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Catherineap's avatar

I've only been fortunate enough to visit Cornwall once, as I live in the US. I remember standing on the cliffs by a disused tin mine in the pouring rain and it was glorious!

Betjeman beautifully describes a train journey to the sea, though not perhaps at Cornwall, in his essay "Winter at Home":

"The train from London will be fairly empty. By the time evening has set in there will be hardly anyone in it at all, for the larger towns on the way to the sea will have taken off most of the passengers. What started as an express will have turned into a local train,, stopping at oil-lit stations while the gale whistles in the ventilators of empty carriages. Standing out white on a blue glass ground will appear the names of wayside stations and, reflected in a puddle, the light of a farmer's car in the yard will sparkle beyond the platform fence.

Then we will go on into the windy dark until at last there is a station slightly more important than those we have passed, lit with gas instead of oil, and that is mine. I shall hear the soft local accent, smell the salt in the wet and warmer air and descry through the lines of rain that lace the taxi-driver's windscreen,, the bulks of houses that were full and formidable in summer and now have not a light in any of their windows.

'

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Chickenlicken's avatar

Perfect Sunday reading as we’re on our way to Cornwall ... thank you Jane ( btw have tried the night riviera, very jiggly and a bit cramped , like camping on a train and it unfortunately broke down . BUT we were brought our ordered breakfast to the door by the train porter which more than made up for the breakdown !)

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