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We Bought an Island #2
Tales From Our Cornish Island
Twenty-one years ago, Evelyn Atkins and her sister Babs actually did what thousands have dreamed of. They brought an island.
They seized an opportunity, re-arranged their lives, sold up, packed their worldly goods and moved. That story was told in Evelyn's delightful 'We Brought An Island'.
Now comes the sequel, the story of their island years, the humour and the harsh realities, the strange encounters with humans, with animals and objects, the balmy, blue-skied days that bring the visitors and the storm-swept weeks that stop the supplies. It is the story of a dream that has come true and a life where everyday may, and most likely will, bring a touch of the unexpected.
They seized an opportunity, re-arranged their lives, sold up, packed their worldly goods and moved. That story was told in Evelyn's delightful 'We Brought An Island'.
Now comes the sequel, the story of their island years, the humour and the harsh realities, the strange encounters with humans, with animals and objects, the balmy, blue-skied days that bring the visitors and the storm-swept weeks that stop the supplies. It is the story of a dream that has come true and a life where everyday may, and most likely will, bring a touch of the unexpected.
- GenresNonfiction
208 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1986
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February 7, 2023
Tales from Our Cornish Island is the sequel to “We Bought an Island” the quirky autobiography of two rather eccentric English ladies, who did precisely that, and lived to tell the tale.
If you have ever dreamed of leaving the rat-race, you will recognise a fellow spirit in Evelyn and Babs Atkins. Living in a large desirable house in Epsom, part of suburban Surrey, their lives were comfortable and orderly. They had good jobs, many friends, pursued fulfilling outside interests, and had full social lives. And yet they dreamed …
They dreamed of escaping from the daily routine, and the pressure of their high-octane lifestyles, to a peaceful private world, living in isolation as part of nature itself with the rest of humanity at a distance. How they chased their dream, and made it their reality is described in the wonderful book, “We Bought an Island”. But that book, of necessity, finished where the real adventure began. In Tales from Our Cornish Island, we learn that the island was indeed a paradise, but that living there was extremely dangerous, and could hardly have been more impractical.
For much of the time, Evelyn was there by herself. All the time, Babs had to stay on the mainland during the week, and could only ever go to the island at weekends - and only then if the weather permitted. This was because the only way they could continue life on their dream island, was to have some cash coming in, so Babs had to keep her job on as a senior mistress at a school in Looe. Living entirely alone on St. George’s island by herself, must sometimes have seemed utter madness to Evelyn. It certainly reads that way to us. This was before mobile phones and emails. In fact there was no method of communicating other than flags and hand-signals. The island was often completely cut off.
“In the winter, with storms from the Atlantic sweeping in, Cornwall changes from its summer garb of picturesque villages nestling between green-clad cliffs. Wild seas beat upon the rocky shores from autumn round to spring; the fishing fleet is often harbour-bound for days at a time or even for a week or two. As the island has no harbour it can be isolated for even longer periods. In a south-west gale spray flies over the top of the tall gabled house and lands in great scuds of foam on the lawn. A westerly gale roars through the woods above the house like an express train, deafening one’s ear-drums. Forty-feet high trees will be mown down as a hurricane cuts through the woods like a giant scythe; mounds of seaweed pile ten feet high on the beach so that to reach the “Islander” when the gales have subsided enough for the mail to be brought over it is necessary to slide down thes cliffs of seaweed on one’s backside. But often gales will assault us again before the sea has died down and the island is virtually like a ship at sea, a little kingdom of its own, dependent on its own resources. On one memorable occasion Babs was unable to land between Christmas and Easter and I had just fleeting glimpses of her as the all-important mail was tossed to me over the raging surf.”
By the end of the book, a couple of decades later, they had approached the GPO for a license to have a radio telephone. Yet with our modern expectations of instant access to everywhere in the world, this enforced isolation is difficult to imagine.
In 1986, 21 years to the day when the two sisters arrived to live on the island, Tales from Our Cornish Island was published. It takes up the story roughly from when the previous one finished, and is structured into various “Tales”, which show their progress through the years; both the highs and the lows.
