Newquay Deja Vu -10 Years on

 

Newquay Deja Vu

If there was one place I wanted to re-visit on this trip it was a pub called the Farmers Arms. The first holiday me and Sue ever had was in 1969 to Cornwall. Two weeks shared with my mother and dad, my sister Gwyneth, brother Robert and sister in law Sylvia, and baby Andrea in a bungalow north of Newquay at a place called Porth. There were a few pubs we enjoyed but the favourite was the one called the Farmers Arms which had a cosy lounge and a great jukebox (weren't they all back then?) It’s remained forever in my mind as a great memory of when we were both in our teens and sharing a wonderful experience.

I wanted to return to some old haunts that Sue and I had shared during our 45 years together. Coming face to face with your past, meeting it head on and dealing with it. Once done, I felt as if I could move on. That was the theory anyway. Time would tell.
So it was on the penultimate day of this holiday I set off from Penzance on a two hour train journey to Newquay. It should have been a leisurely and poignant excursion but it was rudely interrupted a couple of stations down the line at Hayle when a couple of tattooed imbeciles boarded and proceeded to annoy everyone with their uncouth and boorish attitude, none more so than the ticket collector, who I have to say showed considerable restraint and humour.

The two muppets ensconced themselves, much to my discomfort, in the seat right opposite me. Noisy and giggling like a pair of big girls they managed to shatter the tranquility with staccato conversation, irritating cackling, challenging anyone within earshot to gain eye contact. I refused to acknowledge their infantile behaviour and gazed out of the window.

They both looked as if they were on day release. One dressed ludicrously in orange shorts and yellow T-shirt topped with a baseball cap that at least was mercifully placed on his head the right way round.
The moron’s friend was dressed slightly more soberly with scruffy jeans and a T-shirt but looked like he hadn’t shaven for days. The two of them were hyper from the moment they got on the train. Orange shorts man tapped his feet relentlessly and nervously, laughing away as the unshaven one ranted a stream of rubbish from his mouth to nobody in particular. God Almighty.

Then the ticket collector arrived. “Tickets please” 

“Tickets?” Unshaven bawled, “we haven’t got a ticket. We don’t need one!” 

Which brought ‘Orange’ to hysterics.
“Well you’ll have to buy one then” responded the ticket collector.
“What you going to do if we refuse to buy one?” Unshaven asked menacingly. Orange was holding his sides by now, stamping his feet.

“Yeah what you goin’ to do?” 

“You going to chuck us off?” 

“We haven't got any money”, and now Unshaven had the audience’s attention, added, “you and who's army?”
Peels of laughter howled from Orange. A few more expletives cranked up the tension.
The Collectors’ beard bristled. Patience was wearing thin. I was wondering what’s going to happen next when the idiots let him off the hook.
“Don't worry pal, we’re only messin..’ Unshaven said, ‘how much is it to Cambourne?”
The Collector breathed in; “OK girls that'll be £x.” A few heads turned, mine included.
“Oooh he called us girls!” Unshaven bellowed and screeched, “How much? What? No way mate!” 

Orange joins in; “Ooohh” 

More howls of laughter.
I didn’t catch what the fare was but to everyone’s relief the numbskulls paid up just as the train pulled into Cambourne and they scampered off the train like a pair of naughty schoolchildren to disappear no doubt, to cause havoc in the town.
The more I thought about them the more I thought they must have escaped from a home or somewhere!

Temperatures were soaring as we pulled into Newquay Station which now, like many other minor railway stations has a single track. I visualised briefly what I could remember from the last time I stood on this platform in 1969. A bustling exciting terminal with holidaymakers scurrying around. Today it was quiet, almost dead. Seemed a bit disappointing but things have changed rapidly over the course of the last 40 years. 

Getting my bearings I decided there wasn’t much I wanted to see in Newquay Town Centre so I headed northwards over the cliffs to where I figured Porth was.

I soon recognised various landmarks. The beaches way below in particular. Then I saw in the distance at the bottom of the cliffs the pub that was a significant watering hole for us way back in the 60s. The Mermaid. I knew I was in the right place and the right direction to find the Farmers Arms. The Mermaid was at the bottom of a hill to where our bungalow was and a regular haunt for a dinnertime pint or two for my dad.

Remarkably it didn’t appear to have changed that much and I took a minute to take the scene in. 

Feeling peckish I asked for a menu and a coke and settled on a Ploughman’s lunch.

Whilst ordering I asked the landlady how long they had been in residence and if she knew of the Farmers Arms.

