Catrina. 45. Writer. 

We moved…I think I counted 14 times? Or something like that by the time I’d left home. I think it was mostly to do with money. I moved here from Wales when I was 5 – my dad is very Welsh, and my mum grew up in Wales. We moved originally to a little place, a little hamlet just the other side of Sennen called Trevilly. Eventually my parents managed to buy a kind of barn and they were doing it up and they had a mortgage, but that all fell through, and so they lost it. There was a lot of moving, but all local to West Penwith. It was a combination of: we’d rent somewhere, it would get too small, or it would be a winter let, which obviously you’re only in for 6 months. Now they both live separately in social housing. 

We lived in Penberth for a couple of years, a National Trust cottage. That stands out because…it was an amazing place to be a child. It was incredible. We had so much freedom because there were not very many people. I mean, I don’t think the National Trust have the same policy anymore with their cottages and houses – they used to rent them to locals for cheap, for really long leases and really cheap rent. Now they’re mostly holiday cottages I think. It’s a really special little valley, with a really old fishing cove. At the time there were lots of boats – not so many now. There was just so much to explore – you know, like undergrowth, trees. It’s one of those wooded valleys that you get on the south coast. And we could swim in the sea… It was just magical, really magical. I think I’m very lucky to have had that experience. I think it must be quite unusual. 

When I was a bit older, when I was in my 20s, I ended up getting quite into drugs, which I think is quite common because everyone’s bored shitless. My sister did that, but at 16. For me it was later, probably because I ended up going to the High School for 6th Form [i.e. Truro High school, a private girls’ school] instead of staying here, and then I ended up boarding because my parents were so skint that the school paid for me to board. I was kind of just not here. In a sense I feel like I left home at 16 and went there, and then I went to university. I realised there that… Well I mean, there was no-one else from here, where I went to university, and also almost nobody on a grant. I hadn’t realised, I suppose… There’s no way of getting any… You have your networks which work in Sennen, so I could get a job in a pub in Sennen, but I didn’t realise that, actually, that principle of knowing people and getting jobs works everywhere, but if you happen to come from North London they might be better jobs. 

All my friends, looking back, had a lot more security for sure. I think a lot of them had a lot more networks, like their parents were friends with each other. I didn’t have a home from when I was about 16 to when I was at university. When I’d come home I’d have to sleep on a floor and wouldn’t have anywhere to work and stuff like that. That would be worse now because I used to go to the library, which is now much smaller and shitter. I think also because my parents didn’t have any friends, we were really isolated. I felt that, and I definitely felt like I didn’t belong. Maybe I’ve spent too much of my life trying to belong. And it’s funny, now that I’ve got a child, I’m quite obsessed with him growing up here, purely because my sisters are both here and they’ve got kids, ranging in age from 21 to 7, but I just love the idea that he won’t feel like he doesn’t belong. I want him to have that, because I didn’t have it. Having said that, I’ve also realised that I projected – we all do this – you project at school, you just assume everyone’s fine when you’re not fine. But I don’t think they were, obviously. I think a lot of people struggled with trying to fit in, and pretended to be much more normal than they actually were. There are people that I’m meeting now as adults who I thought at school were super normal and popular, and who are now saying that they kind of hated school and they felt really weird.

It was also a really weird place because of the politics. The thing about Penberth is all the houses in it were owned by one family who bought the valley and all the houses in it maybe 150 years ago. Then after the war, they gave away most of the houses and most of the land to the National Trust, but not all of it. There was this real sense that… I mean, there was this really big house right in the middle, like a manor sort of house, and we lived in a tiny little cottage that was one up, one down, and there were 5 of us in it. Our next door neighbour was my best friend, but she was one of the people from the original family. It just felt… It was a real kind of weird vibe. Like we were peasants. They wouldn’t say that explicitly, and they got quite pissed off when I wrote about it. Some of them don’t speak to me. My friend does, to her credit. And they are a really nice family, some of them. But it’s not personal, it’s just…weird. I think I felt justified writing about my experience of it. There are plenty of books written by people like them about their experience of life. 