Once again we meet the young daredevil of a sailor, “Wren Toms” who enjoyed challenges more seasoned boats-men would blanch at. He kept an eye on the weather, and signalled when it would be comparatively safe to cross, in their 18 foot open boat, the “Islander” . Through the fourteen “Tales”, we meet many who shared the sisters’ enthusiasm for St. George’s Island. There were some who understood their determination to succeed at this daring adventure, and revealed sometimes surprising skills, which proved to be a lot of help. One friend, for instance, grasped the difficulties and spent the whole of his stay there hacking a path through dense foliage and woodland, to create a path down to the shingle beach - the only part of the island where a boat could land. There was no jetty at this stage. This had to be constructed by hand, with pickaxes. The sisters actually seemed to spend a great deal of their time wielding pickaxes, or doing other hard manual labour. They came from tough stock, and had gone through the Second World War doing a great variety of physical tasks.
But their dream island proved an attraction for others too. During the summer, it is easily accessible by boat. The previous owner had warned them about this, and suggested that to keep trespassers at bay, they would need to use a shotgun. Since Evelyn had won medals and cups for shooting, and shot at Bisley for Surrey, she did not relish the idea of “shooting over people’s heads”. For a while, when prospective “invaders” were sighted, she tried unsuccessfully to deter landings by donning a variety of hats and disguises, and popping up at various points of the island to make it seem as though it was inhabited by a crowd of aggressive people. All to no avail. People assumed they had a right to land.
Perhaps this is because in Great Britain, even with privately owned beaches, the shore below high water is owned by the Crown, so people assume there is right of access. However, in the case of St. George’s Island, this is not so. In 1873, the then Prince of Wales (who was to become Edward VII) sold the foreshore rights of the island to settle a gambling debt. It had all been legally certified and incorporated into the deeds. But bringing out this kind of information was hardly likely to convince anyone who had arrived, and was keen to land. Added to this was the fact that occasionally a boat would get shipwrecked, in which case Evelyn had to abandon everything, and take on the role of kind rescuer.
Notices claiming it as “Private” did not work, so Evelyn and Babs hit on what they thought was a brilliant idea. They added “Landing Fee …” to the notice, and an amount which they expected would deter people. But the idea backfired. People arrived in droves, clutching their pennies, and hoping to be shown round the island. The sisters were beginning to realise that not only was their hope of seclusion a vain hope, but the amount of time spent on the upkeep of the various outbuildings and maintaining property, necessary machines, boats, not to mention the island itself, was virtually impossible, even by working all the hours they were awake. Reluctantly they admitted to each other that they needed more help.
However, some people who volunteered, clearly did not fully comprehend all the issues. Desperation at the sheer amount of work, and lack of hours in the day, had made the sisters advertise for youngsters to help with this physical work. Some of these people became lifelong friends, who returned to the island time and time again. But there were others who did not understand, and thought of it as a holiday. One, considering himself to have an artistic temperament, once strolled nonchalantly up to Evelyn, who had been hard at work on one of the many physical tasks. He said he “hadn’t really felt like it that morning”, and so had painted a watercolour picture instead. Evelyn paused a while, leaning on her shovel, and said that she quite understood. She had not prepared an evening meal, either, but finished off writing a poem.
Cooking for all these extra mouths was no easy task in itself. Most foodstuffs had to be shipped over from the mainland, and although cooking on a grand scale held no fears for Evelyn, who had at one time catered en masse for navy personnel in her earlier life, it all took precious time. Most of this was left to the students - whose efforts varied in the extreme. Emergencies were often caused quite innocently. One such was when one student feel asleep reading in bed. This would have no significant effect on the mainland, but on St. George’s Island, the generator was trundling along all night to fuel this one bulb - and the next day there was no power anywhere at all on the island. The generator was an unpredictable monstrosity, put in by a previous owner: Major General Rawlings a “D” day commander in the Second World War. It took a lot of upkeep, and demanded both ingenuity, a strong arm and technical wizardry on more than one occasion.
The sisters had soon discovered that taking on an island was a great responsibility. St. George’s Island is an island of outstanding natural beauty. It measures 22.5 acres in area and is one mile in circumference, situated about one mile off the south east coast of Cornwall, near Looe. It is a natural sanctuary for sea and woodland birds, and at this time was mostly wooded, as can be seen in the aerial view. Frost and snow are virtually unknown there; it has an exceptionally mild climate. Many flowers are even in bloom as early as Christmas.
