but the streets are so narrow that vehicles are forbidden; and yes, the car park is a bit off-putting in its size, but people have to make a living, and Polperro has to make a killing in the tourist season.
Every year, come Easter, the place is full, and it’s vibrant. All spring and summer long holidaymakers flock here. I love watching the children, utterly bewitched by this Cornish fishing village’s otherness, its complete differentness from the industrial towns they live in. It’s stunning, Polperro. Like staying in an enormous doll’s house, or Captain Hook’s gigantic galleon. Utter magic if you’re a kid from a big city: a place of enchantment, magic, and legend. And of course there’s always Merlin’s Kingdom; the ultimate childish treat; along with the Cornish fudge heaped in the sweetshop windows, Merlin is the icing on the cake.
Of course that’s how I used to think of Polperro, totally captivated, along with my sons, by the village’s filmic beauty. Not now, though. Now it was a different place, no longer full of swashbuckling pirates and green-capped benevolent elves, all bent on making your stay a time of wonder. For me, now, it was a place of sadness. And I had come here, for the first time in five years, to hear how my boy was never seen again after sailing from this very harbour. The harbour I now crossed to climb the rocky steps leading to the Blue Peter.
Chapter Fifteen
The Blue Peter
I was very nervous as I pushed open the old pub’s dark blue door. I hadn’t been here since we’d holidayed with the boys years before. Adam, Danny and Joey had loved the place. It was small, smoky and dark, a real fisherman’s favourite, with a blazing log fire, a bar garlanded in evergreens threaded through with white fairy-lights, wooden tables dotted around the charcoal slate floor and narrow windows looking onto the ancient harbour. When the tide was in, the local fishing boats, red, green, yellow and blue, bobbed gaily on the waves, as merry a nautical scene you could ever wish to see. But when, as now, it was low tide, the small vessels were grounded in mud. It was impossible to believe they could ever get out to sea.
Because of its size, the pub’s L-shaped room always looked busy, but today at the height of the summer season it was absolutely heaving with locals and tourists. I peered around in the gloom, but Ben was nowhere to be seen. Hardly surprising, since tension had brought me here very early. I glanced at my watch. Only half past twelve.
I found a small table tucked into a recessed window and considered braving the packed bar to order a drink. I hate being a single woman in a busy pub, especially one as masculine as this. But just as I was screwing up my courage to squeeze through the crowd I heard someone shrieking my name.
‘Molly! My God, it IS you, isn’t it? I haven’t seen you in years. Oh, good heavens, what a marvellous surprise!’
Alarmed, I turned to find the source of that loud, confident voice. And almost fell over with shock. Queenie. How extraordinary, although of course it wasn’t, because Queenie had worked behind the bar at the Blue Peter for donkey’s years. I’d forgotten; had never considered that I would bump into someone I knew. She bustled over, throwing her arms around me, a large friendly woman a decade or so older than me.
‘Oh, Moll. How lovely to see you.’ I was sincerely delighted to see her too. ‘Is Adam here?’ she asked.
‘No, just me. How are you, Queenie?’
‘Oh, you know me. Same as ever, mustn’t grumble.’ She looked at me keenly. ‘I’ll get you a drink. What is it? Still a G and T?’
‘How can you remember that after all this time?’ I asked.
‘Because I’ll never forget you telling me it’s the most civilised drink in the world. Oh, Molly, you always were so elegant.’
I laughed. ‘I don’t think so, Queenie, but actually I’d love a gin and tonic.’
‘G and T, ice and lemon, coming up. I’ll have one
Every year, come Easter, the place is full, and it’s vibrant. All spring and summer long holidaymakers flock here. I love watching the children, utterly bewitched by this Cornish fishing village’s otherness, its complete differentness from the industrial towns they live in. It’s stunning, Polperro. Like staying in an enormous doll’s house, or Captain Hook’s gigantic galleon. Utter magic if you’re a kid from a big city: a place of enchantment, magic, and legend. And of course there’s always Merlin’s Kingdom; the ultimate childish treat; along with the Cornish fudge heaped in the sweetshop windows, Merlin is the icing on the cake.
Of course that’s how I used to think of Polperro, totally captivated, along with my sons, by the village’s filmic beauty. Not now, though. Now it was a different place, no longer full of swashbuckling pirates and green-capped benevolent elves, all bent on making your stay a time of wonder. For me, now, it was a place of sadness. And I had come here, for the first time in five years, to hear how my boy was never seen again after sailing from this very harbour. The harbour I now crossed to climb the rocky steps leading to the Blue Peter.
Chapter Fifteen
The Blue Peter
I was very nervous as I pushed open the old pub’s dark blue door. I hadn’t been here since we’d holidayed with the boys years before. Adam, Danny and Joey had loved the place. It was small, smoky and dark, a real fisherman’s favourite, with a blazing log fire, a bar garlanded in evergreens threaded through with white fairy-lights, wooden tables dotted around the charcoal slate floor and narrow windows looking onto the ancient harbour. When the tide was in, the local fishing boats, red, green, yellow and blue, bobbed gaily on the waves, as merry a nautical scene you could ever wish to see. But when, as now, it was low tide, the small vessels were grounded in mud. It was impossible to believe they could ever get out to sea.
Because of its size, the pub’s L-shaped room always looked busy, but today at the height of the summer season it was absolutely heaving with locals and tourists. I peered around in the gloom, but Ben was nowhere to be seen. Hardly surprising, since tension had brought me here very early. I glanced at my watch. Only half past twelve.
I found a small table tucked into a recessed window and considered braving the packed bar to order a drink. I hate being a single woman in a busy pub, especially one as masculine as this. But just as I was screwing up my courage to squeeze through the crowd I heard someone shrieking my name.
‘Molly! My God, it IS you, isn’t it? I haven’t seen you in years. Oh, good heavens, what a marvellous surprise!’
Alarmed, I turned to find the source of that loud, confident voice. And almost fell over with shock. Queenie. How extraordinary, although of course it wasn’t, because Queenie had worked behind the bar at the Blue Peter for donkey’s years. I’d forgotten; had never considered that I would bump into someone I knew. She bustled over, throwing her arms around me, a large friendly woman a decade or so older than me.
‘Oh, Moll. How lovely to see you.’ I was sincerely delighted to see her too. ‘Is Adam here?’ she asked.
‘No, just me. How are you, Queenie?’
‘Oh, you know me. Same as ever, mustn’t grumble.’ She looked at me keenly. ‘I’ll get you a drink. What is it? Still a G and T?’
‘How can you remember that after all this time?’ I asked.
‘Because I’ll never forget you telling me it’s the most civilised drink in the world. Oh, Molly, you always were so elegant.’
I laughed. ‘I don’t think so, Queenie, but actually I’d love a gin and tonic.’
‘G and T, ice and lemon, coming up. I’ll have one
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