The Jamaica Inn. Cornish smugglers’ haunt made famous by Daphne du Maurier.
Ballad of Bodmin Moor
Wildness roams o’er this moor
From murderous coves to craggy tor
Red mist glowed from greedy men’s eyes
Dying voices echo in curlews’ cries
Men wrecked ships, bodies and minds asunder
Their consciences laid low with their plunder
Relishing the violent outcome of their sins
They inhabited the most inhospitable of inns
Lives here were feverish, frantic
The antithesis of today’s ‘romantic.’
I got to Bodmin Moor having walked from the coast and was knackered. Being summer, I thought there’d be lots of traffic, wrong! Stayed there for ages under the overhang wondering if I’d end up kipping there. A car did eventually appear – a Dutch couple who spoke no English, but who were going to Jamaica Inn. We ended up spending two days together (I kipped in their car overnight as no YHAs nearby) as communicated through mime, acting and drawings. Maps being universal, we planned where they wanted to go and I showed them various places before we parted company in St Austell where there was a YHA.