I would say that my youth here was really mixed. I would also say that I don’t have the experience of growing up anywhere else, so I’ve got nothing to compare it to. I think that my early childhood was idyllic in a lot of ways, because I had a lot of freedom and a lot of… It was very safe. I had the opportunity to just be outside all the time which I really liked. But I think from about the age of 10 or 11, it became really, really difficult. Because… I guess a lot of it was family stuff, but that was all tied up with economical, financial problems. It was isolating. We didn’t really have a car all the time, and we lived kind of too far from people. I couldn't really socialise. There probably weren’t that many opportunities compared to, say, London. But, I developed quite a strong bond with the landscape, sort of roamed around alone. I think it was a really kind of…mixed experience. Some really, really good things and then some quite difficult aspects. 

I think Cornwall’s sort of saddled with lots of really annoying narratives which I probably also read – I definitely grew up reading some Rosamund Pilcher and shit like that, and thinking that that was normal or something. Things like The Chamomile Lawn. It’s by Mary Wesley, and I think it’s set here, somewhere in West Penwith. It’s all about posh people having second homes. There are loads of books about Cornwall that have got nothing to do with my experience, and so I think I grew up reading a lot of them and feeling probably quite alienated, quite confused. I think Cornwall particularly has that because people have projected onto it for so long, and there’s this kind of… I don’t know if glamour is the right word but compared to Wales, for example, there’s this sort of story about Cornwall, isn’t there, that it’s sun, sand and surf, and hippies. 

I think Cornwall’s really messed up in a way, in the sense that it has sold out, massively, to tourism, completely at the expense of locals. And it’s unequal because if you’ve got land, or a campsite, or a house, even, you can really capitalise on it, and if you haven’t then you’re really screwed up by it. In that sense I think it needed protecting, and it didn’t get protected. Wales has its own issues, but I think the whole Welsh nationalist movement, whilst being violent and quite problematic, definitely achieved certain things. I think Cornwall suffers – definitely massively suffers – from being part of England, and the fact that decisions are made for it by people who have probably got second homes in Cornwall. There’s nobody looking out for Cornwall, as far as I can tell. And yet it’s got very specific needs that don’t fit in with the rest of the south-west, let alone the south. It’s just overlooked, I think. To be fair, though, in my experience of going round the country talking to people, to the extent that I’ve done that, I think that this is true for a lot of rural places in the UK. I think we don’t… The story is definitely told by metropolises, for the most part. 

What I like about here is that it is far away, geographically, and I think that does mean people in general, and me, are less swayed by consumerism to an extent. Not everyone, but I think you can not get so involved because there’s nowhere to go and buy stuff. As soon as I go to London I’m like, “Oh my god, I need new clothes.” I like that. I love being really close to the sea. That’s a massive privilege that is harder and harder to achieve. I can get in the sea every day which is really important to me. I think that’s a part of the culture – I think there’s a massive culture of getting in the sea amongst everyone at all ages. I think that’s the main thing for me. I think in terms of actual culture, there are really interesting people down here, and it sort of comforts me to know that they’re here. I mean people doing things that I think are interesting, like films or music. 

Cornish didn’t have a presence in my life, but Welsh did because I had to speak Welsh at school for the year that I was there. And my dad speaks Welsh. I suppose I’ve noticed similarities between Cornish and Welsh, and I’ve thought about that a little bit, but I’ve never… I mean, I’m aware of the meaning of some words, but very few. I think as I get older I’ll get more interested in learning Cornish words, to unlock some more understanding. It’s not that accessible, and I suppose it’s definitely got a really… Like, when we were younger, the people that were into speaking Cornish were people that you wouldn’t want to be associated with. I think it’s different now. There’s an Old Cornwall Society, and they were just really, really weird. Now I think they’re quite sweet, but we just used to think it was funny. It wasn’t something any self-respecting young person would go anywhere near. Whereas now I think it’s different, I think there are actually a few younger people involved with it: I’m thinking of Edward Rowe, and Seamas Carey. 