Earlier owners had taken advantage of this to plant masses of daffodils, in many different varieties. The idea of becoming daffodil farmers held a certain appeal, as early daffodils were in great demand by the flower markets in London’s Covent Garden, and early varieties from the Scilly Isles fetched good prices. Evelyn and Babs learned about the daffodil train to London, and how and when to harvest the daffoldils, getting them over to the mainland in their tiny boat, at night. They explored the island, startled to find far more daffodil fields than they ever expected, and areas which were seriously in need of proper fencing to protect them from the violent storms they were experiencing. Then the exciting time arrived. Carefully they picked out the best blooms, and packed them off with their willing boats-man.
It was a disaster.
Not only had they packed them wrongly, but markets would only accept one variety in each case. They must be picked at exactly the right time, before they had started to bloom. And they must be labelled correctly.
Feverishly they started to try to identify which of the many unusual varieties grew where. And they started to find what everyone who has ever grown vegetables, even in a minor way, finds … they all started to flourish, and come to the perfect condition, at the same time. Eventually, with yet more research, even less sleep, and a couple of friends who recognised the emergency, and were willing to drop everything to assist with a few weeks’ harvesting and packing, their first year as daffodil farmers was accomplished. Other crops also grew in abundance, and organising harvesting for each had to be fitted into the island’s routine.
All the “Tales” are fascinating, and entertaining to read. For instance, I very much enjoyed reading about how the various pets found their ways to the island, and established themselves in the sisters’ affections.
Perhaps it’s best though, to share the bare bones of just one more: “The Treasure- Hunter’s Tale”. At various times, bits of metal and coins were found. When a metal detector located cannon balls, this was even more exciting, because they could have dated from the time of the Spanish Armada, who according to maps, were a few miles south of the island in 1588. Whether they were part of this, or skirmishes with the French is still a matter of speculation.
But when a clergyman from Cumbria wrote to say he was in possession of a treasure map, which he would like them to have, the sisters wondered if this was a hoax. In fact it was not. A local boat builder, now in his eighties, told them stories of smuggling in bygone days, and showed them traces of a tunnel in the cliff face. He also showed them how to access it from the floor in their barn (which he said he had fallen through, when he was a lad). By an extraordinary coincidence, the part of the cliff face that had been filled in with concrete, exactly matched the “x” on the yellowing, ancient map. So what happened in the end? Was there extensive digging? Was anything revealed, or does it to this day keep its secrets? To find the answer you will have to read the book.
And it is a book I can recommend. Yet although Evelyn Atkins is a talented writer, who can turn every incident into a dramatic or amusing tale, there is an element of sadness behind the pioneering daring spirit. It is possible to detect instances which never really matched their dream. Yes, they were owners of this haven of outstanding beauty, and yet they never had the leisure to enjoy it. Visitors would envy them, not realising that Evelyn and Babs could never take a day to explore the island, as their visitors could. There was simply too much to attend to. Many of their hobbies never got a look in. Early on, they asked for an official visit by a representative of the National Trust, to see if they could be any assistance. What resulted from this came as a tremendous shock to the sisters.
They were told that there was no way in which it could be maintained, without a certain amount of commercialisation - a word which was anathema to both of them. The minimum it would need, they were told, was a warden and family living there, and these would need to be paid wages. To accrue the money for this, the island would need to be opened to the public, which meant a tea shop and gift shop.
The sisters turned the offer down, but kept their original promise to leave the island to the National Trust after their deaths. Nowadays, it is possible to visit St George’s Island, as day visitors in the Summer, when the weather permits. The island has been renamed “Looe Island”, and has a proper landing jetty, organised trips, and amenities thought to be essential for tourists. It is protected though, and has not been commercialised. There are no roads, no shops and no traffic. Even years before this, Evelyn and Babs did make a gesture towards the recommendations, by opening a tea shop. Whilst tourists supped their cups of tea, and devoured the traditional Cornish cream teas of scones, cream and jam, they were regaled by tales from the sisters. Frequently though, the fresh provisions brought across from Looe had to be discarded if the seas were too rough for boats from the mainland. But it put a little money in the coffers.
