Farynshire: County of Many Lands

And so we come to our final place: Tor Calon.

I imagined a picturesque sleepy fishing village with white-washed cottages overlooking sandy beaches, maybe a small harbour, and wooden dinghies floating beyond in a wide bay. I hadn’t realised (and Felix had never said) that Tor Calon is an island. It lies about three kilometres off the coast of Farynshire. And Felix’s family owns it.

The ferry leaves from a small jetty; both badly constructed from what appeared to be soggy, disintegrating wood. This is the only way to get to the island, unless you are one of the privileged few who can use the ap Hullins’ private helicopters. Despite the very real danger of not surviving the trip, tourism is the most important and lucrative industry on Tor Calon. You would think one of the richest families in Farynshire pay for a new ferry, maybe by selling a helicopter …

The island is just over two square miles. I mention that because I have terrible spatial awareness, and Tor Calon seemed to be at the same time quite small, but also have a lot on it.

You can’t tell the size at all as you approach (assuming you are brave enough to look toward the island rather than cowering in a corner of the ferry or hurling up over the side). Tor Calon Harbour nestles at the foot of towering cliffs, creating a safe haven for the small boats that are tethered there. Huge gulls swoop from their nests on the cliffs, screaming at visitors, before diving into the sea, or landing on the ferry.

We staggered up the slippery steps to the harbour wall and made our way through the tunnel that cut through the base of the cliffs. The track to the top of the cliffs is steep and winding – not an appealing prospect for anyone with luggage. Luckily the island has its own steam engine!

This, I suppose, is in lieu of any other motorised vehicles. Anything with an engine is forbidden on Tor Calon; tractors are shipped across from the mainland when farmers need them, but they (and the beautiful little train) are the only exceptions. Not that the steam engine goes very far (or fast). The rickety narrow rails lead up from the harbour, and then on to the Dust Track. This is the main (for want of a better word) road on the island. The steam engine runs behind the General Store and the Post Office. A few people got off at the stop here to have lunch in one of the two restaurants or three pubs on the Track. Then the engine bounced on, exacerbating everyone’s sea sickness.

It feels like being transported back in time. The plume of steam followed us like a cloud as we trundled across fields and around two of the five tiny villages on the island. By the time we reached the final stop, only Felix and myself were left on board. There was no platform, just a set of ornate silver gates.

And this is where Felix lives.

The ap Hullin family estate consists of a magnificent manor house at the end of a long drive, and it is surrounded by a wonderland of gardens. One of Felix’s forebears brought exotic flora from around the world and created what is now known as the Tor Calon Botanical Gardens. One of the trails open to the public makes its way passed a representative of every plant, shrub and tree that lives in Farynshire.

Felix’s parents welcomed us into their home. I was given a whole suite of rooms for our one night on the island, with magnificent views over the wildflower meadows rolling down to cliff edges, and the wild seas beyond.

I don’t want to go into Felix’s home life on this public blog, so all I will say is that this is the first time I have encountered a dress code for supper, and I’ll leave it there.

There was really only one thing I wanted to come to Tor Calon for, and that was to see puffins.

Felix and I got up early the next morning and went to the far side of the island, the farthest spot from the harbour. This is where the silver mine is, and few tourists reach this point. The mine has not been in operation since the last century, and Felix says that there is still silver there, but it is too dangerous to try and excavate it. I tried not to think about this as we scrabbled down the precipitous cliff to the sandy beach and rocky outcrops below.

I would have preferred to stay on the sheltered spit of orange sand, but Felix insisted that we had to clamber over the slippery seaweed rocks to get the best view. And he wasn’t wrong. There are dozens of puffins here.

They bobbed on the waves, and sat on the wet rocks, preening their sleek coats with colourful bills. It’s probably not the most insightful observation made about one of the most charismatic birds in the country, but they are so cute!

We watched them for ages. They ducked under the water, and took whatever they caught to the tops of the cliffs, back to their burrows. They did not seem to mind our presence at all, and we got really close. I have hundreds of amazing photos.

We were leaving on the afternoon ferry, so we walked back to the Dust Track without returning to the ap Hullin estate. In the General Store we bought some fudge, and I bought a pair of puffin earrings made from silver.

I braced myself for the ferry ride, sucking ion a large piece of fudge (maybe that helps?). Felix, who had been quiet and subdued on the island, seemed to relax once we were on board and heading back to the mainland.

By Mabel Govitt