Practically Perfect Polperro

Wednesday 19 August 1992. Today we are in Polperro. You can go the boring way on roads which is around 36 miles or go via Fowey and take a ferry from Fowey to Polruan as part of the journey which diversion extends the distance to 47.6 miles but includes a car ferry ride. This alwys goes down well with the kids and as we are all kids at heart we always go that way!

I always think of this as the prettiest village in Cornwall. There are other contenders, but for me Polperro wins hands down. Cars are only allowed in the village if you are either living there or staying in accomodation there. The streets are so narrow that driving through them is a nightmare anyway as delivery vans can block the roads to any other traffic and streets can also be full of pedestrians unconcerned by your need to pass them.

By the time we got there it was dinner time or lunch time if you're posh. We found this cosy pub where the tables had been made for treadle sewing machines and still had the working treadles beneath the table top, which was indeed a table and not a Singer... We made sure the place was filled with the music of squeaks and groan of ancient metal joints as we practised our treadling prowess whilst eating and drinking!

We came out to find the tide had done the same - gone out... This is Polperro's inner harbour, beloved of artists but ignored this time by myself. It was only two years since taking up a pencil again and I wasn't ready for this amount of detail. See later visits to Polperro, you'll find a few etchings done here at Polperro!

The House with a Lifeboat. Well you would if you could, wouldn't you? If tempted, first ensure your house is close enough to water as lifeboats look a bit silly dangling from an inland back-to-back...

Halfway through the afternoon we found a cafe that looked ok so we all trooped inside. As we sat at the table waiting for someone to appear we were a bit surprised at the number of flies that were whizzing about. "Cor, there's a lot of flies..." I said. "Can I help you?" asked the woman at the next table. Oops...

Mum said the dwarf was about to hit her. The dwarf said she had turned it to stone with a single glance...

My brother, Frank, never a stickler for the conventions of colour co-ordination, but easily spotted due to those socks...

We have an ice cream from the Land of Legend. This is the entrance to Polperro's model village. It is well worth a look because it is not just a collection of buildings but is an actual model of the village of Polperro. Look closely and you can actually find a model of the model village!

We took the bus rather than walk back up the hill due to my foot. The lady who can't be seen but who is holding the ice cream said "Weren't you walking back from St Michael's Mount on Monday?" Obviously once seen, never forgotten! Can't understand it myself...

Miss Franny and Gill by the waterwheel at the top of the hill. In the dark days before indoor plumbing, this was where you took a wash. Tied firmly to the wheel as it turned, you were dipped in the stream three times before being released. Oh, alright... I made that bit up...!

Index to come

Porth Beach and Trevelgue Island

Tuesday 18 August 1992. We stayed away from the cars for the day and although the weather was not overly warm, we spent time on the beach at Porth and exploring the island. There was a little bit of sunshine!

Porth is a small village just to the north of Newquay and has a large camping site behind the bay. It was a regular stopping place for us around this time. There was a cafe just out of the campsite entrance and on occasion we would buy food locally and cook it ourselves over a camping stove.

To the southern side of the bay the ground rose quickly to cliffs with a paved walk leading to Newquay itself. There was another small cafe here and Miss Franny is more or less outside it - we must have been for a morning brew!

The eastern side of the bay was a long headland, the end of which was an iron-age promontory fort. When the tide came in it rushed through a gap between the end of the fort and the cliffs and thus the fort became an island. It is known either as Trevelgue or Porth Island, both names being happily recognised and accepted by the locals. There are some pretty large ramparts protecting either side of the gap, which is bridges with a wooden bridge allowing access to the fort. There isn't much to see apart from the ramparts these days but there were roundhouses and a couple of barrows there.

We spent the morning playing on the beach, cricket, catch, wondering where Mum had got to...

My photos make a rapid jump to the evening. I suspect that not a lot happened in the afternoon to take photos of. We may have stayed on the beach. We may have gone back to the tents to sit and read. We may have gone for a walk somewhere... The last sentence brought to you from my soon to be published book: How to make a boring afternoon sound full of excitement. I'm not expecting great sales to be honest...

Finally for this article and for your great relief, I stand between the ramparts on the far side of the wooden bridge to the island. It goes dark a bit.