There’s also the problem with nationalism which is like…who gets to be Cornish? It can feel really exclusive. I still struggle with what’s a good kind of nationalism. I think there are certain things that are really obvious, like no second homes. You don’t live here if you don’t live here. I think starting from the really obvious things is good, so being like, “Who gets to vote? Okay, you can if you live here.” Thinking about who has a stake in it, I suppose. You don’t have a stake in it if you don’t live here in the winter as well as the summer. But then I think once you get into things like, “Were you born here?”, obviously for personal reasons I’m dubious, but then I’m like, “But also, I’m not Welsh.” I feel, obviously, that I have a certain amount of Welshness, and I go to Wales quite a lot, but I have Welsh friends who were born in England and who have lived all their lives in Wales, and it would be fucking weird for me to go and be like, “I’m more Welsh than you!” Do you know what I mean? I don’t live there. I’ve never lived there as an adult. So I think you’ve got to be quite careful. It can also feel very…closed. And I don’t think that’s good. I like it when people come here. I like it when people move here to live here, especially if they love it. Because then there’s more people to be friends with. 

Cornwall has changed: more roads, more people, bigger cars, more second homes, all that sort of thing. St Just, for example – where I went to school – was completely gentrified. It’s completely changed beyond all recognition. It was a complete shithole when we went to school, and now it’s really expensive. It was like the last bit of normal, in a way. There’s a lot of gentrification, which is gross. I mean, I like some of it. I like wine bars, though I can’t afford any of the wine. There are nice things to do, but then at the same time there aren’t, because when I was a teenager, there were like 5 nightclubs in Penzance and now there’s none, or maybe one. I’d say the tourism is more… It’s busier, it’s much busier for more of the year. It’s harder to live here, there are fewer places to live, it’s much less affordable. It feels more like a really exclusive place. All the places that I used to live and park my van are now no-parking zones. It just feels more restrictive, more like it’s for people with money or for people on holiday, and not so much for people who live here. Everything’s more expensive. Land is more expensive, houses are more expensive. 

Something I’ve struggled with is getting a dentist on the NHS. I haven’t got a dentist. And that’s particularly bad in Cornwall apparently. There are some practical things, like having my son. The ambulance situation was particularly bad in Cornwall. I wanted to have him at home but I had to go to Treliske because it took ages, and I couldn’t risk it because there weren’t any ambulances. So they were like, “Unless it’s just really quick and easy, you’re going to have to drive to Treliske as quick as you can.” I think there’s a real lack of resources, and there’s not much support with having a little one. You have to pay for everything. But having said that there are things like childcare – I think it’s a lot easier to find a place than it is in London. 

I’ve also struggled with…getting a car that doesn’t fall apart with rust. Travelling anywhere, for anything. When I’ve got work events, it’s just so expensive – they often pay, but I end up doing less of them, I think, because it’s off-putting. Also, getting a job! Finding work, I suppose, that isn’t cleaning holiday cottages – which can be alright, it’s just not an actual job that you can do all year. Also, not being really angry with everyone who has a second home. I struggle with that. And parking in the summer. It is just one of those places, isn’t it, that doesn’t have enough. Those are the main issues, I think. We pay really massively high council tax compared to the rest of the country because the council doesn’t get enough because the second homes don’t pay it, or they didn’t. Well, they get out of it because of this loophole. That kind of thing. And then being told to be grateful for tourists. I struggle with that. You might be grateful because you own a campsite, but the rest of us are just a bit fucked. 

