Cornwall has been a mysterious place since the Phoenicians
sailed beyond the Pillars of Hercules to buy tin and gold from the misty land
of rugged cliffs, moors, and hidden harbours. Until the advent of modern
transportation, the easiest access was by sea, and that was by no means easy as
thousands of shipwrecks attest. It was a haven for smugglers and wreckers.
My first visit to Cornwall was at the age of eight. My
godmother rented a field from a farmer and parked a caravan, high on a hillside
looking west over the Atlantic between two rocky headlands, Cambeak and
Penkenna. We stayed there every summer and many Easter holidays for a couple of
decades. From there we explored the North Coast, the sandy coves, fishing
villages, and Bodmin Moor, now the setting of my Cornish mysteries.
In the meantime, my sister moved to the southern side of the
duchy, to a minuscule hamlet on the River Tamar, north of Plymouth. Just
upstream is Cotehele, a medieval fortified manor beautifully preserve…
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