Index to come

A Walk To and a Slosh From St Michael's Mount

Monday 17 August 1992. We had been down and up the old tin mine at Wendron Forge near Helston (where they do the Furry Dance every 8th of May) and decided to visit Penzance where we spotted the island of St Michael's Mount just off the coast at Marazion.

"Oh we'll have a go at that" the family decide, leaving me wondering if I can hobble that far... This is a day long remembered in the Burke family, for reasons that will become apparent later!

Now someone (I forget who - but not me!) had said the beach had the sort of stones that crystals or fossils could be found in. Frank had actually brought a chisel along to split the rocks but didn't have a hammer so we used another stone. We didn't find any crystals or fossils and strangely it always seemed to be the stone we were using as the hammer that split in two... I remained somwhat aloof from all this as bending over to pick up rocks when you are on crutches is not easy...

Mum baulks at a minor puddle whilst Frank and Gill ford a major river and I wonder how I'm going to get all the gritty bits of sand out of my bandaged foot...

We walk over the causeway to St Michael's Mount. "What time does the tide come in?" I wonder. "Oh it was 9 o'clock last night!" said Mum. Yes - but that was the north coast and we are now on the south and it's already halfways through the afternoon.

We got to the island and went to have a look round a gift shop. This seemed to take an amazing amount of time. We weren't going to be climbing up to the top of the hill, that's for sure!

But we came out eventually and looked back at the harbour and causeway. I checked my watch... No... still not 9 o'clock... The only photo I had time to take on St Michael's Mount before: "Oh my God! The tide!" Some of the group were still in the gift shop and took some convincing that we needed to come out and scarper.

It wasn't too bad when we first set off back but I was soon at the back of the family group, soaked foot and bandage and hoping all the grains of sand would be washed out...

The walk back... The marks on my trousers show how deep it got whilst we were walking over. WIth a bandaged foot I was unable to walk barefoot and for an hour after we got back to dry land I squelched horribly...

Halfway back and therefore at the deepest point, some idiot on a quad bike roared past everyone, going far too fast and the bike was throwing up quite a wave to soak everyone. Frank dragged his foot sideways sending a shower of seawater all over him, gaining a round of applasue and shouts of support from other waders. Half an hour later we watched a boat turn back two people who were holding their belongings over their heads whilst the water reached their chins.

We found a chippy for tea which had a "dining room at the back". This turned out to be a shed with a shelf and some bar stools. We were all a bit unimpressed with the food and when I bit into a pie and found it all black inside, we complained and left. We ended up at Penzance instead where we kept the cafe owner and other customers egging us on to tell them more about our day's adventures...

Index to come

Poldark Mine at Wendron

Monday 17 August 1992. We have a run out into the darkest depths of Cornwall - literally as we are about to go traipsing down an old mine.

We are at Poldark Mine, suitably named after the TV programme and the books by Winston Graham. It had earlier opened under the name of Wendron Forge and the tin mine originally Wheal Roots Mine that had been unused since the 1700s.

I had fallen down stairs at home a couple of weeks ago tearing a muscle or tendon or something that went TWANG! as my foot landed. Hence I am dependant on a crutch to walk and the family have lovingly (I think...) christened me Hopalong

Behind us is the spendidly named Greensplat beam engine last used in 1959 for pumping water out of a clay pit in the village of Greensplat near St Austell.

You could go down the mine suitably equipped with a hard plastic helmet and there were three levels of agility or ease.

So of course it was decided that we were going to go down it, up and down slippery slopes or tight corkscrews of steps and when it came to the choice of routes of course everyone chose Route C, the hardest route through the mine...

After which I reappeared into open air, dishevilled, out of breath, bandage trailing from around my foot and ankle - never let it be said that I don't put effort into these blog posts you know... I should be well on the way to a nobel prize for documentary literature if I didn't keep skipping through my lifetime in a sort of yo-yo fashion! So we sat at a table for a refreshing drink - where are they by the way? - avoiding the wasps and a blue bum with a well-practiced swaying dance...

Holiday Index to follow

Newquay's Wonderful Beaches

I'm digging into the past - 34 years into the past to be precise - to bring to you, my dear readers, yet another example of the daft exploits of the Burke family on holiday. This time we are camping in what was to be a fairly dull if not altogether wet week in August 1992. Blimey! That was last century! Oh well, lucky that I'm not aging in any way then [cough, splutter...]

