When the mines closed, men left Cornwall in their thousands, going out literally into the unknown. Many left from Redruth Station and their heartache is still there. Clock creeps to midnight Soft sleep its gentle hostage takes Throughout the tired town. But there, where arc of bridge Throws high its granite span The day…Continue Reading “Redruth Railway Station at Night – a poem by David Oates”
A Village Childhood by Ruth Tremayne An aerial view in the 1960s Surfboards and sunsets And pasties for lunch With mackerel and ice cream And flowers by the bunch The hedges were high And morals to match Roosters and chickens With eggs that would hatch There were horses and rabbits And sermons galore…Continue Reading “A Village Childhood by Ruth Tremayne Harry”
Ann Glanville (Photo: Terry Harry) Ruth brings us her poem about Ann Glanville (1796–1880), a Cornishwoman who achieved national celebrity for rowing a four-oared watermen’s boat. A Cornish Rower by Ruth Tremayne Harry There’s a statue by the river A woman sitting on a bench She is gazing at the water With a rower’s…Continue Reading “A Cornish Rower by Ruth Tremayne Harry”
The Cockpit Chapel Bert Biscoe brings us another of his poems, this time with Truro’s rich religious history in mind. A passing thought behind Trurra Cathedral The first signs of pretention came In the eighteenth century When the burghers granted permission For a spire to cap The miserable chapel…Continue Reading “A passing thought behind Trurra Cathedral – A Poem by Bert Biscoe”
David Oates has provided us with a fair numbers of articles and now we include one of his poems which clearly found him in relective mood. Godrevy was Camborne by the sea and in my childhood days it seemed as if we lived there – every day seemed fine, every sun-filled moment was…Continue Reading “Godrevy Days by David Oates”
Portscatho on New Year’s Day 2023 Bert Biscoe brings us another of his poems, this one in reflective mood – of things past, of people past, of Cornwall past. Goodnight, my land. Goodnight! Dedicated to Hilary Thomson of Portscatha I remember in the not-so-dim And still fresh past When pilgrims and…Continue Reading “Goodnight, my land. Goodnight!”