Archery

This is me having a go at archery - in December's Cornwall Today...

An ancient sport enjoyed by many a contemporary Robin Hood
My friend Diane Johnstone fell in love with archery five years ago, and when she suggested I try it, I thought – why not? So one sunny afternoon I met her at the Lizard Peninsula Bowmen Club outside Helston and prepared to do battle.
First of all, footwear. “Sensible shoes,” she said, looking pointedly at my scuffed sandals. “If you wear sandals you might jab yourself in the foot with an arrow.” Unfortunately I hadn't any other shoes with me so had to leave my toes at risk.
Then, working up the body, more protection. “As you're right handed, you'll need an arm guard on your left arm,” said Diane, handing me a perforated plastic contraption which eased over my upper arm. “Normally you'd need a tab which protects the fingers, but this bow is fitted with a string guard, so you won't need one.”
The bow was made of fibre glass with a plastic handle. “This is a recurve, or Olympic bow, as used in the Olympic Games,” she explained. “Recurves have more aids to shooting – sights and stabilisers for example - than the traditional longbow.” Olympic bows are also made left or right handed, which would suit my left handed husband. “This is an 18lb bow because when you pull it, you're pulling 18 pounds.”
The arrows are made of aluminium (for short distances) though carbon is mainly used outdoors for longer distances as they fly much straighter and further.
Beginners must do a 6 week course and the club shoots all year round, retiring to Gweek Village Hall in winter. “There's no upper age limit but the lower limit is around 11, depending on the child's physique,” explained Diane. “If they're too small they have difficulty pulling the bow. It's always advisable not to buy your own equipment until you've done the Beginners' Course because you need to practise so you get more idea of what kind of bow you'd like. It's not a sport to rush into.”
My husband, having done some archery years ago, wanted to know about competitions. “They run throughout the year,” said Diane. “Internal ones are for club members only, with trophies and medals, also fun shoots at unusual targets; and all the clubs round here hold tournaments with more trophies and medals.”
There's also clout shooting which is with bare bows (which means you take the sight off) at a foot-high flag in the grass. “Shots are measured with a thing like a long tape-measure which has gold, red, blue, black, white - painted on it. Arrows falling within its range count.” Diane smiled. “It's really good fun!”
The longest distance in this field is 100 yards but my target was 10 yards away - a beginner's distance. Even with my bad eyesight I couldn't miss that.
Now we came to the actual shooting. “It's important to observe line etiquette – normally there'd be a whistle telling you when to go to the shooting line,” instructed Diane. I took my quiver, a metal contraption containing my arrows, up to the shooting line and stuck it in the ground. Quivers are usually worn around the waist, or over the shoulder for longbowmen.
Diane showed me how to stand correctly, at right angles to the target, weight evenly balanced. Then came positioning the arrow so it didn't pinch. Next I had to bring up the bow, look through the sight – “And then when you're ready, let go.” A stunned silence – my arrow had hit the target!
I shot five more arrows under fire from Diane's instructions: “Stand straight – don't lean back! Keep your head looking over your shoulder. Try and push those shoulder blades together – that's where the power should come from.” My brain was buzzing trying to think about my stance, feet, elbows, arms, fingers, shoulders – there was so much to remember - “Yes there is,” said Diane brusquely. “And we haven't even started yet!”
In summary, she explained, there are four distinct movements to archery. “One is on the line and settling yourself. Two – bring the bow up. Three is the draw and four is the release. When you let go it's also a good thing to hold still for about three seconds. You'd be surprised - it somehow makes a difference.” And it did.
After six arrows I stopped. “We usually shoot six arrows outdoors, and when everyone has finished, two whistles blow and you can then get your arrows,” Diane said, and showed me how to collect them. “The hand that's nearest the target goes on it to provide a base, then you pull the arrow as close to the target as you can , so as not to bend it. Also make sure there's no one standing behind you. Transfer it to the other hand and repeat.”
To my relief I hadn't done too badly as all the arrows had hit the target. “At this stage it doesn't matter where the arrows land,” said Diane reassuringly. “They're all together in a group which is good. The rest of it is just adjusting the bow.”
I continued until my arms ached and I discovered muscles in my shoulders I didn't know existed. Finally came Diane's verdict. “You'd be fine – your basic technique is all right. It wouldn't take you long to be shooting very well.”
“There you are, that's incentive enough,” said my husband enviously. I grinned at Diane's praise and we arranged another session – I could tell my husband was itching to have a go. And if he wanted to be Robin Hood, I had visions of myself as a short sighted Maid Marion with perfect aim. And sensible shoes of course.


