Mousehole Part - 2 -

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As we walked into the centre of Mousehole the helicopter to the Scilly isles flew overhead.

Mousehole is a labyrinth of ancient streets packed with cottages, alleys, exotic plants and cats. We spied two, on a low balcony, one of whom was reading a leaflet about the Trevithick Trust. Feeling very foolish I was about to enquire of this, apparently literate, feline about Mowzer when he appeared to read my mind, he took off his glasses addressed me in a Cornish lilt:- "Mowzer had an old cottage with a window overlooking the harbour, an old rocking-chair with patchwork cushions and an old fisherman named Tom." I must have looked astonished, the cat turned to his friend, grinned and carried on, "Mowzer had had many kittens in her time", said the cat, " but they had all grown up and left home. Her eldest son kept the inn on the quayside. It was noisy and smoky and his man had once spilled beer on Mowzer's head as he was drawing a pint."

Before I could respond, or gather my thoughts, he leapt to the ground and was gone. I thought about asking his friend a little more but he looked as though he was one pilchard short of a tin and would not know myth from folklore if it bit him on his pink nose. He looked at me, said "That Percy" shrugged his feline shoulders, giggled and then he too ran off.

I mustered as much dignity as I could, after being so addressed by a cat, and walked straight into a lamp post which had been most carelessly erected, a mere two paces in front of my present position, by the Cornwall and Devon County Council some years previously.

After some little deliberation and consultation we took Percy at his word and made for the pub by the harbour. A most jovial and welcoming establishment if ever we entered one, full of atmosphere. We soon noticed a tabby cat sitting opposite us. He looked up from his newspaper, winked and whispered to us. "Cornwall was a country rich in tin and copper ore at that time", he looked from side to side," The landscape is peppered with engine houses and chimneys, go west" He passed us a piece of paper, folded his newspaper and left by the window.

Scribbled on the paper was a scrawny note. "Most notable of the engineers was Richard Trevithick, who built the first high pressure steam engines which were used for pumping mines. Go to St Just and it's tin mines, there you may seek out the information you desire".

On completion of our repast we climbed aboard the Tank and headed for St Just, after all we visited St Just 18 months previously where we had indulged ourselves with the most wonderful cream tea of our lives, not that the cream teas had any bearing on our collaborative decision to venture forth in a westerly direction. April is without doubt the best time of year to visit Cornwall, and the Tank is the vehicle to do it in. Perched high above the road our view was unimpeded by hedges and walls as we motored along the winding byways of Western Cornwall at 20 mph or less unhindered by impatient drivers trying to hurry us along. Our hastily prepared itinerary brought us to Porthcurno, where we observed the entrances to both the home of the Museum of Submarine Telegraphy www.porthcurno.org.uk and the Minack Theatre Centre, however we were of the unanimous opinion that these fine establishments would have to wait another day as a Cornish Cream tea was now beckoning in earnest, a beckon we could no longer ignore.

Under the tea pot we found a note, it too had been written in a very scrawny style with the extra embelishment of a most artisticly placed ink stain. The note conveyed to us the following piece of intelligence "One of Mowers daughters kept the shop on the corner, just above the harbour at Mousehole. It was busy and crowded and legend has it that her lady had once stepped on Mowzer's tail as she was weighing out some vegetables. "

On Monday the Tank pulled up on the sea front at Marazion, overlooking St Michael‘s Mount. During our visit to Marazion we visited art galleries, ate ice cream, consumed Cornish pasties and watched the boats ferrying passengers to and from St Michael‘s Mount while the raging sea rushed through the sound, eventually submerging the causeway completely.

As Betsy chased her bright green tennis ball across the beach, relentlessly, Alan produced his excellent pocket sketch book and recorded the scene in front of us for posterity. We had not, dear reader, forgotten the intelligence gained yesterday, at 14:30 the Tank slowly backed away from the raging sea before setting a course back to Mousehole, via "Shiver Me Timbers" a wood reclamation yard.

Once in Mousehole we made it our business to enter the portals of the aforementioned shop. In a most nonchalant way we perused the ice cream choices on offer, strawberry, ginger, chunky monkey and vanilla, all available with cream and flakes as extra embellishments, a luxury not frequently on offer up in the midlands.

We made our purchases and sat on the harbour wall where we consumed this Cornish delicacy while seagulls wheeled over head and Alan made sketches of the harbour. The weather continued to deteriorate, the waves were now so high and the clouds so low that the division between them was soon lost, we made our way back home, via the chip shop again.