Grumpy Volunteer's Corner

A recent report suggests that grumpy people have a longer life expectancy. I don't want any wise-cracks to the effect that I will probably survive until I'm 110 ... I want to pop off at 95, preferably shot by a jealous lover.

The tenth anniversary photo shoot pictures are about to be published I'm told. Congratulations to all those hardy souls who turned out on a bitterly cold morning to be shepherded, with some difficulty, by the DMs into the correct configuration and threw their arms in the air to order like a flock of inebriated penguins. There's no truth in the rumour that the delay has been caused by the need to air-brush out all those that fell backwards.

Congratulations also to the builders of the replica Bronze Age boat. And no cracks either that it must bring back memories for me of the original. It floated off much to everyone's relief with the help of a couple of Bronze Age plastic buckets. The only thing missing was some bear skins. When I say bear skins, I mean skins of bears not bare skins. Oh, use your imagination! Do I have to explain everything? Maybe I will survive to 110 after all ...

Keith Evans
The Grumpy Volunteer

A cold March afternoon in the museum

Yesterday afternoon was one of those days when I could have found something else to occupy my time rather than travelling 26 miles to Falmouth to be a volunteer at the museum. But if I had not come I would have missed a lovely afternoon spent with visitors from around the UK. Firstly, a couple 85 years young had driven down from Chiverton to visit the Museum and marvelled at the size of our helicopter. I had a wonderful conversation with them both. Secondly, I met a lovely close-knit family from Ashford in Kent who were visiting for the first time with two lovely polite children. The little boy, of around 2 years, politely asked if he could have the 'blue boat' from the waterfront. Sadly I had to explain that if I let him have it other children would miss it. Fortunately he accepted my explanation, and directed his parents to the shop. The only down-side was the 'gruff' gentleman who wanted to know what was grown in the fields, under the plastic sheeting, on the far side of Flushing. I did suggest to him, as I did not know, to drive across and look for himself but after that he seemed to lose interest!

And although I am saying it myself, I was thanked personally by a visitor for making his visit so memorable. So, on reflection as I travelled back to Penzance, it was not a bad afternoon after all.

Martin Smith

Galleries Volunteer

Now We Are Ten

In two thousand and two we were really quite new
And we asked for some help from people like you.

In two thousand and three when we opened the doors
The public came free and arrived in their hordes.

In two thousand and four the Olympics came round
And we swapped all our boats both the air and the ground.

In two thousand and five Team Philips squeezed in
Surf’s Up, and Trafalgar and Ellen sailed in.

In two thousand and six we endured and survived
We put up some flagpoles; a heat-wave arrived.

In two thousand and seven Mad Dogs and their like
We opened up Falmouth, gave prices a hike.

In two thousand and eight ‘twas Olympics again
With Under the Sea and a finn from Sir Ben.

In two thousand and nine the Titanic went down
The sally port opened and new boats we found.

In two thousand and ten a Life on the Rocks
The Hold and the Matthew, and Quarterdeck Docks.

In two thousand eleven, the Enys canoe
The Charter, On Thin Ice to please me and you.

In bold twenty twelve with Antiques on the Square
We opened a box and we found nothing there.
We searched and we rescued and made a new game
And watched the Olympics and lighting a flame.
From the workshop came noises, unusual sounds
Of bronze adze on wood – it’s a hard job we found.

Ten years in the making
Ten years full of glee
Ten years serving punters
By you and by me.
So here’s to the next ten
Where e’er we may be
Ten years of success
With our Boats and the Sea.

By the Deputy Museum Poet with apologies to A A Milne