Diane Johnstone, Secretary, Lizard Peninsula Bowmen, Tremorna, Treleaver, Coverack, Helston,
Cornwall TR12 6SF
tel: 01326 280308 / e – dj.clio@mac.com

www.gns.org – Grand National Archery Society
www.archery.org – FITA (International Archery Federation)
www.dcas.org.uk – Devon and Cornwall Archery Society
www.gnas.org/disabled/index.cfm – Archery GB – Disabled Archery

FACTBOX
Archery is the practice of shooting arrows with a bow. Historically archery was used for hunting and combat, but nowadays archery is mainly a sport.
Someone who practises archery is known as an “archer” or “bowman”. One who enjoys archery or is an expert is known as a "toxophilite."
A 6 week beginners' course costs £25 or £60 to join for adults and £25 for juniors. Open days are also available - contact Diane for details.
Archery has been an Olympic sport from 1900 and there is also a Paralympic Squad that has achieved great success.

Us and Them

Those of us who don't have children – for whatever reason – find ourselves barred from that exclusive club that is the Mothers' Club. Recently I was at a yoga class and became very aware of the fact that two of us stood to one side talking, while the rest congregated on the floor, swapping school stories and tales of their offspring.

Most of us have encountered groups that can make us feel unwelcome - sexism at work, perhaps. Being the only woman in a male environment can be difficult – though it can also be fun. Then there's ageism – being married to someone 18 years my senior I have become used to being with older people, but at first I was very aware of being the youngest and was treated with wary friendliness by his friends. Now I've realised that age doesn't matter, and I've been welcomed as his wife.

But both those are accidents of birth, if you like. We can't help our sex any more than our age. But women not having children? Surely we were born to procreate. Thousands of years ago being barren was a curse from the gods. Nowadays it's a lifestyle choice – or is it? Those of us who don't have children still tend to have to defend our choice to those disbelieving others. We are still viewed as second citizens with Something Wrong with us. We feel excluded from the main swim of life. But there's nothing the matter with us. Why should we be treated as pariahs?

Many years ago I was swimming with a friend's children and one of them asked where my children were. “I don't have any,” I replied, splashing back. “Why not?” asked the six year old, with a frown.
I opened my mouth to explain and shut it again. It was too complicated. “I just don't,” I finished, lamely.

My husband, an observant fellow, noted the other morning that a lot of our friends don't have children. So while we obviously tend to befriend those in a similar situation, not having children shapes our lives. Our parameters are different: our anxieties not the same. We focus on different things. Not better, nor worse, but different. We have time that can be devoted to other things.

I used to wish we had children, but now I don't. For many reasons. I am content with my life. But try explaining that to the world at large.

Have any of you ever been made aware of this divide – from either side of the fence?

Endurance

(Apologies to any Novel Racers for duplication!)

Oh lord I've just realised the date. Not that I'm suspicious or anything....

Back in 1995 I was among 50 nutters selected to take part in the World One Day Novel competition. (The entry form was devised by Terry Pratchett which tells you something about the kind of person they wanted.)

I got the letter to say I'd been accepted on my birthday. And panicked. My writing group met and we worked out A Plan, which was basically enlarging a short story I'd just had published. Based on the previous year's submissions I think the word count I was aiming at was 20,000 words but I could type fast in those days. But it obviously meant a lot of fleshing out from 12000 words to 20,000. So I walked round the village, reciting the plot, characters etc as I went (we werent allowed to take any notes in to the competition).

On a practical level, it meant travelling to the Groucho Club in London and doing the competition on a laptop. In those days laptops were like gold dust but thankfully my little brother came to the rescue with one from work. He also put me up for the weekend, dear of him.

So at 10 am that Saturday, 50 of us were poised, ready to start writing. We'd been told that the organisers reserved the right to set a subject at the last minute but thankfully they didn't. I was shaking so much that I didn't think I'd be able to type a word, particularly when the event was being covered by Radio Four and other news channels, so I had a huge fluffy microphone stuck under my nose (to hear my manic tapping of the keys, presumably. Either that or my belaboured, hysterical gasping). When we were given the Off my brain went entirely blank and I hyperventilated.

