A quick update on the boating saga. We now have an inflatable dinghy (a large one - he never does this by halves), a huge outboard engine and a happy husband. At least, he will be when it's warm enough to blow the thing up and actually get in the water with it.
And on matters nautical, here's an interview with two lighthouse keepers. Not a job I would enjoy, but luckily they did. In Feb's Cornwall Today.
“YOUR LIFE IS YOUR BUNK” -
A tale of two lighthouse keepers
“I'd do it all over again!” says Gordon Partridge. “It was a unique way of life, not just a career. There's nothing else like it.” Gordon, 61, worked on 22 lighthouses during his time as a lighthouse keeper before being made redundant in 1996 because all UK lighthouses became automated by 1988. “I served at Les Casquets (7 miles West of Alderney) for 6 years and was the last Keeper "up the ladder" and into the helicopter,” he says proudly.
“I came from a fishing family from Brixham,” he continues, “and after fishing I wanted something more settled with more leave. I'd always been intrigued by lighthouses from a sea perspective, so I applied to Trinity House.”
There he found that the most important qualification was not a degree, but having the right personality. “Self-reliance was paramount,” he says firmly. On acceptance, he went to the Trinity House training school where he was taught everything he would need to know about life in a lighthouse. “We learned electrics, mechanics, radio work, First Aid at Sea (including giving injections of morphine etc.), Morse code, rope work, fire fighting and evacuation, how to make a lighthouse work and how to maintain it.” He laughs. “We even learned how to make bread!”
The training gave him some idea of the duties required, although there were never less than 3 men on a lighthouse at any given time. “There was usually a principal keeper and two assistants. Sometimes a 4th would join as a Supernumerary Assistant Keeper (SAK). As a SAK you travelled to any lighthouse you were sent, relieving duties and that's when you got the most variety of lighthouses. I went to Wolf Rock, Longships, Bishop Rock - all the Western Rocks as they were known. And served the Bishop twice.”
The shift pattern was as follows: “On Day 1 we worked 4am-midday, then off. On from 8pm-midnight. Day 2 was 1200-2000, 4 hours off then back on at 0000-0400,” says Gordon. “The next day we had 24 hours off, but the person who was off was usually cook of the day.” They would stay on the lighthouse for 2 months but this was later reduced to one month, with 1 month off.
Setting off for a month's stay, it was important to take everything with you, including food, and paraffin fridges were provided before the advent of freezers. “Anything you didn't have you went without or had to borrow from your mates,” adds Gordon cheerfully.
Life in a lighthouse was understandably spartan, with most accommodation consisting of just two rooms – a kitchen and a bedroom. “There were 9 rooms in total but the others were a generating room, fuel store, engine room, battery room and so on,” explains Gordon. “All the furniture was built in and sleeping in a tower bunk was generally regarded as sleeping in a banana!”
Gordon's only regret is that he didn't start his career sooner. “Trinity House is one of the finest and oldest organisations in the country: it's like a big family, you're looked after so well.” But as well as work there was a lot of personal time when off duty. “I went fishing, did an Open University course, made ships in bottles, read, listened to my favourite music – the world was your bunk,” he explains. “There's a great sense of camaraderie – working together is almost like another marriage.” He pauses and adds thoughtfully, “You learn a lot about yourself and what you're capable of: how self reliant you are. You learn your own shortcomings and tolerance of others.”
One of Gordon's most poignant memories was one Christmas Day. “The radio was on distress frequency all the time so no one could miss it. You're not supposed to talk on channel 16, but it was nearly midnight and I was missing my family. I saw all these ships lights on the horizon and I picked up the mike and said 'Merry Xmas to all out there from Casquets lighthouse'. I've never heard so many replies in so many different languages – it went on for about 10 minutes! It was so moving, a shared moment in time of people a long way from home on Christmas Eve. I'll never forget that.”
Others became lighthouse keepers for very different reasons. Tony Martinez, 68, worked on Longships, Wolf Rock, Bishop Rock and Round Island from 1970 till September 1987. But his motivation was less altruistic. “It was the prospect of being paid to indulge my hobby of sea angling!” he laughs.
However, he proved his worth as a keeper, even on his day off – though his biggest catch wasn't fish. “One day I was fishing off Round Island when an 18 foot dory with one adult and five children came in and the propeller had sheared off because he caught on the rocks. They were drifting away and I managed to cast my line and get them back in. They came up to Round Island lighthouse and the children ate all the keeper's chocolates!”
He has fond memories of his time on the (Western) Rocks, as they're called. “It was one of the last adventures without becoming an explorer,” he explains. “Nothing had changed for 100 years.” While he regrets his time as a lighthouse keeper coming to an end, he understands why. “The writing was on the wall in the early '80s because the lighthouses could never have complied with Health & Safety, and it wasn't practical for mixed sexes out there or equal opportunities: it never would have worked.”
There are many pictures of lighthouses in a storm – on the internet, in posters and calendars, but Tony points out the stark reality. “People don't realise there were people in these lighthouses,” he says. “When you were in the Wolf Rock in a storm, then you really thanked your lucky stars that the people who built it knew what they were doing. The sea went over the top in bad weather and that was terrifying to begin with. After that you had to have faith in the system.”
FACTBOX
Trinity House is the General Lighthouse Authority (GLA) for England and Wales, responsible for nearly 600 Aids to Navigation, from lighthouses, buoys and beacons to the latest satellite navigation technology. It maintains 69 lighthouses around the UK
All lighthouses were automated by November 1988
Bishop Rock is 4 miles West of the Isles of Scilly
Wolf Rock is 4 miles SW off Lands End
Longships is 1.25 miles off Lands End
Round Island is the most northerly outpost of Scilly
These are known as the Western Rocks
The construction of lighthouses are considered some of the greatest engineering achievements of the Industrial Age - Bishop Rock stands on a rock ledge just 16 metres wide.
Gordon is giving a talk on his experiences as a lighthouse keeper at the National Maritime Museum, Falmouth on 24th February 2010 - www.nmmc.co.uk – Life on the Rocks
Tuesday, 16 February 2010
Thursday, 11 February 2010
TALKING
Last weekend I heard the end of an interview with a Cruse Bereavement counsellor who said the first thing anyone who's been bereaved must do is talk.
Second she said is acceptance. Accept that your loved one has died and that you will feel – however you do feel. It's part of your love for them and nothing to be ashamed or frightened of.
Third, forgiveness.
Fourth, think of all the things you wish you'd done differently. Don't beat yourself up about them, but DO them differently next time.
Five - Don't look back but move on.
And I thought, that is such good advice, not just for bereavement, but for life.
