Even on a cold winter’s day, a little stroll around the village of Veryan gave a real sense of Cornish community. A sit on a bench, pooh sticks on a bridge, a peek in Granny’s Attic and a moment’s ponder on the apparent hangrope threat to inconsiderate parkers of cars…
Having put our pennies in the pond we almost walked past the graveyard poem tree.
‘Here rest the Village dead: and here too I.
When yonder dial points y hour must lie.
Look round: in silent lowly sad array.
The tombed Dead await Judgment day.
Stranger in Peace pursue thy onward road.
But never forget thy long and last abode.’
Having shaken the shiver of a thousand crypts, we sought solace in the village shop, which also serves as post office and liquor store. A friendly face and local treats soon warmed our souls and we left with smiles on our faces.
Stay in one of our cottages in Veryan.