But eventually I got going – and didn't stop till we had to finish at 10 o'clock that night. We started at 10am again the following day, all of us feeling slightly more at home with what we were doing. Several had even gone off on the piss the night before, or what was left of it.

Being someone who always rushes things, I was the first to finish, some time that Sunday afternoon. Having edited and polished, with the few remaining brain cells left, I then staggered to the bar and got drunk courtesy of the Groucho Club, with various other members.

The experience was decidedly zany. It was terrifying, exhilarating and so unlike anything else that I will never forget it. It would have been great to have more time to meet the other contestants, but as it was I became friends with two journalists from the West Country. I then spent a week with my poor system in overdrive, unable to relax.

Looking back, what did I get out of it? Well, nothing that helped my day to day writing. But I did learn how to think – or write - on my feet. Or is that bum? I could type a lot faster – and more accurately – in those days, which helped a lot. I learnt how to plan and edit according to the time I had (not much). And I learnt how to work under pressure. Apart from all that, it was great fun and if asked, and after a few glasses of wine, I'm sure I'd do it again.

Whether it actually helped my writing is another matter. But I so enjoyed it!

Helford river walk

I did this walk back on a perfect summer's day (yes, we did have one) that will stay with me for a long while...

A circular walk in Daphne du Maurier country -
by the Helford river, St Anthony Church and Gillan Creek


The Helford river has great allure for me, mostly because of Daphne du Maurier's books, which I have read avidly since a teenager. While the pirates might be absent, and the traders be long gone, if you walk carefully and keep your senses alert, I swear you can catch the rustle of a crinoline, the flash of a sword and the rattle of an anchor.

With this in mind, Mollie Dog and I set off one morning with Deb, Viv and her effervescent terrier, Titch, left Falmouth and headed to towards Mawnan Smith. In the middle of the village we bore right past the Red Lion pub, following signs to Helford Passage. This road passes Glendurgan and Trebah gardens, and when it bears round to the right we drove straight ahead signposted to the Ferryboat Inn. Towards the bottom of a steep hill was a sign to the Ferryboat Inn and car park – we turned right and parked here (£1 per day). Down the hill was Helford Passage, where the passenger ferry operates over to Helford Village and back in the summer months.

Unfortunately a stiff easterly wind was blowing, and together with a very low tide, meant the ferry couldn't run, so we had to get back in the car and follow signs to Gweek, then Mawgan and Helford. Finally we arrived at the car park at Helford Village and headed towards the sailing club, took a Public Footpath sign and turned left through the woods. The path here is rocky and can be very muddy in winter, and leads down some steps onto a road where we turned right up the hill then left with a stream on our right, past a stall with an incredible selection of glass stoppered bottles in blues, greens and browns. Taking the next left into Bosahan Woods (dogs under strict control here) we followed this narrow windy path through the trees.

This path closely follows the shore looking over to Porth Saxon beach and Toll Point opposite. Out in Falmouth Bay we saw several tankers moored up, a couple of yachts with yellow and blue spinnakers billowing and St Anthony lighthouse in the hazy distance. Passing through a kissing gate we entered a field flanked by nettles, sorrel and clover. At this juncture we met a pack of dogs of various shapes and sizes with their owners and a friendly dog battle ensued. Thankfully canines were all rescued intact and unharmed and we continued round the edge of several fields, up a steep path, into a field at the top of the hill where the ground was scattered with speedwell and field bindweed. Looking down we could see the vastness of Gillan Creek, parched of water at low tide.

Passing through a wooden kissing gate we followed the path down the middle of this field. Knowing that I'm not keen on cattle, Deb waited till we'd got towards the end of the field before telling me that the last time she'd been here the field was full of cows and a bull, but thankfully this time there were just cowpats. This path led to a dusty track and we turned left down towards St Anthony Church.

The first mention of the church of St Anthony in Meneage is in 1170. This church, built on the bank of Gillan Creek, is said to have been built from Normandy stone by Norman sailors, as a thanksgiving for being saved from drowning. The carpeted church is beautifully kept, still lit by candles, has an old whipping post near the entrance and is well worth a visit.

