Two
30 October 2004 – 4 p.m.
Seeing Seaglass again steals my breath away.
It normally takes at least five hours to drive from London to Cornwall, slightly less by train. But I always enjoyed swapping the hustle and bustle of the city for a network of twisted memories and country lanes. I prefer a simpler, slower, quieter way of living, and London is inherently loud. Navigating my way back here has often felt like time travel, but my journey today has been quicker than expected and relatively pain free. Which is good, because I wanted to get here first. Before the others.
I’m pleased to see that nothing much has changed since my last visit. The stone Victorian house with its gothic turrets and turquoise tiled roof appears to have been built from the same granite rocks it sits on. Pieces of blue-green glass still decorate some of the exterior walls, sparkling in the sunlight and gifting Seaglass its name. The mini mansion rises out of the crashing waves that surround it, perched upon its own tiny private island, just off the Cornish coast. Like a lot of things in life, it’s hard to find if you don’t know where to look. Hidden by crumbling cliffs and unmarked footpaths, in a small cove known locally as Blacksand Bay, it’s very much off the beaten track. This is not the Cornwall you see on postcards. But aside from the access issues, there are plenty of other reasons why people tend to stay away.
My nana inherited Seaglass from her mother – who allegedly won it from a drunken duke in a card game. The story goes that he was an infamous bon viveur, who built the eccentric building in the 1800s to entertain his wealthy friends. But he couldn’t hold his liquor, and after losing his ‘summer palace’ to a woman, he drowned his sorrows and himself in the ocean. Regardless of its tragic past, this place is as much a part of our family as I am. Nana has lived here since she was born. But despite never wanting to live anywhere else, and making a small fortune writing children’s books, she has never invested much in home improvements. As a result, Seaglass is literally falling into the sea and, like me, it probably won’t be around much longer.
The tiny island it was built on almost two hundred years ago has slowly eroded over time. Being exposed to the full force of the Atlantic Ocean and centuries of wind and rain have taken their toll. The house is swollen with secrets and damp. But despite its flaking paint, creaking floors and ancient furnishings, Seaglass has always felt more like home to me than anywhere else. I’m the only one who still visits regularly; divorced parents, busy lives, and siblings with so little in common it’s hard to believe we’re related, have made family gatherings a rather rare occurrence. So this weekend will be special in more ways than one. Pity fades with age, hate is lost and found, but guilt can last a lifetime.
The journey here felt so solitary and final. The road leads to a hidden track on top of the cliff, which soon comes to an abrupt dead end. From there, the only two options to get down to Blacksand Bay are a three-hundred-foot fall to certain death, or a steep, rocky path to the sandy dunes below. The path has almost completely crumbled away in places, so it’s best to watch your step. Despite all the years I have been coming here, to me Blacksand Bay is still the most beautiful place in the world.
The late afternoon sun is already low in the hazy blue sky, and the sound of the sea is like an old familiar soundtrack; one I have missed listening to. There is nothing and nobody else for miles. All I can see is the sand, and the ocean, and the sky. And Seaglass, perched on its ancient stone foundations in the distance, waves crashing against the rocks it was built on.
Having safely reached the bottom of the cliff, I remove my shoes and enjoy the sensation of sand between my toes. It feels like coming home. I ignore the rusty old wheelbarrow, left here to help transport ourselves and our things to the house; I travel light these days. People rarely need the things they think they need in order to be happy. I start the long walk across the natural sandy causeway that joins Seaglass’s tidal island to the mainland. The house is only accessible when the tide is out, and is completely cut off from the rest of the world at all other times. Nana always preferred books to people, and her wish to be left alone with them was mostly granted, and almost guaranteed, by living in such an inaccessible place.
The invisible shipwrecks of my life are scattered all over this secluded bay with its infamous black sand. They are a sad reminder of all the journeys I was too scared to make. Everyone’s lives have uncharted waters – the places and people we didn’t quite manage to find – but when you feel as though you never will it’s a special kind of sorrow. The unexplored oceans of our hearts and minds are normally the result of a lack of time and trust in the dreams we dreamt as children. But adults forget how to believe that their dreams might still come true.