Saturday 15 August 1992. Yes, once again the Burke family head Cornwall way. Only this time there's an injured soldier along for the ride - yes I'm on crutches (well... "crutch" in the singular to be precise) having fallen down the stairs a few weeks before and torn the muscle on the back of my leg. It hurt at the time, it's not too bad now unless I have to bend far enough to pick something up...

It's a greedy little place is Newquay - not content with having just one beach, it has a whole string of them, divided into small bays by rocks or, in Towan Beach's case by the harbour and headand to the south.

Just up the road, we stop off for a drink. Not sure really why Gill looks so moody, but bear in mind she was 15 at the time! At the back is my mum and dad and opposite Gill is my nephew, another John, so generally known as "Little John". Thirty years on it doesn't quite sound right somehow... Missing from the photo (but not the holiday) are: me, wife Miss Franny, and my brother Frank. Camera shy - that's us...

The view from a bench on top of the cliffs near the harbour. From here you can see what I meant about many beaches enclosed by rocks into small bays.

Due to the hop-a-long foot we had a few more sit-downs than usual! Look, I'm suffering for my art here, juggling a crutch and wielding a camera all at the same time... Behind the harbour is a large headland with Fistral Beach behind it, famous for being one of England's best surfing beaches. I have been known to get on a board myself but found that standing up was nigh impossible and lying stomach down was murder on the old six-pack due to the sandpaper effect of board and sand!

Ignoring the piteous bleats of pain and hardship the family drag me down once again to beach level to have photos taken and to laugh at my efforts to climb up again to pavement level...

Walking back along the cliff tops of Newquay towards our campsite at Porth, only a few scant miles and no more than 287 steps to go up and down (what do you mean I'm exaggerating?) Well we had to stop on a few more benches to test the comfort and sprininess of wooden slats before we got there.

In this case the stopping was blamed on my foot, but the real reason was that Mum was ogling male bum cleavage down on the beach through binoculars as some chap on the beach below showed off the crack of doom by bending over to tie his shoelace or something...

Holiday Index to come...

Blackpool Steam and Transport Day, 1992

It was possibly a full weekend event, but my records show that we visited Blackpool Airport on Sunday 13 September 1992 for that year's Steam and Transport Spectacular.

Whatever the truth (and someone might remember better than I) we found the airport field full of old cars, lorries, traction engines and steam rollers and the odd one or two steam fairground organs. I had the pleasure of driving one of these old Bentleys for a while as a young lad, working in a photographic studio in Oldham. It sucked in petrol at an alarming rate...

Even more personal to me was this Mark III Ford Zephyr 4 as I had one of these cars myself way back in the 1970s. This car pre-dates the number plate year identifier which places it as dating from before February 1962, but mine was a C reg, so it was a 1965 model. A lovely car with full bench seat in the front and gear lever on the steering column.

The apparent favourite of most people who remember the Zephyr/Zodiac models was the Mark II of which this is the Zodiac and a convertible open-top as a bonus.

Blackpool Airport at this time was not as fully developed as it was to become and there was plenty of land available for events like these. Health and safety wasn't quite as stringent as modern times either. It has gotten ridiculous now due to the willingness of people to sue for damages for any incidents which are really their own fault and the bewildering way judges are reluctant to say "Well you shouldn't have been so stupid...". Here I am standing behind the barriers (a length of red and white striped tape) at the end of the runway to take this photo of a Pitts Special stunt biplane taking off to give a show.

One of the strips of tarmac was occupied by steam traction engines. The forerunners of petrol or diesel-fuelled machinery tractors they were, even within my memory, once a regular sight working as road rollers although by the 1950s the much lighter diesel-powered tractors had taken over most duties on farmland. The showmen's engines worked generators to power fairground rides and lighting.

In addition to the full-sized machines was a collection of working scale models. Mostly, if not all, built from scratch they must have represented hours of painstaking work by enthusiasts.

The showmen's engines were usually covered with a roof which not only protected the driver but the generator that was mounted in front and above of the boiler. Water and electricity not generally being the safest of combinations, this was a safety feature rather than an acknowledgement that farmers were a hardier breed, not minding the weather!

