Penryn to Pandora stream’, taken from ‘tre’ and ‘fros’, but I found the answer to be much simpler. Two weeks later, while researching the packet boats that sailed from Falmouth, I found a local publication subtitled ‘The story of three post office packet captains connected to the Trefusis family through marriage [...] The family lived in Flushing for a number of years’. I am informed that ‘the Trefusis family had possessed this land long before the Norman invasion and owned the whole village of Flushing’, which might explain the Dutch origins of Flushing, for the early packet boats sailed to Holland. The next point, just before Mylor Churchtown is Penarrow Point. Again, a speculative meaning would be ‘headland’, a corruption of ‘penardh’. Out of Mylor Churchtown, I have to walk along the road for a little while, passing south of the small hamlet of Porloe. A possible meaning for this is ‘grey pool’ from ‘pol’ and ‘loes’, but there seems to be no geographical basis for this. The path branches away from the road, and descends through lush woodland into Trelew, and along Mylor Creek into Mylor Bridge. As I am about to turn towards Trelew, I glimpse a large settlement fairly close at hand. As it is too big to be Mylor Bridge, I assume I am looking at Falmouth, with the water between concealed by some trick of terrain and perspective. I orientate myself with the direction of the road on the map, and realise that it is Penryn. My route is basically the shape of a letter ‘B’, with Penryn at the bottom of the vertical line, and The Pandora Inn at the top, the two semi-circles forming the two headlands in between. I have been walking for nearly four hours, reaching the junction of the two loops in the ‘B’, but have travelled barely a mile and a half from where I started. This is a forcible reminder of how little you actually travel if you follow the coast. It also demonstrates another virtue of experiencing a landscape on foot; seeing a place we know well from a different angle can entirely alter our perception of it. If I was told to name the settlement before me, I would not call it ‘the end of a point’. Something like ‘harbour below two hills’ would be more suitable. Fortunately Mylor Bridge is equipped with a public house, and in The Lemon Arms I nurse a welcome pint, and enjoy resting my feet for a few moments. Seeing me consult my map, the barman informs me that the place around Weir Point is pronounced Restron-git, not Restron-guet. Only ‘The folks who come down from Lundun with th’ yachts’ say the latter. Armed with this knowledge, I re-examine the names assigned to the geography of the path. The clouds are clearing and the wind is freshening as I leave my foam-smeared glass on the bar, and head out again. The track is uneven past Mylor, and passes through fields and thickets until it rounds Weir Point and runs past Restron-git Point.
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