Bookworms, history buffs and thirsty hikers are all in their element at the Jamaica Inn, writes Steve McKenna.
In her 1936 gothic novel, Jamaica Inn, Daphne du Maurier paints an eerie, foreboding picture of Bodmin Moor; bleak, desolate and battered by the elements, it is, in the mind of heroine Mary Yellan, "a wasted country" in which "no human being could live".
On this fine spring afternoon, the granite-speckled moor looks relatively benign. There's not a cloud in the sky. The temperature is teetering above 20C. A gentle breeze. Perfect weather for a hike up to rugged Brown Willy - at 420m, the highest point in Cornwall - followed by refreshments, and a whole lot more, in a renowned local hostelry.
When I arrive, parched and peckish, at Jamaica Inn, the benches on its cobbled courtyard are jammed with patrons enjoying food and drink in the sunshine. Besides teas, coffees, wines, spirits, beers and ciders - including zesty Cornish brews - there's typical pub grub to be had; think: steak pie and chips, gammon steak, salmon fillet, and roasts on Sundays.
I'd usually hate to be indoors on such a glorious day, but, having been entranced by du Maurier's chilling story, which is set in and around this evocative old coaching inn, I'm keen to delve inside it.
Entering the gunmetal-grey, slate-roofed establishment, I mosey through the shady, cosy bar area, beneath the beamed ceilings and past a log fire that I can envisage roaring magnificently on a vile winter's evening.
Perched halfway between Launceston and Bodmin on what was once an ancient Roman road and now overlooks a busy dual carriageway, the Jamaica Inn has been providing "shelter and sustenance" to weary travellers since the 1750s.
"There are two theories as to how the inn got its name," says owner Allen Jackson, an altogether more affable chap than Joss Merlyn, the beastly fictional proprietor of du Maurier's novel.
Theory one is that the governor of Jamaica was a local landowner. Theory two is that the inn was awash in contraband Caribbean rum - one of countless exotic items smuggled through here in the 18th and 19th centuries.
The inn doesn't shy away from its murky past - indeed, it embraces it. Not only does the pub sign feature a suspicious-looking bearded fellow with an eye patch, and a parrot on his shoulder, an in-house smugglers' museum traces how Cornwall, and the inn, became embroiled in the illicit "free trade" economy. In a bid to dodge punitive duties levied by the Crown, imported goods such as silks, tea, tobacco, spices and brandy were more frequently smuggled into Cornwall than anywhere else in England.
A wild and remote region more than 400km from London - days away on horseback, five hours by rail today - Cornwall was short of customs officials, but flush with secluded coves that were ideal for bringing ashore illicit cargo. And in its isolation, Jamaica Inn was the perfect place for storing goods before they were transported up country.
Beside the smugglers' museum there's a Daphne du Maurier room, which explores the author's literacy legacy and stocks personal possessions like her Sheraton writing desk and her published works in myriad languages.
Du Maurier was born in London, but fell in love with Cornwall as a young woman, and spent most of her life here (residing mainly in Fowey, a photogenic estuary town 40km from Bodmin Moor). It's said she became captivated by Jamaica Inn after staying here on a wintry night, in the 1930s.
Although most present-day patrons are passers-by in search of a pint and a bite, there's still room at this inn; 20 rooms, in fact. Some of the older ones, with four-poster beds and creaking floorboards, are reputedly haunted. "We've had guests tell us they've seen shadows on the walls and heard hooves on the cobbles outside in the middle of the night," says Allen Jackson.
He is so confident of the inn's enduring appeal that he's building 15 extra rooms in a modern extension.