« Dartmoor moods | Main | Cornish mis-adventures »

February 20, 2005

Porthleven - My resting place

lookout1.jpg lookout2.jpg
If I had the choice of only one place on Earth to be, it would be Porthleven in Cornwall.

I looked forward to being here through all of the previous weeks of our holiday. I looked forward to the cool air on my skin and, the sound and sight of the Atlantic at my doorstep. I looked forward to the freedom of our own place where we did not have to be in the dining room for breakfast at a certain time or be back in the house without disturbing the landlady. I looked forward to not having to hurt feelings by refusing the full English breakfast and eating just muesli and toast. But most of all I looked forward to here.

Our cottage is called The Lookout and is perched on the edge of the cliff overlooking the entrance to Porthleven harbor. It is the last house at the top of the road which runs along the edge of the harbor and up the hill towards the edge of the village.

Hanging on the wall above my desk at work is a black an white photograph of a great storm - waves crashing up against the wall of the Fishermen's Institute at the mouth of the harbor. These storms happen only in October but the one that was raging on the day that we finally arrived was doing a pretty good job of imitation. In the summer, Porthleven is a meca for surf loving tourists but in the winter it is quiet. It is mine. Porthleven.gif

Posted by robynls at February 20, 2005 3:54 PM

Trackback Pings

TrackBack URL for this entry:
http://www.robalsmith.id.au/cgi-bin/mt-tb.cgi/73

Comments

Porthleven is real. It lives, it breathes, it heals. It blends today and yesteryear. Rough granite, warm Cornish welcomes and blazing open fires. The Lookout, safe against the storm. Fishermen who still fish. Cider and clotted cream (not together), crab morney at nearby Halzephron, Jazz at the Smugglers, standing stones in golden fields, farmers with tractors. Fish pie at Zennor. And memories.. the very best of those. We must get back there. Even if everything else is impossible, there must be, have to be, dreams of one more time. Al

Posted by: thepoetofoz at February 20, 2005 6:32 PM

Robyn, Your description of Porthleven is heavenly. I can completely sympathize with your affection for this wonderful bit of Britain. I feel the very same way about Whitby in North Yorkshire. In fact, I have instructed my DH to take my ashes, when I'm gone, across the pond and to bury them in a tiny piece of earth at the top of the 199 steps in Whitby near St. Mary's church, so I can rest until eternity in the most beautiful place on earth. It's been too long since we've set foot on England's soil, and hopefully in another year we should remedy that situation! Thanks again for your words and thoughts.

Posted by: Bex at February 20, 2005 10:47 PM

Thanks once again for sharing your wonderful pictures. How very enchanting and beautiful...Porthleven. Elaine

Posted by: Elaine at February 21, 2005 1:17 AM

I understand how you feel and I know your cottage; my first visit to Porthleven was last spring, my maternal grandfather was born there, Thomas Pascoe, and lived below you right across the street from Rosa cottage. My maternal grandmother, his wife , was a Dunstan; her father Edward Dunstan operated the Harbour Inn, across on Sithney side when it was known as the Commercial hotel. I've fallen in llove with Porthleven and am returning from Canada in May this year for another visit.

Posted by: leprechaun [TypeKey Profile Page] at March 10, 2006 1:40 PM

Post a comment

Thanks for signing in, . Now you can comment. (sign out)

(If you haven't left a comment here before, you may need to be approved by the site owner before your comment will appear. Until then, it won't appear on the entry. Thanks for waiting.)


Remember me?