I've recently been involved in several instances of lack of communication. The result has been unnecessary and very regrettable upset – or is, in the case of ongoing problems – silence. And in all cases this has been caused by a refusal on one part to discuss the problem.
I think emails are great as a form of quick communication, for business or arranging things, but in my experience, when there's a problem, they can be ambiguous. By that I mean that you can intend to say something but the recipient reads it differently (and can take offence where none is meant). In these instances, I've found that a phone call – or far better, actually meeting – is the best, if not the only way, to sort the problem out.
At choir last week, we went round the circle saying the next person's name. (This is a new choir, there are around 30-40 of us and so we don't tend to know each other's names.) We then stood in a circle and walked across the room saying the name of one of the other members and changed places. This meant that we stepped out of our usual places (comfort zones), sang with other people and actually knew what they were called. We talked to people we'd only ever looked at before. We all went for coffee afterwards.
Such a simple exercise broke down barriers. It made such a difference – we were suddenly discovering new friends.
Life is all about communication. So let's talk.
Second she said is acceptance. Accept that your loved one has died and that you will feel – however you do feel. It's part of your love for them and nothing to be ashamed or frightened of.
Third, forgiveness.
Fourth, think of all the things you wish you'd done differently. Don't beat yourself up about them, but DO them differently next time.
Five - Don't look back but move on.
And I thought, that is such good advice, not just for bereavement, but for life.
I've recently been involved in several instances of lack of communication. The result has been unnecessary and very regrettable upset – or is, in the case of ongoing problems – silence. And in all cases this has been caused by a refusal on one part to discuss the problem.
I think emails are great as a form of quick communication, for business or arranging things, but in my experience, when there's a problem, they can be ambiguous. By that I mean that you can intend to say something but the recipient reads it differently (and can take offence where none is meant). In these instances, I've found that a phone call – or far better, actually meeting – is the best, if not the only way, to sort the problem out.
At choir last week, we went round the circle saying the next person's name. (This is a new choir, there are around 30-40 of us and so we don't tend to know each other's names.) We then stood in a circle and walked across the room saying the name of one of the other members and changed places. This meant that we stepped out of our usual places (comfort zones), sang with other people and actually knew what they were called. We talked to people we'd only ever looked at before. We all went for coffee afterwards.
Such a simple exercise broke down barriers. It made such a difference – we were suddenly discovering new friends.
Life is all about communication. So let's talk.
Thursday, 4 February 2010
Frenchmans Creek
I promise a real blog soon - been somewhat hectic on the work front recently. In the interim, the picture is of Titch, Mollie's very handsome toyboy, the end of this walk we did back in one of those sunny days of summer (yes, there were one or two)- in Feb's Cornwall Today.
This is one of my favourite parts of Cornwall, first brought to my attention as a teenager, reading Daphne Du Maurier's Frenchman's Creek, inspired by the pirates and free traders who worked these waters during the Napoleonic wars. Long ago Helford was an important port where trading ships brought rum, port, tobacco and lace from the continent. Those days are long gone, the houses mostly holiday homes, but Du Maurier's descriptions of the Helford river are so vivid, you can still identify this magical, secretive part of Cornwall.
On a stunningly bright Wednesday, Viv and her dog Titch met me and Mollie Dog and we drove out of Falmouth to Mawnan Smith. In the village we followed signs to Glendurgan and Trebah Gardens, then on to the Ferryboat Inn. Nearing the bottom of the hill is a car park on the right where you can park all day for a pound. We then walked the remainder of the way down to Helford Passage and waited for the passenger ferry (£5 return for adults) on the beach outside the Ferryboat Inn.
With a brisk north easterly blowing, the pontoon was bucking like a nervous horse, and Viv paled as Mollie and I clambered aboard. “Are you sure about this?” she said. Trying to still my stomach, heaving along with the waves, I nodded and clambered into the little passenger ferry as it tossed and turned alongside. Viv gulped, picked up Titch and hurried on board. Thankfully that was the difficult bit – by the time we reached Helford Point opposite, it was more sheltered, and Viv and Titch were looking decidedly less hangdog.
Much cheered by reaching dry land, we walked along the path towards Helford Village with time to appreciate the sun sparkling on the river. Heading through the village past the Shipwrights Inn (closed from 2.30 till 6pm so don't try and go there in the afternoon), we continued over a footbridge and on reaching a row of whitewashed cottages, turned right by a Public Footpath sign saying Manaccan ¾ miles. After a short distance the lane continued past a thatched cottage and into woods where the sun danced through the trees, dappling the leaves with an intense white light.
We followed the path as it forked right over a stream, over a small granite stile up through the woods and into a field. At the top of this field we climbed over a stile signed Alternative Permissive Footpath and into another field to the left of Kestle Farm which looked as if it was being done up for holiday cottages. At the end of this field was a sign on the right to Frenchman's Creek so we followed that through a gate onto the main road. A few yards further on we took the Public Footpath sign on the left which led to another path by the side of a field with a hedge of bay trees, looking out over lush green fields.
Passing through a wooden gate we passed a seat made of a huge slab of granite, with orchards on our right and headed down into more woodland, past chubby rose hips and tiny, disillusioned blackberries. The rough lane had diagonal stones acting as gullies to channel the water that must run through the woods – a sensible precaution in these times of abundant rain. We passed a huge old oak tree with the trunk split in half, smothered in thick moss; further up its ivy coated branches, bracken sprouted like tufts of hair.
Coming to a fork in the path we followed a sign indicating Frenchman's Creek (Permissive Path) and headed even further downhill. “Hmm,” muttered Viv. “What goes down must come up.” But at that moment we reached the creek and all thoughts of steep hills were forgotten. Frenchman's Creek is a secretive, silent place, ingrained with the sense of times gone by. The dogs danced along the mud in the dazzling sunshine while we stopped and just looked. At low tide the creek is littered with rotting trees, draped in seaweed; a lone egret stalked through a mud bank while rooks cawed above. As we followed the path alongside the creek, a pigeon squawked loudly in the trees and a narrow trickle of water wound its way down the creek in an S shape.
The dogs had a wonderful time hurtling through the trees, and as we walked along it was easy to imagine the heroine of Frenchman's Creek exploring the bank, pausing as she saw a strange ship at anchor, moored in the creek. Heard a sound of tapping and hammering, then a burst of French singing. Here Viv burst into something she sang at school which involved 'sabots' but was probably not sung by French pirates.
We passed over three footbridges, and by a tree on the left, we took the right fork which led up some steps then followed the Creekside Path which did just that, passing round the end of the creek, where we had a wonderful view of the two old quays of traditional Cornish stone, the Helford river shimmering before us, and the final resting place of an old shipwrecked boat. Out in the open we inhaled the toasty smell of sun baked bracken and continued until we reached a tarmac path where we headed right uphill with a field on the left.
