It was eight years ago last weekend when I officially moved to Cornwall. I enjoyed many holidays here when I was a child, but it was thanks to my parents’ decision to relocate to Redruth that brought me to this pleasant and beautiful county. So, at the age of eighteen, I packed my belongings and made the almost two hundred and seventy mile journey from the West Midlands to my new home. Believe me when I say that I don’t regret it. How can I when I have such wonderful beaches on my doorstep?
Portreath is just three miles away. Being my most local beach, I travel there on an almost daily basis, and it’s a great location for walking my dogs. The sunsets in the summer are amazing to behold. The sea is so warm and clear, it’s ideal for snorkelling if you want to catch a glimpse of crabs, fish, starfish . . . a seal or two. If you’re even luckier, a pod of dolphins might also pass by.
There’s a few castles in Cornwall too. This one is Carn Brea, with Redruth town in the background. It’s situated on top of a hill, which on a clear summer’s day, you can stand upon and pretty much see the whole of the county. Rebuilt as a hunting lodge for the Basset family in the 18th century, it’s now a privately owned restaurant. The only electricity is in the kitchen, so the diners eat by candle light. My partner treated me to such a wonderful meal here, and if any of you happen to be in my neck of the woods, then I recommend giving it a try.
As I was going to St. Ives, I met a man with seven wives.
Each wife had seven sacks.
Each sack had seven cats.
Each cat had seven kits.
Kits, cats, sacks, and wives . . . how many were going to St. Ives?
I’m not terribly fond of the town, to be honest. In the summer, you can barely move for all the tourists. My memories of St. Ives involve being dragged around the harbours, up and down hills, stumbling on the cobbles of the narrow back streets on swelteringly hot days. Winter in Cornwall is so peaceful. I walk my dogs on the beach on Christmas day and I’m the only person inhabiting the area; three miles of golden sands all to myself. The long walks and the solitude sure help the story ideas to build.
In my most recent novel, Waves Of Healing, I briefly mentioned Hell’s Mouth. There is a café situated across the road from the cliff’s edge, but it’s the beauty spot itself that draws the eye of locals and tourists alike. Perhaps for its name, or the fact that Hell’s Mouth is sometimes the final destination for those who feel they can’t go on. I stopped by there two weeks ago to take these pictures, and believe me when I say that anyone brave enough to step so close to the edge must have been a desperate soul. The image below is as close as I dared to go.
This was almost at high tide. When the sea is out, there’s nothing but rocks below. Scary thought, huh?
During my travels two weeks ago, I drove to the most southern point of the UK. You can’t go any further south from Cornwall without getting your feet wet. It’s widely believed that Land’s End is the most southern tip of Great Britain, but that isn’t true. It’s actually Lizard Point. I have no idea why it’s called Lizard, since really it’s just a lighthouse, a few cafés, and a car park. However, I did pass this rather amusing vandalised sign on my way down the narrow road leading there.
N. Wood is a budding young author living in Cornwall, United Kingdom. She first developed an interest in writing at the age of nine when her poetry was first published. Since then, she has moved onto writing both short stories and novels focusing on gay romantic themes.
All photos – N. Wood