Flushing Walk

A WALK ROUND FLUSHING AND MYLOR HARBOUR

Taking in woods, the coast, ice cream and a bowling green


This is one of my favourite local walks, as there are beautiful woods, wonderful views of the Carrick Roads, all kinds of boats, Falmouth docks and St Just in Roseland. Or if you're my dog, Mollie, it's wonderful for rabbit hunting and swimming.

Flushing was named Nankersey by Dutch engineers from Flushing in Holland who built the three main quays in the village. The grand houses on St Peter's Hill, the road that leads into the village, were owned by captains of the packet ships (mail-boats) that docked in nearby Falmouth.

In the 19th and 20th century, the village's economy mainly relied upon fishing, the two farms (Trefusis and Tregew) and Falmouth Docks. There was also briefly a copper mine on Jericho beach, but this proved to be unworkable commercially.
Flushing is also famous for its carnival week at the end of July and for the excellent Nankersey Choir which performs all over Cornwall. Falmouth Boat Construction Company has built traditional wooden craft since the early 1880s, and during the war years, motor torpedo boats were produced. There is a passenger ferry to and from Flushing Quay to Falmouth's Prince of Wales Pier which acts as a school bus for many children.

One sunny afternoon, my husband, Mollie and I drove from Falmouth on the A39 and at Penryn turned right signposted Flushing 2 miles. Several hundred yards later we turned right again, following signs for Flushing and Mylor Harbour, and at a T junction on the outskirts of Flushing, we turned right and headed down into the village where you can park on Flushing Quay.

Husband was going off to the pub (no surprise there), so Mollie and I retraced our steps past the Seven Stars pub and turned right into Kersey Road, up the hill to a housing estate where we turned up a Public Footpath by a road sign saying Orchard Vale.

This steep path was fringed with bluebells, ragged robin and campion, and led over a stile to a huge field with ploughed rich earth like chocolate fudge. The path ran round the edge of this massive field with clouds leaving magnificent sweeping shadows, and looking up I saw a herd of Friesians silhouetted against the sky like a still life painting. Mollie bounded ahead, like a cross between a rabbit and a sheep, as we clambered over an overgrown stile, across the top of a field of potatoes, and into a private drive. We turned left here, by a cattle grid, to the end of the drive, crossed the road and took a Public Footpath sign to Trelew on our right.

A blaze of buttercups greeted us, a cross sounding pheasant squawked his disapproval, and I saw my first foxglove of the year. At the bottom of the field we turned left into a wood with masses of wild garlic and a Cabbage White alighting on a tired looking bluebell. A stream rippled on our right as we splashed our way down a stony path, but sunshine dappled the trees, cheering our afternoon.

Passing through a five barred gate, we continued along an even muddier path round to the left, over a stream which led to a gateway where we turned right, along a private drive and right again into Church Road. Here an elderly lady greeted a very muddy Mollie with delight and even gave her a back rub, ensuring a friend for life. Regretfully leaving her behind, Mollie and I headed up the hill, where there is a raised pavement useful if you have children and dogs: the road is narrow and there can be a fair amount of traffic. As we walked along, swallows darted in front of us and a blue tit perched on guttering in front of us to have a drink.

The path opens out into a creek and we continued up the hill, round the back of some houses and came to another road. Crossing this, we entered Mylor churchyard through a wrought iron gate, walked down some steps and past a daisy strewn bank to the Ganges memorial, erected in 1872. This lists 53 young cadets, aged 15-17, who died while training for the Royal Navy on HMS Ganges from 1866-1899. The majority died from measles, scarletina and influenza, and 8 were either killed on board or drowned.

St Mylor Church, founded in 450 AD by a Celtic Bishop, is very popular for weddings, and today was beautifully decked with flowers from a previous wedding. Back in the churchyard we passed a blazing scarlet rhododendron that reminded me of flamenco skirts, and emerged into Mylor Harbour.

