The first few days of last week we spent on a campsite at the head of a Cornish valley, a half-hour walk from the quaint fishing port and popular Airbnb destination of Mevagissey (or Megavissey if you’ve had too much cider). We met very few people on our hikes along the coast path (school’s not yet out) and none at all when we struck inland, which added a touch of privilege to the pleasure we gained from striding out in June, when nature is fresh and vigorous, in defiance of mankind’s efforts to control it. I felt this especially on a stretch through a wooded valley, where cultivation seemed – to my townie eyes, at least – to be off the agenda and lush, varied foliage flourished all around and all by itself. For a while, my mind emptied of temporal concerns and I was in awe of Nature, over which I had no influence and of which I had little comprehension.
But inspiring
patches of land like this are rare and never far from human habitation. Soon,
we were in the village of Gorran, distinguished by its church, the history of
which can be traced back to around 600 AD. When, in the 1960s, the
indefatigable Pevsner* visited, his meticulous observations included a quirky,
caricatured face carved into the underside of the Norman stone font. I guess
that, despite his eye for detail, it must have been brought to his attention by
the churchwarden because, to get a glimpse of it, you have to lie on the floor.
Before leaving, we lit candles in memory of our mothers, as we always do (though
this is the full extent of our religiosity). Then we put what cash we had in
the collection box, noting that donations could be significantly increased if
card payments were facilitated. The cost of upkeep must be covered somehow: when
buildings such as this fall into ruin, history crumbles with them and the task
of piecing it back together is bequeathed to archaeologists.
When I’m in
a seemingly enchanted place like the wooded valley, or if my imagination is time-travelling
through ancient buildings, my temporal affairs are on hold and it’s possible to
see the appeal of retiring from the hustle and bustle by joining a monastic
order or suchlike. But my pragmatic self could never live such a
head-in-the-sand life, so our return to town was far from reluctant. Besides,
my Other Half had co-opted me to assist in a ‘banner-drop’ from a footbridge
over the A38, reminding passing motorists to have regard for the health of the
planet and its ecosystem.
Back home, everyday
affairs soon dulled Nature’s magical moments. On a drive across town to fulfil
an errand, the van broke down and I had to call out AA assistance. With an hour
to wait and no breakfast yet consumed, I walked to the nearest place,
McDonald’s, in search of coffee and a bacon bap. It was my first time since
they introduced pre-ordering on a giant screen and I found the system baffling.
After standing uncomprehendingly in front of the display for an embarrassingly
long time, I eventually found a way to order what I wanted. It was delivered
quickly, I’ll grant them that, but I don’t recall having opted for the slice of
yellow plasticky cheese.
When the AA
man finally arrived, his mood was grumpy, but by then I was grateful for any
sort of human interaction. He fired questions at me concerning the symptoms,
rather like a doctor in a hurry, then dismissed my vague answers with a shake
of his head and got to work on the diagnosis under his own steam. Ten minutes
later, having traced the fault to a blown fuse, he perked up – a manifestation,
perhaps, of job satisfaction. Or was it the prospect of having gained some time
to go for breakfast? If asked, I would have advised against McDonald’s.
*Sir
Nikolaus Bernhard Leon Pevsner was a German-British art historian and
architectural historian best known for his monumental 46-volume series of
county-by-county guides, The Buildings of England.
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