This is what will happen, according to the
swimming instructor: when I lower my four-month-old
daughter into the pool, some kind of primitive
instinct will cause her epiglottis to seal her
windpipe, then with a gentle shove from me she'll
waggle her chubby little legs and swim like
a mermaid into the waiting arms of my wife a
couple of yards away.
But this is what I know will happen: the trapdoor
thing in Florence's throat won't shut properly,
her tiny lungs will fill with water and she'll
sink to the bottom of the pool. If she doesn't
drown she'll have a phobia about water for the
rest of her life.
I know what I'm talking about – I've not done
this several times before. True, Florence's
older siblings are all hopeless swimmers because
I was too scared to give them this early aquatic
lesson, and I feel guilty about that (though
not as guilty as I'd feel if they'd sunk instead
of swum).
But rather than let another child doggy-paddle
their way through life, I've decided at least
one of them should earn their water wings early
on, so here I am, standing in lukewarm water,
ready with Florence to take the plunge. We've
come to Cornwall to stay with Lucy and Andy
Orr, owners of a group of cottages near Bodmin,
who have organised these lessons for babies
with a qualified local instructor. Their indoor
pool is a decent size and cheerfully decorated
with seaside murals. If the worst happens, I
decide, it couldn't happen in a nicer place.
But this is what does happen: Florence goes
under, she flaps her legs and propels herself
into her mum's arms, emerging from the water
spluttering but smiling. Amazing. Not exactly
Olympic-standard just yet, but she was swimming.
Babies as young as six weeks can learn, although
the best age is between three and nine months.
Each lesson on the five-day course begins with
twirling and pushing the children through the
water and wetting their heads until they're
comfortable (apparently this also helps mothers
shed some post-birth weight). Sarah Scheele,
the smiley instructor, whose sons aged three
and four are already able swimmers, is a good
judge of mood and won't rush a baby into going
under if she doesn't think the child is ready.
The lessons improve your child's lung capacity
and increase self-confidence, says Sarah; they're
also great for bonding and most babies develop
better eating and sleeping patterns.
True enough: Florence is ready for a feed and
a nap after the lesson, so we pop back to our
cottage. The Granary is one of eight stone cottages
run by the Orrs at Glynn Barton, which is set
in 13 acres and overlooks rolling hills and
woods in the centre of Cornwall. It's so nice
I want to live here. The two downstairs bedrooms
are decorated in neutral creams and beige and
brightened up with colourful wall prints. The
pine furniture is sturdy and handsome and the
shower room clean and modern. Upstairs, our
open-plan living room has white walls and tan
floors, with a couple of comfortable dark blue
sofas. To one side is a smart bathroom, while
the large kitchen-dining room is clean, well-equipped
and child-friendly, like everything else in
the cottage. I struggled to find fault with
the place. In fact, I'd nearly given up when
one morning, while lying in bed with a cup of
tea, I noticed the picture on the opposite wall
was off-centre by a good inch. Appalling.
Besides the swimming lessons, Glynn Barton
is perfect for parents with toddlers. You're
given a key to the pool area, which you can
use any time you like. Next to it is a soft
playroom where young children can burn off steam.
And there's also a room full of books, videos,
a pool table and plenty of board games.
On our second day we joined Andy, a big amiable
Scot, on his morning ritual of feeding the animals.
All the visiting children enjoyed giving handfuls
of food pellets to the donkeys, sheep and pigs
and patting the Highland cattle.
Foxes and badgers often snoop around after
dark and Andy thought we'd had visitors the
previous night because the chickens were agitated
and running around like, well, like headless
chickens.
Glynn Barton's position in the middle of the
county means you have a great choice of day
trips as Cornwall's two coastlines are no more
than 30 minutes' drive away. We headed south
to the small fishing town of Fowey. Steep, narrow
lanes heading down to the harbour are flanked
by whitewashed houses and attractive shops offering
nautical-style gifts.
There are also plenty of restaurants and, naturally,
fish is on the menu of many. We plumped for
Sam's, a friendly retro-rock diner with high-backed
benches and walls covered with signed photos
of the Rolling Stones, Queen and countless other
bands. That day's reasonably priced specials
included salmon in a coriander sauce and skate
wings with capers and lemon. My sea bass was
delicious.
After lunch we planned to visit the futurist
biodomes at the Eden Project. Though they were
only 10 miles away, our satnav seemed confused
and was trying to direct us down a narrow lane.
Normally at this point I'd reach for the AA
map, but the route looked so idyllic we let
the satnav woman have her way. We passed through
ancient, empty woods, crossed old bridges over
rushing streams, and bumped along tracks so
rarely used they had grass down the middle,
and we didn't see a soul. Then, suddenly, our
car emerged onto a main road and back into the
modern world just yards from the Eden Project
entrance. Hurrah for satnav.
Next day in the pool, Florence was craning
to slurp the water – a good sign, apparently,
indicating enthusiasm rather than thirst. Afterwards
we ventured to Rock, on the north coast, made
notorious by badly behaved rich schoolchildren.
This mishmash of houses with no discernible
heart seemed so dull I felt a surge of sympathy
with the rowdy teenagers. Two minutes there
and I wanted to get drunk and do something rude
as well, just to liven up the place.
From Rock you can catch a pedestrian ferry
across the wide mouth of the River Camel to
Padstow, where, even on this damp and overcast
afternoon, the streets were bustling. We sought
out Rick Stein's fish and chip shop, a bit of
a walk from the harbour and overshadowed by
a hulking grey warehouse, but worth visiting:
for about £6 you get a serving of succulent
fish in crispy batter, excellent chips, a cup
of tea, and even a slice of white bread and
butter.
Sadly, we were unable to stay at Glynn Barton
the full week, and all too soon it was time
to collect our stuff and head home. As I packed
our swimming gear into the suitcase I decided
it was probably a bit early to throw away the
arm bands, but after watching Florence make
such rapid progress, and maybe with her help,
I'm sure it won't be long before I get the hang
of swimming too.
Details 01208 821104, www.glynnbarton.co.uk
