Scenic Saturday - Cornwall

Pointing out into the Atlantic in the far south-west of England is the county of Cornwall. Separated from Devon and the rest of the country by the River Tamar, which forms almost the entire county boundary, Cornwall is almost an island. Along with Wales, it was the area into which the last of the Celts were driven by the Saxons and, as a result, many "true" Cornishmen consider themselves a race apart. With its own ancient language and place names frequently starting "Tre" or "Pol", it is certainly distinct from the rest of England. It has many similarities with Brittany in France, among them the distinction of being the only two places to have an official flag in black and white. Another similarity is that Cornwall has an island named St Michael's Mount while, although officially in Normandy, Mont St Michel could claim to be in Brittany.

Cornwall means many things to many people. It's sandy beaches make it one of the favourite holiday destinations of many English people not wanting to go abroad, while others regard it as King Arthur - he of the Round Table - country. Tintagel Castle, high on the rugged north coast, is rumoured to have been the home of the fabled king, while Dozmary Pool in Bodmin Moor is said to be the lake into which he instructed Sir Bedivere to cast his sword, Excalibur.

The county was also the scene of some of England's earliest mining operations - tin, copper, zinc, lead and iron. Tin mining was abandoned only in 1998 and abandoned engine houses are a common sight. It was the tin miners' wives who first produced Cornish pasties which provided a substantial meal for their men while underground. China clay is still quarried near St Austell. Also near St Austell, in an abandoned quarry, is the Eden Project.

Along the south coast are many picture-postcard fishing villages such as Polperro and Mousehole, while the rivers Fal and Helford provide excellent safe sailing. Beyond the Helford River is the Lizard peninsula with the Lizard itself being England's most southerly point. Westwards, we travel through Penzance to Land's End, England's most westerly point. Off shore are the Isles of Scilly (pronounced "silly", not "skilly", and never the Scilly Isles!)

The north coast has it's sandy beaches - Newquay is a surfers' Mecca - but also tiny fishing villages, such as Boscastle, located at the mouths of rivers.

And so to this week's picture, which is of the Lizard.

Is this the end of summer?

It seems scarcely possible that only last weekend I watched children paddling in the sea on a beautifully warm afternoon. Now there is a definite touch of autumn in the morning air. Madam is thinking of changing to the winter duvet on our bed as, for the first time since last winter, the temperature fell to single figures last night. That's single figures Celsius of course. It was cool enough for me to wear a thin fleece when walking the dog this morning rather than the thinner windcheater I have been wearing recently. There are still flowers in the garden (of course) but the apples and pears are ripening fast. Fern, our dog, has discovered a taste for the windfall pears, although she leaves the apples alone. The fruit has given rise to a certain looseness at the end opposite her mouth, so she has had rice for supper all this week. We have now taken to clearing the pear windfalls rather quicker than we were doing!

Eileen Nearne, MBE

Like the vast majority of people in this country, I had never heard of Eileen Nearne until Tuesday. It's not really surprising as she was a spinster living alone in Torquay. She died earlier this month and, as there were no known relatives, the local council is arranging her funeral. But her secret emerged: she was a World War II heroine, having been sent into occupied France to work as a wireless operator for the resistance. Captured and tortured, she refused to give any information and was sent to Ravensbruck concentration camp and later a forced labour camp - from which she escaped. All this was reported in the national press (see the Telegraph's article here). The council has now been inundated with enquiries about the funeral and has been forced to move it to a larger church as so many people have expressed the intention of attending to pay their respects. The Royal British Legion will be there and it is reported that there will be a military presence.

I will not be at the funeral but am proud to pay my respects to a courageous woman through the means of this blog.

70 years on

Today marks the 70th anniversary of the end of the Battle of Britain which raged from July to September 1940 in the skies above (mainly) south-east England, although Winston Churchill's famous words, 'Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few', were actually spoken on almost a month earlier on 20 August. Despite this, it is generally agreed that the end of the battle occurred on 15 September when two massive waves of German attacks were decisively repulsed by the RAF and the date became known as Battle of Britain Day.

Things today could have been so different. Hitler had made plans for the invasion of Britain but needed air superiority before launching Operation Sea Lion. Had the Luftwaffe succeeded in beating the RAF, goodness knows what might have happened.

The picture, which I stole from an unsuspecting source,
shows a Spitfire off Beachy Head, Sussex.

Update

Someone took pity on me as when I unloaded the dishwasher, all the crocks and cutlery were clean. Baling out didn't take too long, either. And the new machine will be delivered Thursday morning. Better still, the Old Bat paid for it.

Bang!

I had walked the dog and was sitting quietly in the kitchen with a cup of coffee - well, I was quiet, but the washing machine and dishwasher were both thumping away - when BANG!, a blue flash flew out of the dishwasher and it went silent. Now we have to unload the full machine, no doubt wash and dry all the crockery and cutlery, and then bale out all the water sitting in the bottom. I think a trip to the electrical store is on the cards for this afternoon.

Dog days

Or, more accurately, French dogs' days.

OK, so I'm a dog person. I know not everybody is, but I find that very often dogs are preferable to humans so I am. But to get to the point. The French seem, in general, to treat their dogs in two distinctly different ways. In the country, especially on farms, they are often kept outside and usually chained up although they are sometimes kept in a cage-like pen or run. Just how often these creatures are allowed to run across the fields or through the woods is something I have never been able to find out, but as they seem to be kept mainly as guard dogs, I suspect that their exercise is severely limited.

Things tend to be different in the towns, where most of the dogs are small and are allowed everywhere. It is not unusual to see them in clothes shops (Who on earth would want to take a dog with them when they are shopping for clothes?) or even restaurants. Which brings me (finally) to the point. While eating at Buffalo Grill in Calais last Saturday, we spotted three people with a dog in a nearby booth. Two people were sitting on the banquette on one side of the table, the third person was on the banquette opposite - with the dog sitting up to the table beside her. What's more, she was feeding the dog some of her dessert, an ice-cream-sundae-type of confection. And nobody thought this the least bit unusual. Now that really does take the biscuit to my way of thinking.