Leaving the church we walked along the creek as it was low tide – otherwise take the lane bordering the creek inland for about a mile. Every Good Friday local families gather at the cockle beds at Bar Beach, Treath and Gillan to collect cockles and other shellfish. This tradition, dating from pre-Christian times, is known as trigging. People are encouraged to leave any undersized cockles (smaller than a 20p piece) and only take as many as they need for their own consumption, while still enjoying their traditional family day on the shore.

Tripping over a little spider crab, I saw a grassy knoll on our right with a wooden caravan on wheels, like a Victorian bathing machine. Incredulously we looked round, and set back in the trees was a smaller one, like a gypsy caravan, newly painted in cream and red trimming. Delighted, Mollie and I ran over to investigate and found, in amongst the bushes, several sheds and a picnic table covered by an awning. With a barbecue area out front, it was just like a scene out of Swallows and Amazons.
Leaving this area of paradise behind, we headed along the creek while a rooster crowed in the distance. Mollie scampered into what little water there was in the creek, and emerged with her tail wagging, all four legs covered in black treacly mud.
Scrambling further along the creek we came to a newly built stone wall, and just before this an almost sheer path which led back up to the lane. Hauling ourselves up, we were able to enjoy hedges full of dog roses and campion, and looking back at the creek through the trees was a bevy of swans, splashing and enjoying an afternoon siesta.
Turning sharp right inland we headed through a wooden gate (if you're under a size 10 you can squeeze past the gate post) and into woods up a long steep hill. It was stony and damp underfoot but ahead was a wall of tumbling wild roses, almost obscuring what looked like a studio in amongst the foxgloves. All we needed was the fox and we could have stepped into a Beatrix Potter book.
The path bore round to the left, past some restored barns and a sign to Manaccan. Past a churchyard on the left, we walked ahead through a lych gate and stopped in the churchyard, where an empty wooden seat awaited us, in the shade of a fig tree growing out of the church wall.
Restored by biscuits, apples and water for us and the dogs, we left the churchyard and turned right up the hill, past Manaccan Primary School. Wild sweet peas billowed out from the wall on our right and passing a cafe on the right, we took the first left signposted to Helford.
This field led over a stile, crossed the road and into another field, then downhill and into more woods. Looking up on the right was a beautiful white (grey) horse, so perfect it seemed unreal. Dazzled, we headed on through more woods ignoring waymarks to the right or left, continuing ahead where we passed a row of whitewashed cottages. Heading down a steep concreted path, this led to another row of cottages which we kept on our right, up the hill past several painters, eager to capture the beauty of Helford Village, until we arrived back in Helford car park. At the entrance is Down by the Riverside cafe, and we settled on seats outside for very welcome tea and slabs of home made cake.
As I lay awake that night, I knew that this day and this walk will remain with me forever. I relived the white sunlight sizzling the ivy leaves, the welcome easterly breeze as we rounded Dennis Head, and the silent, peaceful mystery of Gillan Creek. I can't wait to do it again.

FACTBOX
OS Explorer 103, The Lizard, Falmouth and Helston
Length: 5.5 miles
Duration: 2 ¾ hours
Grade: moderate, some steep hills; walking through the woods can be muddy and slow
Helford Passage ferry - www.helford-river-boats.co.uk.
Ferryboat Inn, Helford Passage - 01326 250625.
Shipwrights Inn, Helford Village – 01326 231235
The beach at Helford Passage is not dog friendly in summer
Down By the Riverside Cafe at Helford Village car park. There are also public toilets here.
New Inn, Manaccan

Money can't buy me Love

I woke last night and started thinking about things that troubled me.

One was my American friend who, having lived over here for 4 years, has applied for residency. This has involved various tests, submitting both her and her partners' passports, wage slips and countless other pieces of paper and also parting with nearly a thousand quid.

She'd hoped to fly home for Thanksgiving but when she rang the Immigration lot to ask when she might know if her application had been successful, she was told to wait FOURTEEN WEEKS before ringing again. That's nearly four months in which time a) she can't go home as they have her passport, b) she won't see her mother and sister and c) she's wondering whether any day she might be deported. If she is, where would she and her partner go? And what about their beloved animals? If they had to be quarantined, she would find that so so hard.