At the top of this steep hill is a conveniently placed bench, today occupied by people having a picnic. Both dogs rushed over hoping to share their food (no luck) and we joined the picnickers for one last look back across Helford River. On past here, we turned right along a track signed Penarvon Cove, crossed a submerged cattle grid and turned left signed to Pengwedhen and Helford.
Heading down this lane we passed another tree covered in bouncy ivy, like an affro hairstyle. Coming to a fork we continued downhill until we reached Penarvon Cove, an idyllic spot with several picturesque National Trust cottages being repainted to the tinny tunes of Neil Sedaka coming from a tiny radio hung on a wall.
We sat on a log here while Viv ate her pasty (my sandwich was long gone) and as we stretched our legs in the sunshine, real life responsibilities seemed a long way away – and then I realised Mollie had gone missing. I found her with her head in someone's dustbin and felt it was time to move on. We followed the Public Footpath sign back through the woods, climbing away from the cove, through a metal gate at the top, and continued until we reached a steep path leading downhill to the left, back into Helford Village, by the Shipwrights Inn.
From here we turned left back to get the passenger ferry back to Helford Passage. It was such a lovely afternoon that we bought ice creams at the beach kiosk (strawberry for me, vanilla for Viv) and wandered along to the private (dog friendly) beach where we sat and lapped up the sunshine and planned our next walk.
“You know, this part of Cornwall reminds me that I'm just an insignificant walker,” said Viv. “I have no rights to this beautiful place, but feel so lucky to be able to pass through, enjoy it, and leave it undisturbed. I only hope it stays like this for the next few hundred years.”
FACTBOX
Map: OS Explorer 103 The Lizard, Falmouth and Helston
Time: 2 hours
Length: 3 miles
Grade: steep at times
Refreshments: Ferryboat Inn, Shipwrights Inn
Helford Ferry - check seasonal running times on www.helford-river-boats.co.uk/ferry
or ring 01326 250770
Wednesday, 27 January 2010
The Accidental Cartoonist
We are both safely back from the Sheffield trip none the worse I'm glad to report. Boat is in abeyance as on second viewing he has realised there is More To Do than he'd realised, and having spent most of his life doing up boats, has decided he just wants to sail them now. So he's looking for a Plan B. Watch this space.
Meanwhile, meet a really special cartoonist - in February's Cornwall Today, out now.
Nick Brennan, 48, has been a prolific cartoonist for the past 18 years, famous for his Blinky character in the Dandy and various comic strips for the Beano, including Crazy for Daisy. But apart from Art 'O' Level, he has no artistic training and never intended to become a cartoonist
“I was a mechanical engineer, working for Rolls Royce in Bristol,” he says, in a quiet, laconic voice, “and then my wife saw some cartoons I’d drawn and said, ‘why aren’t you doing this for a living?’ It had never crossed my mind – I did them for myself.”
Nick and Fran met at a beer festival in 1984 and when he decided to try his hand at cartooning, they moved from Bristol to Scotland. “I didn’t realise at the time that we were 20 odd miles from Dundee, the home of the mighty D. C. Thompson, where the Dandy and Beano are published,” Nick says. “I went along to see the editor of the Dandy with my portfolio and from there I got the occasional half page and built it up over the years to regular work. Now I get a lot of commissions from the internet.”
Nick was originally inspired by cartoonists such as Charles Schultz, Gerald Scarfe and Ralph Steadman, “but I’m not very interested in the political side of things,” he smiles. “I hope to just bring a bit of fun into the world now and again.”
His cartoons for the Beano and Dandy are determined by a script; but for private commissions, people ask him to draw things for them. “Some are very specific,” he says, but the process is far from simple. “Usually people have an idea of what they want, I have an idea for a script and the ideas bounce between us until we get down to what they actually want, which is sometimes different to what they think they want!
“I send some roughs for them to look at and if they like them, I do some more detailed roughs, then the inked version, then it all gets coloured and sent off. If they don’t like it, I change it.” Nick’s wife, who went to art college, colours up the cartoons for Nick because he is colour blind. “I also use Fran as a sounding board – she’ll say if something is wrong,” he adds.
The time consuming part of the process is thinking up the ideas. “A lot of people don’t realise it’s not the actual drawing that takes time, it’s coming up with the idea,” says Nick. “It might entail me staring out of the window for a day. But once I get an idea, I write it down, even if it’s rubbish. One idea triggers another, and it’s all about training your brain to think in that way and try and make connections with things that hopefully people will find funny.”
The frustrating part of Nick’s work, he finds, is when he knows what he wants to draw but can’t get it down on paper. “The opposite is also frustrating - when you don’t know what you want to do and stare at a blank piece of paper.”
Most of Nick’s work is aimed at children and he has found that sensitivities have changed over the years. “It’s become much more lavatorial, which is of course a great tradition of British cartoons. Lots of gross things for children like snot and farts and bogeys now! Years ago I was chatting to the editor of The Dandy who complained about one of the other artist’s work because it was so rude. He painstakingly Tippexed all the farts! It’s totally changed.”
The main thing to avoid is encouraging racism or bullying. “It has to be inclusive because life’s no good if you’re miserable,” Nick explains. “The other thing is showing anything that could be deemed dangerous that children might emulate.”
Nick’s workshops are very popular with children. He holds regular sessions at Falmouth Art Gallery and recently held a workshop at the Fal River Festival. He has also collaborated with the staff at the Royal Cornwall Museum to create a comic aimed at inspiring children about the collections there. “The first comic was about the Cornish collection, and you can pick a copy up at the museum, or see it online at www.cartoonfun.co.uk/rcm/bttp,” says Nick.
He admits to being petrified by his first workshop. “I was worried that that were bored - they were so quiet. But a teacher friend of mine said, ‘no - quiet’s good! That means they’re interested and doing it!’ It turned out fine because they were really keen,” he says with a grin.
During a workshop Nick might take in some old work from the Dandy to show children that it’s drawn much bigger than it’s reproduced. “They have to bear that in mind and not wonder why they can’t draw it so well,” Nick says. “I go through some basics about drawing and various techniques you can use.” Usually the workshops have a theme which, if at a museum, is usually related to an exhibition that is on at the time.
“One of my workshops tied in with Henry Tuke’s paintings,” he says. “We looked at the way he uses light and shade, and tried to get the children to think about the bare minimum they needed to put in to give ‘a sense of place’. We then drew some pictures and decided what the background needed to include.”
Most workshops usually last for two hours but Nick’s never had any problems working with children. “They’re volunteers so they tend to be pretty keen.” Nick smiles. “Usually they don’t want to stop and I get told off by the gallery staff!”
Working with children can be incredibly rewarding. “Sometimes they draw little cartoons for me,” Nick says. “Once we’ve finished I have to sign any of the things I’ve drawn so they can take them home and put them on their bedroom walls.”
For any budding cartoonists, Nick acknowledges that there are fewer opportunities nowadays. “There aren’t so many kids’ comics. Political cartoons are a bigger market but there aren’t many places that take cartoons these days and the ones you do find are so inundated with stuff it’s difficult to get in. Practise your craft and persevere,” is Nick’s advice. “You need to get a foot in the door and keep trying. There is the internet of course and then the world’s your oyster.”
Fran is from Cornwall so they moved back here eight years ago, and 2 years ago acquired a very beautiful border collie called Pearle. “The pubs are nicer down here,” Nick says. “I love the scenery, the gig rowing – you get addicted you know.” They have both rowed at the World Championships at Scilly - Nick rows with Devoran Gig Club - they both enjoy exploring the coast with Pearle, and drinking real ale. His local, the Seven Stars in Falmouth, not only provides good Skinners and Sharps beer but the landlord, the Reverend Barrington Bennetts, had a major role in the Beano one year.
“Barrington’s birthday card came about because three things happened,” Nick says. “He was 70, had done 50 years behind the bar and it was 10 years since he’d been ordained as a priest. Having designed the card, we talked to the Beano editor, asked if we could put Barrington in for a bit of fun and he said yes. When we showed Barrington the published version he didn’t believe us at first – the Beano was sold out in Falmouth that week!” Nick also made postcards of the birthday card, and the original Beano page is in the Falmouth Art Gallery.
It is clear that here is one contented cartoonist. “I intend to keep doing this till I drop at my desk!” he says. “I love drawing silly pictures, and it beats engineering. I can escape into my own little world and draw people with big noses.”
Nick is also available for advertising copywriting and greeting cards.
He can be contacted on 07866 207 912; www.cartoonfun.co.uk
or email nick@cartoonfun.co.uk
Meanwhile, meet a really special cartoonist - in February's Cornwall Today, out now.
Nick Brennan, 48, has been a prolific cartoonist for the past 18 years, famous for his Blinky character in the Dandy and various comic strips for the Beano, including Crazy for Daisy. But apart from Art 'O' Level, he has no artistic training and never intended to become a cartoonist
“I was a mechanical engineer, working for Rolls Royce in Bristol,” he says, in a quiet, laconic voice, “and then my wife saw some cartoons I’d drawn and said, ‘why aren’t you doing this for a living?’ It had never crossed my mind – I did them for myself.”
Nick and Fran met at a beer festival in 1984 and when he decided to try his hand at cartooning, they moved from Bristol to Scotland. “I didn’t realise at the time that we were 20 odd miles from Dundee, the home of the mighty D. C. Thompson, where the Dandy and Beano are published,” Nick says. “I went along to see the editor of the Dandy with my portfolio and from there I got the occasional half page and built it up over the years to regular work. Now I get a lot of commissions from the internet.”
Nick was originally inspired by cartoonists such as Charles Schultz, Gerald Scarfe and Ralph Steadman, “but I’m not very interested in the political side of things,” he smiles. “I hope to just bring a bit of fun into the world now and again.”
His cartoons for the Beano and Dandy are determined by a script; but for private commissions, people ask him to draw things for them. “Some are very specific,” he says, but the process is far from simple. “Usually people have an idea of what they want, I have an idea for a script and the ideas bounce between us until we get down to what they actually want, which is sometimes different to what they think they want!
“I send some roughs for them to look at and if they like them, I do some more detailed roughs, then the inked version, then it all gets coloured and sent off. If they don’t like it, I change it.” Nick’s wife, who went to art college, colours up the cartoons for Nick because he is colour blind. “I also use Fran as a sounding board – she’ll say if something is wrong,” he adds.
The time consuming part of the process is thinking up the ideas. “A lot of people don’t realise it’s not the actual drawing that takes time, it’s coming up with the idea,” says Nick. “It might entail me staring out of the window for a day. But once I get an idea, I write it down, even if it’s rubbish. One idea triggers another, and it’s all about training your brain to think in that way and try and make connections with things that hopefully people will find funny.”
The frustrating part of Nick’s work, he finds, is when he knows what he wants to draw but can’t get it down on paper. “The opposite is also frustrating - when you don’t know what you want to do and stare at a blank piece of paper.”
Most of Nick’s work is aimed at children and he has found that sensitivities have changed over the years. “It’s become much more lavatorial, which is of course a great tradition of British cartoons. Lots of gross things for children like snot and farts and bogeys now! Years ago I was chatting to the editor of The Dandy who complained about one of the other artist’s work because it was so rude. He painstakingly Tippexed all the farts! It’s totally changed.”
The main thing to avoid is encouraging racism or bullying. “It has to be inclusive because life’s no good if you’re miserable,” Nick explains. “The other thing is showing anything that could be deemed dangerous that children might emulate.”
Nick’s workshops are very popular with children. He holds regular sessions at Falmouth Art Gallery and recently held a workshop at the Fal River Festival. He has also collaborated with the staff at the Royal Cornwall Museum to create a comic aimed at inspiring children about the collections there. “The first comic was about the Cornish collection, and you can pick a copy up at the museum, or see it online at www.cartoonfun.co.uk/rcm/bttp,” says Nick.
He admits to being petrified by his first workshop. “I was worried that that were bored - they were so quiet. But a teacher friend of mine said, ‘no - quiet’s good! That means they’re interested and doing it!’ It turned out fine because they were really keen,” he says with a grin.
During a workshop Nick might take in some old work from the Dandy to show children that it’s drawn much bigger than it’s reproduced. “They have to bear that in mind and not wonder why they can’t draw it so well,” Nick says. “I go through some basics about drawing and various techniques you can use.” Usually the workshops have a theme which, if at a museum, is usually related to an exhibition that is on at the time.
“One of my workshops tied in with Henry Tuke’s paintings,” he says. “We looked at the way he uses light and shade, and tried to get the children to think about the bare minimum they needed to put in to give ‘a sense of place’. We then drew some pictures and decided what the background needed to include.”
Most workshops usually last for two hours but Nick’s never had any problems working with children. “They’re volunteers so they tend to be pretty keen.” Nick smiles. “Usually they don’t want to stop and I get told off by the gallery staff!”
Working with children can be incredibly rewarding. “Sometimes they draw little cartoons for me,” Nick says. “Once we’ve finished I have to sign any of the things I’ve drawn so they can take them home and put them on their bedroom walls.”
