Lands End -10 Years on

 

      Lands End

Back in the early 1960s a woman called Dr Barbara Moore walked the entire length of the U.K, from John O’Groats at the very top of Scotland to the most southern point of England, Lands End. Barbara’s hike was reported daily on TV news bulletins and made headlines in the national newspapers. Her exploits caught the imagination of everyone. It wasn’t often you saw a woman, or anyone come to that, marching the whole length of the U.K. It was certainly unusual and an amazing achievement. And one replicated a couple of decades later by former cricketer Ian Botham.

I checked her bio on Wikipedia.

‘Dr. Barbara Moore (22 December 1903 – 14 May 1977) was a Russian-born health enthusiast who gained celebrity in the early 1960s for her long-distance walking. In December 1959, she walked from Edinburgh to London. In early 1960, she walked from John O’Groats to Land’s End in 23 days. She then undertook a 46-day, 3,387-mile walk from San Francisco to New York City, where she arrived on 6 July 1960. She was a vegetarian and walked with only nuts, honey, raw fruit and vegetable juice for nourishment. She died in a London hospital on 14 May 1977.’

54 years on, here I was staring at the road out of Lands End, and trying to picture the scene of Dr Moore arriving at her destination. Quite surreal to be honest. 

The legendary road sign points to John O’Groats and tells you it is 874 miles away. How daunting is that? I mean, walking to the town centre, a mere mile and a half can be a drag. Which is about the distance I had to walk from my abode, the Con Amore to the bus station in Penzance. 

I awoke feeling suitably refreshed, showered and went in search of the dining room. All was quiet. Slightly disconcerting, there wasn’t even a whiff of a bacon sarnie or a pot of tea brewing. Realisation soon set in. And the words of Simon the owner informing me of the haste he and his wife have of getting their kids off to school also came to me. I was too late for breakfast!

On my way to the bus station, I called in at Tesco’s to buy an egg mayonnaise sandwich and bottle of Lucozade. The bus to Lands End left on the hour, which gave me time to sit on a bench and munch my sandwich until I was interrupted by an odd looking greasy bespectacled fellow who came and sat next to me. “This wind is ridiculous, isn’t it” he said. I didn’t know if it was a statement or a question but before I had a chance to respond, he moved on.  Some strange people around.

I finished my breakfast just as a double-decker bus pulled up and I sat upstairs to get a better view of the countryside. Considering that Lands End is only about eight miles from Penzance, I didn’t think it would take long, but no, the bus called in at every tiny village it could find and we finally made it to our destination an hour later. I was beginning to think I could have walked it quicker. I had to admire the driver though, some of those lanes down in Cornwall are ridiculous and how the drivers negotiate their way around is nothing short of miraculous. Up high I could see further ahead than the driver and lost count of the number of tractors and trailers meandering around. ’Bollocks to this for a job’ I mused. 

There's something almost mythical about Lands End. The most south westerly point in Great Britain the text book tells us, attracts thousands of tourists every year. First of all, you wonder why? Then, how come it wasn’t called Lands Start? Meaningless  thoughts really but there is something weird about standing on top of the cliffs and looking out to sea and thinking ‘over there somewhere is America’ and then turning around and realising that this is the very beginning of the United Kingdom.

I didn’t really know what to expect. I was hoping it might just be a lone shed or maybe a tuck shop and a bar. Sadly it was obvious that commercialism has long since grabbed a stronghold round its neck and it’s now geared up for milking everybody that comes along.
I do enjoy poking around souvenir shops to be honest and as a memento I bought a mug with an emblem of Lands End on it. Just to prove to everyone who comes in my house that I have actually been there. I mean, how many people do you know can claim to have been to Lands End? 

What I had to find was the famous landmark where you can have your photo taken with your home town and mileage on its arm above your head. We’ve all seen photographs with different towns and villages and their mileages indicating how far they are from Lands End. ‘How do they do that?’ is a question often asked. Mainly by numbskulls when you think about it as it’s obvious really. The bloke who operates this and takes the photographs has a set of digits and letters for you to select and a chart with every town and city throughout the country to tell you how far away you are from home. You then slot them in to the arm. I guess if it’s a village he would ask how far away that is from your nearest town and estimate. Doesn't have to be that accurate I suppose. For this privilege he will relieve you of £10.

Which made me think. ‘He must be raking it in’ as he took my snapshot. ‘What's a tenner anyway nowadays? A couple of pints?’

Job done, a check of my watch telling me I had a good hour until the next bus, I wandered off over the cliffs to take in the stunning views. Craggy rocks, crashing waves, windswept cliffs, bracing air. Sublime. Taking a few pictures of the views I saw a chap walking towards me up the cliff path and stopped him to ask if he would do me a kindness and take a picture of me with the sea in the background. “Yes, certainly sir” he spoke eloquently, adding “it’s a sheer joy to walk over the marvellous countryside we have in England”. “It is” I agreed. Then for the sake of something else to say I asked him the usual banal question; “what part of England are you from?” “The Midlands” he replied. “Oh, same as me” I returned.
“Really? I'm from Northampton”

“I’m from Corby” I triumphed, “I used to drive to Northampton everyday for years for the Royal Mail” I continued, sensing that this was one of those moments you comes across in life. I then said to him; “you’ll be telling me next you were a postman too!” 

“No” he said and turned on his heels. ‘Bye’. Oh well.
And there was me about to tell him I clocked up 35 years...Turned into a bit of a damp squib that conversation! Never mind.

Feeling hungry I gave the good old Cornish Pastie another go and hoped that it would quench my palate. It didn’t. What has happened to the traditional wonderful meat and veg Cornish Pastie that I remember so well from the 1960s? Or is it a figment of my imagination?

I wandered over to the bus stop and sat on the bench next to a worried looking lady.
“Is there a bus due?” she asked me.
“Hope so” I answered, “otherwise we’re stuck here and we’re knackered!”
That didn’t really give her any confidence and she frowned. I looked around and spotted a couple of characters who were on the bus that brought us here and figured that they must have it sorted, they looked the type. Organised.
“I’m sure the bus will turn up” I told the lady. And right on cue, it appeared! There you go.

Back in Penzance with plenty of daytime left I thought I might as well head for Mousehole, or Mousel as they prefer to call it. Only ten minutes on a bus as well. First impression was it was just like any other of a hundred typical Cornish fishing villages. Nice but once you’ve seen one you’ve seen them all. I might have said that before but I reckon it’s true.

I finished the day off by walking the short distance to Newlyn where I had seen a fish and chip shop from the bus window. ‘It’s got to be good’ I was thinking, ‘nothing like fish and chips from a genuine fishing port is there?’
Just as I got there, a minibus pulled up and beat me into the shop. Two hippie like carers in charge of a dozen or so kids handed over a shipping order! You couldn’t make it up, (my favourite observation you may have noticed). I was standing there famished, watching the fish and the pies and the sausages disappear.                                                                                                       

‘Are they going to leave me anything?’ I despaired.

After what seemed an eternity, the hippies left with a huge box of chips and everything else that was there to dish out to the squealing kids in the bus.
“Sorry for the wait” the girl behind the counter apologised to me. She could probably read my face. I’m hopeless at hiding my feelings.

“No problem” I replied - lying through my back teeth! - and headed back to the Bath Inn to tell the barmaid of my exploits for the day, including my trip to Mousel!