At the age of 87 Evelyn Atkins died, and although Babs was still living there, she announced at that on her death the island was indeed to be given over to the “Cornwall Wildlife Trust”, as planned, for them to preserve as a nature reserve. At the age of 86 Babs Atkins died too. She had continued to live on the small island she and Evelyn loved so much, even after her sister Evelyn had died, and had lived there for 40 years.
It is clear by the narrative that Evelyn could have - and intended to - write more books about their experiences, but there are none. Indeed it is hard to see how she ever managed to snatch the time to pull this one together. She said she used to write it at 5am each morning.
I confess I found an underlying sadness, detectable through the bravado of this book. I am sure that both sisters never regretted their choice for a moment, but in a way their idea of an idyllic paradise, was not quite what they expected.
Here is a list of the chapters. There are also a few sections of colour photographs, grouped together and interspersed throughout the book:
The Prologue
The Pioneers’ Tale
The Daffodil Farmers’ Tale
The Newcomers’ Tale
The Early Helpers’ Tale
The Winkle-Pickers’ Tale
The Cooks’ Tale
The Volunteers’ Tale
The Cottagers’ Tale
The Mechanics’ Tale
The Treasure-Hunters’ Tale
The Mariners’ Tale
The Winters’ Tale
The Author’s Tale
If you have ever dreamed of leaving the rat-race, you will recognise a fellow spirit in Evelyn and Babs Atkins. Living in a large desirable house in Epsom, part of suburban Surrey, their lives were comfortable and orderly. They had good jobs, many friends, pursued fulfilling outside interests, and had full social lives. And yet they dreamed …
They dreamed of escaping from the daily routine, and the pressure of their high-octane lifestyles, to a peaceful private world, living in isolation as part of nature itself with the rest of humanity at a distance. How they chased their dream, and made it their reality is described in the wonderful book, “We Bought an Island”. But that book, of necessity, finished where the real adventure began. In Tales from Our Cornish Island, we learn that the island was indeed a paradise, but that living there was extremely dangerous, and could hardly have been more impractical.
For much of the time, Evelyn was there by herself. All the time, Babs had to stay on the mainland during the week, and could only ever go to the island at weekends - and only then if the weather permitted. This was because the only way they could continue life on their dream island, was to have some cash coming in, so Babs had to keep her job on as a senior mistress at a school in Looe. Living entirely alone on St. George’s island by herself, must sometimes have seemed utter madness to Evelyn. It certainly reads that way to us. This was before mobile phones and emails. In fact there was no method of communicating other than flags and hand-signals. The island was often completely cut off.
“In the winter, with storms from the Atlantic sweeping in, Cornwall changes from its summer garb of picturesque villages nestling between green-clad cliffs. Wild seas beat upon the rocky shores from autumn round to spring; the fishing fleet is often harbour-bound for days at a time or even for a week or two. As the island has no harbour it can be isolated for even longer periods. In a south-west gale spray flies over the top of the tall gabled house and lands in great scuds of foam on the lawn. A westerly gale roars through the woods above the house like an express train, deafening one’s ear-drums. Forty-feet high trees will be mown down as a hurricane cuts through the woods like a giant scythe; mounds of seaweed pile ten feet high on the beach so that to reach the “Islander” when the gales have subsided enough for the mail to be brought over it is necessary to slide down thes cliffs of seaweed on one’s backside. But often gales will assault us again before the sea has died down and the island is virtually like a ship at sea, a little kingdom of its own, dependent on its own resources. On one memorable occasion Babs was unable to land between Christmas and Easter and I had just fleeting glimpses of her as the all-important mail was tossed to me over the raging surf.”
By the end of the book, a couple of decades later, they had approached the GPO for a license to have a radio telephone. Yet with our modern expectations of instant access to everywhere in the world, this enforced isolation is difficult to imagine.
In 1986, 21 years to the day when the two sisters arrived to live on the island, Tales from Our Cornish Island was published. It takes up the story roughly from when the previous one finished, and is structured into various “Tales”, which show their progress through the years; both the highs and the lows.
