Flaming June in Padstow

The weather in Padstow has been glorious for most of June so anyone fortunate enough to have been staying here this month has enjoyed long, sunny, balmy days. Padstow can be a little hectic in the summer so forward planning is advised to dodge the crowds of day trippers!

Cherry Trees cafe on Padstow harbour

Our June day out started off with us treating ourselves to a delicious, full English breakfast at Cherry Trees Café on Padstow Harbour and then we set off on the Padstow to Rock ferry over to Rock for a most enjoyable walk around the headland and on the beach which was stunning and tranquil. As we were taking our leisurely stroll along the beach in Rock, we said “hello” to a nice young couple who were walking with their two black Labradors.

Padstow to Rock ferry

Rock from the estuary

Camel Estuary towards Rock

When we arrived back in Padstow I tried in vain to remember the words of one of my favourite poems Seaside Golf by Sir John Betjeman, the Poet Laureate. I just had to look up the poem, and on doing so I found something very funny, well it appealed to my strange sense of humour anyway! Here below is the poem Seaside Golf by John Betjeman and a parody of the poem by Sir Robin Butler.

kittiwakes in flight

Cormorant Padstow estuary

Rick Stein commented on his Christmas TV programme about Padstow, that people from Rock were known as Rockites and those on the other side of the estuary in Padstow were Padstonians, we are all fortunate to share the beautiful Camel Estuary.

John Betjeman had a house close to the 12th hole at St Enodoc Golf course. The poem relates to the 13th hole! Enjoy!


Seaside Golf        

How straight it flew, how long it flew,

It clear’d the rutty track

And soaring, disappeared from view

Beyond the bunker’s back –

A glorious, sailing, bounding drive

That made me glad I was alive.


And down the fairway, far along

It glowed a lonely white;

I played an iron sure and strong

And clipp’d it out of sight,

And spite of grassy banks between

I knew I’d find it on the green.


And so I did. It lay content

Two paces from the pin;

A steady putt and then it went

Oh most securely in.

The very turf rejoiced to see

That quite unprecedented three.


Ah! Seaweed smells from sandy caves

And thyme and mist in whiffs,

In-coming tide, Atlantic waves

Slapping the sunny cliffs,

Lark song and sea sounds in the air

And splendour, splendour everywhere.


And below the parody of the above poem by Sir Robin Butler, even as a non golfer, I thought this was hilarious !


How long it flew, how left it flew,

It hit the dry- stone wall

And plunging, disappeared from view

A shining brand new ball –

I’d hit the damned thing on the head

It made me wish that I were dead.


And up the fairway steep and long,

I mourned my gloomy plight;

I played an iron sure and strong,

A fraction to the right

I knew that when I reached my ball

I’d find it underneath the wall.


And so I did. I chipped it low

And thinned it past the pin

And to and fro, and to and fro

I tried to get it in;

Until, intoning oaths obscene

I holed it out in seventeen.


Ah! Seaweed smells from sandy caves

They really get me down;

In-coming tides, Atlantic waves

I wish that I could drown

And Sloane Street voices in the air

And black retrievers everywhere.


The ancient church of St Enodoc where John Betjeman is buried is definitely worth a visit.