Padstein

It's been a dry day, but only fitfully sunny: cool in the wind. Walking down to the Coast Path across Beniguet's large, springy-turfed lawn, we made our way this morning via an almost deserted Daymer Bay and the golf course to St Enodoc's Church.

After buying postcards and admiring John Betjeman's tombstone, we skirted Brae Hill and climbed over the dunes to the beach, where the Padstow ferry was kindly waiting for us. Nicely sprayed during the crossing, we were unloaded into a seething mass of people: to escape the crush, we fought our way uphill from the Harbour as quickly as possible before collapsing into a café. Having set off eventually to continue in the direction of Stepper Point, I realised my poles were still propped up against the café wall; so we redeployed to collect them and explore instead the nether reaches of Padstow itself. The beautifully-maintained church of St Petroc turned out to be well worth discovering.

All the Apostles are clearly distinguishable on the four faces of a handsome 15th Century font, and an early 17th Century Prideaux monument plus later memorials leave one in no doubt as to which family has been running the place for some centuries. Peter Prideaux-Brune, the present incumbent of the big house - a Catholic - must surely be happy that the church is now officially shared, with the blessed sacrament reserved in the Lady Chapel. (I have not spoken to him since 1956, when he and I sang in Messiah together under Roger Bevan.)