at the cathedral so we decided to visit the Victoria Gardens instead. On the way, Mirinda thought it would be nice for me to visit the Royal Cornwall Museum, which specialises in geology and archaeology. It was a lovely thought but she was altogether too pleased that it was shut.

We also went to see the amazing little curved Georgian street of Walsingham Place. It is described as one of the gems of Truro. And it is very cute – if you ignore the multi-storey car park at the end.

The Victoria Gardens were very nice. The magnolias were all out and a few late spring plants were flowering in mostly reds. The sun was out – though it didn’t really stop being windy all day – and people were taking advantage of the warmth to lounge around on the grass.

We wandered through to the Royal Courts of Justice which were deserted yet open. The open area outside the building gave a wonderful view over Truro including the cathedral (of course).

Courts of justice, Truro

We ended up at a seafood restaurant near where the car was parked and had delicious seafood for lunch (sea bass for me and lemon sole for Mirinda). By the time we finished it was almost 3pm and time to get into the cathedral.

As the congregation filed out so the tourist hordes flowed in, led by us. Now this is irritating. There are signs saying how great the new, all colour guide book is. There’s even a copy safely in a glass cabinet. It looked great, just the sort of thing I’d buy. At the desk there was also a sign saying the guide book is available ONLY in the cathedral shop. Fair enough…except the cathedral shop is closed over Easter.

There’s a limit then to my ability to report on the building. There were lots of stained glass, depicting many saints and biblical scenes and two massive rose windows. One of them shows a scene with Giotto, Dante and Pope Innocent III. Beneath the seated figures there is the scene of Dante meeting Virgil which Giotto painted originally.

There is also an excellent window showing the beheading of Charles I. Given the relative youth of the cathedral, there is a lot of stained glass which is in perfect condition.

I wanted to have a look at the choir stalls, in case there were any misericords but I was ushered away by an officious usher as he closed it off with a tasselled rope. Obviously I should have visited the choir first! A sign at the door of the cathedral advised tourists that a photographic pass was required to take photographs. This could be obtained at the cathedral shop. So, no photos then. I’m glad I didn’t find a St Sebastien. I did manage to take a shot up the aisle. So phooey to them.

It was soon time to retrieve the car and set off for St Agnes. This was not planned. On the way, Mirinda said she wanted to see the sea. I suggested we try somewhere to the side of St Agnes then as it is a bit inland. We went through Goonvrea and down to Chapel Porth Beach. Down a long windy (and windy) narrow road we passed cars with what looked like soap suds on them. This seemed odd.

The area is owned by the National Trust – the chapel is in ruins and undergoing…well something. It was extremely windy. The sudsy foam above the water line which was occasionally picked up by the wind and deposited on the parked cars was, claimed Mirinda, a result of pollution. It looked very odd. Sort of like the overflow from a giant washing machine.

Sudsy water at Porth Chapel, Cornwall

We had a short walk around which Mirinda said was not exactly what she had in mind when she said she wanted to visit the sea. According to the tourist guide we have, this is supposed to be a typical Cornwall, picnic type beach. Today it certainly wasn’t.

Sidney easily made it back up the steep incline (bringing up memories of poor old Neville and that horrid climb up the hill at Dittisham all those years ago) and we headed back to Caraharack.

Before heading back to the cottage we stopped off at the odd Gwennap Pit. This is a deep depression in the ground created when the roof of a mine collapsed back in the dim dark years. By the 1760s the bare rocks had become covered by grass, forming a natural amphitheatre. John Wesley, the first Methodist visited in 1762 and claimed it as his own though he conceded that it was made by God. After that he visited 18 times up until 1789, always on a Sunday and drawing larger and larger crowds. He said “I think this is the most magnificent spectacle which is to be seen on this side of heaven.” I assume from this that he hadn’t seen the Himalayas, the Grand Canyon or Uluhru.

Gwennap pit, Cornwall

OK, it’s pretty cool and the sound carries rather well but it IS just a big hole in the ground which someone has terraced so people can sit and sing, or pray, or just meditate in relative comfort. Actually a bunch of local mine captains (whatever the hell they are) remodelled the hole so it now has 12 rows of seats. They may call them seats. They are steps.

