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