I I don't remember the first time I heard about Frenchman's Creek. Not Daphne du Maurier's Pirate Romance, but the house of the same name near the River Helford. An old clotted cream stone hut nestled in the woods by a babbling river. Maybe I had a dream? I only stayed there once, one winter, and I still sometimes wonder if it really exists.
This corner of Cornwall has a timeless feel. Unlike the brazen drama of its crashing shores, the River Helford has peace and secrets. Once a busy highway, this winding road is now mostly haunted by ancient oaks, prehistoric herons, and the ghosts of smugglers, and it's home to du Maurier on his honeymoon. It's the kind of thing that inspired me. This feeling is even more pronounced in the winter when the grockles are gone and the ferry, which has been Herford's crossing for at least 1,000 years, docks at this time of year.
Frenchman's Creek isn't even on the main river. It is located on a small tributary of the same name. By the time this cove reaches the cottage, something tangled in the bushes has slipped and dripped onto the cracked slate beneath the fern-covered trees.
This house was built in the early 19th century for workers and boatmen. In the 1930s, a woman named Clara Vivian rented it for “picnics and a day's enjoyment.” She writes about this in her book, The Helford River: “Maria and I sometimes met there in the winter…and we used to sit around the fire and have leisurely conversations about this world and many other worlds.”Or maybe I was alone there. Go, light a fire and enjoy complete solitude. Often, instead of reading a book, I would look out the window at the wall of trees that towered over the sky, feeling the silence of the place like gentle music. ”
I have a December birthday and my husband and I like to go places. Find a place where you can “enjoy the day” if light and weather permitting, or find somewhere to hunker down if not. Frenchman's Creek, restored and leased by the Landmark Trust, was just that. A person blowing away cobwebs walks through the front door and huddles next to the wood stove.
We arrived there in a ghastly dark truck. Is this really the case? – The road suddenly becomes slippery. We parked safely and walked the rest of the way, but only at the last moment did the cottage appear, as if it had been desperately hidden. We pushed through the mossy gate, unlocked the crimson door, felt the magic, and stepped inside.
There was no TV. There was no signal. The furniture was neat but simple. I didn't want to leave. My husband had booked a meal at a fancy restaurant in Falmouth. You are very kind, but can I stay the night instead? I said. So we kind of fried the bubbles and made them squeak, fought over the best burnt pieces, drank red wine, and wondered, “If the world ended, would we even notice?”
We finally ventured out. We followed the path along the stream – our Creek – Head to the river and arrive at the village of Helford. Although the cottage looks stranded in a remote land, it is just a mile's walk from this stucco and thatch colony. shipwright's skills. We had crab sandwiches at Mousehole. There, the annual Christmas lights were displayed at the port. We also walked around the lizard coastal path. Kynance Cove, which was packed with people in the summer, was deserted by the waves and the tiny murmurs of starlings swelled and swirled in the gunmetal sky.
And then, cheeks flushed and lungs cleared, we headed back to Frenchman's Creek, its soft music calling us home.
Frenchman's Creek (landmarktrust.org.uk) Sleeps 4 people, From £396 for 4 nights
