Tom Bawcock's Eve

Mousehole at it looks on Tom Bawcott's Eve - and on every evening
over Christmas

"Do you miss Cornwall?" is usually the second question folk ask me, after "Why ever did you leave?" It's understandable, of course. Cornwall is a land of golden, sandy beaches, quaint fishing villages, pasties, clotted cream and (if you're lucky) long, warm summer days. It's also a rather nice place to live. Having resided there for the best part of 61 years, I ought to know.

So do I miss it? Yes, of course. But I would miss the Forest of Dean and the Wye Valley every bit as much if ever I had to leave... which I sincerely hope never to do.

In truth, it's not those balmy summer Cornish days that I miss most; it's Christmas.  For 17 of my 61 years I was privileged to live in West Cornwall and there – if you take the trouble to divorce yourself from the nauseating excesses of a world bent on spending as much money as possible between Black Friday and the last New Year Sale – Christmas is very different.

To start with, the carols are different, but I've blogged about them before – Helston 2, maybe 3.

The days of Advent pass in song and merriment. But just before the great day there comes a unique West Cornwall celebration - Tom Bawcock's Eve. Down on the quayside in Mousehole (always pronounced 'Mouzel'), outside the Ship Inn, the crowds gather to sing:

The Ship Inn

A merry place you may believe, 

was Mouzel ‘pon Tom Bawcock’s eve.

To be there then who wud'n wish

to sup on seb'n sorts o’ fish.

When morgy broth had cleared the path,

comed lances for a fry.
And then us had a bit o'scad
and Starry Gazy Pie.

Believe me, what the song may lack in artistic merit is more than compensated for by the enthusiasm of the crowds – and all the more so if you've already warmed yourself with a glass of something alcoholic in the Ship!

Tom Bawcock (not Ballcock, as my friend Steve used to call him!) is a legendary figure who is said to have saved Mousehole from starvation by setting to sea one stormy December night. Brave Tom managed to catch enough fish to feed the entire village. Somewhat improbably he put the whole catch - comprising seven sorts of fish - into an enormous pie, which he baked with the fish heads poking though the pastry. Thus Stargazy Pie was born.  To my shame, I've yet to taste any.

Since moving to England (the Cornish rarely consider their land part of England) I've tried hard to preserve the excitement, warmth and humour of my West Cornwall Christmases, but I sense the magic fading, despite putting up my tree and decs a little earlier each year. The number of cards arriving is gradually diminishing as friends become infirmed or die, and others forget us or choose to save on postage. And when two of my grandchildren asked for shopping vouchers last Christmas I knew that the magic was truly departing. How can you get excited about unwrapping an Amazon voucher?!

Magic... that's it. Christmas needs magic to keep it alive, lest it descend into a meaningless festival to Amazon, Tesco and PC World. For me it needs family and good friends, traditions to revel in, rousing songs to sing and the renewed gift of the Christ Child.