Once again we meet the young daredevil of a sailor, “Wren Toms” who enjoyed challenges more seasoned boats-men would blanch at. He kept an eye on the weather, and signalled when it would be comparatively safe to cross, in their 18 foot open boat, the “Islander” . Through the fourteen “Tales”, we meet many who shared the sisters’ enthusiasm for St. George’s Island. There were some who understood their determination to succeed at this daring adventure, and revealed sometimes surprising skills, which proved to be a lot of help. One friend, for instance, grasped the difficulties and spent the whole of his stay there hacking a path through dense foliage and woodland, to create a path down to the shingle beach - the only part of the island where a boat could land. There was no jetty at this stage. This had to be constructed by hand, with pickaxes. The sisters actually seemed to spend a great deal of their time wielding pickaxes, or doing other hard manual labour. They came from tough stock, and had gone through the Second World War doing a great variety of physical tasks.
But their dream island proved an attraction for others too. During the summer, it is easily accessible by boat. The previous owner had warned them about this, and suggested that to keep trespassers at bay, they would need to use a shotgun. Since Evelyn had won medals and cups for shooting, and shot at Bisley for Surrey, she did not relish the idea of “shooting over people’s heads”. For a while, when prospective “invaders” were sighted, she tried unsuccessfully to deter landings by donning a variety of hats and disguises, and popping up at various points of the island to make it seem as though it was inhabited by a crowd of aggressive people. All to no avail. People assumed they had a right to land.
Perhaps this is because in Great Britain, even with privately owned beaches, the shore below high water is owned by the Crown, so people assume there is right of access. However, in the case of St. George’s Island, this is not so. In 1873, the then Prince of Wales (who was to become Edward VII) sold the foreshore rights of the island to settle a gambling debt. It had all been legally certified and incorporated into the deeds. But bringing out this kind of information was hardly likely to convince anyone who had arrived, and was keen to land. Added to this was the fact that occasionally a boat would get shipwrecked, in which case Evelyn had to abandon everything, and take on the role of kind rescuer.
Notices claiming it as “Private” did not work, so Evelyn and Babs hit on what they thought was a brilliant idea. They added “Landing Fee …” to the notice, and an amount which they expected would deter people. But the idea backfired. People arrived in droves, clutching their pennies, and hoping to be shown round the island. The sisters were beginning to realise that not only was their hope of seclusion a vain hope, but the amount of time spent on the upkeep of the various outbuildings and maintaining property, necessary machines, boats, not to mention the island itself, was virtually impossible, even by working all the hours they were awake. Reluctantly they admitted to each other that they needed more help.
However, some people who volunteered, clearly did not fully comprehend all the issues. Desperation at the sheer amount of work, and lack of hours in the day, had made the sisters advertise for youngsters to help with this physical work. Some of these people became lifelong friends, who returned to the island time and time again. But there were others who did not understand, and thought of it as a holiday. One, considering himself to have an artistic temperament, once strolled nonchalantly up to Evelyn, who had been hard at work on one of the many physical tasks. He said he “hadn’t really felt like it that morning”, and so had painted a watercolour picture instead. Evelyn paused a while, leaning on her shovel, and said that she quite understood. She had not prepared an evening meal, either, but finished off writing a poem.
Cooking for all these extra mouths was no easy task in itself. Most foodstuffs had to be shipped over from the mainland, and although cooking on a grand scale held no fears for Evelyn, who had at one time catered en masse for navy personnel in her earlier life, it all took precious time. Most of this was left to the students - whose efforts varied in the extreme. Emergencies were often caused quite innocently. One such was when one student feel asleep reading in bed. This would have no significant effect on the mainland, but on St. George’s Island, the generator was trundling along all night to fuel this one bulb - and the next day there was no power anywhere at all on the island. The generator was an unpredictable monstrosity, put in by a previous owner: Major General Rawlings a “D” day commander in the Second World War. It took a lot of upkeep, and demanded both ingenuity, a strong arm and technical wizardry on more than one occasion.
The sisters had soon discovered that taking on an island was a great responsibility. St. George’s Island is an island of outstanding natural beauty. It measures 22.5 acres in area and is one mile in circumference, situated about one mile off the south east coast of Cornwall, near Looe. It is a natural sanctuary for sea and woodland birds, and at this time was mostly wooded, as can be seen in the aerial view. Frost and snow are virtually unknown there; it has an exceptionally mild climate. Many flowers are even in bloom as early as Christmas.
Earlier owners had taken advantage of this to plant masses of daffodils, in many different varieties. The idea of becoming daffodil farmers held a certain appeal, as early daffodils were in great demand by the flower markets in London’s Covent Garden, and early varieties from the Scilly Isles fetched good prices. Evelyn and Babs learned about the daffodil train to London, and how and when to harvest the daffoldils, getting them over to the mainland in their tiny boat, at night. They explored the island, startled to find far more daffodil fields than they ever expected, and areas which were seriously in need of proper fencing to protect them from the violent storms they were experiencing. Then the exciting time arrived. Carefully they picked out the best blooms, and packed them off with their willing boats-man.
It was a disaster.
Not only had they packed them wrongly, but markets would only accept one variety in each case. They must be picked at exactly the right time, before they had started to bloom. And they must be labelled correctly.
Feverishly they started to try to identify which of the many unusual varieties grew where. And they started to find what everyone who has ever grown vegetables, even in a minor way, finds … they all started to flourish, and come to the perfect condition, at the same time. Eventually, with yet more research, even less sleep, and a couple of friends who recognised the emergency, and were willing to drop everything to assist with a few weeks’ harvesting and packing, their first year as daffodil farmers was accomplished. Other crops also grew in abundance, and organising harvesting for each had to be fitted into the island’s routine.
All the “Tales” are fascinating, and entertaining to read. For instance, I very much enjoyed reading about how the various pets found their ways to the island, and established themselves in the sisters’ affections.
Perhaps it’s best though, to share the bare bones of just one more: “The Treasure- Hunter’s Tale”. At various times, bits of metal and coins were found. When a metal detector located cannon balls, this was even more exciting, because they could have dated from the time of the Spanish Armada, who according to maps, were a few miles south of the island in 1588. Whether they were part of this, or skirmishes with the French is still a matter of speculation.
But when a clergyman from Cumbria wrote to say he was in possession of a treasure map, which he would like them to have, the sisters wondered if this was a hoax. In fact it was not. A local boat builder, now in his eighties, told them stories of smuggling in bygone days, and showed them traces of a tunnel in the cliff face. He also showed them how to access it from the floor in their barn (which he said he had fallen through, when he was a lad). By an extraordinary coincidence, the part of the cliff face that had been filled in with concrete, exactly matched the “x” on the yellowing, ancient map. So what happened in the end? Was there extensive digging? Was anything revealed, or does it to this day keep its secrets? To find the answer you will have to read the book.
And it is a book I can recommend. Yet although Evelyn Atkins is a talented writer, who can turn every incident into a dramatic or amusing tale, there is an element of sadness behind the pioneering daring spirit. It is possible to detect instances which never really matched their dream. Yes, they were owners of this haven of outstanding beauty, and yet they never had the leisure to enjoy it. Visitors would envy them, not realising that Evelyn and Babs could never take a day to explore the island, as their visitors could. There was simply too much to attend to. Many of their hobbies never got a look in. Early on, they asked for an official visit by a representative of the National Trust, to see if they could be any assistance. What resulted from this came as a tremendous shock to the sisters.
They were told that there was no way in which it could be maintained, without a certain amount of commercialisation - a word which was anathema to both of them. The minimum it would need, they were told, was a warden and family living there, and these would need to be paid wages. To accrue the money for this, the island would need to be opened to the public, which meant a tea shop and gift shop.
The sisters turned the offer down, but kept their original promise to leave the island to the National Trust after their deaths. Nowadays, it is possible to visit St George’s Island, as day visitors in the Summer, when the weather permits. The island has been renamed “Looe Island”, and has a proper landing jetty, organised trips, and amenities thought to be essential for tourists. It is protected though, and has not been commercialised. There are no roads, no shops and no traffic. Even years before this, Evelyn and Babs did make a gesture towards the recommendations, by opening a tea shop. Whilst tourists supped their cups of tea, and devoured the traditional Cornish cream teas of scones, cream and jam, they were regaled by tales from the sisters. Frequently though, the fresh provisions brought across from Looe had to be discarded if the seas were too rough for boats from the mainland. But it put a little money in the coffers.
