Here in Cornwall, they have a pretty conclusive schedule of water transport options to get from one side of the Fal to the other. Sadly, none of them operate if there is a breath of wind or the merest sprinkle of rain. According to one woman in Flushing, they’ve all turned into a bunch of wimps. There once was a time when even the thickest of fog wouldn’t have deterred them. Pathetic, is a word I think I used.
And so we had to get a land cab to take us from Flushing back to the cottage. Of course, normally, we’d have walked the 20 miles back, around the head, to Mylor Churchtown then up and over the hill to the cottage…but we were wet and cold and miserable and figured a taxi was what was required above all else. And she was a lovely taxi driver.
The reason we were in Flushing was due to an administrative error. Admiral Stockwell had decreed we should up sticks and head down to Mylor Churchtown in order to see what was there. Bob had already been on his early morning jaunt (as a sort of recce) so he knew the danger was minimal. And, to be fair, the weather was fine…a bit grey but this is Britain nearing autumn. So we set off.
The hill was steep but the distance short so the walk was quite pleasant. The best bit is that it passes directly through the churchyard of St Mylor, which not only has a pretty impressive lychgate, complete with a coffin rest and a very long pedigree, dating back to around 410AD, it also has a memorial to HMS Ganges.
Ganges memorial
HMS Ganges was a training ship from 1866. The memorial honours the 53 boys who died during training between 1866 and 1899. The Ganges was a laid up wooden ship, slowly rotting and the RN decided she would make an excellent training vessel. She was brought to Mylor and became home to 14,000 boys during the 33 years she was here.
Most of the boys died of diseases like measles and flu, so nothing too heroic, however, eight of them died as a result of onboard accidents. Then, in 1899, the Ganges was moved from Mylor to Harwich where she continued to be used as a training ship up until 1976.
Being a Sunday, I didn’t have a look inside the church (I’ll pop back in later) and hurried on to meet up with Mirinda and Bob as we emerged at Mylor Harbour.
While there’s a lot of boats, there’s not a lot to Mylor Harbour. Well, to be fair, there’s three restaurants and a yacht club but that’s about it. There’s also a water taxi. There is also supposed to be a shuttle boat from Mylor to Falmouth but we could see no evidence of it. Drifting by Mylor, we, at some stage, decided to march around the headland towards Flushing.
It was somewhere between Mylor Harbour and Flushing that the sheeting rain started. Bob had been wondering what sheeting rain was since hearing about it and, I guess, he found out first hand.
There was a wonderful moment on our walk when Bob drew alongside a woman in wholly inappropriate footwear and said “Nice weather for it!” or something similar. She jumped a mile. I was about 20 feet behind and saw the whole thing. It was very funny. As I drew alongside her, I gave a jolly clear and loud warning of “No need to jump! Person passing.” Which just made her laugh, I’m happy to say.
We found a pub in Flushing. It’s not the biggest of places (though it certainly has more houses than Mylor Harbour) but has a general store, a pub and a restaurant on a wharf. The pub is the Seven Stars and was perfect for a couple of pints of beer, a pint of perry and a lovely lunch of ham, eggs and chips. (I reckon I could fill a book with the pubs I’ve had ham, egg and chips in.)
We sat and watched the wind and rain lash the pub windows but, eventually, we had to leave. The barman had told us that the ferry to Falmouth left every half an hour from the wharf down the road. So we headed out, back into the wispy rainy street, and found the ferry time table at the end of the wharf. We still had 15 minutes so we decided to have a latte at the cafe on the wharf.
When we rose and went outside, we met a lady who asked if we were going to catch the ferry. Bob said yes and she indicated a boat moored across from us. She told us that it was the ferry. It didn’t look like it was going anywhere. I went back and looked at the timetable. Someone had decided the weather was too dangerous to be on the water. A sign had been added saying there were no more ferries.
I have to say that Captain Jack Aubrey would be sorely disappointed with any British sailors who were afraid of a tiny little swell and a bit of misty rain. It was truly pathetic. Tough men of the sea? I think not. No wonder Britannia no longer rules the waves.
If I give them the benefit of the doubt, perhaps they just wanted to go home to an early Sunday evening of crap TV.
Anyway, Mirinda then found out that the marine taxi was also not operating (perhaps they’re related) so we were forced to take a land taxi (that’ll be a car) back to the cottage. The taxi driver was a very entertaining lady who told us about her local shop that won’t let you buy more than one loaf of bread because ‘someone else may want the other one.’
The rest of the day was spent in restful repose (and a granny nap for me), out of the chilly weather and, relatively, warm.
Eventually, we set off, back down to Mylor Harbour for a delicious pizza dinner at the Castaway’s Wine Bar. The walk back, in the dark, through the ancient graveyard and over rubbly ground, was a pleasant experience, especially given it was not raining or windy and there was an almost full moon, casting our shadows before us.
