We hope the example of Daphne's family will encourage you to post on this webpage your favourite lines other than the universally well-loved opening to Rebecca. Perhaps you'll be inspired to re-read her books and discover other lines with a special meaning for you.

Virago Press has published almost thirty of Daphne's books in paperback with a delightful hardback edition of Vanishing Cornwall. These have introductions by established authors, some of whom have presented at our Festival and submitted their own favourite lines below.

If you have already REGISTERED as a Member, please use the SUBMIT form to send your favourite lines to us, where they will be reviewed by Ann Willmore.

"Your Favourite Lines" is based on an original idea by Collin Langley.

Sylvia Wiltshire
Vanishing Cornwall

There are no more Arundells, and no more Grenvilles. These two families, the proudest and the most famous amongst Cornish gentry, became extinct in Cornwall, the name passing to other branches east of Tamar. The curious and nostalgic, desiring to wander where the Grenvilles once rode, hawked and hunted, can first drive to Kilkhampton church and look upon their sculptured monuments, then turn coastward towards Coombe, where the fine old farmhouse of Stowe Barton stands above the site of the two Grenville homes. Across the road are the foundations of the great house that John Grenville, son of Bevil, built over the remains of his father's dwelling when he was created Earl of Bath after the Restoration. This was pulled down after his death and today there is little left of terraces and gardens but the old encircling walls. The coast and high cliffs are very near, and the clean, sharp air blows upon them from the Atlantic.
Vanishing Cornwall, Ch.7, The Cornish Gentry, p.87/8, Virago (2007).

Being naturally curious, very nostalgic and wishing to wander where the Grenvilles once rode, hawked and hunted, my husband and I first followed Daphne's directions to Kilkhampton church only to find the oak door locked, barring our way to the Grenvilles' sculptured monuments inside. We asked a layman, who was leaving the grounds, as to the time of day we might find the church door unlocked, explaining that we would like to see where the Grenvilles lay. To my delight, he asked if we were descendants of the Grenvilles! After pleasantries, we turned coastward towards Coombe, where the Stowe Barton farmhouse stands above the site of the two Grenville homes.
As we stood on the same ground as the Grenvilles once did centuries ago, I remembered the words Daphne wrote about John, son of Bevil, regarding his building a great house over the remains of his father's dwelling, after he was created Earl of Bath and I wondered why John's house was demolished?
Sylvia Wiltshire.

Linda Cooke
Vanishing Cornwall

Here, in the Ropehaven, all is peace, the long afternoon drifts by, until a slow ripple against the anchor chain makes the boat swing to a leisurely dance and the helmsman becomes restive, sensing the first whisper of a breeze. The lazy wallow beneath the sun is over. Sails are hoisted, the anchor raised, sheets made fast, and we are homeward bound across the bay, a beam wind from the north-west whipping us back to Fowey. We throw mackerel lines astern and make them fast, and while one of us is intent on the trimming of sails the other stares towards the land, the clay-hills hard and white on the western skyline. Then the slope of the Gribbin peninsula approaches, bracken-covered, green, and beyond it, hull-down between its coverage of trees, two chimney tops and the grey roof of Menabilly.
Coming to the harbour entrance we wind in the lines, and one of them find a limp and long-dead fish whose protesting struggles neither of us felt. The breeze dies, the tide is slack, and with infinite cunning born of long experience the helmsman brings the sailing craft to her moorings at the opening of Pont Pyll. The buoy is lifted, the sails lowered and stowed, the fish cleaned, and as the stringy guts are thrown into the air all of Fowey's gulls appear, wheeling, screaming, until one more voracious than its fellows dives to the patch of water where the mess has fallen and gulps it wholesale.
This is the moment for pausing, for lighting a cigarette and glancing around to appraise the visiting craft, anchored in the pool below Polruan. Fowey town has been in shadow since earliest afternoon, but Polruan, and all the eastern hills sloping to Pont Creek, are caught by the vanishing sun, with the ripple on the water dusky red. It is a moment of satisfaction and tranquillity.
Vanishing Cornwall, Ch.3, Climate, p.40-42, Virago (2007).

