Updated: Jan 10, 2010


In the late 50's, my mum and dad introduced us to "camping".  The first time we traveled down south, we didn't have our own tent and had to borrow an army kitchen supplies tent from my dad's mate (George Mowsley, a.k.a. the Zanti!).  After packing-up the little Anglia Ford Prefectwe had with the tent, ground sheet, tables, chairs, food, clothes, and yes the kitchen sink, we found ourselves traveling to the most southerly tip of England. 

The second time we made the trip, we had our own tent, and had since added Benno, the dog, to our paraphernalia! That first trip was an all-nighter and took us about 12 hours to drive, going through Bristol and across the giant Severn Bridges (which crosses the Bristol channel).  It was a long drive, and we had to stop along the way to relieve the calls of mother nature, and Benno was no exception.  I remember him standing up on his rear legs and scratching the back of dad's head until we pulled over to let him out for a pee!

When we arrived at our destination, Perranporth, I remember it to be a farmer's field; however, thanks to my dad, who recently enlightened me, the farmer's field was actually a tank-proving ground, which accounted for all the humps and bumps that we found there.  While there, we made day trips to St. Ives (20 miles) and Land's End (32 miles). 

CrossOn one of our day trips, we found a cross peering out of the sand and discovered St. Piran's Oratory.  Actually Pagan in origin, the information on the plaque professes that this is "...the oldest place of Christian worship in England..." (Cornwall).

On the second trip, the Anglia "threw a rod".  The situation got a little interesting when we realized we had no other choice but to buy a Oratoryreconditioned engine.  While negotiations were underway, we ate cornish pasties and drank alcoholic apple cider "scrumpy" and for the first time in his life, my brother got pissed!  Of course the car had to be towed and we were taken back to the camp site in a van that was driven by a little guy who I affectionately nicknamed a Cornish Pixie.

As St. Ives was built on the side of a hill (or a very large sand dune), the streets were very narrow and we could not drive in town!  Walking was the transportation of choice!

Once we were settled and took to the beach, Benno was afraid of the waves and wouldn't go into the water.  He would be quite Grubcontent to jump into the pools that dotted the beach after the tide went out!

Even though we were living out of a 10 x 12 tent with a groundsheet, we never wanted for anything. Dad had taken great pains to build us a table, some shelves for the pots, pans and utensils and even a wooden stand to put the wash bowl on. Here we sit and have a meal - I’m assuming mum took the pictur

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