Expensively Distracting

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Rain, wind, and a lot of books. This is a blog about surviving the winter months by following the trail of some of the remarkable women of Cornwall’s past.

A week today, we leave for Somerset.

Amid the accurately predicted distractions of St Ives, some lovely little nuggets have arisen.

First, and possibly favourite, was a beautiful morning spent in Barbara Hepworth’s house and garden. I love this place. The peace, and the calm of people talking in quiet voices. The vast solid silence of her sculptures feels somehow full of movement and life. Imbued with purpose, poise and the spirit of this remarkable artist, they stand watch while you look out to sea, rest on a bench, peer through a window at a studio preserved in time and make your way thoughtfully around the meticulously sculpted garden. Everything positioned just so. I can imagine how she must have felt discovering this oasis for work and life behind it’s high and private walls.

I bought two books here. A beautiful photographic record of Barbara’s life and work. Wonderful for detail, and visually placing her in time. The second, a collection of Barbara’s writings and conversations edited by her granddaughter, which I have yet to read.

One wet Saturday in January, we discovered a bookshop dedicated to women writers tucked away off the main drag in Penzance. Alerted to its existence by a little billboard on the pavement while looking for somewhere to sit down and keep dry, I’d already walked past before deciding to turn and take a quick look. The Hypatia Trust bookshop is one of the public faces of the Trust’s mission to curate a library of collections focussing on the literary, artistic and scientific works and contributions of women to society and culture, to further the continuing contribution of women across the world to their societies, and “provide the means and facilities through which women can enhance their cultural and academic achievements and can address gender inequality in their working lives.”

Here, I bought myself two more books. One a history of changes in agricultural economies and education as they affected rural women between 1900-2000, yet to read. The other a sort of glossary by county of Westcountry women compiled in the 1980s. Working my way through the Cornish section, I created a reading list and found a couple of places I would like to visit. Unfortunately, the shop is closed for all of February, otherwise I’d be back. Their incredible online archive however, is not, and has already given me the gift of discovering the Morrab Library, where I spent an intriguing few hours with my reading list and The Elizabeth Treffry Collection donated to the library by The Hypatia Trust. The collection features all the titles on my reading list and so much more. I’ve found a few new avenues to explore and I couldn’t believe my luck when I found the book I’d enjoyed most of all waiting just for me on the second-hand books for sale shelf, on my way out. I laughed out loud at C.C. Vyvyan’s descriptions of hosting “…a mere sitting of bores gathered for a small tea party, on the principle that several of the species together are more easily handled than a single one.” I love her sense of humour and meticulous descriptions of the story of her garden in wartime and beyond.

I’ve been back to Porthcurno and the Minack Theatre, which feature strongly in memories of family holidays across the years, to find out more about the remarkable Rowena Cade, whose outdoor life on the edge of a cliff absolutely fascinates me. The theatre is incredible, but I’m really interested in the woman behind it. Everywhere you look in this vast, immeasurable, immovable landscape, she has carved and shaped in concrete and stone and paid the most careful attention to the tiniest of details. It’s been delightful finding out more about what drove her, hearing directly from someone who knew and worked with her, and just spending a gorgeous afternoon basking in the early Spring sunshine on her hillside. A woman who came up with her own recipe for concrete and single-handedly carried much of the sand required up those steep steps from the beach has to be worth finding out more about.

We’ve walked, a bit, but not as much as before when the wild walks were just outside the front door. I’ve got back into the sea, but, again, not as much as before. I can blame a lingering chest infection and a fair few stormy days for that. There’s been a lurking huskiness in my voice which has also put a stop to actively seeking any voiceover work in 2025 so far.

So, I’ve mostly been reading, enjoying a mixture of ‘just for fun’ and research. I picked up a novel called Wayward by American author Dana Spiotta a few months ago, a bit spooked by the description on the back… was this the book I want to write? Has someone already written it? Not at all, as it turns out, but a thought-provoking read about the mother-daughter bond.

