The go-between
- Jamie Crocker
- 4 days ago
- 6 min read
Words By Jamie Crocker Rich in content and reverie, ‘Trelawny’s Cornwall, A Journey Through Western Lands’, straddles two worlds, a congress between past and present, town and country. One of the most famous opening lines in English literature, courtesy of Leslie Poles Hartley, ‘The past is a foreign country; they do things differently there,’ serves as an epithet that can be applied to Petroc Trelawny’s recently published tome. Part autobiographical and part historical, picking it up and reading through some of the first few pages evokes a sense of nostalgia or ‘hireth’. However, to describe it solely as a sop for a halcyon past would be doing it an injustice. Although many elements are wrapped in a genial warmth for a Cornwall that has vanished, Petroc is also a pragmatist. Raised in the small village of St Martin in Meneage, he set off at 18, in a bildungsroman-like fashion, to explore the world. As such, the pages reflect the perspective of someone who has gained insight. Returning to the place that nurtured him yet couldn’t hold him, the reader is offered something that goes beyond a simple travelogue into a nuanced examination of identity, change and the enduring character of a region that steadfastly refuses to be merely another English county.
Petroc, now in his early fifties, is a familiar voice to BBC Radio 3 listeners, having tickled their ears with his mellifluous voice and carefully chosen classical music for nearly three decades. Recently moving from the breakfast show to presenting the afternoon programme ‘In Tune,’ he maintains a connection to Cornwall that transcends geography. During the pandemic, he broadcast from a room in St Martin, ingeniously soundproofed with duvets hanging from beams, always wary of the helicopters from RNAS Culdrose potentially disrupting his transmission.
His relationship with Cornwall mirrors the experiences of many who grow up in rural communities – an adolescent yearning to escape what felt “desperately dull,” followed by a gradual reconnection in middle age. “At eighteen, I couldn’t wait to get away,” Petroc admits. His journey took him first to Exeter, then to broadcasting positions in Hong Kong and Manchester before a return to his native land.
His father’s death became a pivotal moment in his reconnection with Cornwall. “When you lose a parent, everything changes,” he reflects. This loss created space for a relationship with Cornwall on his own terms, “rather than through the prism of my father.” A three-week stay in Cornwall – his longest visit since leaving at eighteen – catalysed a profound shift in perspective, as he began to see the richness and complexity of the place he had once been so eager to leave.
The resulting book came from a confluence of a personal journey that was yearning to be shared with a wider audience and editorial insight. Weidenfeld & Nicholson, who had had success with a publication of similar ilk centred in Yorkshire and who were aware of Petroc’s initial attempts to nail down his own story, approached him with a proposition. It proved to be the key that unlocked the author. This otherness, this distinction from being “just another English county,” provided the conceptual foundation for a book that would blend history, memoir and travelogue coalescing around “this incredible pride, this incredible sense of self-belief, and this incredible feeling of being different,” that recognisably courses through the people of both countys.
Petroc’s narrative captures the remarkable transformation of Cornwall within his lifetime. In St Martin, he witnessed homes with outside bathrooms and thriving chapel communities coexisting with the high-tech communications centre at Goonhilly and RNAS Culdrose, then the largest helicopter base in Western Europe, only two miles away. This juxtaposition of traditional rural life against symbols of technological advancement forms a compelling thread throughout the book.
Each day the sonic boom of Concorde rattled our roof tiles as the flight to New York passed over the Cornish coast. I would imagine David Frost or Joan Collins taking a first glass of champagne and making themselves comfortable. But below, in St Martin, there were still people living without electricity.
(Trelawny, 2024, p.31)
While acknowledging an inevitable element of sentimentality creeping into his recollections of childhood, he consciously avoids “wallowing in nostalgia.” Instead, he presents a balanced account of what has been lost alongside an honest assessment of Cornwall today. When discussing Helston with arts leader David Turnbull from the Helston Community Interest Company he found himself reminiscing about shops long gone – Dingle’s department store, Eddy & Son, Barnett’s menswear – while Turnbull’s focus remained resolutely on the future and revitalisation of spaces like the old cattle market.
