OVERNIGHT PLYMOUTH – prisons, smugglers & legends
Tuesday – our breakfast restaurant is right at the top of the hotel and we get some great views albeit blurred a bit because the windows are a bit grimy – nevertheless this does not deter our spirits as we have an exciting day ahead of us.
Unfortunately two of our group have left us due to illness in the family back home – but on the up side this means that I can finally get a seat to myself and s-p-r-e-a-d out.
On the road and we see Dartmoor Prison. This is a place for rather nasty convicts who must be ever imagining ways to get away from there but on the other hand I can understand why no-one escapes. Where on earth would they go? It’s not as if there is a railway or a bus stop close by. Not even a Maccas!
Yes I know that one is hard to believe but after scanning all directions no Golden Arches (but I am sure there will be in time). There are only desolate moors – and doom and gloom in this area. However, there are some long horned hairy cattle here but yep – I am on the wrong side and miss the photo. I guess me and the cattle just ain’t meant to be.
On to Bodmin Moor – another very eerie place. I can imagine what this would be like in Winter – bleak and desolate, with howling winds swirling around a la Heathcliffe and Kathy in Wuthering Heights. Ghostly voices moaning in the dark – – driving rain – – definitely not a place for man or beast – – but I digress – as Paul says. I have digressed for the past 23 days of this journey so one more day won’t hurt.
Next stop – ‘Jamaica Inn’ which has stood high on Bodmin Moor for over four centuries. Cornwall’s legendary coaching house and refuge for smugglers.
If the name sounds familiar it is because it was immortalised by Daphne du Maurier in her book of the same name. In 1939 Alfred Hitchcock made the book into a movie starring Charles Laughton and Maureen O’Hara. Unfortunately the movie did not fare well.
As I stand outside, my imagination takes off again – – back with the ferocious Winters on the moors with smugglers up to no good plotting and planning and drinking rum – murder and mayhem – ships being driven onto the wild coastline – my imagination is going faster than a speeding bullet – – – I just love it!
After acquiring the obligatory souvenirs and taking ‘moor’ photos (sorry) – it is time to get back on the coach and head off – – for King Arthur Country.
Driving, driving we arrive at Tintagel on the west coast of Cornwall and see the legendary King Arthur’s Castle. Now it’s up to each individual to assess the situation and decide if this is really Camelot. For me – yes it is. Let’s just say it is the romantic in me – along with my overactive imagination. Any minute now Richard Harris is going to turn up singing the songs from the movie. I am already doing it!
For those of you who do not have a sense of the fairy tale – here is the boring truth. The castle was built around 1240 by Earl Richard of Cornwall. It sits high on a hill-top surrounded by crumpled slate cliffs and yawning black caves. Access is by means of two steep staircases clinging to the cliff side. Unfortunately we do not go there – we just look.
Tennyson made Merlin’s Cave (above right) famous in his Idylls of King Arthur. He described waves bringing the infant Arthur to the shore, and Merlin carrying him to safety. Local legend has long associated this cave with Merlin and Arthur.
Merlin’s Cave is on the right side of the rock at Tintagel (if you are standing facing the sea). It is very atmospheric, and one might indeed imagine Merlin approaching, with his staff held up to light up the darkness of the cave. The steps down to the cave have been washed away and are blocked off. The only way down today is to clamber down the rocks to the beach. The cave fills with water at high tide, but has a sandy floor and can be explored at low tide. The cave goes all the way through the rock, and there is a smaller cave off it that can be entered on the southern side.
Lots of photos of the castle, the bay and the ocean and we stay in Tintagel for lunch – so what do you eat for lunch in Cornwall? Give up? A Cornish Pastie of course. Full of meat and vegetables. I think it must have been the grand-daddy of the pastie in York. It is huge and I can’t eat it all at once so I’ll save some for later. Those Cornish people must have huge appetites. A fact on the pastie is that it was taken by the working men to have during the day. Not washing their hands the crumpled edge was the part they held while pigging out on the filling. Then they threw the crust away.
There is lots to see walking around this quaint village, interesting bric-a-brac shops – everything on King Arthur that you could imagine and I spy the old Post Office.
HISTORY LESSON : The Old Post Office is a rare example of a 14th century Cornish manor house, restored and furnished with 17th century oak furniture. It’s life as a post office began in the 19th century, when Sir Rowland Hill’s introduction of the Penny Postage in 1840 led to the improvement of postal services in remote country places like Tintagel.
Until this time, letters for the village had to be collected from Camelford, five miles away. By 1844 the village and surrounding parish were generating 125 letters per week, and so the General Post Office decided to establish a Letter Receiving Office for the district. A room was rented from the owner of the old manor house and a Letter Receiving Office set up. From the 1870s it was run by William Cobbledick Balkwill, who was also the local draper and grocer.
Today has been another fabulous adventure – full of history, legends and galloping imagination and then it is back to the hotel to relax and get ready for –
#15 OPTIONAL: Plymouth Pub meal – Cost ₤24.00
This is our last night together and we have all taken this optional – so it’s on the coach and off we go. We are having dinner at a pub called The Who’d Have Thought It?’
It is tucked away at the bottom of a rather steep and narrow driveway and as good a driver as Kenny is – he is not allowed to take the coach down there so we can either walk or get the pub shuttle car. I opt for the walk down.
I understand why the coach is not allowed down there – overhanging trees and there it is – what a cute little place. There is a little stream out the back of the pub – I can imagine that this place would be fabulous in winter – with snow maybe and a roaring fire and hot buttered rum. Here I go again!
We settle down to some good food and drink and spend the time merrily chatting about the tour and what a great time we have all had. Everyone agrees it was a fabulous time!
At the end of the night – a few of us brave souls decide to walk back up the hill – another big mistake! Pitch black and lots of giggling and carrying on – not to mention heavy breathing and the sound of protesting knees that have seen better days. This was not a good idea. Too late.
We collapse on the coach and head off home to Plymouth. Needless to say I crash immediately my head hits the pillow – – a sound night’s sleep – –
Highlight of the day : Bodmin Moor and wild imaginations!