April 8, 1992: Lamorna to Penzance
Zawn Organ Plantation
The ravens were chortling and chuckling as I woke early on the morning of Wednesday, April 8th. Margie was just delivering wake-up coffee to the Lees – since our rooms, in spite of many other luxuries, lacked brew-up materials. It was sunny outside and thus we would have good weather again. We had been very lucky: five days of walking in an otherwise grey April with only ten minutes of rain.
We had breakfast at 8:15 and then it took the Lees a long time to get ready. Harold was putting an ace bandage, which I had loaned him, on his affected ankle. I was glad that we had a relatively easy six and a half mile walk today rather than something longer or more strenuous. While I waited for the others I tried to take a picture of the valley and the hotel and this was difficult because the ravens’ trees obscured all other views in this direction. The hotel staff showed us a path that started at their swimming pool and at 9:30 we were back on the road down to Lamorna Cove.
The first of three black arrows brought us along a rocky path up around the Carn-du headland. In fact the gradient was not at all severe and I argued that no black arrow was deserved here or on the next ascent either. The latter came after we had dipped back to just above sea level and had to climb through a local nature reserve above Zawn Organ; it was embowered in a rare clump of trees. A blue butterfly had been used as a symbol for this site and we encountered many of the lovely fellows flitting about as we climbed up the muddy path and descended into thick underbrush.
The final black arrow, requiring steep steps up to a coastguard lookout, was accomplished expeditiously. Soon, with ever improving views of Mounts Bay and St. Michael’s Mount, we were walking forward on a track amid ancient locals and families of trippers and their dogs. We had finished with uphill gradients altogether as we reached tarmac and began a steep descent into Mousehole. The route was lined with gardens that drew the rapt attention of the other walkers. Every second cottage seemed to be undergoing urgent conversion and the street was full of builders and their rubble.
Mousehole
We walked out onto the nearest jetty at Mousehole, a delightfully situated fishing village with its houses in an amphitheater crowding its well-protected harbor. Our further progress was delayed by the availability of postcards, which seduced Margie into every shop. I bought a bottle of raspberry pop and consumed its contents while the others finished up at the loos on the opposite jetty.
We now had to take to the highway, which is the official coast path to Penzance. Fortunately there was pavement for walkers most of the way and the gradients were very easy on the feet. As we rounded Penlee Point we paused at the site of the lifeboat station, which had a plaque memorializing the loss of all hands in a terrible tragedy some ten years earlier.
We passed a number of quarries and industrial sites and neared Newlyn harbor, with views of Penzance becoming closer and clearer all the time. Here, since it was 12:30 by now, we started to look for a place to have our last lunch. We found it at the Red Lion, a quite interesting place full of nautical pictures, a jukebox with country music, a coven of hardened bimbos sitting at the bar, and some unusual items on the menu. The girls experimented with something called Oaty Broccoli Bake, but I remained loyal to scampi and chips. The pub was not crowded and we had a good time staring out the window at some lads clearing part of the harbor wall.
The Admiral Benbow, Penzance
We left at 1:30 and continued on roads through the rest of Newlyn, which had some interesting old buildings and a still thriving trade in fish, and continued forward toward the war memorial in Penzance. Margie continued to dodge into shops in search of postcards. I had read about a little self-guided tour of Penzance in my guidebook and, instead of heading directly for the train station, we diverted past St. Mary’s Church and along Chapel Street to see the home of the Bronte’s mother, the Admiral Benbow pub, and a Georgian era “Egyptian” house before arriving at the domed market house at the top of the town. Here I took my last slide while Tosh asked some lounging locals for the best route to the station.
We continued down Market Jew Street, actually following a BR conductor, but our progress was much delayed by the girls, who seemed to find something of interest in every shop. Harold left me at a corner while he went ahead to check out some ticket details in the station. I waited about ten minutes for Margie and Tosh to show up. I was passed twice by a chap wearing a yellow Liberal Democrats jumper – this being the eve of the general election (which the Tories would again win).
We were reassembled at the station buffet a few minutes before train time. There were plenty of seats to choose from in the long train that would take us directly back to Paddington. Having selected some seats, we got off the train so a kindly lady could snap a group photo with Margie’s camera. I think I slept most of the first hour of the journey, my walkman in my ear, for I was quite tired.
A party of five teenage boys got on near us and I feared the worst but it was soon obvious that they were from some fancy prep and were accompanied by a young literature teacher. Their conversation was only occasionally raunchy (at which time the teacher would admonish them to lower their voices) but it also featured the Latin poets and modern novelists – quite a surprise. There was a buffet car and so we snacked, snoozed, and read for the five hours it took us to return to Paddington in the early evening – after another very successful outing.
To continue with the next stage of our walk you need: