Rock to Sand

The Beach at Hulopoe, Lana'i Hawaii

Gillian Cornwall, c. 2012

I was born a rock, projected into this world, whole, a unity of DNA from all of those who have passed before me in the paternal lines of Cornwall and the maternal lines of Jay. I am searching back through these lines, searching for the end of the strand, knowing it lands in the cradle of the world from whence each one of us has risen at the dawn of humanity. 

I was born a rock and at 55 I am eroded to sand, but sand is a beach and everyone loves a beach, right? Tell me it's true, please? I search for worth amidst the grains remaining as I am gradually washed back to the mother ocean, wave after wave, pulling me home. 

Cornwall, Kernow - likely my father's people arose from here, as many of that name have done. I am drawn to the shores of this southwest peninsula of England. A place that has held its own culture and nationhood in its soul since first inhabited in the Palaeolithic and Mesolithic periods. I am spending time learning the language and the ways of the people to gain a better understanding of that which is likely the birthplace of the paternal side of my family. 

Jay, the bird, in English etymology, and "joyous" from the French "gai" or Roman "gaius." My mother's side of the family hails far back in England and, before that, French. It is much harder to trace the maternal line as men have held power and, in their self-importance, power over record, for ...well, forever I suppose - at least in Western culture. 

As the beach, how does one remain strong? How does one stay strong when the rock is hollowed out and the last of us crumbles to join the rest of the sand? Is there strength in simply letting go? Is there strength and hope in knowing that each grain of sand is unique and each piece of us is unique? Together, we stretch out to the mother ocean united as a place between land and sea. Like I describe myself always, I am a conduit, a bridge, between people, places, and times. A conduit is not an easy thing to be because one is not seen so easily when broken down to sand or stretched between this and that. One is a road rather than a destination and often forgotten when the journey ends. 

I am something. You may not remember me, but I have been here and remain, like the via of Roman times, the scar of me remains, the lines in the landscape and long after you have passed along me or through me, I remain. I am the journey you have made and the place between places. I am Kernow, kernou. I am Jay, duGai. I am one with the mother and a strand in the colourful blanket of humanity - strong, unique, worn, fragile. I am the sand beneath your feet when you stare out to sea, on the edge between land and water, masculine and feminine, here and not here. I am.

Meur ras.

Vyaj salow!

-Gillian Cornwall, c. May 21, 2017

Dedicated to my friend, Nadita Beauchamp

Thanks for inspiring me, for seeing me and for lifting me up

St. Ives, Cornwall (Kernow)

Photo by: Sheila Jeffries (author extraordinaire)

(used with previous written permission) 

Fathers and Family Memories

My father, my brother and me

Probably in The Muskokas, Ontario

Circa 1965-66

Every time I look at this picture, I laugh to myself. It evokes exactly what it was like when my brother and I were little kids. I have two older brothers as well, one of whom may have been taking this picture, or it could have been taken by my mother. In this image, my dad is probably taking us swimming at the lake. My parents both loved to swim and my youngest brother and I took instruction at the local pool and at the camp we attended from age 4 onward until we were sufficiently competent not to drown ourselves without great effort. My brother is being a ham. He loved to be a ham. I was likely being attacked by mosquitoes or blackflies; they thrived on my lily white complexion. 

The reason I put this picture up is that without these old photos and our home movies, which I recently watched with my girlfriend, who was seeing them for the first time, I would only remember the childhood hardships I faced. I wouldn't remember that my family had two sides. Not only were there epic battles, difficulties, inherited patterns of abuse and ineptitude in dealing with the cycle of abuse, there were also huge efforts put in by both my parents and my eldest brother Chris (RIP) to give us two youngest kids the time of our lives. We had great vacation adventures throughout Ontario, the eastern United States and in England - the homeland of my family.

Without watching these home movies now with people who love me, I wouldn't see my childhood through their eyes. Granted, it's not like we filmed the bad times - that would have been totally weird, but it really makes a difference to see the gargantuan effort my mum put into birthdays and Christmases. My girlfriend pointed out how many cakes were made by my mum, with four children having birthdays and Christmas cakes and puddings made every year - taking weeks and weeks to prepare and plan parties and buy presents. Every summer, they took us away with them to cottages and on road trips - sometimes on business trips during the summer as well. They both worked - running their own company from the time they returned from England for the second time in 1961, with my mother heavily pregnant with me, entertaining the husband and wife of the parent company in England until mere weeks before she was to give birth. We were always impeccably dressed, heading to camp, riding lessons, theatre productions, restaurant experiences, day trips to different gardens and on trips through North America and England. They did a HUGE amount for us and included us in many unique learning experiences. I am endlessly grateful for the cultural experiences they provided. It must have been exhausting with four kids and a business.

My father supported my leisure pursuits. He took me to every soccer practice and game - shared tips and laughed at my tenacity in the net. I remember the time I dove for the ball to prevent a goal just as the player was going to kick, taking the kick to my mouth, leaving my teeth slightly chipped and my gums bleeding. My coach came over and told me not to be a baby. I lost it and told him to "f*** off" - which did not please him very well. My father tried to be upset but was also holding back laughter as his eight or nine year old daughter was behaving like an FCUK player already. He did make me go to my coach's house that night to apologize so I could learn a lesson in team spirit and so I could keep my place on the team. He said it was probably best not to mention the incident to my mum if I wanted to continue to play. I never told her.

He was the one who would have bought me the stellar Pearl red sparkle surf drum set I coveted in the window of the Richmond Hill Drum Shop. My mum ...well, not so keen as it wasn't "a very lady-like instrument" to  play. I still think I could have been a rock star and did in fact build a set in the basement out of pots and pans and buckets and tin pie plates - needs must.

I still think my mum had the hardest role. She lost the love of her life in the war and married my father afterward. They look pretty happy in the beginning and when we were young but things kind of went pear shaped for them after that. It had to be so hard for her - losing her first love, giving up any idea of being independent in the late 1940s, getting married, having kids and working full time while trying to maintain a household and half of the family business. I was pretty happy when they finally split up and home was fairly quiet again. I didn't actually want to live with either of them but never said anything as I was aware that would have hurt their feelings. My dad didn't offer to take us so we went with my mum. She did her best and raised us well as a single mum with a small stipend of child support. 

The thing is, when we were little - there were good days and bad. Both my parents brought there own history of abuse into the relationship and the subsequent family. People back then didn't really do therapy and even when women started to look to it for survival and recovery, men did not so much. Generations of history told them to "man up" and get over it. Don't cry. Don't complain. Laugh it off ...and strike out, often in abhorrent ways as a result of suppression of emotions and pain.

It makes me sad that in this day and age, many men around the world still shun their hearts. You are allowed to feel, you do get to reach out for help and you do have a chance to stop the hurt. 

My wish for every single male out there on this Fathers' Day is that you can stop and reflect on the beliefs that you carry about yourself as a male and think of your place in society. Think about the ways you hurt and the ways you may have hurt others and find healthy, positive ways to move forward with a peaceful heart and spirit. Perhaps some of you have suffered at the hands of your own fathers or wish you could express your feelings in a safe and peaceful way. Give yourself permission to do so. You will benefit from letting go of what is not working for you in your life.

I'm not a male bodied person and I do not subscribe to gender roles so maybe I'm the last person in the world who should be taking about this. I only know what I have seen in my own family. I believe the males with whom I grew up had so much potential, but the harms they experienced, passed on from one generation to the next, perhaps as sons of warriors, left them hurt and ill-equipped to deal with those hurts. This means that their hurts held them back and manifested in behaviours which held them back even more. They are intelligent and talented; however, a large amount energy goes into trying to find ways to cope with their individual hurts without healthy expression and assistance in processing. 

As a woman, I "allowed" myself to go to counselling and bore the thousands of dollars of cost to keep myself from being a complete emotional right-off as an adult and I am still a work in progress, so I can't imagine what it would be like to disallow myself the healing path I took and still be an okay, non-violent person. I feel sad that some men won't allow themselves the space for healing - not only for them but for everyone they encounter thereafter because the dis-function leaks. It comes out and not in good ways: spurts of anger, violence, self-harm, addiction... the list goes on. 

The fact is, if you aren't processing the harm in some way, it will manifest in illness, violence and harm - to self or others; therefore, now, when I think of the term, "man-up", I think of it as dealing with your history, processing your pain, crying, and feeling what it is you have experienced - both good and bad. I wish this gift for everyone on this fathers' day. 

For my part, I'm grateful for the kind and loving things my father did and I am frustrated by the unkind, abusive things he did and the impact of those acts - it didn't have to be that way and it is up to this generation to stop the cycle. I've done my best to end it and pass on to the young people in my life the lessons I have learned. May we all do our best to love, learn and recover. 

-Gillian Cornwall, c. June 19, 2016

A family vacation in England (the homeland)

Photo - BF Cornwall, c. 1966

One Thing

A Window of Opportunity - Hampstead, UK

Gillian Cornwall, c. September 2015.

The one thing I know is that life is precious - fleeting and precious. 

It is hard to remember that there are moments of incomparable joy and beauty in the times when we feel as though we are in competition with the biblical Job for worst life ever. We lose our job, our partner is gone, we are ill or all of the above. 

