In which Sid and Doris cross to the North coast of Cornwall, to a site which Bothy McWeevil might envy.
As we left the hotel this morning, the receptionist observed that weather on the south and north coasts is often quite different. This would appear to be the case, as leaving Charlestown it was “rain at first, fine later” and arriving in Tintagel it had been “fine at first, rain later”.
The day’s hill profile was not as challenging as the Falmouth-Charlestown section, so we had ventured to plan for 28 miles with two refreshment stops. The first was at Bodmin where we declined the invitation to see the jail museum with its restaurant (“Porridge?” said Sid) but instead found this plaque to the Cornish Host of 1497.
The Cornish Host was in response to a double tax-whammy from Henry VII, who reduced the various privileges on the stannaries (tin mines) and then imposed extra taxes to pay for his war on Scotland, a war that the Cornish had approximately zero interest in as they too were separatists. Mr Wiki will inform you at greater length here.
[Mr Wiki also gives a helpful reminder about the Cornish Nationalist Party, who erected the plaque in 1986:
“The Cornish Nationalist Party (CNP) should not be confused with other Cornish nationalist parties, including Mebyon Kernow (MK) from which the CNP split in 1975 or the similarly named Cornish National Party, which split from MK in 1969.”
Alas no mention of the People’s Front of Judea.]
Meanwhile the Little Box of Rightness had helpfully spotted an alternate route for the next six miles, the beautifully surfaced and miraculously level (although somewhat littered with horse poo) Camel Trail.
Whizzy whizzy round the various fragrant deposits and then up puff pant gasp to a quite unnecessary lunch stop at the White Hart in St Teath, simply selected because it was dry and warm and prevented us from getting to today’s hotel too early.
Because we are off to Tintagel, yes the place where King Arthur definitely had his original castle, complete with an en-suite cave for Merlin, a legend recounted so convincingly by Geoffrey of Monmouth in his History of the Kings of Britain (written in the mid-1100s) that Richard, Earl of Cornwall decided to build a big showoff castle here in the 1230s, which is exactly the same time as Salisbury Cathedral was being built. Unlike Salisbury Cathedral however there wasn’t a big maintenance fund or indeed an entire Chapter team devoted to keeping it in good order and by 1337 it was already being described as “ruinous”.
However as Bothy McWeevil will tell you, the absence of anything interesting should never be an excuse to fail to part the public from their money, and English Heritage have done a good job with bridges and paths and information boards to justify the £20 that they intend to charge.
Sid and Doris however have selected the “Camelot Castle” hotel which is on the bit of rock immediately next door for tonight’s stop, and once the rain does clear they conclude that Tintagel is definitely #bestviewedfromnextdoor.
Camelot Castle is a large pile built in 1899 initially as a place for people to stay in what sounds like a sort of hotel-country house combo. In 1999 John Mappin (of Mappin and Webb jewellers) bought it as a family home (space left here for your own comments) and then something odd happened after they fell in with the artist Ted Stourton. Not knowing how litigious the Mappin family are it is tricky to opine, so instead we can offer you this link which is 100% correct in its descriptions of the building and literature and (so far) 100% incorrect in the efforts to sell Sid and Doris any artwork. However it’s only 6pm so please alert the authorities if we don’t post anything tomorrow, or if you read any news reports of two cyclists travelling with an improbably large rectangular box bungied to the back of their bikes.
The link above is to a site called Medium, here is the link in full if you’d prefer to paste it into a private browser window: https://julesevans.medium.com/john-mappin-and-the-camelot-of-conspirituality-9dcc65756edd. Not that Sid and Doris are conspiracy theorists.
We finish with an elegant picture of Sid posed on something that may, or may not (we now realise) be granite.