At the age of 87 Evelyn Atkins died, and although Babs was still living there, she announced at that on her death the island was indeed to be given over to the “Cornwall Wildlife Trust”, as planned, for them to preserve as a nature reserve. At the age of 86 Babs Atkins died too. She had continued to live on the small island she and Evelyn loved so much, even after her sister Evelyn had died, and had lived there for 40 years.
It is clear by the narrative that Evelyn could have - and intended to - write more books about their experiences, but there are none. Indeed it is hard to see how she ever managed to snatch the time to pull this one together. She said she used to write it at 5am each morning.
I confess I found an underlying sadness, detectable through the bravado of this book. I am sure that both sisters never regretted their choice for a moment, but in a way their idea of an idyllic paradise, was not quite what they expected.
Here is a list of the chapters. There are also a few sections of colour photographs, grouped together and interspersed throughout the book:
The Prologue
The Pioneers’ Tale
The Daffodil Farmers’ Tale
The Newcomers’ Tale
The Early Helpers’ Tale
The Winkle-Pickers’ Tale
The Cooks’ Tale
The Volunteers’ Tale
The Cottagers’ Tale
The Mechanics’ Tale
The Treasure-Hunters’ Tale
The Mariners’ Tale
The Winters’ Tale
The Author’s Tale
November 10, 2019
Amazing woman and an amazing life story!
February 1, 2023
I enjoyed this second book even more than the first! Sisters Evelyn and Babs bought an island off the coast of Cornwall. What adventures they had good and bad. I love Evelyn’s honest nature and her storytelling. I love how everyone who came to the island chipped in in some way and for all it was a reprieve from the world. The UFO story was so entertaining. Next on my list is to visit St. George Island this summer.
February 1, 2018
Another fantastic story from these amazing sisters! It is a shame, a real shame, that Evelyn did not find time amid all her other hobbies, interests, projects and escapades to write more books -- she is a fantastic, gripping, friendly and entertaining writer and I wish there was more of her stories out there for me to read. Then again, without all the hobbies, interests, projects and escapades she wouldn't have so much to write about!
Recommended to everyone -- not just everyone who lives in Cornwall or wants to live on an island, but everyone, because there's a whole world of delight and inspiration in these two books.
Recommended to everyone -- not just everyone who lives in Cornwall or wants to live on an island, but everyone, because there's a whole world of delight and inspiration in these two books.
April 28, 2022
Splendid little book - a satisfying read. This is a sequel to the author's first account of buying an island. I haven't read the first book and this one stands up well on its own anyway. It's a copy that was passed along by a dear Cornish friend and belonged to parents; signed copy by the author and still has a typed slip tucked inside with details of how to purchase copies of other books directly from her. Engaging writing style; she recounts numerous tales of the fun and hardships of living on St George's Island (off Looe). There are also anecdotes from earlier days of a an interesting and packed life. The Atkins sisters were the sort of characters I read about and wish I had known. Ahead of their time and living life to the full. The island is now in the hands of the Cornwall Wildlife Trust but can be visited by appointment - one for the bucket list!
November 9, 2025
I loved the first book which was all about the Atkins sisters buying the island and getting ready to move there. This book is about their life when their actually lived there. I enjoyed it, but not quite as much as the first one. Each chapter deals with a different aspect of island life, and for me, I think I just preferred the chronological narration of the first one. It's still a great read and full of adventure and captures the pioneering and adventurous spirit of the sisters.
The final chapter is all about Evelyn and how she came to write the books, and here we learn about how she came to have so many interests. It is fascinating and makes it sound like she never had a dull moment in her life.
The final chapter is all about Evelyn and how she came to write the books, and here we learn about how she came to have so many interests. It is fascinating and makes it sound like she never had a dull moment in her life.
January 16, 2018
Poor, poor ladies lost their island to all the visitors they got and I felt bad that I read her last book and said, "I want to go to visit that island!" I did what all those others did but no one lives there now so maybe I won't feel so bad. They are still a very interesting pair and this book was written so well to condense their 21 years of experience to the essentials to give us a flavour of their lives on the island.
May 18, 2021
Just loved this having visited Looe many times and looked longingly at the island must visit when possible 😀
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