There are several eateries here but today my husband was sitting outside staring wistfully at the boats in the marina. “There's a lovely day boat down there that would just do us,” he said.
I grunted, made a note to get a lottery ticket, and went to get something to cheer him up. He can never resist a good vanilla ice cream, so we sat in contented silence, licking our ices and listening to the clink of rigging. Up the river a fishing trawler was coming in, gulls screaming overhead, desperate for fish scraps.

Leaving husband behind, Mollie and I wiped the last of the ice cream from our mouths (and whiskers in her case) and walked past Restronguet Sailing Club on our right. Dogs are requested to be on leads here as there is an outside picnic area and Mollie for one is always keen to hoover up other people's tea.

Past the sailing club was a yellow waymark arrow which we followed through a field full of catamarans leading to a stile which led to the first field on the Trefusis Estate. Looking out to the left we could see Restronguet, Loe Beach, a distant Trelissick House with its magnificent porticos and further on St Just in Roseland.

Squelching our way through the mud, we walked through a succession of fields, one of potatoes, the next studded with buttercups, thistles and speedwell. This part of the walk is good for those who like flat walks and up on our right were woods with a thick carpet of bluebells. We were drawn there to inhale the wonderfully deep scented smell, and there in front of us was a small rabbit, gazing raptly ahead. It thumped its back feet, then dived down the nearest rabbit hole, disappearing before Mollie could chase it - to my relief.

The next field was reached by crossing a fast running stream good for thirsty dogs. Around us spring was bursting out everywhere, each tree a remarkably different shade of green, reaching young fingertips to the sky. The last of the blackthorn was turning brown, and at our feet new ferns uncurled like babies' fists.

Looking out, St Mawes Castle came into view, then St Anthony lighthouse; further on was the famous Black Rock marker, then Falmouth castle, the docks and Falmouth itself. The St Mawes Ferry was returning to Falmouth on one of its half hourly journeys, and ahead was the distinctive cream coloured Falmouth Hotel, then further round the observatory, recently sold as a pricey dwelling. We emerged onto the broad green sweep of Trefusis Point and saw Falmouth ahead of us, leading round to the marina and Penryn River.

Walking through a gap in the hedge we arrived at Kiln Beach so Mollie could have a swim (this private beach is dog friendly all year round), but you can continue along the field and into the woods. Either way leads back to Trefusis Road which we walked along until we reached Flushing Bowling Green on our right at the end. Climbing up here we had the most fabulous view over the roofs of Flushing, over to Falmouth and up the Penryn River. We sat for a moment and enjoyed the view, before following the path down the hill and emerging by Flushing School. Here we continued down the road, to emerge by the Seven Stars pub where we found my husband sitting outside enjoying a peaceful pint.

We joined him, reflecting on the fact that though we love Falmouth, Flushing comes a good second best. And it gets the evening sunshine, which Falmouth doesn't. Sitting in the early evening sun with a drink takes some beating. Especially in this country.


FACTBOX

OS Explorer 105 Falmouth & Mevagissey
Length: 4 miles
Duration: Approx 2 hours; moderate/easy going, can be very muddy in places
St Mawes Ferry - www.kingharryscornwall.co.uk/ferries/st_mawes_ferry
Flushing Ferry - www.falriverlinks.co.uk/client/ferry_timetables/timetable_flushingferry.html
Restronguet Sailing Club - www.mysailingclub.org
St Mylor church - www.stmylor.org.uk
Castaways wine bar – 01326 377710
Mylor Cafe – 01326 373712
Seven Stars, Flushing – 01326 374373

Old Friends

Last night my mum rang and I could tell from her voice that it was bad news. It was. My oldest friend – who has lived in Australia for the last 30 years – has just lost her mother. She went into hospital for a routine assessment and then Lin's Dad got a call to say she'd died.

This has upset me more than I could have believed. I hadn't seen Lin's Mum for about 15 years, and Lin and I don't keep in regular contact (her working hours preclude writing letters or emails) and the time difference – essentially when we're up they're in bed – make phone calls difficult. But her family and mine became intertwined from when we were both 4. As we're now both 51, that's quite a long time.

