The cat appeared to have no known owner, and regarded our little group with suspicion. The six of us were tagging along behind Tony the tour guide, who knows more about St Ives than anyone else in a 50 mile radius. We had started at the Guildhall, working our way around to the Wharf, Westcott's Quay (pronounced "Key"), and Skidden Hill (so named because mule-drawn carts had once skidded down the hill in a treacherous manner). It isn't that much safer nowadays, given all the speeding white transit vans we had to dodge. In a while, we were guided to the war memorial, commemorating the graves of the glorious dead.
There in front of the memorial lay the cat, as if it had known all along where we would be going. The creature did not acknowledge us, but it was so pretty and its fur was so soft that we couldn't help liking it. Tony was explaining how John Pain was hanged at the town square for his part in the Prayer Book Rebellion, when the cat stared at him as if he understood every word.
Walking around the town of St Ives and being told scandalous and fascinating things about its past on a gloriously sunny day filled with birdsong and new friends, is lovely. We finished up inside the very old and very hot Fisherman's Lodge facing the Wharf. Its walls are covered in ancient framed photos of fishermen who had lived, loved, and died here a long time ago. Even Tony's father and grandfather had sat around the pot-bellied stove there, telling tales.
The story of Cornish tin miners and fishermen never gets old. It's fascinating to hear Tony explaining such a complicated history in a way even a cat can understand.
See you along the way!
the SconeLady
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