How best to respect the sadness, loss and lack of well-being while maintaining the knowledge that there is beauty and there is hope where life remains?

How best to remember that in the midst of our greatest suffering, the birds still sing without hating them for it in the face of our own loss or sadness? Remember W.H. Auden's poem, Funeral Blues? 

"Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come...."

Auden speaks of how the world must stop and that "...nothing now can ever come to any good."

Our loss can overshadow all the good in the world. Our heartbreak can create a pall that covers our lives in a dark emptiness. Thank heavens we have the capacity to feel our sadness so truly and completely for, if we could not, then how would we know its opposite - the euphoria of the birth of a child, falling in love, finishing a work of art and knowing it is your best or simply staring at the waves roll in from across the sea in a moment of complete contentment. 

Last evening, my girlfriend and I watched some of my old 1960's home movies as my parents crossed the Atlantic for the second time to create a new life for themselves in Canada as immigrants from England. From a great distance from my childhood and a great deal of counselling later, I am able to view these with a less self-centered eye, with the understanding of an adult rather than the need and grief of a child. 

While, certainly, the movie camera only came out for celebrations and epic adventures, it is fascinating to look back on one's life from the perspective of being older now that my parents were in the film we are watching and to have a greater understanding of their experience. I am able to see how many things they did for us, how many adventures they took us on, how damn lucky we were to have the resources to travel and explore, to stay at lakefront cottages and travel through Algonquin Park - not to mention, travelling back and forth to England to visit the family there. 

My parents battled like wildfire and eventually divorced when I was 13, but before then and after, there were so many celebrations for us. There were birthday parties and homemade cakes, Christmas after Christmas with a sea of presents for us, trips to beautiful gardens and visits with friends and family. 

I truly hope that my parents are able to see and know, from a post life place, that I understand better now, that I am grateful for all they did and that I am endlessly grateful for my life. 

I am getting older. I worry sometimes about how much time I might have left and how I want to spend it. I have the luxury of considering this at all as opposed to the majority of the population of the earth who have an endless, daily focus on survival - food and shelter. I have the luxury of deciding how I wish to live and what I might want to change about myself. My entitlement lies in the luxury of living in Canada as a white woman with resources and loved ones to help me through the difficult times. 

Okay, I know two things, not just one:

1. Life is precious.
2. Worrying won't help.

Let us stop and think of life itself - the greatest gift we could ever be given and look no further for heaven than to the beauty of another day, as the bird sings outside my window and my girlfriend tells me my tea is ready and I sit here writing to you. It is enough. It is plenty. I am grateful.

With love to every single one of you. 

I dedicate this piece to my parents for the life they have given me and in the knowledge that they did their best to raise four children and give them a good life. To my mum, you were amazing. I can't believe how much you had to do and the grace with which you did it. Thank you. To my dad, thanks for taking me to all the soccer games and allowing me to be the tomboy I was. Too bad, we couldn't convince mum to let me have the drum set - I'm still sure I would have been a rock star. ;-)

-Gillian Cornwall, c. May 22, 2016

Hampstead Heath

Gillian Cornwall, c. September 2015

The Experiential Sweet Spot of Adventure

The View from Fox Road, Wigginton, Herts.

Gillian Cornwall, c. October 2015

There exists a sweet spot on any adventure between independence and companionship, between having an experience on one's own and a shared experience. For me, it's not about whether or not you embark alone but how you interact, and with whom, once the adventure has been undertaken. 

Certainly, there can be times during independent travel when you may wish you were with your best mate and could say, "Wow, can you believe this...?!" Being the kind of person I am, I tend to do that to anyone within earshot if I am on a solo adventure because, chances are, they are experiencing a similar reaction. Hopefully, I don't look like this gargoyle from the Tower of London to whomever it is I am exclaiming:

An ancient face guards the Tower of London

Gillian Cornwall, c. October, 2015

On this most recent adventure to the UK, I had the luxury of time and comfort with friends and family with a wonderful base in my cousin's cottage in Hertfordshire combined with adventures all over on my own or visiting friends. It was all quite perfect for me as I had the autonomy to do and see what was high on my list of priorities and to spend as much time as I liked in this cathedral or that part of London. There is a great deal of advantage in not having to compromise one's limited time. That being said, my friends and family were both very kind in allowing me my flights of fancy when exploring with them - such gracious hosts I had! 

I was driven to Stow on the Wold by kind people I had never before met to spend the day with my dear friends Brough and Sue who were visiting England from Vancouver Island at the same time as I! Thank you Richard and Carolyn.