For any budding cartoonists, Nick acknowledges that there are fewer opportunities nowadays. “There aren’t so many kids’ comics. Political cartoons are a bigger market but there aren’t many places that take cartoons these days and the ones you do find are so inundated with stuff it’s difficult to get in. Practise your craft and persevere,” is Nick’s advice. “You need to get a foot in the door and keep trying. There is the internet of course and then the world’s your oyster.”
Fran is from Cornwall so they moved back here eight years ago, and 2 years ago acquired a very beautiful border collie called Pearle. “The pubs are nicer down here,” Nick says. “I love the scenery, the gig rowing – you get addicted you know.” They have both rowed at the World Championships at Scilly - Nick rows with Devoran Gig Club - they both enjoy exploring the coast with Pearle, and drinking real ale. His local, the Seven Stars in Falmouth, not only provides good Skinners and Sharps beer but the landlord, the Reverend Barrington Bennetts, had a major role in the Beano one year.
“Barrington’s birthday card came about because three things happened,” Nick says. “He was 70, had done 50 years behind the bar and it was 10 years since he’d been ordained as a priest. Having designed the card, we talked to the Beano editor, asked if we could put Barrington in for a bit of fun and he said yes. When we showed Barrington the published version he didn’t believe us at first – the Beano was sold out in Falmouth that week!” Nick also made postcards of the birthday card, and the original Beano page is in the Falmouth Art Gallery.
It is clear that here is one contented cartoonist. “I intend to keep doing this till I drop at my desk!” he says. “I love drawing silly pictures, and it beats engineering. I can escape into my own little world and draw people with big noses.”
Nick is also available for advertising copywriting and greeting cards.
He can be contacted on 07866 207 912; www.cartoonfun.co.uk
or email nick@cartoonfun.co.uk
Wednesday, 20 January 2010
Big Trouble
We're talking trouble here. As in, marriage in trouble.
Himself is in love. Again.
The recent object of his affections is not me, not Mollie – but a woman in Gweek. She is 25 foot long, she's called Golf Kilo. And she lives in the boatyard.
To be fair, Himself has always loved boats first, way before we met, but he had to sell his last darling about six years ago. Since then he has tried to distract himself with music (another love), making model aeroplanes, and countless other projects. He even decided he was going to write a novel (no comment there) – but at the heart of it all is a man in love with the sea. It really is in his blood.
Last week while I was walking Molls I watched a boat go out to sea, thinking, “Pip should be doing that, instead of sitting at home prowling the internet looking at boats”.
Well, the next day we had a phone call from a company interested in buying his engraving machine. They rang back on Saturday to reinforce this offer, and to talk about Payment and Delivery.
If they buy this machine, it would pay for most of Golf Kilo. So you see why this is so important.
It's now Wednesday and we're still awaiting the email so that he can send an invoice in order that they can send a cheque. I've told him On No Account is he to take the machine up there until they've paid up.
And that's the other thing. In order to get a bit more money, he's going to drive the machine all the way up to Sheffield, and sleep in the van overnight. He's nearly 70, has bad lungs, feels the cold terribly because of his cancer medication, and hasn't been feeling well for about a month now. But he refuses to go and stay in a B&B. I've offered to pay for it, I've threatened divorce, but he is Adamant. So what can a girl do?
Oh, and the other thing. He let slip that he's actually made an offer on the boat already.......
But he has a purpose again. He's a Man with a Mission. He has a smile on his face.
And he's in love.
Wednesday, 13 January 2010
The Rise and Rise of Miss Peapods
We have a great Bohemian style cafe near us in Penryn which has recently won Gold in the 2009 Cornish Tourism Awards. We usually go there for a coffee after singing, but I had to get down there and check it out officially... in January's Cornwall Today.
When Alice Marston's husband began working on the Jubilee Wharf complex in Penryn, she soon saw that, given the workshops and flats planned, there was an opening for a cafe. In November 2006 Miss Peapods Kitchen Cafe opened and since then has gone from strength to strength. “The cafe reflects my tastes,” Alice explains. “I have a young family but I still like to go out and listen to music, go dancing, watch films and eat nice food. These are all the things we do here.”
Alice set up Miss Peapods on a tiny budget. “I pursued the whole idea of a sustainable project,” she says in her quiet voice. “So the furniture is from the Salvation Army, the crockery from car boot sales, and the kitchen equipment was secondhand. Even the floor came from a London club.”
But the cafe isn't another tourist trap. “We have a very robust trade in the winter – in fact it's better out of season,” she says. “We can't compete with the beach on a sunny day.” Although there is a large decked area outside where visitors can sit and watch the boats moored up in Penryn river. There is also wi-fi and a plentiful supply of newspapers.
Alice, 35, worked as a renal nurse in London for 10 years, but her love of food led her to cater at Glastonbury and other festivals. “I like being in a little merry band of pirates where you all work very hard,” she says. “Nursing training is a real discipline – that's why I'm able to do what I do now. There are a lot of crossover skills: management, working with people and getting things done perfectly.”
The policy at Miss Peapods is that good food shouldn't cost the earth, so it is sourced with priority to local, organic and Fairtrade ingredients. Suppliers include Rosuick farm on the Lizard, and Trevarthen for meat. Organic free range eggs come from Boswin Farm in Penryn, Origin Coffee from Constantine and beer from Skinners. Westcountry Suppliers and Long Close Farm, Flushing supply the fresh fruit and vegetables.
“I'd like to point out that we're not vegetarian and never have been,” says Alice firmly. “I was particularly gratified when we won the award because one of the judges had had a steak sandwich! That spoils the myth that we're veggie, though we do look after the vegetarians very well.”
Like the cafe itself, Miss Peapods' staff are slightly unusual. “The food always looks great because all the staff have art degrees - we have a button maker, an illustrator and a ceramacist!” says Alice.
And their culinary reputation has spread far and wide. “We do a special thing with our mushrooms and beans and someone emigrated to Canada and emailed me asking what we did,” she continues. “I said, 'I want a letter from the Home Office to establish that you've actually emigrated before I tell you!' ” Other popularities are Sunday roasts, toasted ciabattas and home made soups.
“We have a rustic Mediterranean theme that runs through our specials board using Cornish ingredients – so we might have Cornish rabbit with home made gnocchi, or a rabbit ragout.” But Alice's favourites are the cakes: “The Lemon Drizzle is pretty special!”
The menu is selected according to what's in season. “We all went on a foraging course with Fat Hen and learned lots of things and that's filtered through to the menu,” says Alice. “So we now have a Cornish Coastal night, an Autumnal one and one with Stargazy Pie....”
