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To: Ian@SI who wrote (2957)2/1/2001 2:22:25 PM
From: pat mudge  Read Replies (1) | Respond to of 3891
 
OT --

Re more doubloons: Are you that close to the water? Passing pirate ships once used your backyard. ;^)


As the crow flies, I'm about 4 or 5 blocks up from the beach (with steep cliffs and a railroad track in between) but I don't think pirate ships plied these coasts. As for doubloons, I fear I've read far too much Winston Graham. Set on England's Cornish coast, his novels span several centuries, a time when miners supplemented their meager incomes by scavenging what washed ashore from ships wrecked by storm, or when times were tough, by design.

How could you not be drawn in . . . :

. . .For the moment Ross's mind and memory was still back in that day and night of the 7th of January, 1790, when two vesssels had been blown in on this beach in a storm and when almost a thousand people, most of them miners, had stripped them in a single tide. The seamen, washed ashore, had barely escaped with their lives, and preventive men and a platoon of soldiers had not been sufficient to halt the wrecking. Desperate with hunger and crazed with the drink they had found, the miners carried all before them, and those who got in the way of their loot did so at their own peril. Great bonfires raged on the beach and drunken figures danced round them like demons from a pit. The sea had been awash with rigging, sails, spars, bales of silk and kegs of brandy, and fighting, struggling men and women. . .

Trenwith House, that property belonging to Geoffrey Charles Poldark, inherited from his father, long ago dead in a mining accident, looked its coldest and most neglected as dusk began to fall. Built of enduring Tudor stone and designed with the natural elegance which seemed to come to those forgotten men who generally worked without benefit of architect, it had survived the endless ranting of storm and tempest for three centuries, and structurally it was still sound. A pane or two of glass was cracked, a gutter had rotted here and there and a chimney stack had split. But the roof of giant Delabole slates --- put there, one would suppose, by a race of weight-lifters --- had cared nothing for wind and weather, and all the granite mouldings, lintels and architraves were as sound as when they had been constructed in the year Henry VIII married Catherine of Aragon. . .


Stories like "Cast Away" don't hold a candle to what Graham sketches in our minds.

Pat