A Church on the Golf Course : Ken Gibbs

ST ENODOC’S SQUONK SPIRE

Living, as we do, in Cornwall on the furthest tip of South West England, where pagans and saints rub shoulders historically or mythically, we thought that nothing of any importance would happen here when we relocated on retirement. How wrong we were.

When first we visited Cornwall in 1972, it boasted having the British Poet Laureate living in their midst. In those days, I didn’t have access to Wikipedia or I would have discovered some fun facts about this royal (no less) appointment. Was it because the (then) Prince Charles was also the Duke of Cornwall and derived some of his income from properties in the county, and he perhaps needed a loyal lieutenant?

The Poet Laureate was John Betjeman who lived in Trebetherick near the mouth of the Camel Estuary. Not only was he the Poet Laureate but he was a real character as many of the local community knew, but some of his poetry evokes the sights and smells of rural Cornwall remarkably well. Especially ‘Seaside Golf’ which may be found – with some interesting history, by clicking here.

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If the weather permits, I take a bus from where I live in Rock, to Polzeath, a beachside community some 5 miles away. I get off the bus and walk back to Rock across the golf course having passed the St Enodoc Church which lies between the Church Course 10th hole green and 11th hole tees. I sometimes stop off at the church where I can sit and look out over the squonk spire at the mouth of the Camel estuary. Squonk, by the way, means ‘out of alignment ; not square; distorted’ according to the Collins Dictionary, which the photo confirms.

To get to the bench from where the sea view was photographed, one passes the grave of John Betjeman which has a fascinating slate headstone.

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An examination shows that there are 11 invertebrates carved into the slate – presumably to celebrate Betjeman’s love of the ‘wee things’. The leftmost is – I believe – a wasp which comes in one of his poems about the area where a beach visit is described as resulting in ‘sand in the sandwiches and wasps in the tea’. There is a wasp, a moth, an ant, a caterpillar, a scarab beetle, a spider and. . . . . . If you haven’t found 11 invertebrates, you haven’t found them all.

Our first visit to the church was soon after he had died and we were struck by the wooden, carved insects which his grandchildren had crafted and placed at the foot of the headstone as a way of remembering him. As he died in 1984 – 40 years ago – the greatgrandchildren have not carried on remembering him, it seems. A pity, as those clumsy little carvings made him more human, for being there at all.

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By tradition, the Poet Laureate receives a barrel of wine, often referred to as the 'butt of sack' or the 'butt of canary wine' – now its modern equivalent, a barrel of sherry. The gift had been discontinued since 1790 but was reinstated in 1984 on the appointment of Ted Hughes. Incidentally, a barrel of sherry amounts to 126 gallons, which was allegedly provided once each year of the poet’s tenure. History doesn’t relate whether John Betjeman used the sherry to aid his creative thinking, but he was never accused of smelling like a brewery. Perhaps it was solely used for the making of trifle ?

At home, we have on our shelves, a collection of Betjeman poems most beautifully illustrated by David Gentleman, which I take out occasionally to admire Betjeman’s lyricism and Gentleman’s evocative watercolours. If you can source a copy, you will not be disappointed.

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One never knew what Betjeman would do next. Well, that is not entirely true because the ladies always tried to avoid his ‘playful’ antics in the village, by retreating behind the counter in the shop when he came.

Charles Spenser in ‘The Spectator’ on 3rd September, 2005, wrote:

“Towards the end of his life, John Betjeman was asked during a television interview if he had any regrets. Ravaged by Parkinson’s disease he tremblingly replied, “Not enough sex.” The effect was at once comic, touching and desperately sad — like his best poems, in fact — and his words have haunted me ever since.”

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