My mum and hers met at the school gates when Mum was shoving a weeping me into the playground, feeling like a monster. Lin's Mum came up to her and said, “This is my third child and I still feel terrible. Shall we go and have a cup of tea?” And from then on we were all good mates.

So I can only imagine how poor Lin is feeling right now. To lose your mum is bad enough. When you're the other side of the world it's so much worse. Trying to organise her several jobs, looking after all the animals while she's gone – whether to bring her son with her – all these things to take into account – as well as trying to get a flight. And the fact that here - “home” - isn't, of course, and hasn't been for so long.

From my point of view, this is also a sharp and painful nudge as to how I will feel when my own dear Mum goes, and none of us like to be reminded of that sort of thing.

I waited till I thought Lin would be back from work to ring her. For some reason I was extremely nervous – wanting to say the right thing. I dialled, fingers shaking, and listened while the phone rang and rang on the opposite side of the world. I could imagine her coming in, running to grab it – but the answerphone clicked in and that oh so familiar voice apologised for being out and told me to leave a message.

I got as far as, “I've just heard about your mum and I'm so so sorry,” and that was it. Tears welled up and clogged my throat so I could hardly speak. I left a strangled message, put down the phone and wept for her, for her poor dad, for the rest of the family – and for my inability to say the right thing.

But at least she knows that I'm here and that I'll be at the funeral – and that I really do care.

Nowt so queer as folk..

This picture has absolutely nothing to do with this post except that I liked it.

I had a drink with a friend last week who was telling me about a friendship she'd had years ago that still bothered her.

“I met this woman at work and felt an instant connection,” she told me. “We were both with younger men; we'd both had been married twice before; we both had cats, and shared likes and dislikes in music, books, films, food – that sort of thing. We both had troublesome mothers and older brothers.”

My friend, Jane, had plenty of friends but felt that this woman was a bit different – almost like a twin. “She just made me feel really good about life,” she said. “And she told me what a difference I'd made to her life. Meeting someone who's a kindred spirit is really special.”

Then the friend was promoted and everything changed. She had to work very long hours, looked drawn and exhausted. “I knew she was under a lot of pressure, but it was as if she didn't want to talk to me about it either,” said Jane. “I realised that she was struggling and needed time to herselt, so I thought I'd better leave her alone. But part of me felt incredibly rejected. How could such a connection like that just – go?”

Jane's a Personnel Manager so she's used to dealing with other people's problems, but this one really bugged her because she couldn't talk to her friend. “I felt shut out,” she said, “and that really hurt.”

When I asked asked her how things were she shrugged. “Well, we meet up sometimes,” she said. “But when we do it's as if she's found me lacking in something and moved on.”

I pointed out that none of her other friends had ever found her anything but a staunch, loyal friend. So perhaps the fault lay in the friend, not Jane.

And then she got a phone call from the friend to say they were moving to France. Her partner had been offered a job in Paris and they were moving on.

“In a way it was a relief,” said Jane. “It meant I couldn't see her so I could forget about it.”

It seemed sad that such a promising friendship should fizzle out because of lack of communication, particularly given Jane's job. But as the old saying goes, 'there's nowt so queer as folk'.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-chan-ges.....

This is Frenchman's Creek, made famous by Daphne du Maurier in her novel of that name. In it, the heroine, Donna, undergoes a huge life change by running away from London to the obscurity of Cornish life and falls in love with a pirate. Which makes the novel sound like a trite whimsical affair - if you read it, it's anything but. This is someone who knows her creeks and tides, knows the way the wind russles in the trees. She knows her boats and her birds, she can write about tension, love, suspense and escapism, and all of this is evident in her writing.

On Monday a group of us got together for a meal, and everyone there is undergoing change. One of us lost her partner in February. She has been struggling through the necessary change in living without him, discovered she has far more friends than she had dreamt of, and has now decided to work for the Samaritans. I take my hat off to her - the training sounds very hard but I think she will be brilliant at it; furthermore, I'm sure she will gain a lot from it.

