The terraced 'cottages' at Wherrytown, which survived until the 1960s, were put up in the 1850s to house workers from Derbyshire. These were economic migrants, adept at working up stone nick-nacks for the tourist trade, and now brought in to work up the serpentine.

But was Wherrytown all about work and soldiering? No, of course not. It was very much a community, and to this day has its own roadside name signs, as well as a somewhat abraded plaque on the side of the former Mount's Bay Inn which records its strength and sense of identity.

The plaque commemorating the Wherrytown community – now itself rather the worse for wear

The range of shops listed in Coulson's Directory of 1864 suggests that the area was self-contained, with a baker and several other shopkeepers. Residents included not only the serpentine workers, but also a hatter, two gardeners, a blacksmith, a bailiff and a policeman.

In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the residents prided themselves on their ceremonial arches. These were placed across the main road at the point of entry to the Borough. For Victoria's Golden Jubilee in 1887, a double arch showed 'Welcome to the Jubilee' and a drummer boy facing to the west; 'God Save the Queen' and the royal portrait to the east. These arches were illuminated after dark. A similar arch commemorates Peace Day in 1919. Photographs show residents gathered proudly around these arches in their best clothes.

Victory Arch Wherrytown looking towards Newlyn

(By courtesy of Morrab Library Photographic Archive, accessed May 21, 2020)

Chyandour, at the eastern limit of the Borough, had comparatively few residents, and consequently bears fewer surviving signs of community. But a little further out to the east Long Rock, too, had its own distinctive flavour. The houses were built for GWR staff, and a long-term resident of the town remembers that the area was known as "Moscow." In the mid-20th century it was said to be a hotbed of radicalism, full of militant railmen who, it was assumed, were all paid-up members of ASLEF and readers of the Daily Herald.

The early 20th century was the era of enlightened modernity: 'Arts and Crafts, 'the garden city and the 'green belt'. In the Penzance borderlands, various branches of the Bolitho family took seriously their responsibilities of stewardship. After banishing the tannery and its smelly processes in 1882, the Bolitho family kept Chyandour looking its best. The architecture and layout remain pleasing and semi-rural to this day, with the horse trough commemorating Simon Bolitho, who died at the age of five in 1910, still taking pride of place on the little roadside green.

Quiet and peaceful Chyandour corner, looking along Eastern Green c.1900

(By courtesy of Morrab Library Photographic Archive, accessed May 21, 2020)

On the seafront at Wherrytown, across the road from the industrial buildings, appeared the Foster Bolitho Gardens and the Bedford Bolitho Italian Gardens.  The Italian Gardens were a rather optimistic enterprise, and the plants proved unequal to the task of withstanding frequent spraying and occasional inundation by salt water. But traces of the structural design can still be seen in the wall below the skate park – and some of the stone is likely to have come from the old drill hall, and perhaps originally from the Wherry Mine buildings.

And then there were the beaches. On the banks of the Lariggan visitors could enjoy bathing, either from rather dilapidated and ill-attended bathing machines (which were nonetheless used by up to 800 people a week) or, later, after using changing cubicles in the Gardens. There were public baths nearby, opposite the end of Alexandra Road, from 1887. These included a swimming pool, largely underground but with its skylights and curved roof visible just beyond the end of the Promenade.

During the 1920s and 1930s, Sidney Wright's Café Marina fronted the baths and pool and controlled access to the beach. Wright seems to have been a public-spirited man, but it was difficult to turn a profit and by the 1930s circumstances were conspiring against him. First, the council – probably for want of a better idea - let the Italian Gardens to a rival entrepreneur who set up a rival attraction, described at the time as a "wretched little fair." So incensed was Mrs Bolitho that she wished to disassociate the family from the site, and demanded to have the plaque, bearing the Bolitho name, taken down.

Wherrytown in 1932 – note the ‘wretched little fair’

(We have been unable to trace the copyright holder for this image)

In 1935, the opening of the Jubilee Pool, and an electrical fire, brought ruin to the Café Marina.

At the Eastern Beach, outside the control of Penzance Borough, greater liberties could be taken by businessmen and bathers alike. Here, entrepreneurs and pleasure-seekers had free rein; it was described as "a little gold mine waiting for someone". Safe bathing from a sandy beach was available for those undaunted by a few access problems, and happy to put up with the noise and dirt of steam trains passing across the viaduct which crossed the beach and led to the station.

