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THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 



That it is very lovely goes without say- 

 ing; all Cornish ports are that. 



UNSPOILED POIvPERRO 



Eastward again from Fowey upon the 

 coast, in a cleft so narrow, so jagged, so 

 rocky one wonders why men chose it for 

 a home, lays Polperro, the most pictur- 

 esque, the most unspoiled of Cornish 

 fishing ports, retaining all its ancient 

 dignity of life and labor unfluttered by 

 the summer villas now beginning to 

 crowd the cliffs above its head. They 

 will not crowd too closely. What Pol- 

 perro thought a grievance is perhaps a 

 blessing in disguise — the huge scaffolding, 

 which, with another a mile away, the ad- 

 miralty uses as a speed test for warships 

 in the channel. Hotels will not wish nor 

 be permitted to draw near these marks, 

 and Polperro may keep her cliffs free yet 

 a little while. 



By tre, pol, and pen 



Ye shall know the Cornishmen. 



So it is not surprising to find these 

 prefixes figuring in the names of their 

 towns: tre, a dwelling; pol, a pool; pen. 

 a headland ; as Polperro, Peter's pool ; 

 for to whom could a fishing town be 

 more appropriately dedicated than to St. 

 Peter. Cornwall is ardently Methodist ; 

 but be in Polperro on July 10, "Peter's 

 Day" — look and listen ! 



But Polperro did not always depend 

 upon fish for a living. In the days when 

 smuggling was a profession, if not an 

 art, Polperro had few rivals, and, read- 

 ing those old tales, one sees quite clearly 

 why men chose these clefts for habita- 

 tions. Conveniently near are coves and 

 caves, undiscoverable by the keenest cus- 

 toms officers, and boatmen could sail in 

 and out these narrow rock-bound har- 

 bors fearing no pursuit. 



"PARSON HIXD TH£ IvANTKRN !" 



There are hints of even darker deeds 

 than smuggling. That was readily con- 

 doned, if not lauded — boats were made 

 for better things than to carry fish. And 

 when it comes to wrecking, Polperro's 

 own son and historian, Jonathan Couch, 

 rather intimates that it would have been 



flying in the face of Providence not to 

 make use of that rocky shore. 



"All joined in the business," he says; 

 "the smith left his forge, the husband- 

 man his plow ; even women and chil- 

 dren turned out to assist in the unlawful 

 traffic and received their share of the 

 proceeds " "Didn't the parish priest put 

 a stop to such wickedness?" is asked. 

 "Oh! parson? No; he didn't say much 

 one way or t'other; parson, he just held 

 the lantern." 



Those were Polperro's palmy days, 

 when the price of fish in the London 

 market troubled her not at all. And the 

 bold seamanship she practiced stood her 

 in good stead when she went, as often 

 she did, in His Majesty's service to the 

 wars with France. And if today you see 

 broad-shouldered loiterers on the quay 

 do not condemn them utterly. 



The fishing is not what it was ; the 

 other sea trades are long since out of 

 fashion ; but once more Polperro hears 

 the call "to His Majesty's service," and 

 I am sure makes the usual Cornish an- 

 swer. Cornish mariners, "Fowey gal- 

 lants," if you will, built up the first great 

 English navy before the Devon sea-dogs 

 and Sir Francis Drake took it in hand. 

 And there are no better or braver sea- 

 men today than these who in tiny boats 

 brave for months the rigors of the Arctic 

 seas that their families may live. 



Polperro's chief catch, however, is 

 mackerel, crabs, and conger. There are 

 few, if any, conger-eel in American wa- 

 ters ; they are to some people a most un- 

 pleasant-looking fish. Cornwall esteems 

 them highly and makes them into pie with 

 much cream and parsley. 



CORNISH SQUAB Pl£ 



Cornwall makes many things into pie 

 and the names are deceitful. "Squab 

 pie" sounds appetizing until one learns 

 that almost everything but squabs goes 

 into it — fat mutton, onions, apples, rais- 

 ins, possibly "saffern" (saffron), and a 

 liberal bath of clotted, or "clouted," 

 cream as a finish. 



There is a funny story concerning 

 Cornish "pasties." It is usually told in 

 Devon. 



The devil came one day to the banks 