The other thing that was my youngest brother and his family, whom we saw yesterday (see above - them off to surf). They were staying in North Cornwall for half term but he was unable to take much time off as he has a big tender coming up on Tuesday and needs to prepare for that. So no holidays on holiday.

I love my brothers to bits, but they lead such stressful lives that I thank God we don't have to live like that. Not having children helps, and the fact that neither Himself or I have ever been materialistic or acquisitive.

I was talking to a friend the other night and we discussed the sentences over the Baby P case. One of the men has had his sentence reduced and could be out of prison in three years, and the other is appealing as well. While in other cases, people are getting indefinite sentences for fraud.

Deb and I wondered - since when has money become god, meaning more than lives?

Of course money is essential for bills, mortgages, university fees, accommodation, clothing - well, we all know what it goes on. And a bit more would certainly smooth our path. Money can provide choices: a better education for children; paying bills. Holidays and clothes; boats and houses.

But it certainly can't buy peace of mind. And when you get to a certain age - I'm talking over 50 here - there might come a time when it's possible - or necessary - to rethink life. (Of course if you're happy with it anyway, there's no need.)

I realise I am extremely fortunate: I work hard and have a job I love, even if the pay isn't wonderful. Himself has very little work, but we scrape by, and I am so glad we are able to live the way we do, where we have the time and space to appreciate life.

Stones Bakery

I go to this bakery in Falmouth a lot. Himself buys their organic flour to make bread, and they make the best flapjack ever: full of fruit, seeds and not too sweet. Think I'll have to go down there later.... read about them here and in November's Cornwall Today.

THE IMAGINATIVE BAKERS - THAT SELL BOOKS!

Stone's Bakery in Falmouth is one of several artisan bakers emerging in Cornwall to make delicious products using high quality ingredients. Having started off two years ago from an industrial unit in Penryn and a stall on Falmouth Moor they have taken over a shop in the High Street and are selling out with their delicious baguettes, focaccia and sourdoughs, as well as speciality breads including garlic and thyme, and a spelt and honey loaf. They also sell a wide range of cakes, croissants and cheese straws and are renowned for their flapjack. And to cater for all tastes, they even sell books!

Oliver Kingdon, 29 and his wife Rosie, 28, seem a quiet, industrious couple but their faces light up when they start talking about their food. “We get our organic flour from three places – every mill produces a slightly different type of flour that suits different types of bread,” Oliver explains. “Stoates & Son are a Dorset firm that provide good wholemeal spelt and rye flour.”

“We did look into getting Cornish flour but there wasn't anyone who sold it on a large enough scale,” adds Rosie. “So we get white flour from Shipton Mill, and self-raising and plain flour for cakes from Doves. We tried them all out to see what suits which bread, and we've tried to go with smaller independent mills - they're more knowledgeable and specialised.”

“Organic flour has less pesticides, as wheat is a crop that is heavily sprayed,” Oliver continues. “The flavour from stoneground is better and they blend different types of wheat which have different levels of protein.”

“We wanted the flour to be organic because it tastes better,” says Rosie. “We're not completely organic because we wanted to keep our prices down but the flour is. And in some areas you don't necessarily taste the difference. We wanted to make our products at a price everyone could afford.”

The shop is open from Tuesday to Saturday from 9-4 but the hours are flexible. “There are always things to finish up at the back so if we're there we might as well sell things,” says Oliver. “We're happy for people to tap on the window!”

Oliver and Rosie Kingdon met at Hull university 9 years ago and have been together ever since. After leaving university, Oliver got a job at a small organic mill and bakery at Lincolnshire. “I'd always been interested in food, and I wanted to do something practical,” he explained. “I also did a Panary course which is like bakery school.”

“We liked the idea of being self employed and we both enjoy baking,” Rosie says. “It seemed something we could do on our own so we went from there.”

The couple moved to Cornwall two years ago. “We'd been here on holiday and wanted to live by the sea,” Rosie says. Initially they lived in St Ives, and named the bakery after the notorious Stones Reef off Godrevy Island. They found the industrial unit in Penryn, and set up the stall in Falmouth. “We liked Falmouth as a town,” says Oliver. “It's a year round town not just tourists, which is good for business.”