Food and Film evenings have proved very popular, and on Friday and Saturday evenings, Miss Peapods is transformed. “We light all the candles, turn the lights down low and have fairy lights outside,” says Alice. “We get more of the working crowd that live locally and it's a really broad mix – children, grannies, occasionally great grannies, and the shared thing is a love of good food and music. We're not a student haunt though they do come and see what we're doing.”
Miss Peapods has become known for providing an eclectic mix of entertainment. “I know a lot of people who are into music,” says Alice. “If it has merit and good musicianship then there's usually an audience. We can bring very different music to the same audience because people trust us.” She laughs. “There's a really big Rockabilly contingent in the woodwork down here and they come out with their combs and quiffs! We also have electro girl punk and local bands like Three Daft Monkeys and The Eyelids.”
Cabaret is also popular, and in January there will be a Soul/Funk '80s disco evening, a Folk evening and local band The Busketeers playing. “There's a lot of talent in Penryn and we've become a conduit for this type of thing,” explains Alice.
Setting up a cafe in an outpost like Jubliee Wharf was always going to be a gamble, but one that has clearly paid off. “It's special being in Penryn,” Alice observes. “The people who've got the units are very supportive and the barges off the quay have all sorts of artistic activity going on – a film set, theatre costumes etc, so we meet all kinds of interesting people.”
Alice looks out of the window at the Friday afternoon drizzle. “I originally thought that if we did a good thing, people would come – that was the confidence of naivety!” she says with a smile. “Penryn's changed such a lot in the past few years. Now I'll keep on fine tuning: keep the menu fresh, keep looking after the staff and having new ideas. It's been a lot of hard work but receiving an award has consolidated all that.”
Miss Peapods Kitchen Cafe
Jubilee Wharf, Penryn,
01326 374424
www.misspeapod.co.uk
Best Cafe 2009 in the Cornish Tourism Awards
Open Tues, Wed, Thurs & Sun 10-4
Fri & Sat 10 – late
Miss Peapods is closed for 2 weeks after Christmas and New Year.
When Alice Marston's husband began working on the Jubilee Wharf complex in Penryn, she soon saw that, given the workshops and flats planned, there was an opening for a cafe. In November 2006 Miss Peapods Kitchen Cafe opened and since then has gone from strength to strength. “The cafe reflects my tastes,” Alice explains. “I have a young family but I still like to go out and listen to music, go dancing, watch films and eat nice food. These are all the things we do here.”
Alice set up Miss Peapods on a tiny budget. “I pursued the whole idea of a sustainable project,” she says in her quiet voice. “So the furniture is from the Salvation Army, the crockery from car boot sales, and the kitchen equipment was secondhand. Even the floor came from a London club.”
But the cafe isn't another tourist trap. “We have a very robust trade in the winter – in fact it's better out of season,” she says. “We can't compete with the beach on a sunny day.” Although there is a large decked area outside where visitors can sit and watch the boats moored up in Penryn river. There is also wi-fi and a plentiful supply of newspapers.
Alice, 35, worked as a renal nurse in London for 10 years, but her love of food led her to cater at Glastonbury and other festivals. “I like being in a little merry band of pirates where you all work very hard,” she says. “Nursing training is a real discipline – that's why I'm able to do what I do now. There are a lot of crossover skills: management, working with people and getting things done perfectly.”
The policy at Miss Peapods is that good food shouldn't cost the earth, so it is sourced with priority to local, organic and Fairtrade ingredients. Suppliers include Rosuick farm on the Lizard, and Trevarthen for meat. Organic free range eggs come from Boswin Farm in Penryn, Origin Coffee from Constantine and beer from Skinners. Westcountry Suppliers and Long Close Farm, Flushing supply the fresh fruit and vegetables.
“I'd like to point out that we're not vegetarian and never have been,” says Alice firmly. “I was particularly gratified when we won the award because one of the judges had had a steak sandwich! That spoils the myth that we're veggie, though we do look after the vegetarians very well.”
Like the cafe itself, Miss Peapods' staff are slightly unusual. “The food always looks great because all the staff have art degrees - we have a button maker, an illustrator and a ceramacist!” says Alice.
And their culinary reputation has spread far and wide. “We do a special thing with our mushrooms and beans and someone emigrated to Canada and emailed me asking what we did,” she continues. “I said, 'I want a letter from the Home Office to establish that you've actually emigrated before I tell you!' ” Other popularities are Sunday roasts, toasted ciabattas and home made soups.
“We have a rustic Mediterranean theme that runs through our specials board using Cornish ingredients – so we might have Cornish rabbit with home made gnocchi, or a rabbit ragout.” But Alice's favourites are the cakes: “The Lemon Drizzle is pretty special!”
The menu is selected according to what's in season. “We all went on a foraging course with Fat Hen and learned lots of things and that's filtered through to the menu,” says Alice. “So we now have a Cornish Coastal night, an Autumnal one and one with Stargazy Pie....”
Food and Film evenings have proved very popular, and on Friday and Saturday evenings, Miss Peapods is transformed. “We light all the candles, turn the lights down low and have fairy lights outside,” says Alice. “We get more of the working crowd that live locally and it's a really broad mix – children, grannies, occasionally great grannies, and the shared thing is a love of good food and music. We're not a student haunt though they do come and see what we're doing.”
Miss Peapods has become known for providing an eclectic mix of entertainment. “I know a lot of people who are into music,” says Alice. “If it has merit and good musicianship then there's usually an audience. We can bring very different music to the same audience because people trust us.” She laughs. “There's a really big Rockabilly contingent in the woodwork down here and they come out with their combs and quiffs! We also have electro girl punk and local bands like Three Daft Monkeys and The Eyelids.”
Cabaret is also popular, and in January there will be a Soul/Funk '80s disco evening, a Folk evening and local band The Busketeers playing. “There's a lot of talent in Penryn and we've become a conduit for this type of thing,” explains Alice.
Setting up a cafe in an outpost like Jubliee Wharf was always going to be a gamble, but one that has clearly paid off. “It's special being in Penryn,” Alice observes. “The people who've got the units are very supportive and the barges off the quay have all sorts of artistic activity going on – a film set, theatre costumes etc, so we meet all kinds of interesting people.”
Alice looks out of the window at the Friday afternoon drizzle. “I originally thought that if we did a good thing, people would come – that was the confidence of naivety!” she says with a smile. “Penryn's changed such a lot in the past few years. Now I'll keep on fine tuning: keep the menu fresh, keep looking after the staff and having new ideas. It's been a lot of hard work but receiving an award has consolidated all that.”