Another friend is struggling with a part time course, a part time job and trying to paint. You know those days when you feel you're sinking? I think that's how she feels at the moment. Looking at it objectively, she needs to either give something up, organise her time better or get up earlier. Putting it into practise is the bit that requires discipline, as we all know...

My change is continual, but I like having a life where every day is different. This week I've met a wonderful fellow who started collecting vintage gramophones when he retired, and has now had to go back to being self employed, he's so successful. I've struggled with family problems (still unresolved) and tussled with the novel. The novel is the hardest of all - I love doing it but it's so difficult to know if the edits I'm doing are enough. But all writers are insecure and I'm no different from the rest. It's learning to live with the fact that my writing is never good enough - or to look at it another way, it could always be better. That's either depressing or a constant challenge. I prefer to see it as the latter.

Yesterday we did the Frenchmans Creek walk for Cornwall Today magazine on a day of such intense brightness that the sunlight was almost white. These days are the ones I will hold onto in the grey murk of winter (which let's face it isn't that different from the grey murk of summer in the West Country). These days make me so very glad to live here.

My third friend has met a new man, is incredibly stressed at work and is struggling to cope with all that. She knows the work side of things will calm down and being a philosophical person, has accepted that she will go through sleepless periods when she's so stressed she can't think straight, and that very soon she can give it all up. Hooray!

Her new man sounds lovely if shy and so she's suggested a topic of conversation for when they next meet. The fact that she's chosen polygamy is perhaps unfortunate, but that's what the wine and sex diet does for you...

What changes are you going through, and how are you dealing with them?

When the Past collides with the Present...

Last month I was doing some online research when I came across a site connected to my mother's family. There, someone put a request for information about the house that my mother was born and grew up in near Camborne (Cornwall). Being slightly cynical, I emailed him back but found that he was the curator of a well known museum in Penzance. Also that he is well known by several people we know.

Apparently he used to live in this house back in the '60s and is keen to write about the history of the house, which is now a restaurant. Since I stumbled across him, we've exchanged several lengthy emails with fascinating information about the house and glimpses of my mum's past, including a lovely picture of her, aged about 8 or 9, stomping around the garden.

Better still, my mum is coming down this weekend and we are finally going to meet this man so she can answer his many questions – and mine.

What interested me is that my mum never liked the house much. It had a very odd atmosphere, she said, was freezing cold and gave her the spooks as a child. She was sometimes so scared that she'd run down the corridor and jump into bed. Later, when her mother-in-law stayed she came down the next morning and vowed she would never sleep in that room again. (This from a woman who didn't believe in the word 'ghost'.)

Years later, when Jonathan lived there, he had only happy memories. So I shall be interested to hear what else he remembers. Should be a fascinating meeting.

Oh no! He's just emailed to say he's not well so have to postpone the weekend. What a shame!

Making Time and other mottos

This is a quiet spot by the River Dart where we sometimes walk Mollie when we're staying with my mum. While it might not seem to have anything to do with this post it does - trust me.

Recent events, including the announcement of A levels and GCSE results, have got me thinking about the tremendous amount of pressure that is placed on kids nowadays. Some of course have more pressure than others depending on where you live, it seems. South East England seems to be much more pressurised than us hicks down here in Cornwall (though us hicks still achieve very good results).

Of course everyone wants the best for their children. But at what cost? One of my closest friends has a daughter who moved down here from Sussex a few years ago. “It's such a relief just to be me, to be us,” she said. “Most people down here don't have money, so there's no pressure to keep up with the neighbours and all that.”

Life tends to be very much defined by What We Do rather than who we are, though of course one is often bound up very tightly in the other. I am fortunate in loving what I do – it's a constant challenge that on bad days is utterly chronic, but on good days makes me fulfilled and happy. But for a lot of my working life I haven't enjoyed what I've done, and I know there is little more soul destroying than trudging into a job you hate. It eeks the colour from your life, rips your confidence to shreds and makes you wonder if it's worth getting up in the morning.

