You will remember that when we out and about exploring we had been into St Breward where Marcia bought some makings for lunch and had an interesting talk with a woman who had written a history of the village, in looking for somewhere to stop for lunch I saw a little lane on the right climbing up the hill? Ideal.
To make matters even better there were two places where the lane had been doubled in width by adding a bit on one side. I suspect these were intended to be passing places. The view to the west is unforgettable – so was the name of this part of the moor: Treswallock Down.
Bodmin Moor
There are these huge lumps of granite littering the countryside. . .
. . . and to the north east there is Roughtor and Brown Willy on the horizon. Not on the horizon because it is much lower and slightly to the left of this photograph is Alex Tor. However, Alex Tor was within reasonable walking distance even for two old crocks like Max and I so, after lunch, we set off.
We were arguing in an amicable sort of way as to where this house was set. Marcia knew it was up here something and I thought it highly unlikely – why build in such an exposed place? There is no arguing with a creative novelist and when, on the return journey, we stumbled across these remains of an old dwelling I just gave in. This old hut circle probably dates back by some 6,000 years but . .
Obviously such an exposed place can be, literally, lethal during bad winters when the snow lies in grate banks where it has drifted. Here we see Marcia sitting on the boulders into which the car crashed when they were trying to get Tiggy to hospital.
When Julia finally made up her mind to get rid of the little merlin once and for all, she did it from the spot where I stood to take this picture of Tintagel Head.
Not all is stark: here cattle a lazily drinking from one of the pools nearby . .
. . . while this old donkey came plodding over to see what we were up to. As far as I can remember it is the only time I ever saw a donkey on open moorland.
The villages up on the moor, such as St Teath above, may be only a few miles away but you are in a different world: sheltered warm and cosy . . .
. . . as is Blisland where Uncle Archie and Aunt Em live in the shadow of the old church.
After she moved from Trescairn, Em decided to revive an old interest. She sorted out her old painting gear and joined a local art club. It turned out she was a very talented water-colourist and that she loved trying capture some of the flora such as gorse when it is in bud . . .
. . . and in full flower . . .
. . . making the banks beside the lanes glow as if alight.
There were of course, many other plants that Em used in her water colours such as the foxglove.
I have no idea how many times we passed this rather dilapidated signpost as we drove from home to and from from Trescairn.
A Companion to the novels by Marcia Willett 