Trevillies isn't so much a
place as a pair of houses - East Trevillies, seen here, and West
Trevillies, just round the corner and up the road. It isn't a
spot with an immense amount of history, but makes a very attractively
Cornish hamlet. We see it here in that strange February/ March
light which gives the country a light brown sheen of a particularly
attractive type; it contrasts well with the greens of summer,
the oranges of autumn and the greys of the first half of winter.
The nearest place of any immediate
note is half a mile or so down the road behind the camera and
comes in the form of the village of St Keyne. Named after a West
Country saint, the not entirely idyllic village lies between
the East and West Looe valleys on what counts in the area as
a major road. It's about twice the width of this one.
This delightfully rural collection
of minor roads ambling around in the manner of this twisty little
strip of tar, passing tightly around the corners of occasional
whitewashed houses, provides endless opportunities for motorists
to potter sedately through the landscape stuck behind cyclists,
tractors and hedges. As a result the East Looe valley retains
its railway. It also potters sedately through the landscape,
but in a way which isn't as stressful as the roads. En route
it even deigns to serve St Keyne by means of a station with no
car park, a mile from St Keyne itself, at the bottom of the hill
and with the delightful name of "St Keyne Wishing Well Halt".
Situated next to the Magnificent Music Machines museum, the station
offers the lucky waiting passenger (of which there are a smidgen
under 1,000 per annum, or 3 per day) the opportunity to sit and
wait for a train to the sound of birdsong, flowing water and
a gently playing organ. The wait is particularly long on winter
Sundays, when the branch has no trains.
The well is about halfway down
the hill and forms the third point of a triangle between it,
the village and the station. The station used to do fairly well
out of honeymoon couples who would race from there to the well
to see who could drink from it first; the first person to drink
was to have supremacy in the marriage. (There may have been method
in the madness beyond it having potential to be a self-fulfilling
prophecy - "I got to the well first, do as I say!"
- since the more physically fit person would logically be expected
to get there first and would probably be more handy with the
frying pan. Not that such an approach to marital strife is necessarily
to be encouraged.) Nowadays the first person to drink it would
probably be the first to die of typhoid in Liskeard Hospital
some hours later, since the well is populated by drowned snails
and leaf-fall. But it remains an attractive and peaceful spot
in an attractive and peaceful area.