Visitors from over the border in Tiverton pose for the camera at Lands End. Dated on the reverse - July 1st. 1960. Probably born in the last decade of the 19th. century, they are of the generation that survived two world wars and came well experienced in the hard graft of stoicism. Defined by the formality of their dress - suits or blazers, collar and tie and well polished shoes for the men. The men could be brothers and their wives could be sisters. The Lands End estate has always been in private hands. An attempt by the National Trust to purchase it in 1987 failed when Peter de Savary outbid the organisation. Today’s site owner is Heritage Great Britain Plc who operate a minor empire of mid-level attractions including a petting zoo, an audio-visual experience, traditional craft studios, a shopping centre, the First and Last public house and a hotel and restaurant complex. Plus a car park from which the coastal footpaths can be reached. It’s easy to imagine the more environmentally sensitive development that the National Trust would have provided but it has to be conceded that it would have been every bit as commercially minded in extracting value as the present owners.
The version of Cornwall with the greatest cultural heft is the magical land of myth and legend where the landscape itself vibrates with mystical powers under the protection of St. Piran. From Jethro to Ithell Colquhoun, locals speak of the sense of relief and heightened sensory impressions when the wretched land of the lumpen Devonians is left behind as they cross the Tamar into the enchanted homeland. My youngest son and I experienced something of this in the summer of 2002 as our train from Exeter inched its way through Saltash station at less than walking pace. A small group of wayward urchins, no more than 11 or 12 years of age, was inspired to offer a traditional Cornish welcome to its captive audience. Jumping to attention from the abandoned luggage trolleys on which they had been reclining they conjured up imaginary erections of stupendous proportions via the medium of gesture and mime which they directed at the gawping passengers. With well rehearsed movements of the hand in which enthusiasm triumphed over subtlety they brought their imaginary organs to a towering climax as the holidaymakers were ever so slowly conveyed in silence closer to the beach and surf. It was a rare moment when the affluent seasonal visitors came face to face with the boredom and resentment of the indigenous population. During the journey a young female passenger had been passing to and fro through the carriage clad in a T-shirt bearing the slogan, “Stop staring at my fucking tits” suggesting that if the urchins had been bold enough to board the train they might not have wanted for like-minded company. Not the warmest of welcomes to the sacred county of Kernow.
Every MP in Cornwall is a Conservative. It’s worth recalling that when the Cornish complain, as they do, that they’re overlooked, ignored and left behind by Westminster. Spokesmen for the fishing community in Newlyn can outperform their counterparts in Peterhead and Brixham when it comes to complaining. Since their former colleagues sold off their fishing quotas to European competitors they’ve never stopped wingeing about how hard done by they are. Cornwall is certainly a complicated county with a powerful sense of identity that can shade into exceptionalism, equal to anything found in Yorkshire. Celtic roots are carefully cultivated by Mebyon Kernow (Cornish Nationalists and campaigners for a Cornish Parliament), Cornish bards and Cornish language revivalists. An abundance of megaliths, menhirs, cromlechs and stone circles encourages a spiritual sense of place for some, though there would be many more standing stones if Cornish landowners had refrained from destroying them when they got in the way of the plough. While many in Cornwall find a virtuous path into the spirit world, the dark shadow of Aleister Crowley and his “Scarlet Women” still lingers over West Penwith. The landscape value is exceptionally high and includes wild and windswept coastlines, dark and sinister uplands battered by deluges, driven by deep Atlantic depressions, as well as wide and fair, expansive beaches bathed in diffused sunlight of an unusual intensity, all of which feeds the imagination of artists, writers and craft workers of whom the county has many more than its fair share. And so it came to pass that the county has a fine collection of visual arts venues - Tate St. Ives, Barbara Hepworth’s Studio, Leach Pottery, Newlyn Gallery, Penlee House in Penzance and the Jackson Foundation Gallery in St. Just.
Visitors to the county may well encounter a Cornish Engine House on their travels and the more curious will discover that the Industrial Revolution came early to Cornwall leaving multiple abandoned relics to tell a story of pioneering mining technology that was exported around the world from Mexico to Montana and Australia to Argentina. Cornwall’s industrial secret, the extraction of China Clay, is largely confined to a little visited area of Mid Cornwall with its own landscape of devastation and towering mountains of waste. It’s a spectacle that’s unlikely to be encountered by chance but it has its own fascination, not least because it exists just a few miles from coastal villages celebrated for their unspoilt beauty. The prospect of profitable lithium mining has attracted some interest and tin mining may yet be revived at South Crofty. Meanwhile Richard Branson’s venture, Spaceport Cornwall, rests in abeyance at the time of writing having goofed up its initial satellite launch - the search for viable investment goes on. The setback has been a useful corrective to the great emotional wave of over-claiming on the part of local politicians and local media whose crystal balls glowed with unlikely visions of gleaming rocketry surging into Cornish skies to conquer the solar system. The presence of the Branson name should have served as a warning.
David Cameron made a point of taking his family holidays in Cornwall and complained about the primitive mobile phone and wi-fi connectivity. If he noticed the evidence of social deprivation he never said so. Yet in any Cornish town that evidence is hard to miss - just check out the local Wetherspoon’s, ride a local bus or take in a car boot sale. There’s only one major hospital in the county and it always seems to be in the news for all the wrong reasons. Second home buyers have distorted the housing market, boosting property values far out of the reach of most locals whose earnings, often from tourism and hospitality, are well below national averages. Zero hours contracts and a dependence on seasonal casual working force many to take on two or more jobs to make ends meet, placing family life under often intolerable pressures. By way of escape the nation’s drug dealers offer easy access to a full range of altered states in even the most remote locations. The Cornish main line railway and a clutch of branch lines survive in a much reduced form from their heyday but most people in employment have to run a car to reach their workplace, putting further strain on depleted household budgets. The existence of a significant colony of bungalow dwellers living out their retirement is the bedrock of the Conservative vote along with the reliably Tory agricultural community. It will be interesting to see if the Conservatives can maintain their Cornish supremacy at the next election although the most exciting outcome would be for Mebyon Kernow to break through to a seat in Westminster.