Fastidious beach-goers, however, would have been better advised to stay on the west side of town. To get to the Eastern Beach in the first place, the visitor had to pass heaps of clinker, wade through a stream and on Mondays negotiate festoons of washing hung out to dry. Once there, 'bad language' might give offence, not to mention carefree attitudes as to where and how a chap should put on his bathing clothes – or even whether he needed to do so at all.

Despite this, the area was a popular place of resort. The road out towards Marazion was quiet and rural. "Rat-catchers and cricketers" used the Eastern Green on Good Fridays in the 1870s, one group on either side of the road. And on the August Bank Holiday in 1908, over 1000 people visited the Eastern Beach. But the Cornish Telegraph issued a warning:

"The tourist who steams into Chyandour looks out and sees the beach near and under the viaduct full of debris—old tins, bottles, garbage, and rubbish of various kinds, and he wonders if his children are expected to play there! Luckily he is able to find beaches later on, but it is it is a notable fact that each end of the town are rubbish heaps."

In the later 19th century, 'edge of town' – east or west, north or south - often meant 'pile of rubbish'. The amount of refuse was increasing, for several reasons. Goods were more likely to come with packaging in the form of glass and tin. At the same time, water closets and mains sewage were making the old 'night soil' collections valueless – the organic content, which had formerly made the output saleable as manure, was increasingly being flushed into the sea. Horse manure would soon disappear from the mix, leaving an unpalatable forerunner of the non-perishable landfill that still causes serious problems to local authorities today. Eastern Green, in the area around Posses Lane (near to the present-day Sainsbury's) was to be become Penzance's main rubbish tip during the 20th century.

Wherrytown was no better, with everything from old mattresses to dead dogs strewn along Newlyn Green. Both Newlyn and Penzance were keen to dispose of their rubbish in the neighbouring authority's back yard.

Ominously, especially for Wherrytown, a new keynote phrase for the 20th century was quick to establish itself, with demands that every perceived 'eyesore' must be… 'swept away.' The cottages built for the serpentine workers were now felt to be squalid obstacles to progress and prosperity. And the residents? According to one of the leading men of 1890, they weren't much better:

"an ignorant and dirty class, who preferred to live in caves... it is their descendants whom we now find preferring to live twelve in a room in filthy rookeries like pigsties and resent being turned out."

In 1934, Wherrytown and Chyandour both lost their border positions. The Borough of Penzance, which had for decades aspired to expand its geographical scope beyond the limit set down in the charter of 1614, was at last successful. To the east, little changed. Marazion refused to submit to what some termed the "octopus" town seeking to extend its tentacles eastwards. But to the west, Newlyn was absorbed, leading famously to the clearances and the Rosebud. And the story does not end well for Wherrytown either.

The expanded Borough now had Wherrytown within its grasp. In 1934, long before the famous Ash Wednesday storm swept through the shops and houses, there were already development plans that earmarked the area for total redevelopment. The road should be widened; the houses could not easily be brought up to modern standards of sewage disposal. The only way to deal with the problems was compulsory purchase, in order to "sweep away the whole thing."

The broom responsible for the final sweeping would be the Ash Wednesday storm of 1962.

Flooded Mounts Bay Inn, Penzance promenade. Ash Wednesday storm 1962

(By courtesy of Morrab Library Photographic Archive, accessed May 21, 2020)

And thus the story of Wherrytown ends, as it began, with a tale that has often been told elsewhere.

After the sweeping away  - the great improvement half a century later

And Chyandour? Apart from the indignity of the distributor road – still without a proper name after 30 years – passing overhead, it remains quiet and dignified, benignly overlooking the main route into and out of town, and waiting to find out what climate change will bring... For within the next millennium, who knows what will be 'swept away'?

General sources and references:

'Cornishman' and 'Cornish Telegraph' - see individual reference links for details.

Because it was based on a brief presentation looking at the parallels between these two 'border zones,' this Penwith Paper has had to take a 'broad brush' approach. The author is always happy to provide more detail and precise references to support the points above – please use the contact form.