England could lose Cornwall

Cornwall used to be an isolated place, a Celtic outlier. Not so much nowadays as lockdown escapees migrate to the West in search of sun, sea and space to breathe. The peninsular was packed for much of last summer but is absolutely heaving this year. Even the G7 leaders are paying it a visit this weekend.

Cornwall sparkles as its headlands and coves meet the pounding Atlantic seas and its sun-dappled estuaries provide refuge and retreat. It is a rugged place with a rugged history and beyond its popular coastal paths is a hinterland that tells a more sombre story of decline and deprivation. Caught between well-healed incomers on the coast and deprived communities further inland, Cornwall’s future is distinctly uncertain. Cornwall was always different and often resentful, and it still is.

As the visitor drives along a traffic-jammed A30 across the Tamar river and up onto Bodmin Moor the ancient and more recent landscapes start to meld before the eye. The Bronze Age burial mounds and stone circles testify to the sheer antiquity of human settlement in the distant West of what eventually became England. Layered in the mix are the traces left by clay extraction and tin mining, with the chimneys of the tin engines jutting out like Romantic age abbeys clothed in bramble and ivy and at risk of slipping from view. The Cornish are not English and their history for many centuries was shaped by resistance to conquering Anglo-Saxons and later English Kings.

The Christian Celts of Cornwall originated from missionary activity via Gaul and flourished separately from the Saxon Church until King Athelstan’s conquest of Cornwall in the 10th century. The final conquest was as much linguistic as religious when in the mid-16th century the Anglican Church and the English language were forced upon the Cornish. Over time, existing poverty was reinforced by subjection and many Cornish people, like other Celts in the British Isles, sought better lives overseas during the 18th and 19th centuries. Though the numbers are comparatively small, the Cornish diaspora in North America and elsewhere has continuing vitality even today. 

The arrival of the railway in the 1860s was, according to personal viewpoint, either another kind of English conquest or an opening-up of the economy of the far West to new opportunities. Until it stretched its lines over the new bridge above the Tamar, journeying across Cornwall was a slow and horse-drawn progress. Sea transport offered speedier communication. Fishing villages in bays and natural harbours isolated from one another had, in earlier days, offered means of smuggling and of trading links across the waters to fellow Celts in Brittany (itself independent from Paris until the mid-17th century) and as far as northern Spain. It was a different world. But it took a long time for England to acknowledge the differences more positively. It was not until 2014 that Cornish was recognised as an ethnic minority by law; a late recognition providing a measure of protection to people who, along with the Welsh, are the oldest in Britain. Should Wales ever opt to leave the United Kingdom the Cornish – who were once part of a tribal link to Wales – might weigh their options, too, though greater devolution from London, rather than independence from England, would most likely be the rallying cry.

Although the distinctive flag (a white cross on a black background) of Cornwall is increasingly present, the Cornish nationalist party has very limited electoral support. But its call for increased autonomy for the Cornish County Council reflects increasing public dissatisfaction with decisions taken remotely from Cornwall. The politics of the southwest have recently changed greatly. A long-established “Yellow Wall” of LibDems fell to Conservative candidates in the 2019 General Election. As elsewhere this reflected the continuing impact of the Brexit vote (Cornwall voted 56.5 per cent to 43.5 per cent in favour of departure), but expectations have been thwarted, most especially for the fishing community. There is real anger in the major ports such as Newlyn. They believe they were sold a dud in 2019 and that instead of obtaining “control” of adjacent waters and fish stocks, they are suffering the closure of their continental markets. Much has been demanded – Cornwall Council called for £700m of UK government support to replace grants from the EU – and much promised. If such support is not forthcoming fairly soon local grievances will grow and fester. Cornwall is already one of the poorest areas of Britain. 

Along the long coastline and in the estuaries houses are being snapped up by outsiders at an unprecedented rate. Covid has supercharged this pattern. Locals seeking first homes are being priced out of the market. Even when they search inland the picture isn’t rosy. Communities damaged in recent decades by the decline of tin mining and the absence of alternative employment still carry the scars. Towns like Camborne lack employment opportunities and have become increasingly dependent on publicly-funded means of support. Issues of drug addiction complicate and threaten the futures of youngsters in urban areas of deprivation, many of whom are unwilling or poorly equipped to head to other parts of the South-West or of Britain more generally.

What is to be done? Cornwall received the highest per capita levels of EU support in England. Its fishing industry was heavily dependent on EU markets for its livelihood. These are not newly discovered facts, they were known all along. Brexit expectations were raised in 2016 at the time of the referendum and in the 2019 General Election. As the free-spending metropolitan incomers rustle their plentiful banknotes and buy up the coastal views, who is benefitting economically? There is, of course, a beneficial local impact, but there are substantial opportunity costs for the locals. Taken together with the post-Brexit threat to the future of the fishing industry and the pre-existing deprivation in the so-called “heartlands” away from the coasts, the Cornish are feeling disregarded. Talk of prospective lithium mining may offer future opportunity and income; but who will gain the economic fruits? Will there be a trickle-down local economic effect or will venture capitalist and specialised mining companies simply repatriate their investment as they see fit?

There is, however, a real opportunity to generate wider local success, though it will be a big challenge. It would require a joined-up effort and a determination to make “success” work for local people as well as for “incomers” committed to the region’s future. Housing is critical. St Ives has already put a limit on purchases of new-build housing, other than by locals. That’s a start, but it will not be enough. Examples exist elsewhere (e.g. in Cantons of Switzerland) of more determined efforts and regulations to protect local communities from unconstrained purchases by “outsiders”. There is a balance to be struck, but if the ripple effect of house prices in many parts of Cornwall continue without any restrictions local communities will erode or atrophy. The fishing community will need support as it seeks alternative markets at home and abroad for certain kinds of catches, notably shellfish (mention “wasted” oysters in Newlyn and you will get a snarled response). Agriculture – often based in Cornwall on small units – will need substitutes for lost EU funding. And owners of lithium mines might need to be persuaded to accept a local levy on their profits to help fund local development in Cornwall.

But the most challenging issue may be how to harness the new digital economy and communications to generate real local impact and benefit. Can clusters of digital activities be fostered in ways that would provide incentives for educational attainment and future jobs for youngsters in Cornwall? Without steps like this, there will be a predictable pattern: the “heartlands” wither whilst suffering increasing social challenges; the housing needs of Cornwall generally go unmet; tourism becomes distortedly dominant; lithium exploration will have only limited benefits for the Cornish; the fishing industry will shrink as its markets decline or are inaccessible, and young people of talent will head elsewhere.

Summers can be wonderful in Cornwall, but Winters are fierce and threatening. I asked some people newly arrived in a village near Land’s End how they were finding things and what they were hearing from their new neighbours. While the newcomers to whom I spoke to were more than happy with their move, a neighbour originally from London had sold up within a year of arrival as the Winter gales rattled their windows. There is a metaphor here: in Cornwall, the best must be made of Summer but Winter needs to be provided for. Without the right local initiatives, many locals in Cornwall may suffer more of a Winter than a Summer prospect in the years ahead. And, if they do, promises made by politicians in 2019 will prove increasingly hollow and the political sands in this Celtic outlier will shift accordingly. The Cornish are indeed not English and they might be tempted to seek an alternative future, one less dominated by England.