What I Did On My Holidays: Tykes Draw With Pirates

By Tim Fitzpatrick
December 20 2006

The Pirates vs Tykes game wasn't the only place where smuggling could be found in Cornwall at the weekend! Timofe recounts what little he can remember of the trip to Cornwall.

Leeds Tykes played Cornish Pirates at Camborne on Sunday, but you already know that. You probably also know that we drew, 21 all. Rather than the usual blow by blow account of the game, I endeavour to take you, gentle reader, on a tour of the pleasures of a weekend away in a land as close to mainland Europe as we are going to get this season. Come with me now as we walk the back-streets of the far south west...



Lesson One: Don't drink at Leeds/Bradford International Airport

In what seemed (on reflection) a moment of madness, I agreed to spend four days away from home with someone who can only be described as "Mark C". Duly joining the check-in queue at LBA I passed slowly through Security to find the aforementioned Mr C well into the first pint of many on Friday afternoon. Plenty of time before we flew, and the gate not yet announced, we had another. Then paid for another as last boarding was called. Anyone who has tried to down a pint of Guinness in one knows the pleasure I had. Follow that by a two-hour tea-time flight with 60+ people and only one toilet and you start to get the picture of the wonderful "theme-park experience" that is the Air Southwest propeller-driven commercial aircraft.

After a thrilling stopover at Bristol in strong cross-winds, we landed at "Newquay International Airport". You know an airport is going to be small when it has the word "International" in its title. More of that later. Mark picked up the cheap hire car that would be the millstone around his neck for the weekend and duly re-mortgaged his house to cover the deposit. My, what fun we had after each journey in it to see if there was even the slightest of scratches...

By the time we got to Penzance there was horizontal rain and driving winds, reminding me of childhood holidays in nearby Hale (ironic name, I've always thought). We struggled up the hill near the church to find our B&B and, once brains had been engaged and we'd worked out how to get in the door, met Curnow - our host for the weekend.

Suddenly we went from troubled travellers, tired after our trip, to welcome guests in the home of one of the friendliest men I have ever met. The place was warm, dry, spacious, value for money and used to be the house of the mother of the Bronte sisters prior to her moving to Howarth. What more could one want from a holiday location?

OK, beer.



Lesson Two: Don't drink with Cornishmen

By way of scene-setting, Curnow told us of the many fights he had been involved in lately. The culmination of this conversation being a detailed account of "The Siege of Newlyn" in which a drug-crazed drunk had threatened him with a gun. Clearly this was a man in whose company we would experience th real side of Penzance!

Having settled in our comfortable accommodation, we decided to see what Penzance had to offer by way of food and entertainment. Stepping out of the door into the now abating rain, Mark and I took approximately thirty paces uphill before arriving at The Admiral Benbow pub. This historic landmark features in the opening scene of Treasure Island and is a well known tourist spot. In winter, it has all the charm without the queues, so we decided to make it our home for the weekend.

I recommend the food there - particularly the steak and ale pie - it was excellent and there was plenty of it. The beer wasn't bad either and much grub and ale passed our lips prior to our being joined by Curnow's cousin, John. Now John likes a pint as much as the next man and he has many a story to tell, so we enjoyed his company well past the point where Curnow had joined us. Being easily led, we followed said pair to The Dolphin - workplace of John's chef son. Cornwall seems to feature alcohol and good food in abundance - it was not a dieting weekend.

Several pints later we returned to the Benbow when sensible men would have called it a night, but we were determined to enjoy the weekend to its fullest. An important lesson was learned that night: Cornishmen drink in shifts. Just as one lot were leaving another lot arrived to keep us going. This is accentuated when the owner is a Pirates fan!

Discretion dictates that I can't remember when we left, but I remember losing count of the rounds when we got to about twelve and there were several beyond that. Returning to the guest house past the witching hour it was time for bed. Lying down was easy - keeping my eyes closed as the room started spinning was not and the steak and ale pie tasted just as good the second time around...



Lesson Three: Don't drink with Pirates

Saturday morning found Mark very chipper and me feeling distinctly hung over. Breakfast was enormous and even I had to leave some! The weather was a complete change from the previous night and blue skies revealed a warm sun. Walking along the sea-front in a T-shirt in the middle of winter was a first for me. It felt more like June than December. Touristy things happened as expected and Mark and I spent a pleasant time eating pasties overlooking St Michael's Mount (insert your own jokes here).

Two litres of isotonic sports drink later (bless you, Mr Lucos!) and I was feeling human again. Mark went for a walk to see the lights of Mousehole and I enjoyed fish and chips by the quayside. Proper holiday food. At about eight we joined many other northern invaders in The Turks Head - almost three doors away from the Benbow.

Many hours of trying not to drink alcohol ever again later, we staggered from the Turks' towards home (first discovering that the pub is run by a Pirates fan). Chumpy and Jim accidentally falling into the Benbow for two hours as we passed it. Tragic when that happens!



Lesson Four: Drink with Cornish Pirates!

After finishing another one of Curnow's mammoth breakfasts, Sunday morning saw us preparing for the game by assembling at the station just before 11:00. A group ticket for four costs just £1.70 each, instead of the usual £3.50 per person for the train trip to Camborne. Near to the Camborne station is The Railway pub. They were expecting us. We ate Christmas lunch and enjoyed a jar or two at this favoured meeting place of wandering Pirates. Escaping the Karaoke machine just in time we walked to the ground in the presence of Captain Jack Wallace (see the picture thread for an illustration) - met with horn-blowing wherever he went.

The ground is not the biggest place I've watched rugby, but the addition of beer and pasty tents at every entrance is a lesson Leeds Rugby could learn. The food was, again, great and the beer was plentiful (at £2 per pint!). The ground is a rec, in more than one way - it looked a little chewed up (and that's putting it mildly). The Cornish are desperately in need of a stadium for sport and events, but Camborne Rec will have to do for now. The stand was full and the crowd of around 3,500 filled the pitchside amiable.

The game was a two-half affair. The Tykes played well in the fist half and dominated the game - the Pirates rarely broaching the half-way line, let alone our 22. The second half would surely be a rout, with the Tykes pressing home their advantage, but it was not to be. In what was described by one of the Cornish players as a "right f$%^&*%g rollicking" at half-time, they came out fighting and used their 12-man game effectively, pushing up the middle for wave after wave of attack. The Tykes seemed a little stunned, but fought back valiantly, sadly not making that fourth try bonus point for once.

The last play of the game saw them score their try, then a brief spat of afters by Country had them bizarrely taken back for the restart and awarded a penalty. A three-point win would have been a travesty but Di Bernado missed the posts on one of his worst days this year, so we settled for a draw. The team were sorely disappointed with themselves after the game - an indication of just how far we have come this season. To draw with one of the strongest sides in the division at their ground after a three-hour morning bus journey shows a good effort. Granted, a win would have been even nicer...

Following Dotcom's pub guide to Camborne, we tried The Plough and the Corn Exchange before deciding that the atmosphere in both was not really what was sought. Mark C had disappeared by that point and I hold myself to blame for what came later - "never leave your wingman" and all that. The Railway was in full Karaoke swing when we returned and I began to understand why there was no X-Factor qualifying round in the south-west. We didn't stay long.

On our return, Penzance looked like a town out of season. Sunday night is not party night there. We stumbled into the Admiral Benbow again and found Mark and all our new Cornish friends enjoying a beverage or two. Mark already looked like the bloke in the LSD cartoon whose face melts onto the table. They left at around ten and Chumpy, Jim and I filled the rest of the evening training the lovely Trish behind the bar in how to make our favourite cocktails.



Lesson Five: Don't drive

Monday morning found me in good spirits as I bounded down to breakfast, ready for another of Curnow's feasts. Mark drfited in some time later and looked similar to how I had been on Saturday morning. When we compared notes I realised just how similar.

Deciding driving was a thing of the distant future we set off for some fresh air and headed for Newlyn and its fish docks. The strong smell of fish is very stimulating to a weak stomach and did the trick nicely.

Returning to the car we drove down to Sennan, a surfing beach near Lands End. The coffee overlooking the beach was very welcome and we watched the brave surfers falling in the water a lot. On the way back to Newquay we stopped in a "discount" surf shop so that I could rediscover my Yorkshireman roots. Being aksed to pay £20 for a simple T-shirt in the "half-price sale" brought me back to reality. I have decided not to be a surfer.

The airport seemed smaller in daylight and, after Mark breathed a long sigh of relief when the car was reurned unscathed, we went to check in. After queing for some time we were told that we had joined the line too soon and would have to wait. It was about that time that we learned og the mandatory "donation" of £5 to the airport building fund. This is not an airport tax - honest, guv - but a way of saying "thank you" to the providers of the Newquay facility.

The designers of Newquay International Airport clearly had other, more important projects at the time. The check-in area looks big, until you realise that it fills two thirds of the building. The departure lounge (note the use of the singular there) is a room about half the size of the Carnegie Cafe that had to house four flights' worth of passengers when we were there. Rumours of a new signing only helped to alleviate the claustrophobia somewhat.

The flight home was uneventful bar a short stop at Bristol to refuel. Why do they ask you to unbuckle your seatbelt while the plane is refuelling? Will that extra second make the difference?



In summary, this was one of the most enjoyable rugby trips I have ever been on. Thanks to Curnow, Marshy, John, Dotcom and all the others who made it so. Who knows, if my liver ever recovers I may even do it again!