Regardless of whether you enjoy work or not, I think it's worth remembering that life isn't all about achievement but about relationships too. Time is a precious commodity these days, but how can we have good relationships with others if we have no time for them?

I am fortunate in having a husband who is extremely generous, thoughtful and acute when it comes to people. He very much believes in making time for the people that matter in life, and this can be very humbling. Quite often I've felt tired, unsociable, like having a Saturday morning with just us, and it's our turn to take elderly James out. I protest on those occasions, and he will say, “It's not much to do, to take him out for an hour.” And of course he's right. Seeing the joy in James's face makes it all worthwhile.

My mum is a good example of making time for people. She has a very busy social life but she has a huge number of very good friends because she always makes time for them.

So perhaps my motto for this post would be to try and Make Time. Not by making your life busier, but by making it less busy (and I know how difficult this can be if you have children). Try and have time with and for your partner, your children, your dog, your parents, your family or your best friend. But most importantly, try and make time for yourself.

New Station Officer at RNAS Culdrose

This is in August editon of Cornwall Today.

Wing Commander Paul Loader has been appointed Station Commander at RAF St Mawgan. Born and raised in Cornwall, he is a keen sportsman and spent five years teaching Physical Education and outdoor activities before joining the RAF in 1992.

You were born in Illogan but have served in Bosnia, Holland and Germany. How has your upbringing in Cornwall influenced you?
Massively, because I was brought up outdoors, and on the beach which I love. It encouraged me to explore and my physical upbringing has been very useful to me as a Phys Ed teacher, rugby player and as part of the Military.

What made you decide to join the RAF?
I was coming towards the end of my rugby career and needed new challenges. Since then all my aspirations have been delivered by joining the Air Force, and now I am delighted and honored to take over command of RAF St Mawgan.

Military flying ended in December 2008, amid a lot of uncertainty – what role will RAF St Mawgan fulfill now and in the future?

I will be focusing on our engagement and involvement in the community and ensuring that the Station and its personnel continue to contribute and play an active and leading role in Cornwall. We are now specializing in ground training: adventure training, military skills, survival and decompression training, so we provide a holistic training centre for all three military services.

I am particularly pleased for our civilian personnel and all our friends in the community who have lived with uncertainty over recent years, and would like to thank each and every one of them for their continued support, hardwork and loyalty.

How many military personnel are there?
At the moment there are 200 military personnel and 150 civilians, but from next summer approximately 90,000 personnel, cadets and troops, could be coming through RAF St Mawgan per year.

What does your role as Station Commander of RAF St Mawgan involve?
I suppose you could say I'm the pinnacle of the pyramid. My role is to lead, motivate and direct all efforts towards supporting frontline operations, whether it's running messes, supply and logistics or training for deployment. I am very proud to take command of a RAF Base, but particularly so, as a Cornishman, to take a command in Cornwall.

What made you return to Cornwall?
I have three boys, and was keen to bring my family back to Cornwall – I find Cornwall inspiring, magical and unbeatable from anywhere I have visited around the world. We were having a holiday here when I heard that RAF St Mawgan was drawing down, and I thought why haven't I applied? So I did – and finally got the job!

I understand you have a degree in PE and are a keen rugger player – what role does sport have in your life?
A huge role. I've kept fit all my life and now I try and train every day. You need to be fit in mind and body for a military life - if you're deployed overseas, you need to be able to take responsibility for yourself and lead or support others around you.


If you hadn't joined the RAF, what would you like to have done?
Something sporting – perhaps adventure training, rugby coaching or become a lecturer in PE.

What's your favorite place in Cornwall?
I can't say that – everyone might go there and then it wouldn't be so special! All right then – I have several which depend on the time of year, the weather, my mood and so on. I like quiet places, so Holywell and Gwithian are two of my favourite beaches.

How do you relax?
I enjoy partying, cooking and physical activities of all sorts – and training on the beach.

Will you retire to Cornwall?
Oh yes – without a doubt!