
Before the Railway: How Perran's Iron Ore Reached the Sea
Gravel Hill’s iron mine stood beside the Atlantic. Its ore still travelled about three miles by cart to reach a ship. That awkward journey explains a great deal about this coast.
What I’m thinking about while I’m actually making things.

Gravel Hill’s iron mine stood beside the Atlantic. Its ore still travelled about three miles by cart to reach a ship. That awkward journey explains a great deal about this coast.

A wheelpit, a corn mill, coastal mines and competing transport schemes reveal the working landscape behind Holywell’s beach.

Wheal Leisure, the workings around Droskyn and Cligga’s wartime tungsten put the mining town back beneath modern Perranporth.

The lost church on Perran Sands turns out to be two buried religious sites—and a centuries-long argument with a moving landscape.

Seven churches, a corrupt city and three days of divine weather: Langarrow is a magnificent legend, rooted in a landscape that really did disappear beneath sand.

Seven churches, seven churchyards and a real religious community: how much of Crantock’s most persistent story can we put back on the ground?

A floating millstone is an excellent entrance. The harder question is how much we can recover of the man behind Cornwall’s most enduring saint story.

A vanished chapel east of Cubert brought four saint traditions together. Its story includes relics, road works and a remarkably versatile stone.

Holywell Bay could have had a railway, pier and harbour. The parliamentary record reveals a serious Victorian proposal—and a coastline that escaped a very different future.