I wish people who aren’t from here knew…how to reverse. That’s one thing. I suppose I wish they knew about the poverty underneath. For example, St Ives is a good representation of a place that’s got a really bad child poverty problem and yet it’s just not… There’s this veneer. I wish people could understand that the veneer of money that you see when you come to Cornwall really isn’t the reality for a lot of people, especially the people who are from here, who are more likely to be struggling than the people who move here. I wish they knew that we aren’t all Tories. I suppose I wish they… Maybe don’t feel so much of a sense of entitlement. The woman who runs the beach car park near here said people come along and they’re like, “I’m not parking in there in that space. Do you know how much my car cost?” She’s like, “I don’t give a shit how much your car cost. This is my car park. You don’t want to park here, you can fuck off”. There’s this attitude of “you guys are all just here to serve us because we’re bringing money”, but the money doesn’t stay here. I wish they knew that as well, how much money actually ends up in Cornwall. I wish the VAT that actually came off tourism went to Cornwall. When people buy fuel or whatever in Cornwall, none of that money ends up in Cornwall. 

I think a Cornish assembly like Wales would be a really, really good thing for Cornwall. I think Cornwall having a say over things like housing, when right now I don’t think it has much of a say, would be really healthy. I’d like to think it would be, anyway. Right now decisions are just overridden. I think having decisions made in Westminster about Cornwall is a really bad thing for Cornwall, because they just keep being made to benefit people who don’t live here but want to come here and who have their own relationship, like David Cameron who goes to Rock or whatever. They think that they love it, and it’s really annoying. I wish they’d shut down Newquay airport and ban private jets, because loads of private jets come through Newquay airport just for people to have lunch. I wish they’d charge a tourist tax, especially for cars, and all of that could go into subsidising public transport. Because like, buses just shut in the winter. In the summer we could get around, in the winter we can’t. They brought a couple back, but there’s hardly anything. There used to be one every hour that would go both ways along the coast which was really helpful, but not in the winter. There needs to be more money from tourism actually given to help local people in Cornwall, I think. People need to realise that their money isn’t helping us. 

I suppose over time I’ve felt a bit more like I’m allowed to be here. And also I know the area really well, so I know where I can find the things that I need, like apples and wood and people that will help me. I think it’s not a valued thing in our culture, to be somewhere that means something to you. I think that it’s quite rare to be living somewhere that does actually feel like home. Just from the people that I know, I can think of lots of people that are just searching for that. So in a way I feel like I’m lucky, and I think a lot of people who live here would agree with that. Being able to surf has made me happy here. Well, does it make me happy? It breaks my hand. It makes me mentally less…mental. Less anxious, less depressed. It’s getting in the sea, but surfing is a more effective dose. There’s something about surfing… I think the thing about it is that it requires a sort of state of concentration and everything coming together, but with swimming you can still think about other things. I like just being out, and walking and sitting and leaning against a lump of granite. I think I have less of a plan than I would like. I think there’s something about having my son that makes me want to be here because it’s nice to just know how a place works, and not having to be working that out as well as how to have a toddler. Especially when he was tiny, it was really nice to know where to go and to feel confident in that way. 

I want him to have a future, in or out of Cornwall. I want education to be better, because it’s quite shit. The local school that I went to has become really shit – they’ve had a massive churn of teachers so they’ve just sort of missed out. Even the really smart kids are just getting really bad grades. So I worry about that, now that I’ve got a little one. A bit more funding for education would be nice. That is the problem with Cornwall, isn’t it, that there’s just not enough money for public services for people who live here, so I hope for some way of getting the money from tourism to help fund public services for locals. I think that’s what Cornwall needs more than anything. Otherwise we’re just going to be poor – a really poor bit of the country that rich people come and visit…which is pretty much what it is now. I’d like to find a way to be here with enough security that we can go off and do other things for periods of time, especially with him when he’s a bit older. I’d like him to experience other things, but we can’t do that because we’re too precarious. I think it all depends on housing – if we can get ourselves into some secure housing then we’ll probably stay, and I’d like to think that we can. I don’t know where else we’d go. There’s nowhere else in England that I’d go.