“We didn't want to take on a huge amount of risk so the stall allowed us to start off small and test the water,” explains Rosie. “If it hadn't worked, we would have done something else. In fact we built up a customer base but if it was really windy then the market would be cancelled and we couldn't trade that week. So we wanted something where we could be there 5 days a week, year round.”

This job is not for the fainthearted - Oliver starts baking between 3 and 5 in the morning, five days a week. “When we had the unit I slept in the day and never saw anyone,” he says. “I'm used to being covered in flour!” he adds with a grin. “But with the shop we get to know our customers and see more of each other.”

Rosie makes the cakes in the daytime in between serving customers. “There aren't many places where you can buy a cake which is just made out of the ingredients you'd have in the fridge,” she says. “If we have fat in the cake then it will be Trewithen butter, and eggs from Cornhill.”
“If there's chocolate then it's proper chocolate melted by us, not chocolate flavour,” adds Oliver. “We experiment a lot with the cakes but if they don't sell, we don't make them.”

The most popular items are baguettes, chocolate brownies and the longest cheese straws ever seen. “We use Trewithen butter in the croissants and cheese straws, and you can really taste the creamy flavour,” says Rosie. “They're made from a croissant base and we use Cornish cheese,” adds Oliver.

At the moment their favourite is a rye sourdough loaf. “We make it just for Saturday in an Eastern European style,” says Oliver. “It's a really moist, dark sticky loaf that looks like a little brick!”

They've found the other shop owners in the High Street very friendly. “Lots of them pop in to pick things up and the hairdresser is always recommending us to her customers!” says Rosie. “There's a strong sense of community along the High Street,” adds Oliver. “When we first started work on the building we got cards from some of the others saying welcome and lots popped in to say hi. It was really nice.”

This enterprising couple don't just sell their own baking and muesli. They also stock Kyfyth Kernow jams and chutneys, greetings cards by illustrator Beth Knowles, chopping boards and cutlery trays from Barncrest in Penryn who made the wooden shop counter. They even sell second hand books. “The books come from a friend who owns Beerwolf books on Falmouth market,” says Rosie. “They have a really good selection so we decided to stock them as well.”

Having their own business has been a steep learning curve but despite having proved such a success, they have no plans to change. “Some people expand too quickly and lose the quality of the product,” explains Oliver. “If we have an idea we can find out what people think of it immediately by having tasters on the counter.”

“We want to do something practical, not have to manage lots of people,” adds Rosie. “I enjoy serving the customers – if I make a tray of flapjack then a couple of hours later it's me that sells it – that's immediate satisfaction. Particularly when they come back and tell me how much they've enjoyed it!” She pauses. “The way the shop looks is just how we want it to look. It reflects us as individuals.”

Oliver and Rosie are conscious of needing a balance between work and their lives outside. “We've got to enjoy our work and our customers, but we also want to be able to enjoy the lovely place we live in,” says Rosie. And despite not wanting to expand, in one way they will, for Rosie is expecting a baby in December.

“I'll probably get more help in the shop and work part time at first,” says Rosie thoughtfully. “But we'll see what happens.” Oliver smiles at his wife and his eyes twinkle. “We'll just get the baby baking!” he says.



Stones Bakery
28a High Street
Falmouth TR11 2AD

07791003183
stonesbakery@hotmail.co.uk

Stones Bakery also attend St Ives Farmers Market on Thursdays

It's Never Too Late

Last night we had a novel writing meeting, and one of those present was Nancy. My inspiration. She is in October's Cornwall Today.

After twenty years away, a 70 year old Cornish woman returned home
and embarked on her third career.

Nancy Kinnison has a lot in common with the late Mary Wesley, who once said, ‘Sixty should be the time to start something new, not put your feet up.’ Nancy agrees with this, having changed career – again – when she retired from teaching at 65. Her latest reincarnation is perhaps one of her hardest challenges. Becoming a writer.

‘I’ve always wanted to write,’ Nancy says in her breathless fashion. ‘I had a very encouraging teacher at school, then, when I was married, I started writing short stories. I always said that when I finish work I will write, and that’s what I've done.’

Nancy talks quickly, waving her hands as she speaks. She wears no makeup, and her jewellery is all silver; a pair of dangly earrings, a variety of chunky rings on each finger, and a pendant. She is short and stocky, with understated, comfortable clothes that struggle to contain her overflowing enthusiasm. Her eyes flash back and forth, missing nothing.