A feature of any steam engine is smoke. Generally of the thick, black and choking sort. Showmen's engines, usually parked next to the ride they were powering had tall chimneys that carried the smoke upwards rather than release it just over people's heads. These chimneys were detached and stored horizontally on the roof when the engines were not in use at the fairground.

I used to take a small cassette recorder with me to some of these events to capture "atmosphere", the sound of engines and background noise and announcements from Tannoy systems etc. I still have a couple of tapes somewhere with music from these wonderful old fairground and street organs. I ought to look them out and see if they will still play and if so get them digitised onto the computer. One day...

A row of classic lorries. So many of them were open-sided. Just a flat deck on which goods were stacked, I remember being bowled over once in my teens by a coalman's lorry, being hit on the back of the shoulder by a bag of coal that was sticking out a bit too far and caught me as I was walking over a narrow hump-back bridge where the pavement had petered out. I suppose the lorry should have waited until I was across - I was facing away from it and already more than halfway along the bridge before the wagon came up behind me. I was lucky not to end up with my legs under the lorry's back wheel. He didn't stop of course...

Bringing this article to a close is this photo of a beautiful luxury Pullman motor coach. Complete with curtains, tables and shaded lamps, this 1934 coach would have been the pinnacle of coach travel of its time.

Return to the Blackpool Attractions Index Page.

Blackpool Pleasure Beach 1995

Today a look at the Pleasure Beach at Blackpool in 1995. I think this was one of my last visits to the Pleasure Beach. It remained somewhere I kept meaning to go to again and then from 2009 they started charging admission and for me that was a huge mistake and the end of my desire to go.

I know other parks like Alton Towers and so on all charge admission, but Blackpool is a seaside town. A holiday destination. The Pleasure Beach served that town, not the other way around. The other theme parks have more ground and are landscaped. The Pleasure Beach is crammed with rides which leaves little room for making it look nice. People holidaying in Blackpool for a week (it used to happen...) want to go into the Pleasure Beach for a bit every day riding maybe one or two rides. Now to make it economical, you have to spend a full day in there.

It quickly went from being the number 1 attraction in the UK to not even No.1 in Blackpool. A great shame. I used to love the waffles with strawberry syrup and cream... I wouldn't pay a fiver just to be able to walk in to the stall that sold them...

However, back in 1995 all was happiness and light for a visitor. The Big One roller coaster had opened the previous year and there were queues of people happy to stand in line waiting for a ride on it.

No matter where you were in the park, it dominated the skyline. Yet I always thought it a strangely uninspiring ride. I preferred the sinuous sine wave curves of the woodies like The Big Dipper and Grand National. The Big One was fast and high but not, to me, exciting. My opinion only of course!

The most up to date ride with the oldest ride in front of it. The Hiram Maxim Flying Machine is still turning today, still driven by its original engine. It was one of several such rides created by the inventor as a means of stimulating interest in powered flight and hopefully prompting an excited rider into sponsoring his designs.

He invented mousetraps, asthma inhalers and all sorts of things before he invented the first machine gun small enough to be called "portable" just in time for World War One. He grew immensely rich - and deaf - from it.

Originally the passengers sat in pods that looked more like rowing boats than aeroplanes or rocketships. He had wanted to equip them with controls so that riders could make them go up and down as well as swinging out but the fairground industry, no doubt with visions of customers screaming with pleasure turning into customers screaming in terror as they plunged into the ground, vetoed that idea, leaving the great man dismissing what was left as a glorified merry-go-round... A merry-go-round that has stood the test of time though!

The black swinging pods of the 1960s Monster ride had been replaced by a similar but inferior temporary ride here pending the building of the Play Station (now Tango Ice Blast) for 1997.

Opposite the entrance to another of the Pleasure Beach's veteran rides - the River Caves - was a development that looked as though it was based on the Bedrock town of The Flintstones.

And we'll finish with a couple of night shots taken during the same year, 1995. The new Big One roller coaster dominates the view of the Pleasure Beach as seen from the South Pier in this photo.

The Hiram Maxim Flying Machine, taken with a long exposure and the camera on a tripod from the balcony at the side of the Ghost Train. Alice in Wonderland is on the left, no doubt playing the music of The Cuckoo Waltz!

Return to Blackpool Pleasure Beach Index Page