Cornwall, Lost Gardens, Pubs and Splendid Ruins

We'er up early in Valerie's household today 'cause we are off to the end of England, to Land's End via some interesting places, she assures us. Our destination for the day is Mousehole, very near Penzance and "only" 130 km distant but meandering through the laneways we will go.

Leaving Plymouth on the A38 we soon get out into the country, then, like Everest, for no other reason than it's there, we turn onto the A387, and end up passing through a small village, Hessenford, on the River Seaton. "It should be called Seatonford, not Hessenford, surely" I remark to myself , but perhaps that village name was taken up many years back. A quick Google query turns up only "Seaton Ford Dealership". Whatever! Across the bridge, we spy The Copley Arms, a typical riverside village pub complete with beer garden beside the gurgling River Seaton. The two Vals, with one voice, shout "Morning Coffee...we need coffee!!!"  "Is it too early for a little something on the side?" Valerie queries. From previous experience we know that this is code for "Lets enjoy a wee cognac with our coffee."

Val, Valerie and Bryan in the Italian Garden

Now suitably fortified, we head off to The Lost Gardens of Heligan,  not far from Mevagissey.  The gardens, first laid out in 1770,  were part of the 1000 acre Heligan House estate owned by the Tremayne family. Before WW1, 22 gardeners were employed in the gardens. Of these, 16 were killed in the trenches! In the 1920s Master Jack, unmarried and the last of this Tremayne branch, went off to live in Italy. Over the following decades the gardens fell into a serious state of neglect and were lost to sight.

Rediscovered in the 1990s, the restoration of 200 acres is an ongoing work and the award-winning garden restoration is internationally acclaimed.

In 2010, Val and I in company with Valerie and Paul spent a wonderful two hours exploring the glorious old gardens, admiring the restoration taking place. Today, 2020, work has greatly progressed and the beauty of kitchen gardens, orchards, flower gardens, crystaline hothouses, old walls and mysterious gates is simply magnificent. It's May, lusty, glorious May, when Spring is in the air and gardens blossom. Julie Andrews sings. (Take time when you visit Julie to check out the male costumes in the film...they seem so corny, but Burton does make a splendid Arthur.)

We are off to our night's accommodation in the village and fishing port of Mousehole, only a lazy lizard's crawl from our target, the end of land in merry England. Poetic Licence to the fore; its 90km but over two hours via our B3289 route so we have to hurry. We cross the River Fal on the King Harry Ferry, one of only four chain ferries in England and arrive at Mousehole to the clickerty clack of the sticks of a Cornish Morris troupe. Take a peek here at the troupe, complete with the unique traditional pheasant feather costume of Cornish Morris dancers.

In the pic, our pub is right on the waterside of the small harbour. Many of you, dear readers will no doubt know that Mousehole is pronounced "Muzzle" as in dog's muzzle. If one says "Mousehole" quickly in our comical and inaccurate imitation of a Cornish accent with one's mouth screwed up, it does sound something like "muzzle".

Our pub, The Ship Inn, is harbourside above the beached boat

A long day, time to eat etc etc. Valerie went for Fresh Local Mussels, Ian had the Homemade Fish Pie (sounded delicious) and for Val and I, the Golden Wholetail Scampi. We all complimented our food with several tankards of dark Old Mout Cider and ended up sounding a bit like tourists trying to sing in Corn speak. (Now, none of you thought for one minute that you weren't  going to get the Wurzels pitched your way, did you?)

Next day: Today we visited one of our trip's goals, Land's End Cornwall. What a shock! The actual land's end is a theme park, an amusement park to trap tourists: eating places, shopping and pay-as-you-go "attractions". Entry is free but one must pay for parking and pay for food and the attractions and the farm visit and even pay to take a selfie under the signpost. Nope, give that a big miss. So much for fish 'n chips at Land's End.

However, walking along the nearby clifftops in the stiff breeze is an experience in itself.

So, it's off to our night's accommodation at Tintagel, quite a drive but I expect there will be appropriate pit stops  (with a wee bit on the side?) along the way.

Tonight we indulge! We are taking self-indulgent delight in the 'Queen Room with Sea Views" at the rather grand Camelot Castle Hotel. A grand four poster bed with in a grand room with grand views.

At a mere $341 per night, breakfast included, its a steal.....isn't it??? Somewhat over our travelling budget but why not....Val and I don't expect to pass by this way again. So Just do it.

And "no" Ian you can't sleep on the couch, get your own room, please.

Val outside the Post Office in Tintagel Village

Ah, Tintagel. The spectacular fortified ruins on Tintagel island peninsular are pure magic, forever associated with King Arthur. Occupied in Romano-British times. Merlin's cave🌙. King Uther Pendragon. The illicit conception of Arthur by Uther. Owned by Charles, Prince of Whales through the Duchy of Cornwall.

Uther Pendragon, now that's what I call a ✨Name of Power♆; he claimed to be king of all Britain after the withdrawal of the Legions, a claim hotly disputed by other warlords I should think. However, archaeologists do agree that the castle was occupied by a powerful warlord or even Dumnonian royalty.

If you, dear reader, experience a yearning to visit this beautiful area of Somerset be sure to take in Glastonbury Tor (158m above sea level), also the remains of Glastonbury Abbey (where it is claimed King Arthur and Queen Guinevere were buried, a claim that did wonders to revive the ailing pilgrim trade) and Cadbury Castle, a massive hill fort (153m above sea level), and formally known as Camelet. Take that as you will.   When in the area, imagine that the whole lowland area was a semi-water land of fens and marshes, fogs and wailing winds, as indeed it was in the medieval era.

Bye, Bye....we are dropping Valerie off at Plymouth and then heading North. See you in Scotland

Dear Valerie, thank you greatly😂 for your gracious hospitality...love and virtual hugs from Val and me and Ian!🙋