That took her by surprise. Not many people asked her that I guessed.
“Yes” she said “but it’s been closed for months, there is somebody who’s supposed to be taking it over though.”
She gave me directions; “up the hill to the top of the road and keep going.”

As soon as I saw the street sign, Laverne Road, it all came back. The hill was a pain in the arse, even when I was 19.
Our bungalow was situated right at the top and still looked the same. I turned round when I reached it and took in the view. Apart from a modern lamppost, nothing had changed. There was something re-assuring about that somehow.

For a few minutes I was lost in my own world, remembering the fun we shared here 45 years ago. July 1969. Not so good though was the day we had a visit from the police with a message for my dad. His brother, my Uncle Ivor, had died suddenly in Wales. That was a sad moment that upset dad quite a bit. They were close.

I pursued my way to the Farmers Arms thinking I would find it no bother. I didn’t. Lost my bearings totally and asked a couple of people who looked slightly bemused. 

They obviously knew the pub had been boarded up for months and wondered why I was looking for it. “It’s closed”

“I know.”

They pointed me in the right direction and suddenly, there in front of me was the Farmers, right next to a church that I’d forgotten all about. The pub was boarded up, but there was a door slightly ajar so I thought I might as well take a look inside. I didn’t notice an iron bar jammed against the wall to keep the door open and promptly kicked it, sending it flying across the room with a clatter. Christ almighty! My toe throbbed for a couple of minutes. It was dark and I could hardly see anything and then a guy appeared from nowhere to confront me.

“Can I help you?” he asked, looking concerned, as if he’d encountered a burglar.
“Oh, sorry about that, I didn't see that bar across the door”
My eyes were adjusting to the light now and I was standing in what looked like the lounge, though it was completely devastated.
“We’re closed”
Rather an obvious thing to say but I allayed his worries when I explained what I was doing there. Told him in time honoured fashion that I was last in this place 45 years ago. He calmed down then, could see I wasn't some sort of idiot.
“Yes, I was here with my wife, who passed away in January, and my family, staying in a bungalow..." 

“I’m sorry to hear that, I'm the new Landlord, we’ve actually just moved in today, be a few weeks before we’re ready to open.” 

“Has it changed much do you think?” he asked.
Before answering, I was lost in my thoughts for a second, I told him the fortnight we were here all those years ago was when man first landed on the moon. Neil Armstrong and co.
“Blimey, I was only one!” the Landlord said.
Suddenly I felt my age!
Getting back to his question I perused the lounge and couldn’t remember it at all as it was now. 

“This has changed” I said. I could sense the sadness in my voice as I said this. 

“There wasn’t a dance area in the middle of the floor and I remember there were alcoves around the room and a great jukebox but I can’t even place where that would have been.”

It was disappointing. I couldn’t even remember the situation of the bar.
“It’s nothing like I remember it...but things do move on in 40 odd years, obviously” I said resignedly. 

The Landlord looked sad for me. I was beginning to wonder myself what the obsession was in finding this elusive pub. However, when I had walked down that lane and found it, exactly how I remembered, apart from the church towering over it which I had completely forgotten about, I felt as if I’d achieved my goal. It was a strange feeling.

“Outside though I recognised the pub straight away! Amazing!”
That cheered me up and cheered the Landlord up too. A big smile spread across his face. “It’s a pity I can't offer you a drink” he apologised.
“No problem mate, it’s just great being here for a moment, I’ve wanted to come back here for years…”
Just for good measure I rattled off a few of the records we played every night on the jukebox, ‘In the Ghetto’, ‘Proud Mary’, ‘The Boxer’, ‘I’d Rather Go Blind’.
That sailed right over his head but never mind.
One last look at the decimated innards of the pub, a couple of photographs for posterity, a shake of the Landlords hand and I bade him farewell. Mission accomplished.

The train journey back to Penzance gave me time for reflection. A feeling of melancholy threatened to consume me. Memories of Sue were ever present in my mind. I was thinking of the games of pitch and putt we all played, Robert, Gwyneth, Sylvia and Sue, most mornings on the cliff by the Mermaid. Mam busying herself doing the chores in the bungalow whilst looking after my niece Andrea, aged two; Dad losing his brother and having a pint or two in the Mermaid while the rest of us camped ourselves on the beach, frolicked in the surf. Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin on the box mesmerising me in particular as I watched them into the small hours making that momentous leap for mankind. Sue phoning home regularly from a phone box awaiting news of the birth of her nephew Craig to her sister Barbara….

45 years seemed an awful long time ago. I was ready to go home.