Miss Peapods Kitchen Cafe
Jubilee Wharf, Penryn,
01326 374424
www.misspeapod.co.uk
Best Cafe 2009 in the Cornish Tourism Awards
Open Tues, Wed, Thurs & Sun 10-4
Fri & Sat 10 – late
Miss Peapods is closed for 2 weeks after Christmas and New Year.
Thursday, 7 January 2010
The spirit of Friendship
Following on from my last post, I was very privileged to meet Pat Peters, who'd been a Land Girl and has written about her experiences. See pictures of her and this piece in January Cornwall Today.
Pat Peters is a good role model for us all: a hard working, independent lady with a great sense of humour. She left school at the age of 14 and went to work in a factory making greatcoats for the army as soon as war started. “I volunteered for the Women's Land Army because you had to volunteer or go into the services – and I didn't want to salute anyone!” she says with a twinkle. “And I'd always liked the land anyway.”
Pat was the last of eight siblings to leave London. Her oldest brother had already died, her next brother was injured, the third brother was in RAF in America training to be a pilot, and Pat's 19 year old sister was working in an ammunitions factory in Coventry. The three youngest members were evacuated to Devon, Pat went to Cornwall and her mother stayed in London. “We wrote regularly,” says Pat. “As soon as we got to Cornwall, we went into town and wrote postcards.”
She arrived in Cornwall on 30th August 1943 at age 17. “The thing I remember most is St Michael's Mount,” she says in her quiet voice, with an undercurrent of laughter. “We came by train and thought - what was that? We'd never seen anything it before.”
Pat joined a gang of twenty Land Girls, all from very different backgrounds, but they all got on very well. “There wasn't one argument between us,” she says proudly, then laughs. “We argued with the foreman but not with the girls – we stuck up for one another. We were all in the same boat.” Here Pat met Kay and Pauline, though Kay eventually went back to London and Pauline went to another farm in Kent. But these best friends visited each other regularly and kept in touch for the rest of their lives.
“We learned a lot of camaraderie in the war,” explains Pat. “There was friendship wherever you went.” She adds sadly, “Kay would have loved this – I really regret that she's not here to share this.” But another voice from the past has just emerged. “The farmer's wife where we were billeted has got in touch,” says Pat with a smile. “She's 93 and still lives on the farm that her older daughter runs now. I'm longing to see them.”
Most of us find it difficult to imagine wartime life. “What I loved most was the freedom,” Pat says. With many people dead, dying and risking their lives every day, that freedom must have been intensified. “Once we got back from work, time was our own, whereas the forces were very regimented. They had to salute for their wages, did you know?” She laughs. “I thought, after a week's work? No way - we've worked for that!”
There was no denying it was hard work. “The worst thing was getting wet and cold,” says Pat ruefully. “If the cattle lorry that took us to and from work wasn't around, we had to sit in the hedge and, oh it was terrible.”
Once they had finished work, they found plenty to amuse themselves. “There were no dances till the Americans came,” Pat says. “But there was a little cinema – called the flea pit by the locals. Or we'd roam around town or go and have a drink at one of the pubs.” But some, like the landlady of the Cornish Arms, didn't approve of Land Girls. “Just because you came from London they thought you were no good,” Pat explains.
Pat was fortunate in being billeted on a farm where the food was good. “Mrs Gill made pasties and sponges, and if she was short on potatoes we used to stuff them down our trousers and bring them home!” But the other girls didn't do so well. “They had fish paste sandwiches that were so bad they threw them to the seagulls and went hungry.”
For many, like Pat, the war let women into a man's world and they never looked back. “Women only started wearing trousers during the war,” she explains. This was a massive breakthrough in the emancipation of women, who for the first time were allowed not only to wear trousers, but to do men's work. So Pat has kept her breeches, dungarees and milking jacket as a reminder of happy times.
Pat grew to love Cornwall, and one day, a young farmer called Gordon asked her to a dance in Helston. Afterwards, Pat wasn't sure about getting into a car with a strange man so she asked if she could drive the car. “I could drive a tractor but I'd never driven a car,” she says. “When I got back to Joe Pascoe's farm, I pressed the accelerator and the brake together and went straight into a wall!”
However, the dent in the wall didn't stop their romance, and married life for Pat and Gordon started off at Polwin Manor farm with Gordon's brother and his wife. “We moved after 3 years,” says Pat. “When my oldest was young there was water coming in one door and out the other. That was terrible. I thought he was going to die. That was the only time I wanted to go back to London and my mum.”
They moved to the Helston area where Gordon managed four farms, and Pat has stayed in the area ever since, though sadly Gordon died in 1998. Now a proud great grandmother who has worked incredibly hard all her life, Pat is well aware of how lucky her offspring are. “We left school and worked straight away. There was no dole in our day,” she says firmly. “Nowadays they take everything for granted. They have money in their hands when they leave school and I do think that's wrong.”
She is also sad at how standards have dwindled. “I would teach youngsters respect for one thing,” says Pat. “All they seem to do is go out and cause damage. We never looked to break things or hurt people. We just didn't.” She looks up and smiles. “The worst thing we ever did was knock on someone's door and run!”
The idea for writing a book came about gradually. “I used to write a lot of poetry,” says Pat. “And I'd always wanted to write a book – things popped up and I used to write them down in an old notebook.” But Kay and Pauline helped Pat. “It's thanks to them that this has happened,” says Pat. ”I should have thanked them for jogging my memory and put that in the book.”
Like most people, Pat found publication very difficult. “I sent the book to various people who all said they liked it but no one took it up,” she says. She made it longer, put in more description – and still had no luck. “After four or five rejections, I thought the book was no good, so it stuck in that drawer,” she says. But then she met Angie Butler, who was captivated by her story and helped her find a publisher. “I wanted to thank Angie in the book as well,” says Pat.
Cornwall became home for Pat many years ago and she has never looked back. “When I used to go to London to see family and friends I couldn't get back quick enough.” She smiles. “I love the quietness, and the greenery. There's a farm up the road and I used to walk up there because I love the smell of dung! It might sound silly, but it's a farm smell.”
While farming has shaped Pat's life, it's her special friendships that have meant so much to her. “You've got to have a sense of humour and look at things positively,” she says firmly. “I hope anyone who reads the book has a good laugh. But keeping friendships is the most important thing.”
A perfect example of this was when Pat spilt a bottle of Kay's precious perfume. “I knew she'd be furious,” says Pat. “There was a blue box of perfume, soap and talc and we'd never seen anything like that.” Despite the spillage, they made up and remained staunch friends, but years later when Kay came to stay, Pat decided to get her own back. “I hid a bottle on the dressing table and on the box I wrote a card saying,
Welcome! You have my permission to use this 'notorious' perfume but
DO NOT SPILL A DROP!
