Dartmoor, Broadmeadow and Charlestown

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For those familiar with the suburbs of Newcastle, NSW they will immediately spot the interloper amongst these. So, yes, we are in Cornwall.



Wild camping on the wilds of Dartmoor had been my first night's goal but the lack of easily accessible tracks which didn't lead to some isolated farmhouse was making this dream look next to impossible. This coupled with a cutting wind (this is mid-Summer?) made us shrug our shoulders and follow a brown camping sign. We dismissed the first site at the back of The Plume of Feathers in the middle of a village and pressed on.



As we drove away the large, grey, forbidding building which Graeme had mistakenly thought was some kind of factory suddenly morphed into the famous Dartmoor prison – the centrepiece of the village. Prison land everywhere. What a sensible choice we had made! Who knows who would have been camping next to us? Children, wives, parents of rapists and murderers? And what if there had been a breakout in the night and they came knocking on the door of the Bongo?



Bongo? Explanations necessary. To aid our travels this grown-up gap year we bought ourselves a Mazda Bongo Friendee. Not quite a camper, more a multi-purpose furniture and people mover (MPV for short) with a pop-up roof to sleep in. Its possibilities endeared it to us on first meeting. Its electrical eccentricities, however, have not done so, but we persevere.



Avoiding the next site close to the road stuffed full of grey-nomad-driven-huge motorhomes we followed narrow lanes to Langstone Manor. The approach was not promising. Rows of green mobile cabins however neat are not easy on the eye. The manor building itself looked rather austere but the road forked to separate camping areas hedged for privacy.



The receptionist decided we looked as though we needed quiet and directed us away from two newly arrived groups with young children to a quiet, tucked away corner under the beech trees with a whispering stream as company.



The front of the Manor houses a bar cum restaurant, warm and welcoming on this cool evening.



Sufficiently full of spinach, mozarella and tomato pudding, me, and beef stroganoff, Graeme, an evening walk was called for.



The ascent to nearby Pew Tor we were told was achievable in the remaining daylight and with detailed instructions from one of our charming waitstaff we set out with a rough sketch drawn on a parking ticket and an old page torn off an OS map.



Right on the edge of Dartmoor and we hadn't realised it. The bleak majesty of the moor spread around us as we stood on the top admiring the ponies buffeted by the increasingly cold wind. This was the extent of the wild camping, the wind was wild!



Next stop was Cotehele, a National Trust house and garden of great importance as it had been in the same family for over 600 years. (Originally built in 1353)



A house full of family cast-offs, like any holiday home really, an eclectic collection of priceless tapestries and furniture garnered from all corners of the earth by the wealthy Edgcumbe family who increasingly used their Mount Edgcumbe house in Plymouth as their main residence. Well, not quite like most holiday homes then...an Adam and Eve cabinet from Italy with intricately carved naked figures on every piece of available wood, carved chairs from the Coromandel coast and rugs from

Iran or Persia as it was then called.



The gardens tumble down to the quay on the Tamar where for hundreds of years ships sailed up and down to Plymouth.



St Austell has never been anything to write home about with the towers of slag from the china clay pits rising up like so many grey pyramids but I have heard some refer to the area as the Cornish alps, hmm.



We pushed open the gate to the sloping field at the side of Broadmeadow House at Charlestown and the heavens opened. On went the English Summer camping attire, wellingtons, waterproof trousers and jacket.



'This is Summer?' Graeme asked again. I winced as the rain coursed down my face and pretended to love camping. By the time our camp was set our hostess Debs had brought us a pot of tea and coffee and we sat and admired the magnificent view down across the tall ships in the harbour to Black Head and even through the mizzle (Cornish mist and drizzle) both of us grinned and agreed it wasn't half bad!



Location: Top marks. Breakfast in bed brought to you in the morning as the mist cleared: wonderful.



Facilities: homely and clean, just like your own bathroom decorated with driftwood and sea things.



Hosts: exceptionally genial and welcoming.



We certainly weren't glamping but a large tent set up in the corner of the field was set up with comfortable chairs, beds and real linen. No nylon sleeping bags there! But the really best bit is that there are only five pitches, quiet and space aplenty.



A coastal walk towards Black Head with Graeme immersing himself in English seaside culture, trousers rolled up, cap on at Porthmeor beach and the viewing of the English / Italy match in the European cup were the highlights, but onward and upward or rather downward towards the Lizard.

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Comments

[D MJ Binkley]

Enjoyed your blog.
Glad to hear they directed you away from active children. A coastal walk is always a great idea. Can't wait to read more.

[Mert]

Coastal walks
I don't think I'll ever get to do the whole South West Coastal Path but it is good to do little bits at a time wherever we go!