A Yank in TolkienLand

On a visit to England a few years back, before we had actually thought seriously about moving here, we saw a delivery van with a company name printed upon it, followed by the address. The business, it said, was located in “Polperro, Near England.” (It could have been some other town. Can’t recall. But I like Polperro a lot, so it gets the p.r.)

Polperro Harbor, Cornwall

Polperro is an incredibly quaint fishing village in Cornwall. Despite the existence of the Duke of Cornwall (and now his Duchess, propelled out of her jodhpurs and into relentlessly dowdy court couture) as part of the English royal family, the residents of Cornwall would just as soon be independent. Hanging off the nether end of the isle, it would seem reasonable. Almost separated from the mainland by the River Tavy, it would be easy enough to erect guard posts to enter and exit Cornwall. As it happens, the ancient toll houses, hard by the bridges, are still extant. A little exercise of eminent domain, and out go the householders and in go the uniformed denizens of Cornish purity.

You might think this is all quaint, not unlike the secession of Key West back on April 23, 1982, and the creation of the Conch Republic, in protest over a U.S. government roadblock in front of the Last Chance Saloon, the final watering hole before the trek down US1 to Key West. The feds were looking for drugs and illegal immigrants, unaware―apparently―that Key West is where drugs and illegal immigrants are simply a fact of life, no biggie, no worries. It’s Key Effing West, for crissakes! 

Cornwall might well be compared to Monroe County, Florida. Both are centres of various sorts of fishing. Cornwall supplies fish of an amazing variety: bass, brill, cod, coley, conger eel, cuttlefish, dabs, Dover sole, haddock, lemon sole, mackerel, pilchard, plaice, mullet, sea bream, turbot and more, as well as shellfish. All in all, the seas provide an abundant cash crop for Cornish folk.

Just so, the seas around Key West provide abundantly for the locals. When the secession movement was at its peak, the waters off Monroe County were rife with square grouper, a crop responsible not only for filling coffers locally, but leading to more laughter and happiness than any dish of lemon sole ever would.

View from Pier House outdoor bar, Key West

 The Key West secession movement was short-lived, although its usefulness as a tourist gimmick lives on. We had, flying from a deck-based flagpole, the official Conch Republic flag, until it wore to shreds through wind, rain and the occasional dousing with the jettisoned dregs from a martini shaker.

The secessionist movement in Cornwall, however, seems to keep rolling on...despite the fact that the last native speaker of the Cornish language, Dolly Pentreath, died in Mousehole in about 1777. (Mousehole is pronounced Mauzell.) We tried to find her house once. We asked in an ice cream shop close to the quay; Dolly Pentreath had been a fish-seller, so it was reasonable to think her house might be there. The local teen in the shop had no idea who Pentreath was. Later, we asked in an art gallery, and were directed to Pentreath’s house, or at least, the plaque adorning the building now standing on the land where Pentreath once spoke fluent Cornish.

Nowadays, people do learn it on purpose, as modern Irish people learn Irish. The Irish, except for the interlopers in the North, have already seceded from England. (Yes, spoken by someone who holds a Republic of Ireland passport! And one might assume would thereby get some love from the Cornish….)

Will the Cornish secede? A Facebook friend in deep southwest Cornwall wrote this morning: “For Cornish folk who’ve received the Census form: Tyr-Gwyr-Gweryn suggests that, on the title page, where it says ‘Household Questionnaire – England’, we don't obliterate the offending word, but instead add: ‘and Cornwall’.”

It seems like an uphill battle. The heir to the British throne is the Duke of the place, for crying out loud. No one speaks the language; there were far more speakers of Irish in 1916 when the Irish fought for independence and eventually won than there are now speakers of Cornish. In the 1980s, it was common to meet people in the west of Ireland whose first tongue was Irish, and even now, in Donegal, it’s somewhat easy to find truly native speakers, those whose first word might have been Máthair (pronounced Maw her) rather than Mum. But one won’t find a Cornish baban (baby) saying Mam rather than Mom or Mum. (Actually, with baby talk, how could one really tell? So perhaps they CAN claim native speaker status for any baban who says Mam or something that sounds suspiciously similar, as his/her first word.)

But there is something different about Cornwall.  Even more different than Devon, and that’s pretty different as English counties go. Altogether more friendly, more down-to-earth than the Home Counties--the precious enclaves surrounding London, and even more different than Yorkshire. The people have a well-developed sense of humour, even if the interlopers don’t like being called grackles (tourists) in Devon and emmits (literally, ants, or so I’m told) in Cornwall.

I suppose, being a transplanted Yank, I am a super-emmit, and couldn’t possibly understand. But perhaps I’ll be accepted, as those from elsewhere who move to New York City are accepted on the basis of their love for the place. My new neighbour asked several times last week whether I truly liked it here, and was surprised, I think, to realize I really do, that I came by choice and stay by choice.

But I don’t think I’ll add learning Cornish to my lifetime achievements…at least not until they start labelling toilets in the language, as they do in Ireland, where a knowledge of Fir and Mna will keep one out of hot water, so to speak.