TOP Cornwall’s harbours are a mix of new endeavours and established ways of life
ABOVE Sunset on Cornwall’s rich past
This tension between preservation and progress runs throughout the narrative. Petroc acknowledges the positive aspects of modernisation – few would advocate returning to houses without bathrooms or electricity – while mourning the dissolution of tight-knit communities and family-centred lifestyles. The transformation of working fishing villages into second-home enclaves and the economic struggles of former industrial towns like Camborne and Redruth after the collapse of mining receive equal attention in his even-handed assessment.
For readers familiar with Cornwall, the book offers fresh and fascinating insights into familiar landscapes. For those who know Cornwall only through postcards and television dramas, it provides a nuanced corrective to romanticised views. A case in point is when he visits the Newlyn Filmhouse to see Mark Jenkin’s film Enys Men. Several pages are devoted to themes that course through the filmmaker’s oeuvre:
Jenkin is the leading chronicler of modern Cornwall, a brilliant, critical observer of the way we are now.These are uncompromising and provocative works, raising vital questions about what it means to live in contemporary Cornwall.
(Trelawny, 2024, pp.237-39)
Perhaps most revealing is Petroc’s admission that, despite his Cornish upbringing, large swathes of the county remained unknown to him until he researched this book. The territories east of Truro, north of Truro, and west of Penzance were “like one of those old maps of Africa where it says ‘Here be dragons’” – completely unexplored. With characteristic self-deprecation, he notes:
I realise that I made it to Australian Launceston five years before its Cornish namesake. Tasmanians squeeze three syllables into its name – Lorn-cess-ton. The more economic Cornish are happy with two – Lorn-stun, or Lan-son as a few older people still say.
(Trelawny, 2024, p.284)
This exploration of unfamiliar Cornish landscapes – Bude, Looe, St Just, the Roseland Peninsula, Flushing – became a “thrilling part of the journey.” Through these excursions, he deepens both his own connection to Cornwall and readers’ understanding of its diverse character.
TOP Competing forces for Cornwall’s religious heart
ABOVE LEFT Flora Day in Helston
From Helston, where Petroc went to school, to Truro, the county’s capital, the reader is treated to historical accounts aligned with anecdotal recollections, bringing to life the places that we may regularly pass through or visit for a two-week holiday in the summer.
Chapters illuminate the story of the people who have responded to its lure – from Cornwall’s great Victorian poet priest, R.S. Hawker, who:
Under a full moon, he sat on a rock just off the shore at Bude and impersonated a mermaid.
(Trelawny, 2024, p.273)
to Brenda Wootton:
She was the voice of Cornwall, cherished at home, treated as a star in France but, except in the folk world, pretty much unknown east of the Tamar. Her breakthrough album, Pasties and Cream, was released in 1971, the year I was born.
(Trelawny, 2024, p.229)
Though now dividing his time between London and Cornwall, with practical broadcasting considerations keeping him primarily in the capital, Petroc maintains a profound connection to the Duchy. He wrote 95% of the book in Cornwall and anticipates that future writing projects, even those unrelated to Cornwall, will likely be completed there. “It’s a great place to just get away and put your head down without being too disturbed,” he explains.
This duality of experience – embracing both the energetic buzz of north London and the distinctive character of Cornwall – enriches the perspective. His affection for both environments allows him to appreciate each on its own terms while acknowledging their fundamental differences.
Trelawny’s Cornwall ultimately transcends simple categorisation. It is at once a personal memoir, a social history, as well as a love letter to a region that defies easy definition. By interweaving his journey with Cornwall’s evolution, Petroc has created a thoughtful meditation on place, identity and belonging that resonates far beyond the county’s borders.
For anyone interested in how regions maintain their distinctive character in an increasingly homogenised world, Trelawny’s Cornwall offers a valuable perspective on the delicate balance between preservation and adaptation.
For those considering permanent residence in Cornwall, current residents, or anyone seeking an erudite and well-crafted book, Petroc’s offering is a standout choice. While reading, I’ve frequently shared passages with my wife (who also hails from ‘up country’) whenever I discovered fascinating new insights about our adoptive county. The book presents a delightful mix of humorous and poignant moments, with a narrative that flows remarkably well when read aloud – likely a testament to Petroc’s background in broadcasting.
I would suggest you treat yourself to a copy and experience the pleasure firsthand.