Childhood Swings at the Family Home - Greenfields, Gloucestershire

Gillian Cornwall, c. September, 2015

My cousin took me to meet her dearest friends and on trips to Waddesdon Manor in Buckinghamshire, Oxford, Harrow on the Hill in the London Borough of Harrow and Hampstead and Highgate in the London Borough of Camden. We also spent time in Berkhamsted, Hemel Hempstead, Brighton, London and Tring. I am sure I am missing some pieces because I still have jet lag and can't think properly but here are some images to fill the gap...

Waddesdon Manor - Previously a Rothschild Property 

Gillian Cornwall, c. September 2015

 Me at the church gate for St Mary's Harrow on the Hill

My mum and brother and I had stood here before, many years ago

Photo by Karen Jay, c. September 2015

 Face carved into the bridge over River Cherwell, Magdelen College, University of Oxford

Gillian Cornwall, c. September 2015

 Friends of Karen walk us through Hampstead to a lovely tea shop

Gillian Cornwall, c. September 2015

 A view of the 2nd floor flat where my aunt and uncle once lived in Hampstead. It's 2nd floor on the right hand side of the shot.

They could have purchased it after the war for around 800 pounds. That was a great deal of money then and they moved away to Hertfordshire. Current value is in the millions of pounds.

Gillian Cornwall, c. September 2015

 Karen and me at Burgh House and Hampstead Museum for tea

Photo by Marc Wright, c. September 2015

 View of St Paul's and the Shard from Hampstead Heath

Gillian Cornwall, c. September 2015

 This is the pond in Hampstead where my Uncle Edward pushed Oswald Mosley, founder of the British Union of Fascists, into the water during a demonstration/riot. I come by my activism honestly I guess...

Gillian Cornwall, c September 2015

 On the footpath through Wigginton to Wigginton Bottom.

Gillian Cornwall, c. October 2015

 The ever-changing skies from the upstairs view 

in Karen's 250 year old cottage. Amazing.

Gillian Cornwall, c. October, 2015

 The Tring Footpath down Oddy Hill from Wigginton

through Tring Woods

Gillian Cornwall, c. October 2015

My last day with Karen on Brighton Pier, Brighton

GIllian Cornwall, c. October 2015

Beyond all of this, I also went to Somerton and Glastonbury in Somerset to visit my dear friend and earth angel, Sheila. We had been friends through Twitter for 3 years and were finally able to meet in person. This was such a wondrous part of my adventure and I'm ever grateful for having this time together. 

 The view to the old manor house in Somerton - from Sheila's garden

Gillian Cornwall, c. September 2015

 In St Michael and All Angels Church in Somerton 

Incredible carved wood ceiling with dragons below

Gillian Cornwall, c. September 2015

 The Somerton Butter Cross (rebuilt in 1673) and Market Hall

The stones in the centre of the Butter Cross stay cool all the time 

and keep the butter from melting.

Gillian Cornwall, c. September 2015

 Through the arches of the Glastonbury Abbey (opened 712 AD)

Gillian Cornwall, c. October 2015

Sheila and her friend who works at the Abbey

and knew all of its history!

Gillian Cornwall, c. September 2015

I also spent some time on my own on train travel adventures to Edinburgh and York where it was the place AND the people who I met along the way that made me feel so full of joy and wonder!

 The view from Edinburgh Castle

Gillian Cornwall, c. September, 2015

 The Cannonball Restaurant, Royal Mile, Edinburgh

I was made to feel so welcome in this incredible restaurant 

specializing in local, sustainable foods.

A special thank you to Gabby and all the staff!

Gillian Cornwall, c. September 2015

 Another view from Edinburgh Castle over the City of Edinburgh to the Firth of Forth (body of water leading to the North Sea)

Gillian Cornwall, c. September 2015

 The beautiful eastern coastline from the train

Between Edinburgh, Scotland and Berwick-Upon-Tweed in Northumberland, England

Gillian Cornwall, c. September 2015

Berwick-Upon-Tweed, Northumberland

Gillian Cornwall, c. September 2015

The two front windows of my incredible suite at the Royal York Hotel in York, Yorkshire, England

Gillian Cornwall, c. September 2015

 The Stunning Chapter House Ceiling of York Minster, York

Gillian Cornwall, c. September 2015

One of the stoneworkers working on repairs to the East End and Great East Window

Gillian Cornwall, c. September 2015

While I could go on and on about each place, I'll finish up for today on my last solo adventure - 3 days in London - where I was so grateful to new friends, Marc and Suzannah for use of Marc's 17th floor Canary Wharf flat to use as a base from which to explore! 3 days of amazing, walks through London and mastering the DLR, tube, river boats and buses to see as much as possible and I realize that I would need months, no, years to see as much as I would like of this incredible city. Nonetheless, here is a wee taste. Again, it was the people and the places that made it all incredibly special.

 Nelson's Column - Trafalgar Square, London

Gillian Cornwall, c. September 2015

Boadicea and her Daughters - Bronze

London Eye in the background - London old and new

Gillian Cornwall, c, September 2015

 Battle of Britain Monument on the River Thames, London

Gillian Cornwall, c. September 2015

 The Waterloo Barracks of the Tower of London, Housing the Crown Jewels,

Jewels currently valued at around 3.68 Billion CAD

Gillian Cornwall, c. October 2015

Her Majesty's soldiers guarding the Crown Jewels

Gillian Cornwall, c. October 2015

 A footy-playing gnome outside a home at the Tower of London

The Yeoman Warders and other staff that live on site are locked in at 10 pm each night

Gillian Cornwall, c. October 2015

 Tower Bridge from the Tower of London

Gillian Cornwall, c. October 2015

 A view to a tower view - Many of the walls are 12 feet thick

Gillian Cornwall, c. October 2015

 My View from my 17th floor flat in Canary Wharf, South Wharf, Isle of Dogs 

Feeling entirely decadent

Gillian Cornwall, c. October 2015

 The dome of St Paul's Cathedral, London

Sir Christopher Wren's crowning achievement

Gillian Cornwall, c. October, 2015

 Ye REALLY Olde Cheshire Cheese Public House - London

Rebuilt in 1667!

Gillian Cornwall, c. October 2015

 A view of the British Houses of Parliament

Gillian Cornwall, c. October 2015

 Tourists and locals alike, chillin' with Ghandi

Parliament Square, London

Gillian Cornwall, c October, 2015

I had to go to Poplar because of my love for the television series, "Call the Midwife"

Gillian Cornwall, c. October 2015

There is so much more I could share; so many incredible sights that I have seen and stories I have been told but, suffice it to say, it was an incredible journey of personal growth and a step in to the long history of my people on these British Isles. It was a chance to connect with family and friends old and new and to realize that England is my home too. I feel at home there in some respects. In other ways, it is all too apparent that I was born in Canada and received a Canadian education and upbringing. There are beauty and love and history in both places and I remain a citizen of both. 

I hope you enjoyed this walk through my month away and I would love to hear if you would like to see more pictures from the trip in another post. Do let me know if you would ..or wouldn't!

Go forth and enjoy your adventures, whether solo or in the company of others. Embrace the days and don't worry about how much time you have left in a place. Be present. Take it in. Talk to people. Ask questions. Share your stories. It is a beautiful world out there. In gratitude, let's share it with one another as best we can. 

-Gillian Cornwall, c. October 11, 2015

Somerton, Somerset

Gillian Cornwall, c. September, 2015

of here, from there

Canadian Embassy - Trafalgar Square

Gillian Cornwall, c. September, 2015

I came back to England after 32 years away. I came to see my family, to follow the path of my mother before, during and post-war, and to find my own place on this land - the land of my people for generations. I have been told that on my maternal grandma's side, the Jay's were French and that we are related to the author and playwright, Daphne du Maurier.

On my father's side, we hail from England for a number of generations. Before that, it is said we are Spanish.

Basically, I am of European descent. I am of this place but from Canada. My parents moved to Canada for the second time, to stay, when my mum was 3 months pregnant with me. I was raised in Canada in the days of the original six hockey teams. It was a time in which kids played outside all weekend as soon as the chores were done. We rode bikes through neighbourhoods and into the countryside. we knew not to talk to strangers but it didn't stop us from doing anything or going anywhere. I grew up with summer camp, cottages and canoeing. I went to middle class schools with a mediocre education that was supplemented by my parents love for the classics. We knew of the great European artists and writers because of our parents, not because of our national culture and education. My cousin is brilliant in her knowledge of European artists and writers - I am abysmal by comparison in that I have either forgotten or I never knew. I do know my Canadian artists and writers somewhat...

What I am getting at is that I remain divided between my past and my present and between where I am of and where I am from. Maybe I am the best of both worlds with a great deal more to learn and share from my dual heritage. I must remember to tread lightly on both lands and listen more than speak - with my heart as open as my eyes and ears.

"To see the world in a grain of sand

and a heaven in a wildflower

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand 

and eternity in an hour." 

-William Blake, "To see a world..."

(on Blake's stone in St Paul's Cathedral)

-Gillian Cornwall, c. October 4, 2015

On the Thames heading toward Tower Bridge

Gillian Cornwall, c. September, 2015