‘The worst bit about being a writer is the frustration of trying to put emotions into words that will evoke those feelings for a reader,’ she says.

Nancy moved back to Cornwall in 2004 because, “simply, it's home. But I'd lived in cities for 20 years and enjoy their facilities: that's why I chose to live in Truro. It's at the centre of Cornwall but only minutes away from the sea; the sound of breaking surf was a childhood lullaby.”

What did she miss about Cornwall? She laughs. “Everything! The people – their down to earth character and wicked sense of humour. The infinite variety of its landscape, and above all, the untameable and ever-changing sea.”

Nancy now lives in a small house on a quiet estate in Truro. Her living room is filled with novels, books on psychology, Cornish magazines and newspapers. A collection of fruit ripens on the window sills, next door to pots of basil and parsley, and above the television are a collection of photographs of her grown children and grandchildren. An ordinary house, you might think. But there is nothing ordinary about Nancy.

She was born and brought up in a small fishing village in Cornwall, and started pre-nursing training in 1950 aged 16 before doing her nursing training at the Royal Devon & Exeter Hospital.

When Nancy married a policeman in 1957 she worked as a staff nurse until she had children. When they were at school she returned to work, but not for long. ‘It was impossible to fit in with my husband’s shifts while the children were young,’ she says. ‘When they were older I did my Diploma in Nursing and worked at Treliske hospital as a night sister for two years.’

In 1976 Nancy’s marriage broke up. ‘My husband left when the children were 15 and 18,’ she says, the pain and anger still clear in her voice. As a result she left nursing and worked as a technician at Falmouth School. ‘It wasn’t the most fulfilling of jobs, but it was right at the time,’ she adds resolutely.

When Nancy was 45 she applied to Southampton University to read Sociology and Social Administration. ‘I’d always wanted to go to university but never thought I was bright enough.’ She smiles defiantly. ‘I was terrified. Most people considered going to university at my age ridiculous, but I thought I must try - and fail if necessary.’

So she’d never thought about going to university earlier? ‘Coming from a working class family, it wasn’t an option,’ she said. ‘But if I could change anything about my life I would have gone to university earlier. It was the first step to finding intellectual fulfilment.’

Nancy got her degree and secured a lecturing post at North London College teaching Sociology and Psychology. ‘I got a tremendous amount out of all my various jobs,’ she says, her eyes gleaming, ‘but teaching was the most rewarding. Having piloted a BTEC Nursery Nurse course, I applied for a job to set up a similar course in Bath. I stayed there till I retired in 1997.’

Most people would have some time off before starting on another career, but not Nancy. ‘The second Saturday after I retired, I went on a writing course and started writing,’ she says with her open laugh. ‘I wish I’d started earlier – someone told me it takes ten years to produce anything professional.’

But since then Nancy’s short stories have appeared in QWF (Quality Women’s Fiction), Woman’s Own, Fiction Feast, Yours and Family Circle, which has greatly increased her confidence.

‘I've joined various groups, attended a novel writing course and started writing my first novel,’ she says. The novel, the first of a trilogy, is set in the 1950s, about a young nursing student. ‘I wanted to show how different nursing was then compared to now,’ she explains.

The novel was interrupted when an ex-colleague asked her to collaborate on a psychology textbook for nurses. ‘If I’d have known how much time it was going to take, I probably wouldn’t have done it,’ she says. ‘But it’s in print now, so I've gone back to my novel which is such a relief!’

At 75, Nancy is aware that she has less time than some of us, but this doesn’t deter her. ‘I always knew that learning how to write would be a long slow process,’ she says. Her hard work was rewarded last year when a London literary agent asked to see the whole manuscript. 'She turned it down, but to have got that far is very encouraging,' Nancy says. And she is positive about the future. ‘In five years time I hope to be writing a bestseller - my third best selling novel!’

Nancy is an inspiration to anyone regardless of sex or age. So what advice does she have? ‘If you want to try something, do it,’ she says. ‘Get tuition, join groups – take whatever you're doing seriously.’ She looks up and smiles. ‘It’s all about having the courage to try. If there’s something you really want to do, go for it.’