[the overperfumed Egyptian House, Penzance] Last time we came to Penzance it blew a gale the whole time, and the overpowering perfume which rose up to our flat in the Egyptian House from the Lush-style soap shop below contributed to us leaving early. But we knew we liked this part of Cornwall and wanted to come back and stay in a less breathtakingly scented place. So we have spent the week in Newlyn, just along from Penzance, with the delightful smell of a honeysuckle hedge outside the front door - and the occasional waft of sea and fish.
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.
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 !)
I really enjoyed hearing about Winifred Nicholson again. She is the master of combining a floral still life on a window sill with a beautiful landscape in the background!
Urgh I loathe those places that wantonly waft smells into the air - can’t abide Lush, and Penhaligans in Bath is just as bad.
Aged 10 my mum was evacuated from Cable St in London to Hayle, with a school of older children and no one she knew. 2 years there unable to see her family left her traumatised for life, despite the kindness of the two families she lived with. No doubt an experience shared by many others in those dark times. But I love Cornwall and that part of it especially.
What a lovely seaside, so like the ones I knew in Florida in the early 1960s before hotels and resorts crowded out sea grapes and the sweet rhythm of waves washing the sand….I wish to be the lovely maid in “Summer” …… and frozen in a moment of softness and colour…..
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.
'
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 !)
I really enjoyed hearing about Winifred Nicholson again. She is the master of combining a floral still life on a window sill with a beautiful landscape in the background!
Urgh I loathe those places that wantonly waft smells into the air - can’t abide Lush, and Penhaligans in Bath is just as bad.
Aged 10 my mum was evacuated from Cable St in London to Hayle, with a school of older children and no one she knew. 2 years there unable to see her family left her traumatised for life, despite the kindness of the two families she lived with. No doubt an experience shared by many others in those dark times. But I love Cornwall and that part of it especially.
What a lovely seaside, so like the ones I knew in Florida in the early 1960s before hotels and resorts crowded out sea grapes and the sweet rhythm of waves washing the sand….I wish to be the lovely maid in “Summer” …… and frozen in a moment of softness and colour…..
I so agree re the train from St Erth. An absolutely marvellous journey
Hi Jane, I have just arrived in Valencia and your writing has given me a very strong urge to race off to Cornwall !!
Happy Sunday xx