Like the perfume, our friendship lingers on.
Yours WLA pal
Pat x
Land Girls Gang Up by Pat Peters £7.95
Old Pond Publishing www.oldpond.com
Pat Peters is a good role model for us all: a hard working, independent lady with a great sense of humour. She left school at the age of 14 and went to work in a factory making greatcoats for the army as soon as war started. “I volunteered for the Women's Land Army because you had to volunteer or go into the services – and I didn't want to salute anyone!” she says with a twinkle. “And I'd always liked the land anyway.”
Pat was the last of eight siblings to leave London. Her oldest brother had already died, her next brother was injured, the third brother was in RAF in America training to be a pilot, and Pat's 19 year old sister was working in an ammunitions factory in Coventry. The three youngest members were evacuated to Devon, Pat went to Cornwall and her mother stayed in London. “We wrote regularly,” says Pat. “As soon as we got to Cornwall, we went into town and wrote postcards.”
She arrived in Cornwall on 30th August 1943 at age 17. “The thing I remember most is St Michael's Mount,” she says in her quiet voice, with an undercurrent of laughter. “We came by train and thought - what was that? We'd never seen anything it before.”
Pat joined a gang of twenty Land Girls, all from very different backgrounds, but they all got on very well. “There wasn't one argument between us,” she says proudly, then laughs. “We argued with the foreman but not with the girls – we stuck up for one another. We were all in the same boat.” Here Pat met Kay and Pauline, though Kay eventually went back to London and Pauline went to another farm in Kent. But these best friends visited each other regularly and kept in touch for the rest of their lives.
“We learned a lot of camaraderie in the war,” explains Pat. “There was friendship wherever you went.” She adds sadly, “Kay would have loved this – I really regret that she's not here to share this.” But another voice from the past has just emerged. “The farmer's wife where we were billeted has got in touch,” says Pat with a smile. “She's 93 and still lives on the farm that her older daughter runs now. I'm longing to see them.”
Most of us find it difficult to imagine wartime life. “What I loved most was the freedom,” Pat says. With many people dead, dying and risking their lives every day, that freedom must have been intensified. “Once we got back from work, time was our own, whereas the forces were very regimented. They had to salute for their wages, did you know?” She laughs. “I thought, after a week's work? No way - we've worked for that!”
There was no denying it was hard work. “The worst thing was getting wet and cold,” says Pat ruefully. “If the cattle lorry that took us to and from work wasn't around, we had to sit in the hedge and, oh it was terrible.”
Once they had finished work, they found plenty to amuse themselves. “There were no dances till the Americans came,” Pat says. “But there was a little cinema – called the flea pit by the locals. Or we'd roam around town or go and have a drink at one of the pubs.” But some, like the landlady of the Cornish Arms, didn't approve of Land Girls. “Just because you came from London they thought you were no good,” Pat explains.
Pat was fortunate in being billeted on a farm where the food was good. “Mrs Gill made pasties and sponges, and if she was short on potatoes we used to stuff them down our trousers and bring them home!” But the other girls didn't do so well. “They had fish paste sandwiches that were so bad they threw them to the seagulls and went hungry.”
For many, like Pat, the war let women into a man's world and they never looked back. “Women only started wearing trousers during the war,” she explains. This was a massive breakthrough in the emancipation of women, who for the first time were allowed not only to wear trousers, but to do men's work. So Pat has kept her breeches, dungarees and milking jacket as a reminder of happy times.
Pat grew to love Cornwall, and one day, a young farmer called Gordon asked her to a dance in Helston. Afterwards, Pat wasn't sure about getting into a car with a strange man so she asked if she could drive the car. “I could drive a tractor but I'd never driven a car,” she says. “When I got back to Joe Pascoe's farm, I pressed the accelerator and the brake together and went straight into a wall!”
However, the dent in the wall didn't stop their romance, and married life for Pat and Gordon started off at Polwin Manor farm with Gordon's brother and his wife. “We moved after 3 years,” says Pat. “When my oldest was young there was water coming in one door and out the other. That was terrible. I thought he was going to die. That was the only time I wanted to go back to London and my mum.”
They moved to the Helston area where Gordon managed four farms, and Pat has stayed in the area ever since, though sadly Gordon died in 1998. Now a proud great grandmother who has worked incredibly hard all her life, Pat is well aware of how lucky her offspring are. “We left school and worked straight away. There was no dole in our day,” she says firmly. “Nowadays they take everything for granted. They have money in their hands when they leave school and I do think that's wrong.”
She is also sad at how standards have dwindled. “I would teach youngsters respect for one thing,” says Pat. “All they seem to do is go out and cause damage. We never looked to break things or hurt people. We just didn't.” She looks up and smiles. “The worst thing we ever did was knock on someone's door and run!”
The idea for writing a book came about gradually. “I used to write a lot of poetry,” says Pat. “And I'd always wanted to write a book – things popped up and I used to write them down in an old notebook.” But Kay and Pauline helped Pat. “It's thanks to them that this has happened,” says Pat. ”I should have thanked them for jogging my memory and put that in the book.”
Like most people, Pat found publication very difficult. “I sent the book to various people who all said they liked it but no one took it up,” she says. She made it longer, put in more description – and still had no luck. “After four or five rejections, I thought the book was no good, so it stuck in that drawer,” she says. But then she met Angie Butler, who was captivated by her story and helped her find a publisher. “I wanted to thank Angie in the book as well,” says Pat.
Cornwall became home for Pat many years ago and she has never looked back. “When I used to go to London to see family and friends I couldn't get back quick enough.” She smiles. “I love the quietness, and the greenery. There's a farm up the road and I used to walk up there because I love the smell of dung! It might sound silly, but it's a farm smell.”
While farming has shaped Pat's life, it's her special friendships that have meant so much to her. “You've got to have a sense of humour and look at things positively,” she says firmly. “I hope anyone who reads the book has a good laugh. But keeping friendships is the most important thing.”
A perfect example of this was when Pat spilt a bottle of Kay's precious perfume. “I knew she'd be furious,” says Pat. “There was a blue box of perfume, soap and talc and we'd never seen anything like that.” Despite the spillage, they made up and remained staunch friends, but years later when Kay came to stay, Pat decided to get her own back. “I hid a bottle on the dressing table and on the box I wrote a card saying,
Welcome! You have my permission to use this 'notorious' perfume but
DO NOT SPILL A DROP!
Like the perfume, our friendship lingers on.
Yours WLA pal
Pat x
Land Girls Gang Up by Pat Peters £7.95
Old Pond Publishing www.oldpond.com
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