Rediscovering Rosamunde Pilcher has been a pleasure. I must’ve read The Shell Seekers in my teens and had forgotten all about it. This felt (sorry, but it did…) like Coming Home to a comfort food style of writing that I really love. Coming Home breaks no ground, challenges no norms, reinforces plenty of stereotypes, and is probably very uncool, but I love it, nonetheless.

I made a point of requesting a copy of Helen Dunmore’s Zennor in Darkness for Christmas, because it’s set between the moor where we were staying last autumn, and St Ives, pretty much exactly where we’re staying now. The historical elements of the

place where we’re living were just great to discover. Hopefully they’re well researched because I’ve quoted some of them tour-guide style when walking visitors around the town.

In what feels like yet another confluence of ‘meant to be’ moments, I took myself on a Thursday morning to a writing workshop at The Writers Block in Redruth entitled Writing the Sea. Sea or trees we’re asked… sea, no question. Today anyway. We were asked to bring an artefact found by the coast and a photo of a favourite beach, or coastline. Still lacking a suitable artefact on Wednesday evening, the dog drags me to the sand for a soft place to poo. It’s cold, I haven’t put my coat on, and the ice in my spicy margarita is melting inside the bar. Another step and at my feet is a Mermaids Purse! Later I discovered it probably belonged to a nursehound catshark who trusted it with her baby somewhere among the rocks below. By the time it’s washed up here in the harbour of St Ives, it’s empty having hopefully successfully created new life.

Whether it has, or not, I hope this little pocket of life-giving protection knows it’s important enough to me to pick it up and take it home to keep. I soak it overnight, so my beach treasure looks just as gleamingly pregnant in the morning as it does lying here in the sand. It’s sides unexpectedly shine resplendent with nature’s psychedelic art. Everyone compares their finds, so many unusual things, each with a story to tell. I line mine up for a photo with my notebook and pen to discover that even my pen thinks that today is meant for writing.

(jeudi – écrire un poème = Thursday - write a poem)

Emotionally, this side of Christmas has been more of a ride. St Ives is busy even out of season, and it’s been a collision of conflicting desires. While I love the restaurants, the buzz, the life, it hasn’t done for me what Boswednack had. By mid-January I had to decide to embrace town life or spend two miserable months craving solitude and wild moors. So, we’ve had fun catching up with family and friends, playing host and being entertained.

I’ve grabbed with both hands the moments of quiet, the opportunities to learn, time to reflect, and watch the waves. I’ve even done a bit of yoga to the sound of the incoming tide.

Our next stop is Somerset base camp, although March is crazy busy, and I’ll be mostly on the road.

I’m looking forward to a solo retreat I’ve booked for myself mid-mad March to walk, and write, and think.

My Cornish journey has been guided by following the trail left by a series of fascinating women who have come before me to visit, live and love Cornwall. I’m richer for sharing their stories, visiting the homes and landscapes they haunt, and learning about their lives. All the time adding to the memory-box in my mind that fuels and inspires my own storytelling.

Here you’ll find my recent reading, in case you fancy it…

Bibliography

Harriet Baker (2024), Rural Hours: The Country Lives of Virginia Woolf, Sylvia Townsend Warner & Rosamund Lehmann, UK: Penguin Books

Sophie Bowness (2017), Barbara Hepworth: The Sculptor in the Studio, (2nd edition 2021), London: Tate Enterprises

Sophie Bowness (ed.) (2015) Barbara Hepworth: Writings and Conversations, (3rd edition, 2023), London: Tate Enterprises

M.S. Casling (2002), English Countrywomen: A century of change in agricultural economies and education 1900-2000, Penzance: The Hypatia Trust

Jennifer Clarke (1987), Exploring the Westcountry: A Woman’s Guide, London: Virago

Helen Dunmore (1993), Zennor in Darkness, (3rd edition, 2021), UK: Penguin Books

Sarah Kemp (ed.) (1993) Virginia Woolf: Selected Short Stories, London: Penguin

Rosamund Pilcher (1995), Coming Home, New York: St. Martin’s Press

Dana Spiotta (2021), Wayward, London: Virago

C.C. Vyvyan (1952), The Old Place, London: Museum Press

Virginia Woolf (1927), To the Lighthouse, (this edition, 2024), London: William Collins