Cornwall Day 3 (Down The Mine)

 

Trammer Donald Dunston

Have you ever flown thousands of miles to a foreign land, found yourself in Poldark territory, gone to visit a real tin mine, and come face to face with A PHOTOGRAPH OF YOUR OWN SON?

I have done this. I have flown, found, gone in and faced it all, in 2017, truly shocked to see my own son in a Cornish mine. I instantly wrote him that he had an EXACT DUPLICATE running around somewhere. We agreed that one day we would go there together, and he could see this strange phenomena for himself. And today was that day.

We took the open top bus up and over the green fields of Zennor, descending into Pendeen and on through to Geevor mine. There, we learned that Geevor was once a productive mine everyone had thought would go on operating forever. And then in 1986, the miners were given two hours to gather their gear and depart the premises. Donald was one of these.

We told our story and showed the photo to various staff (who were extremely interested - no one can resist an interesting young American who so mysteriously resembles one of their miners from the deep past),

"Well, there are two blokes here who knew Donald back then," said one man. 

"What?" we intoned. "Where can we find them?" 

"Oh, they would be further along on the tour." So we went further along. We found other photos of Donald. We got hungry. We ate a Cornish pasty. We had some tea and then looked out of the window at - pouring RAIN! Down it was coming in little rivulets, and we still had to get back to the bus stop about a quarter mile away. But we had not found the two blokes!

Colin

In desperation, we went back to reception and found our man. Colin. We liked him immediately and he had, indeed, known Donald. But - oh dear - he used the past tense when speaking of him. Suddenly uneasy, I asked, "But - where is he now?"

"Donald? Oh, he died 5 years ago." We stood there, shocked. The Doppelgänger was gone! But there was only one thing we could reasonably do in that sad moment, dear Readers. We had to get to our bus!

"Goodbye Colin, I'm sorry we have to rush off... the 4:23 bus..." and we dashed, plunging into a proper rain storm.

"We'd better run!" one of us said, and, like Forrest Gump, we did. But alas! it was just a little too late, and the bus went on past my son as if he didn't exist! (I was limping along behind). And the next one would not come for two more hours! We were wet. We were cold. We went back to the tin mine, and invited Colin for a cup of tea while we waited. I'm so glad we did.

Fascinated, the two of us listened to his old mining stories, some of them humorous, some tragic. This man had just about seen it all. I have to admit that I did not understand every word he said, as the Cornish accent lay deep within him, and Americans are not used to it. But we felt by the end of it that we had found a true friend.

And then, unbelievably, the 4:23 bus never arrived! We waited on and on, but - there was finally nothing for it but to call a cab.

"Hello? We need a ride from Geevor Mine to St Ives.. and we are stuck out in the rain!"

"Oh, sorry madam but there are no taxis available. It is a Bank Holiday"

Another cab company. "So sorry, my lovely, we have no cabs. It's a Bank Holiday."

"Bank Holiday."

"Bank Holiday Monday." I felt a scream developing.

Of course, we finally did find a cab but the torturous bit was that the wretched bus arrived while we were waiting for the cab! It was horrible to decline to get on, and to watch that nice warm bus pulling away.

If anyone wants to know, the A-1 Cab Company from St Ives is the BEST. They have my undying respect. We had a good drive, the cabbie was nice (another thick accent), and it turned out that he knew someone I knew. 

Cornwall really is a very small, wet world.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady