Infrastructure:
The population of Newlyn is around 4000 living in over 2000 households. This 2:1 ratio of two people per household is below the average occupancy rate of the UK (2.4:1) due to our high proportion of second homes. The proposed Port Penlee development is expected to add another 200 houses, up to 300 'holiday' apartments and an 80-room hotel. To this we may also add shops and offices, pubs and restaurants and all the service personnel that go with them. Whether these newcomers are temporary or permanent, commercial or residential it is fairly safe to assume that the year-on-year average increase in our population would increase by about one thousand people – about 25% greater than exists at the moment.

The social effects of this sudden increase to our established historic community is difficult to predict precisely, and this is especially so due the potential 'clash of cultures' and income disparity between the long-established and the newly-arrived. (95% are expected to be cash-buyers). However, it is fairly easy to imagine what the physical effects would be on our infrastructure; we would simply have less of everything to go around; our resources would need to be spread more-thinly.

A population increase of 25% equates to a decrease (or averaging out) of resources of 20% so imagine the effects of reducing all of the following services by that amount. We are already experiencing severe cutbacks in many of the social sectors and this can only be exacerbated by adding more people to what is available.

In an endeavour to make this point clear, and please forgive us this over-simplification, but imagine the following, it's not that far from reality:

20% less hospital beds, 20% less dentists, doctors and surgeons, 20% less teachers and schools, 20% less ambulances, 20% reduction in coastguard services; lifeboat services, fire services. 20% less parking spaces.  20% less rubbish collection and 25% more landfill, 20% reduction in water supply and services, 20% reduction in sewerage systems, 20% reduction in all social services including facilities for the elderly, the unemployed, the mentally ill, the disadvantaged. 25% increase in pollution levels, 25% more road congestion, 25% more accidents. The list could go on and on and on. Just think about it and don't assume that our local and national governments will come to the rescue – they are already at breaking strain under the load, and it would only get worse.

Should we really be creating the means to allow our local population to increase by nearly 40% (of which it would), and how on earth is this supposed to save the fishing industry?

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1. New customers are put off by the direct effects of the construction e.g. heavy lorries and contractors vehicles going to and fro', mud on the road and verges, noise, dust, and visual intrusion such as scaffolding, and hoarding.

2. Established customers change their buying pattern (e.g. they shop or do business elsewhere) which they permanently adopt after the development has been completed.

3. Employee morale drops due to the incessant disruption and disturbance; this has a knock-on effect on the performance and efficiency of the business.

Tourism is now by far Penwith's most important industry. In 2004 it generated £230m, over six times that of the fishing industry. In a picturesque area such as ours, visitors are attracted by the natural and architectural heritage and any impact on this, on either a temporary or permanent basis, would have a profound effect on current and future revenues generated.

Everyone has heard of the awful 'holiday in the costa-del-somewhere-or-other' where the poor unfortunates end up in a hotel next to a building site. This would be what it would be like in Newlyn for up to four years, quite possibly longer. Our reputation as a quiet quiet seaside village would be destroyed for ever. No other area to our knowledge has ever had to put up with such a large number of massive development programmes and all occurring in and around it at the same time. It is madness to even consider the possibility that we will be able to withstand the onslaught.

The following businesses will be the worst hit:

Hotels and B&B's, Self-catering holiday homes, restaurants, pubs and cafes, tourist attractions, petrol stations, coach services other and travel-related businesses.

There will then be secondary impacts on the following:

Tourist-oriented shops such as: galleries, 'knick-knacks' and ephemera, surf and beach items, food shops, antiques and curios, entertainment-related businesses such and clubs, cinemas and theatres. Specialist shops catering for visiting hikers, photographers, cyclists etc. There are many more examples outside the scope of this essay.

We must also consider the separate case of how the developments would affect Mousehole. Mousehole is virtually 100% dependant on tourism and it would suffer in even worse ways than Newlyn for this reason. Although Mousehole would be saved from the physical effects of all the construction work, the effects on Mousehole’s businesses would be beyond compare: Firstly, whether local resident, or seasoned or casual visitor, Mousehole has a special place in our hearts because of its unique historic character. This character would be irrevocably damaged due to the proximity of a new modern village and an ugly metal lifting bridge being built in the very near vicinity; the village would be defiled and this in itself would put many visitors off. Secondly, potential visitors to Mousehole would also be discouraged by the delays caused by the lifting bridge and may simply elect to go elsewhere. This would certainly be the case with the impromptu day tripper. A similar effect would deter people from having their holiday accommodation within Mousehole due to the feeling of them being ‘marooned’ there. Thirdly, those of us who reside in the area would be discouraged from visiting the village for a quiet drink or a meal for the same reasons explained above. Mousehole’s businesses would die.

In summary: people won't be put off going on holiday to Cornwall,  or even to West Penwith, but they will avoid our area and take their money with them. If they have the misfortune to inadvertantly come to Newlyn or Mousehole when all the building work is going on, they are unlikely to return – ever, and who could blame them?

Commerce:

Unlike the majority of Cornish coastal villages that have transferred their commercial base over to tourism, Newlyn still draws its principle income from the fishing industry as it has done since medieval times and probably, long before that. Ironically, it is this fact that draws the most tourists to Newlyn. Despite the decline in the fishing industry on an international scale, Newlyn still has an active core that presents the visitor with the impression that he is exactly that – a visitor; an observer to a time-honoured tradition. Fishing is obviously at the very heart of Newlyn. It has not been ‘repackaged’ like Padstow, Portleven or St Ives, where the remaining fishing boats add little more than a quaint backdrop to the harbour for the aspiring photographer.

If the development schemes are allowed to go ahead, this ‘gentrification’ will undoubtedly happen. The process would start by relocating all the fishing-related businesses around Newlyn Harbour out of the village. The old premises would then be converted into luxury apartments and sold off. Some of these may well need to be ‘affordable’ due to the 'dangled carrot' effect to get around planning restrictions, but a lot will not, but that is not even our point. The point is that Newlyn will lose its commercial ‘heart’, the industrial core that is at the very centre of Newlyn’s identity and the very heart that tourists love to come and visit.

click here to see an illustration of the Newlyn sites already eamarked for 'regeneration'. Those marked in red are the most likely contenders.

The village will insidiously change from a fishing port into a piazza-cafe society. The arts and crafts that currently form a peripheral sideline may indeed flourish but Newlyn will be little more than another visitor theme-park. The ‘sea change’ will be when the remaining fishing industry will be finally repackaged and rebranded. It will be given ‘added value’ as a ‘visitor attraction’; something to reminisce over while sipping cappuccinos from the cobbled terrace that was once alive with fishermen, lobster pots, real people, real lives, proper Cornish.

We are all living at a time of great change. Our global life support systems are starting to send us clear messages that we are living our lives beyond our means and the only way to remedy some of our past mistakes of greed and hubris will be to come to terms with the fact that our rapid expansion can no longer keep pace with our needs, demands and aspirations. We now have to scale down our expectations; not try to keep up with them and destroy our planet in the process. It is for this reason that ‘localisation’ rather than ‘globalisation’ will be the ruling ethic for our children and grandchildren. Local trade and commerce will be the only practical way of sustaining a healthy community. Attempting to go against this changing tide will bring nothing but disappointment, anguish and conflict.

We must now therefore focus on a revised vision of the future where we keep our trade, industry and commerce sustainably within our community; looking towards ways of fishing sustainably; living sustainably, not catching and shiping our fish around the globe  using inordinate amounts of fossil fuels, wrapping it up in some fancy plastic wrapping to be sold for three times the price in places we have probably never even heard of let alone visit. We don’t want to send our fish to a ‘seafood park’ to be shrink-wrapped and barcoded, we want it sold at the harbour; in shops at the harbour; with merchants and tradesmen at the harbour. This is the real Newlyn; the traditional Newlyn. This isn’t the view of a bunch of Luddites. This is the New Reality!

Get your Caravans off the Cornish Cliffs

Simon Jenkins, The Times, 21st April 2000

I am an inveterate tourist of England. I love the heights of HeIvellyn and the vales of the Marches. I would pit the Yorkshire Dales or the slopes of Exmoor against the finest scenery in Europe. There are no churches better than those of East Anglia or villages cosier than those of Dorset and Somerset. But my affection is sorely tried.

Let us take the case of West Penwith, the wild Cornish country beyond St Ives. This is where the South-West Coast Path, which I seem incapable of completing, boxes the compass round the curve of Land's End in one glorious sweep of sea and cliff. Here happy accident has combined geology, botany and history, birds, fish and fantasy. England's most exhilarating shore­line is mercifully its least accessible. Penwith's infinite variety is unstated by custom. The tin-mine ruins of Zennor might be on the Hebrides. The coves of Lamorna and St Loy a few miles south are Mediterranean. At this time of year, the gorse, hawthorne and bluebell are breath­taking. The coast path of Cornwall is one of the world's great walks: the way to Santiago dc Compostela is a trudge in comparison, the "round" of Mont Blanc is sheer monotony.

Yet inland from the celebrated path, the condition of rural England raises its eternal question. What is to become of West Cornwall? This is bleak country. The last tin mine closed ten years ago. The farms are unprofitable. The sea is losing its fish and the picturesque harbours are emptying of boats. Grey wind­swept settlements seem peculiarly blighted. The local villages are like those of the Fens depicted in this week's Emneth murder trial, com­plaining "of nothing for the young to do". Penzance has commercially eviscerated itself with out-of-town superstores. Barclays Bank has deserted St Just. Two days earlier, the historic core of Hayle was gutted when an arsonist fired its Georgian warehouses. Ask any West Cornish-man "How are things?" and the reply is the same, "Terrible".

There is only one answer. The fate of the Cornish economy lies not just in tourists, but in tourists like me. It does not need quantity, the cheap-jack hotels and mobile homes that have despoiled (and impoverished) the Costa Brava and brought unspeakable ugliness to England's East Coast resorts. West Penwith needs what the trade calls low-vol­ume high-spenders, seeking not sun and crowds but some idiosyncratic mix of geography and history. It needs (the wealthy and the choosey, who want their senses soothed and foibles flattered. We are creatures of whimsical loyalty. At a drop of rain or glimpse of caravan, we are back into the Volvo and off to southwest France. But if richly treated, we will richly treat. Unlike fish or tin or dole, we are more plentiful each year. We are the new gold.

I know what we like about West Penwith. We love its wildness and emptiness. We love its granite churches and fishing cottages. We love the ruins of tin mining, England's most romantic industrial landscape, where the towers and winding sheds of Morvah and Botallack rise among tumbling rocks and cliffs. We love to immerse ourselves in the history of Penwith, of saints, smugglers and smelters. This is Celtic country, a land of quoits, fogous, bounders, drolls, talfats and bal maidens. The new tourists are in­trigued by the reviv­al of Cornish, and even warm to the call of separatism. When a publican asks "Are you from England?", the ar­chaeology is not his­torical but political. "Visitors £2, Cor­nish free" says a notice. For this fris­son of the exotic, we pay.

The new tourism finds St Ives and Penzance charmingly conserved towns with excellent restaurants. The St Ives Tate and the Newlyn Art Gallery are serious regional mu­seums, the former in a superb building looking out over Porth-meor Beach. The open-air Minack Theatre at Porthcurno, where the actors must compete with seagulls and crashing waves, beats Epidaurus for nature contending with art. St Michael's Mount stands majestic over Penzance. The gardens at Trengwainton and Tresco on the Isles of Scilly arc subtropical. In a quayside hut at Lamorna I encoun­tered the best crab soup in England.

These assets are beyond price, enhanced as they are by a hospita­lity farther removed from city life and habits than in any part of England. Downmarket tourism seeks always lo be like itself.

Upmarket tourism seeks always to be different. West Penwith is differ­ent. But who is to guard that difference?

What I do not like about this part of Cornwall is its revelling in whatever it has that is ugly. "Let the form of an object be what it may," wrote Constable, "light, shade and perspective will always make it beautiful." Constable never knew the work of West Penwith planning department, apparently an institu­tional contradiction of terms. Climb from the coast path at almost any point and you will see a bungalow. Set out along any road and you will pass car dumps and tipping sites. In the distance rise masts, beacons and pylons. We can soon expect the arrival of industrial wind turbines, marching down Cornwall's north coast from Dartmoor. Petrol sta­tions are garish. Shop fronts blazon corporate design. Public buildings are hideous.

On the outskirts of lovely Sennen, an estate of permanent caravans sprawls across the fields. This is outrageous. The wildness of Land's End has capitulated to a theme park. Houses with picture win­dows stand sentinel along the cliffs of St Levan, as if challeng­ing that admirable monk to cleave them with his stick, as he once did the Devil's stone in the churchyard.

The irony is that controlling such development does not cost money, only guts. In most of Europe's "new tourism" areas, rigid controls are imposed on the siting and appear­ance of new buildings. In France and Spain, local or traditional materials must be used. In Germa­ny or Switzerland some attempt is made to concentrate building within existing settlements. This holds the boundary between town and coun­try. It keeps communities close-knit, minimises traffic and sustains shops and services. This is not only good planning. It permits develop­ment while guarding the visual character of a district. To visitors it suggests a people who appreciate the beauty of their surroundings and who can be trusted to protect it. It is the law and order of the landscape.

The same process as can be seen in Cornwall is ruining the country­side of west Ireland. The new corruption allows one farmer a house or caravan site, and then cannot deny it to another. The pass is sold, long before agricultural reform gets round to subsidising farmers to maintain rather than ruin the countryside. In Cornwall the planners seemed frightened even to dictate style or materials to housebuilders, let alone protect horizons and sightlines. Chalet or ranch, pebbledash or plateglass, it is all the same in Cornwall. Sheltered fishing and farming settlements, whose compactness is well-suited to infilling with new cottages, are left to depopulate while open countryside is suburbanised. This is madness.

The authorities plead that they are being led by "local people", as if the interests of local people must be opposed to those of economic regen­eration. Caravans, I am told, are the country cottages of the poor. Picture windows are what retired people want. Cornishmen are fishermen and miners, not yokels. Who are these stuck-up Londoners to tell us what to do?

I am all for localism. If Cornwall wants only "politically correct" tourism to fill its struggling ports, pubs, restaurants and galleries, so be it. But this defies the experience of tourist venues throughout non-sunny Northern Europe. Outsiders are not telling Cornwall what to do. They are merely telling Cornwall what they want to buy in the open market. Their demands are tough in the short term, demanding ruthless development control and the for­going of short-term profit in favour of "externalities" such as scenery, wildness and space. Outsiders re­gard scenic beauty as West Cornwall's most precious asset. They will not travel 300 miles to gaze at bungalows and caravan parks. That can be done in Kent or Sussex.

These are the new inward inves­tors, rich, fussy, escapist one-family tourists. They want to find some­where distinctive and different, to visit, return to and possibly settle. They seek not a sight but an environment, even an entire culture. West Cornwall can still offer such an environment. But if Cornish people will not protect it, they will lose in one generation both their environment and their culture.

 simon.jenkins@the-times.co.uk