Manaccan, Gillan c1960

15 YEARS AT BARCLAY HOUSE

I remember coming to live at Barclay House in the September with my sister Rachel and my Mum and Dad.  We moved from Sutton Coldfield because Dad no longer wanted to work as a garage mechanic for someone else, and he wanted to own his own garage.  Mum was not at all keen as she was leaving her friends behind, but as a dutiful wife, she agreed to the move and we settled into village life, albeit in part of the hub of St. Keverne Square.
After Jack Hocking died in 1963, Dad demolished the corner cottage and had a 4,000 gallon tank hoisted into place, then had the corner shop built over it that stands to this day.

We all used to take turns serving petrol, checking oil, blowing up tyres, or later on, sweets, to those socialising in the bus shelter opposite.  It was an idyllic life, Rachel and I had ponies, friends and loved to participate in the Annual Carnival, Ox Roast and Gymkhana.  That we were too far to travel to the nearest pony club did not deter us from spending hours riding on and making our own jumps from natural resources on Crousa Common before Paul Tyler acquired the land.  

For a time, I was a member of St. Keverne Church Choir, and living in Barclay House enabled me to feel at home in a short space of time after living in The Midlands with a not-so-nice accent until it wore off!

Dad integrated into the village life joining St Keverne Male Voice Choir with Hubert Hicks the Musical Director, my Mum joined the Red Cross and in 1976 with Derrick Johnston Musical Director of St. Keverne Band, I gave in to temptation, and learned to play a baritone as well as continue with my piano playing.

The village square has fond memories for me as I used to play tennis on it occasionally, and later, find myself doing square bashing for the next band contest.  

As he became terminally ill, Dad decided to sell Barclay House and the Garage, so we moved up Trelyn Lane into the bungalow he had built by Lory Cordell.  We stayed there until he died in 1981.  Marvin and his family continued to be of enormous help to us for the short time we lived there.

Living in that village with such lovely people will always be a memory I will treasure.  Anyone thinking of retiring to St. Keverne will never be disappointed.

Julie Little (nee Johnson), Swindon

I Lived Here...

The large house to the right of the picture is called Barclay House, it's also St Keverne garage.  We moved there in late 1979 and lived there for 3 years, having to leave it behind and move back to the north west due to family problems.  We bought the house from Pat Johnson who had lived there with her husband.
Looking back now, it's heart breaking that we had to leave behind this idyllic, beautiful part of the country.  I try to go back to visit at least once in every 5 years as a part of my heart will always belong in St Keverne Square.
Nowadays the square has parking lines painted all over it, but the building itself hasn't altered one bit, infact when I look around the pictures on this site I can recognise most of the scenes, so little has changed.

coverack 1969

In 1969 I was 15 and quit school. I was hitch hiking and ended up in Coverack. I was drinking in the local pub, the Paris Hotel I think, when some construction guys offered me a job digging ditches and laying sewer pipes. It was summer, and the foreman had rented a field from a local farmer. He lived in a caravan and the rest of us had tents. The foreman was a six foot seven South African, and his crew were all Irish men. Every day after quitting work we went to the Paris and got drunk. These guys were crazy, but a lot of fun. Throughout the summer we picked up many tourist girls and took them to barn dances and rodeos in St Keverne. I have never been back since, but the memories are still fresh in my mind.

Working at the Headland Hotel

While still at Helston Grammar School, I worked at the Headland Hotel during one summer. Pickles was the manager, he was a tyrant but I seemed to get the better of him. I wrecked the lawn-mower running over a rock while pushing it up and down those front lawns in the picture, he tried to make me pay for it out of my £4 10/- a week pay! I refused.

I fell in love with Margaret from Quinton who was working the summer to practice the cooking skills she had learned in Birmingham Catering School. It was a wonderful summer working in the garden, Pickles made us all take part in and help out at the Coverack Carnival.

The gardener teased me saying I was the darkest horse he had ever known and that I had stolen the best looking woman (Margaret) for many a mile, from under the noses of all interested parties.

Early mornings, I polished any shoes left out by guests, had a cup of tea and a cigarette (it was good for you in those days) with the chambermaids, also from Birmingham I think. They had the shortest skirts you could believe! I loved them all! The views along the cliffs and out to sea were magnificent.

I sometimes worked washing up in the kitchen, removing bottles from the bar helping in the Still Room.

Best of all were the tips I had on Saturday morning change-over while lugging guests' bags down the stairs for those leaving and back up for those arriving. I sometimes earned half as much again of my wages for heavy work over two or three hours.

Staff quarters were OK except for the TV room, which flooded when it rained. We sat in there, surrounded by water two or three inches deep, with our legs up on an old beer-crate.

There used to be a village dance in the corrugated hut overlooking the sea a little away from the harbour. We would walk from the Hotel down to the hut and dance or let the locals glare at us! I knew one or two from school so it was mostly friendly. The walk back along the cliff-path in the moonlight is unforgettable.

The Chef was a nice guy, good sense of humour and all the staff were good fun. Spanish and Italian waiters of course!

During the winter, I was the only live-in at the weekends when there was a function on. Diane, who also worked there, was good company at those times.

I hitch-hiked from the other side of Helston out to the Headland on Friday evenings to work out there. With the Cornish weather I walked many miles without getting a lift through some wild nights before arriving soaked to the skin.

I have very fond memories of my sweetheart Margaret. I still have a vivid picture of her in my mind when she finished work in the kitchen and came to see me where I was still working in the high-hedge garden. She was in her Whites. She undid the scrunchie holding her hair up. Then, shaking her head, she shook that wonderful hair out allowing it to cascade over her shoulders. In the sunlight, it was amber and gold and she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.