Lost In Austen At Lerryn

After a week of cloud and drizzle, Sunday dawned bright and clear again. Time for another Pub Walk! We aimed for an early start today, because Wayne had some marking to do this afternoon. (Alas! The year is not all holiday for the troops.)

This week's destination was Lerryn, a village on the other side of the Fowey river to that which we had explored a couple of weeks ago, when our ramble took us along some spectacular coast. This one promised river and fields. Mindful of the week's wet weather, we chose wellies rather than hiking boots as the footwear of choice - very wisely, as it turned out.

The drive was along tiny back lanes. We are never going to see all the delightful nooks and crannies of Cornwall, but we are trying our best! Lerryn was like a toy village. You could imagine rearranging all the block-like buildings to suit yourself, up and down the tidal river. It was very neat and little, bridges and lanes and stepping stones, daffodils and primroses making a brave display. We were very charmed. And, astonishingly, we did not have to pay to park!

Guidebook in hand, we walked through the village, then 'into a field.' Field! It looked like a carefully tended lawn. A spreading chestnut tree adorned one corner. At the top of the rise was a Georgian manor. It must not have changed in 200 years or so. In fact we are...(woo spooky music)...Lost in Austen *2.

"I am most grateful for these nylon jackets," mused Miss Elizabeth Bennet (much older than in "Pride and Prejudice", but still a handsome woman). "The weather is so changeable."

"Why did you not provide one for me!" demanded Lady Catherine, a.k.a. Annie, pulling off her winter coat with disgust. "I have always been in possession of a fine constitution, and have no need of furs when taking the air." She tucked it behind the satchel being carried by Mr. D... (er, no, sorry, can't picture it); carried by the second gardener, 'Hay-Wain' Foster.

"Hay, Wain," said Miss Bennet, "is that not a pheasant perched on that hedge?"

"That it be," said Foster, "same as one that flew roight out of bush and startled Master Jack and moiself, just now."

"Hay Wain, you nearly let me slip and spoil my new nankeens," said Jack; then, "I'll race you to that stile," he said to the girls.

Off the party went, seeing no animals at all in the supposed farm-land. The sprouting fields looked like a green coverlet quilted in double rows of brown thread. Wooden paling fences were around the base of the trees, perhaps to protect them from squirrels.

At the stile, the ground was very sloppy. "Miss Eleanor! Your petticoats will be three inches deep in mud!"

"But we've all got gumboots and trousers on, Mum..." (Oh, all right, end of fantasy, we're into the woods now, anyway.)

We followed a path through the wood, noting how it seemed lighter down the hill, where the light reflected from holly leaves. Soon we came upon an old mill (see picture). It was very pretty, except for a sick rabbit that huddled next to a sunny wall. We hurried a distressed Eleanor past it. A nearby bank still had snowdrops in bloom, as well as the daffodils to be seen everywhere at the moment. Here I am pictured near them.



We came out onto a high field, with the sky arching blue overhead. Underfoot it was very muddy. In the next field we saw cows. Eventually we saw the River Fowey, and the spires of St Winnow below us. Church bells started ringing on cue. We walked past the medieval church and graveyard. Here are Jack and Annie near the grave of one Loveday Lane Foster (no relation, we think, but a beautiful name.)

We walked along the beach for a while, then up into Ethy woods. Sometimes we were on a narrow path, sometimes a broad track. Here is a picture of the children at the junction of the River Fohey and the River Lerryn.

Although it was a wood, it has been built in by people for years. There were little drinking troughs and walls and seats that were very old. We went down to the river for the children to have a swing at one stage.

Eventually we came out into Lerryn again. Off to the pub, thinking about a Ploughman's Lunch. However, pubs are a bit classier than that on a Sunday, it seems. So, when Wayne had supped an ale, and I a 'still cider' from a local farm - very nice- we sat down to a pheasant casserole. (That's what happens to all those pheasants stalking over hedges...) The children had lasagne.

Then back again home, where Wayne happily settled in to mark some tests... It was hard to choose which was the more interesting activity, he thought, (I think).

I did the ironing. The children went on the trampoline. The cat killed another rabbit. A busy weekend!