Apparently if you walk completely around every ring all the way to the bottom then all the way back to the top, you will have walked a mile. Also, it seats 1500 butts comfortably. Don’t get me wrong, I rather enjoyed this odd little place and I did feel a lot more welcome than I did in Truro cathedral.

From here it was a short hop back to the cottage to write up and be entertained by Mirinda’s guitar practice.

Having had a big lunch, we settled down to biscuits and cheese for dinner and watched a movie about kidnapping called Man on Fire. It had it’s moments.

The shower is total, unadulterated, crap. There are three controls which seem not to work. The list of items on the page that comes with the welcome pack for the cottage, indicates it’s a power shower. If this is so then it’s broken. There is NO power. In fact the tap in the kitchen sink is more powerful.

At first, the temperature was unbearably hot. A few twiddles of the useless knobs meant this quickly turned to unbearably cold. I put everything back to the way it was and left it to run for a bit. Eventually the temperature levelled out to something comfortable. So I stood under the trickle and had a far from ideal shower.

I just have to discuss the toaster. I know I rarely comment on the kitchen supplies but this little fella has me mystified. I bought a standard, regulation size loaf of sliced bread. Mainly for toasting as I realise a lot of toasters aren’t happy with the oversized loaves you can buy. Anyway, this morning I took out two slices and tried to put them in the toaster. Guess what? They don’t fit. The opening is not big enough to take the width of a slice of bread. If you stand it on its end it fits but, of course, a big bit of the bread sits above the toaster and subsequently misses out. I managed to squeeze it in but, basically, you need to cut off one of the crusts in order for it to sit properly. I have no idea what size bread this toaster was made for unless it’s those tiny little loaves they make in France. Or perhaps it’s actually for making croutons.

We lit a fire as the temperature outside was still pretty cool. There was a high, brisk wind blowing. This did mean that the views were pretty far reaching. We could see the sea in both directions.

After a morning spent working on my essays, we set off for a visit to Trerice, a National Trust property on the way to Newquay. Before hitting the A30 we stopped off at the Caraharack Feed Store in order to pick up a couple of trees for the fire.

Trerice is an Elizabethan manor house sitting in a peaceful wooded valley. It was owned by the Arundell family for nearly 500 years. It passed to the Acland family in the mid 18th century when the Arundells died out.

The view of the back of Trerice

The Aclands sold it in either 1815 or 1915 – the guidebook goes a bit awry here so I’m not sure if it’s a typo or just badly written – very unusual for the National Trust, I might add. In 1919 it was purchased by the Cornwall County Council and subsequently, the land was divided into individual farms. In 1953 it was bought by the National Trust.

Trerice is thought to mean ‘the settlement by the ford’ but no-one knows for sure. There is a ford there, though it isn’t as important as it was in the late 16th century when the Arundell’s rebuilt the manor house.

Naturally, before starting our tour of the house, we visited the tearooms for tea, coffee, sandwiches and cake. Suitably refreshed – it did take us half an hour to get there, after all – we set off into the house.

There is a magnificent Great Hall with a massive oak table – this is the only piece of furniture that is original to the house. I think this is because no-one could get it out. It really is very big. Nowadays it is liberally scattered with various things you can pick up and fiddle with including leather tankards, a helmet, a long bow and some family brasses.

The plasterwork is fantastic. The work around the fireplace was the height of fashion in 1572 when it was made. The male and female terms (‘terms’ are carved or plaster images created for the tops of columns which stand either side of rather large fireplaces), however, look a bit modern and completely out of place. They’re not, by the way.

We wandered through the house, admiring everything. Especially the clocks. It’s a little known fact that all the clocks in England come here to die. We saw and heard them all. Some clever person (with a wicked sense of humour) has set them all a minute apart so they seem to chime continuously.

The Great Chamber had a very impressive tapestry hanging on one wall but nowhere does it tell me what it depicts. It has a woman holding a man’s head but it’s not Salome. I think it’s probably Judith with the head of Holoferne. It is not mentioned in the guidebook, there was no postcard of it in the shop and, of course, you can’t take a photo of it. If I’m unable to find any information on it. I have sent them an email and await information. [I received a reply which stated that it was, in fact, Judith with the head of Holoferne.]

After the house we wandered around the garden. We checked out the Tudor vegetable garden which looked very similar to a cemetery and the squirt, a strange Tudor version of the sprinkler. There was no water in it today, however.

