44: The demise of farming, Granny Pengelly beating me at whist and seeing moryonenns

Issue 44, winter 2005

When people talk to me about community as in community ventures or community initiatives, I always wonder what communities they are really referring to.

When I was younger, and that was not that so long ago (well, maybe), I lived in a farming community.

When I say community, I mean just that. In our ‘block’ there were four farms and three cottages. All belonged to the same estate and all those properties were lived in by Cornish farmers or farm workers.

Everyone knew each other and liked each other, or at least tried to like each other; you know what Cornish farmers can be like.

All year round, especially at harvest time and Christmas, all the farmers and their workers helped each other out and there was a real feeling of camaraderie among us.

40: On going to an AA meeting by mistake and not being a farmer anymore

Issue 40, winter 2004/2005

So here we are my friends, 40 issues and 10 years down the line.

Actually it’s a little more than ten years as Cornish World first came off the press in June 1994, and took a six month halt around four years ago when the future of the publication was in the balance.

Now Cornish World is stronger than ever.
The magazine is bigger than ever, the circulation is at its highest ever with subscribers at record levels. What started off as a 40 page publication has now swollen to the current size of 80 pages. Cornish World remains the same; presenting strong and interesting features from Cornwall about Cornwall.

I have never felt better about Cornish World or about journalism as a whole. I used to milk cows and cut turnips for a living and so it was quite a change from sitting behind a tractor steering wheel to sitting behind a computer. Father was hellish when I told him first but he understands now; farming idn’t like it used to be.
When I first gave up my wellies for writing, I worked as reporter for a local newspaper. As a new recruit to the newsroom, my job was to cover meetings; councils, Women’s Institutes, committees, anywhere where more than five people sat down for a chat.

One Christmas I was sent to cover a meeting of the Newlyn Association – an organisation concerned with the welfare of the port and its inhabitants. I was, naturally, late and so when I arrived at the Newlyn Royal National Mission to Deep Sea Fishermen I was a little flustered and dreading the thought at having to walk to the front of a meeting that had already started, perch myself on the press bench and explain my lateness.

I entered the building and not knowing where exactly to go, stumbled into the first room with an open door. There around ten men were sitting in a circle. It all seemed very informal for a meeting but, I thought, some meetings are like that. There was a smell of beer and wine in the air, but it was Christmas and people like an early drink in the season of good will.

A man came in with a file, sat in the circle and I got my notepad out ready to take down stories.

He looked at me and said: “You’re new and you’re very welcome here.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Would you like to start?” he added.

“Yes,” I said somewhat bewildered “Hello, my name is Nigel Pengelly and I am a reporter for The Cornishman.”

“Hmm,” said the man with the file and nodded to man next to me prompting him to speak.

The man next to me, who I recognised from somewhere, looked shamefully down at his feet and said: “I’ve relapsed this week and it has not been as good as it could have been.”

I wrote down his quote word for word.

“My name is Andy and I am still an alcoholic,” he added.

I looked at my notes and it suddenly dawned. I was sitting in on a meeting of the local Alcoholics Anonymous.

I stuttered something about being in the wrong room and made to leave but the meeting organiser bid me to sit down, be brave and tell my story.

My plea that I was here to write stories took a while to get through to the group who were encouragingly supportive to my apparent shyness.

Eventually, I left the room and wished them well and found the Newlyn Association meeting, now halfway through the agenda, on the top floor.

So when setting out anywhere always make sure you know where you are going and be respectful to those you meet on the way. You never know when you’ll see them again.

Wishing you all the best for the new year and the next ten years.

Nigel Pengelly, Editor.
editor@cornishworldmagazine.co.uk
www.cornishworldmagazine.co.uk
Pictured: Nigel Pengelly happy at the office of Cornish World.

37: On finding the centre of the world and father being hellish

Issue 37, spring 2004

I once thought had discovered the centre of the world.

It wasn’t something I’d planned to do; I was experimenting with corners and string in the round field on my our farm.

The round field was an ancient burial ground. To me it was a mystical place where something magical was always about to happen. I had a dream once that one of the granite slabs in the hedge was door to somewhere; it never opened for me.

A group of us local farmer’s sons camped there a couple of times hoping to see something. I don’t know what we hoped to see, or what we would have done if we did see something. When father came up late and shook the tent, we panicked so much we almost had accidents. We were only 11.

The day I found the centre of the world was around the same time. The field wasn’t quite round but had seven sides including a gateway and a stile. I figured that if you drew a line from corner to opposite corner, and from the spare corner to the stile where the old people used to carry the dead, at the point where the lines crossed I might find something interesting.

So with lots of binder twine and fencing stakes, one Sunday afternoon, I made an elaborate cat’s cradle of string across the round.

Where the lines crossed I stood in expectation, but witnessed nothing. Then, I looked down and saw a large, smooth round stone with fossil-like markings in it.
This must be it, I thought, the sign. It must be the simple sign that says this the centre of the world, the belly button of planet earth.

I sat and thought about it for a while and ran indoors to fetch father. He wouldn’t come but mother had a look and said father would be hellish if I didn’t put back all the string and stakes. However, the centre of the earth marker stone was now gone.

We couldn’t find it.

I was devastated that someone else might get credit for discovering my miraculous find.

I was, from that moment, enlightened in what I perceived to be the centre of the world. It is the place you feel most at home with, the place you feel you belong.
Years later, I still wonder about that centre of the world stone.

Cornwall is the centre of my world. There is no other place I’d rather be. The world, for what I believe, may well have started in a field near Porthleven.

For many others Cornwall is also the centre of their world. They needn’t travel very far from it or of they do venture away, it’s always there when they get back.

Many people have been celebrating their world as of recent. The show of people at the various celebrations for St Piran on his feast day is testament to that.

Many more people will be coming to celebrate their Cornish world at Dehwelans as well.

I’ll be at the Cornish World stand so I’ll hopefully see you there.

The weather; it’ll be sunny from now until October.

Bright days ahead for one and all.

Nigel Pengelly, Editor
editor@cornishworldmagazine.co.uk
www.cornishworldmagazine.co.uk
Pictured: storms on a spring tide, Penzance.