Favourite places
The Dodman Point, with its magnificent
views to Looe Island in the east and The Lizard in the west, lies at the heart
of my favourite place. It is not the sea views, which are grand, across the treacherous
waters off the point, out across Gerrans Bay, Gull Rock and on to Falmouth - seething
even when the rest of the ocean is dead calm. Nor is it the superb beaches at
Hemmick and Vault which lie to either side of it. Indeed the Secret Beach at Hemmick,
only reachable at low water springs, is fabulous. Here for a moment one can play
Robinson Crusoe, discovering Man Friday's footprints in the virgin sand, and climb
the rocks to find caves once used by miners looking for copper. The verdigris-stained
shales mark a moment long gone when the hewing of the earth made livings here,
replaced now by those with leisure and curiosity to kill the time.
To a Dutchman like me, Dodman - a colloquialism of Doodman, meaning dead man -
has the ring of dread to it. The cross, a marker for those at sea for more than
a century, is a reminder of mortality, its copper lightning conductor a marker
for a more heavenly assault. There is a savage beauty here which has the capacity
to either attract or repel; there are no half measures. It is not nice or pleasant
and the stunted hawthorns and sheath of bracken speak not of hospitality but survival
against the elements. Yet as you walk back along the coast path, as if to go to
Hemmick, you come upon a sunken lane that cuts across the headland east to west.
Louring above you is a huge earthen bank with a smaller bank on the other side.
These are the ramparts which once kept safe an Iron-Age community who lived here
two thousand years ago; their flints and metalwork occasionally surface under
the caress of the plough in the neighbouring fields.
Now you are walking in the ditch, sheltered from the wind, and in the spring the
banks are rich with wild flowers: herb robert, rosebay willowherb, purple loosestrife,
celandine, campion - both pink and white - and toadflax are the stars, but the
canvas is made of swathes of wild garlic, alexander and cow parsley. For a moment
you are in a place of magic. Plates of time were overlaid here as each generation
acted out their lives upon this stage. The human and the elemental merge in this
passageway of sanctuary and you feel a sense of belonging to something that you
can't quite put your finger on, but whatever it is it feels good.
Tim Smit
Photo: The National Trust / Dawn Runnals |
|