We felt we just HAD to visit the lawn mower museum. This is a long room full of lawn mowers. Not much more I can say about that, actually.

The mower museum at Trerice with Mirinda leaving

Reaching the upper garden we had a brief game of Elizabethan bowling which Mirinda won by breaking my toe with the ball. The wind was blowing so hard, it was pretty tricky getting the skittles to stay standing in the first place. We didn’t play for long. Actually we only had one go each.

Before leaving Trerice, Mirinda tried the lemon meringue pie (not very good) and I tasted a Betty Stogs from Skinner’s brewery (VERY good). Let me tell you the true story of Betty Stogs, as related to me by my beer bottle:

Betty Stogs was a native of West Cornwall. She was unkempt and lazy, could never mend her stockings, couldn’t knit or cook and liked a drop of ale [sounds like a weasel]. Her child was taken from her by the ‘little people’, washed in the morning dew and returned. The shock of which turned Betty into a reformed character. Sort of!!

We then travelled back to Kitts Cottage.

We hunkered down for the night against the ferocious wind which seems to permanently blow around the cottage. Soon the fire was blazing and I had tea on the stove. Lamb chops, mash & peas. Loving the kitchen but missing gas (already). Mirinda serenaded me with her third guitar. It all felt very rustic. Well, apart from the electricity and running water.

We watched The Thomas Crown Affair – Pierce Brosnan being his suave self while Rene Russo worked way too hard trying to be sexy and then failed – then to bed. And the howling wind lulled us to sleep.

It’s actually not true about the clocks at Trerice being set a minute apart…but wouldn’t it be brilliant!

Set off from Farnham at 10:30, deciding not to stop for a lunch break at the park like last time. Instead we sped off, passing the park, passing Odiham (wondering as we passed why we no longer go to Next Door at the George) and onto the M5 for a few junctions.

The whole journey was very smooth and traffic free. Even Stonehenge whizzed by. We stopped a few times (once to buy milk, once to have a very late breakfast at Little Chef) but made very good time. It was just as we reached Dartmoor that Mirinda decided she needed a break – the fact that she was dropping off to sleep at the wheel was a bit of giveaway.

We left the A30 and headed down a small road looking for a little pleasant village. Eventually we found a turnoff to Castle Drogo – a National Trust property – and figured they’d have a nice place to have a cuppa. Unfortunately this little track, primarily meant for small goats and rabbits, is the main route for the Moretonhampstead bus (the road is so narrow that the town name, Moretonhampstead on the front of the bus, has to be written as “Mo’ed”). We would never have known this except we almost ran into it at the top of the hill. Naturally he wasn’t going anywhere so poor Mirinda was forced to reverse all the way down the sunken, twisty, turny, lane – fortunately we didn’t meet anyone else coming up – until we reached a small gate, with just enough room to squeeze Sidney in.

Naturally Mirinda was not very pleasant about the stupidity of any bus company to use a track for a route. Anyway, we had a cup of tea then climbed back into the car, managed a 15 point turn and drove back to the main road.

We arrived at Caraharack and followed the amazingly descriptive but deadly accurate instructions to find the cottage. We managed to locate the well hidden key and decamped from the car to the cottage.

The small house was once a tinner’s cottage, though it was a lot smaller then. The entire back half of the cottage has been added – that will be the bathroom and the kitchen. It was bitterly cold because the whole place is just four walls of stone. Think cave and you’re on the right track. We lit the fire and it started (very slowly) to warm up.

It was then off to find some supplies. We ended up at a Morrisons where we spent far too much on stuff we’ll never use. Then back to sup on lovely roast chicken and salad finished off with a custard tart.

The TV isn’t very good – it depends on rabbit ears – and the inbuilt DVD player refuses to play the DVDs I recorded before leaving home. Bugger. I prepared 11 DVDs so we’d had enough to watch. I also tried using our portable DVD player but, again, it refused. Damn stupid technology.

Fortunately the radio DOES work so we sat and listed to the Moral Maze then some programme about Easter – good old Radio 4.

The cottage supplies a hot water bottle which is very hot and does not really need boiling water as it scolds the feet. We heaped about 30 blankets on the bed and soon snuggled off to sleep.