Cadgwith is by no means one of the Lizard peninsula’s most threatened communities as long as you consider it as part of a larger area including Ruan Minor, Lizard Village and perhaps Poltesco. Between them they can offer an excellent pub almost on the shoreline (great Sunday lunch) and another in Lizard; both Methodist and Anglican churches, two schools; two post offices with a general store and café, a farm shop, a GP surgery which was still open this spring, a lifeboat station and a coastguard lookout run by volunteers; hotels, cafes and pasty shop, local arts and crafts galleries, probably the last serpentine turner in the county and some wonderful walks through a botanical wonderland. The small inshore fishing fleet is mainly run by part timers and – here’s the rub – there’s a superabundance of holiday lets. If you’re a plumber, or an electrician or builder; or if you’re happy to do a bit of cleaning you can earn a sensible living but as far as buying a house locally is concerned, you might as well resign yourself to a long commute from St Awful (that’s a local judgement, not mine) – or Camborne which is one of Cornwall’s most deprived towns. We tend to think of levelling up as a northern phenomenon but Cornwall has some of the poorest communities in the UK and like some parts of Wales, the only way up for many ambitious young people is also the way out.
If you’re a regular visitor to the Potwell Inn you’ll know that this part of South Cornwall is one of my favourite places on earth, most years we visit two or three times to hunt for plants; but you also need to know that simply liking the place, buying a Guernsey sweater and a hat with an embroidered anchor will not; will never make you a local. Upcountry is an unsettling and wicked place which necessitates passing through Devon and nothing good ever comes through Devon.
However, turning to Cadgwith once again, the tin tabernacle in the photo which is on the steep footpath from near the Todden and leading up to the car park is inaccessible except on foot. I took this photo in January 2022 – I’ve always loved these remnants of mission churches. We had one of them in Oldbury on Severn in the next-door parish to mine. There’s much more information about the Cadgwith chapel in the linked Guardian article published last week. The protesting cottage, also at the top of this piece is just a few steps further down the lane and reflects the majority view of the locals. When we grow old and forgetful it’s regarded as a personal tragedy but the mass influx of outsiders can just as surely drive out the community memories which are the glue that holds people together in shared experiences, and which is one reason why we were both so delighted to see that the little blue corrugated iron chapel has been given a grade 2 listing. Go inside and sit quietly on one of the blue pews and reflect on the courage of the volunteer lifeboat crew who, in 1907, went out to rescue 456 people from the stricken liner “Suevic” – and the vicar was a member of that crew.
Earlier this year we were having a pint in the pub on the Lizard and I noticed that one of the bar staff was wearing an RNLI pager. In Pembrokeshire last week we were on the Puffin shuttle bus going towards St Justinian when we had to stop to allow a car to pass and the bus driver stopped for a chat with the other driver – it’s that kind of bus route – and turned around to tell us that the man was, in fact, a member of the St David’s lifeboat crew; cue for a big cheer from the passengers! These things matter greatly. Community memories are hardwired into the whole landscape in these isolated places. Sustainable tourism demands a thoughtful attitude from those of us who are just visiting to ensure that we are not responsible for eroding and diluting those memories.
We’ll soon be back for another month in paradise – the campervan may be a bit cramped, but it’s like a holiday cottage on wheels once you’ve learned how to live like a submariner and put things away in the right place every time.