Linda Cooke was the winner of the first Daily Telegraph Daphne du Maurier Competition in 1998. AW.

Jan Ravens
Vanishing Cornwall

There was a smell in the air of tar and rope and rusted chain, a smell of tidal water. Down harbour, around the point, was the open sea. Here was the freedom I desired, long sought for, not yet known. Freedom to write, to walk, to wander, freedom to climb hills, to pull a boat, to be alone.
Vanishing Cornwall, Prologue, p.6, Virago (2007).

One of the first things that drew me to Daphne's writing was her identification with Cornwall, both as a writer, and in her own life. The description of her first impressions of Fowey never fails to make me long to be there. Jan Ravens.


This quote, with minor variations to the wording, can also be found in Myself When Young: The Shaping of a Writer, Ch.4, p.102/103 Virago (2004) and Daphne du Maurier: Enchanted Cornwall – Her Pictorial Memoir, Ch.2, p.30/31, Penguin Group (1989). AW.

Jan was the winner of BBC's Celebrity Mastermind on 1st January 2008. Her specialist subject was Daphne du Maurier. CL.

Josephine King
Vanishing Cornwall

Those who desire to understand the Cornish, and their country, must use their imagination and travel back in time.
Vanishing Cornwall, Ch.1, p.14, Virago (2007).

For me this sums up Daphne's fascination with the past in Cornwall in The House on the Strand, The King's General, Jamaica Inn amongst others. Josephine King.

Josephine is a Blue Badge Guide for the du Maurier festival walks. AW.

Jeremy Saunders
Vanishing Cornwall

More spectacular than the small inland mines are the chimneys and engine-houses of those built above the sea, perched like the nests of eagles. Botallack, near Cape Cornwall in West Penwith, has an almost eerie grandeur, set on a peak of rock with the Atlantic foaming at its base... This chimney surely never belched forth smoke, those walls never housed an engine's throbbing power. They stood for something outside time, like the tombs on the moorlands of West Penwith; memorials to daring and to courage, to the spirit of the miner himself, undefeated in adversity and loss, braving the centuries past, the centuries to come, symbols of a Cornish heritage.
Vanishing Cornwall, The Tinners, Ch.8, p.102/104, Virago (2007).

I had the good fortune to produce the two films Vanishing Cornwall and The Make Believe World of Daphne du Maurier. Kits Browning and I met when we were both working on the film The Running Man (1962) directed by Sir Carol Reed, whose work was inspirational to Kits and I. Daphne much enjoyed hearing stories about the making of the film. Carol had been Daphne's first love and they remained in close touch.

Working with Kits on Vanishing Cornwall, I had the privilege of not only dining with Daphne, but also staying at Menabilly. These memories are personal and much cherished. Daphne loved ideas, which stimulated the imagination. It was in this context that conversation was at its most animated while Vanishing Cornwall was adapted to a film. She loved the folklore of Cornwall and the spirit of its people perhaps because, until recently, life was so hard. Hard, largely due to the elements that revealed great beauty but in an instant changed to life threatening danger. She was drawn to exposure of the elements in her love of sailing and in walks with her dogs on the windswept cliffs. Moments that intensify the imagination I suspect. The bravery of the people is symbolised in descriptions of the tin mines. The rhythm of Daphne's prose and feeling when spoken by Sir Michael Redgrave in the film are a lasting memorial to a forgotten Cornwall.

Memories are precious things, and whether good or ill are never sad. A country known and loved in all its moods becomes woven into the pattern of life, something to be shared, to be made plain. Those born and bred in Cornwall must have the greatest understanding of its people and their ways, its history and its legends, its potentiality for future growth. As one who sought to know it long ago, at five years old, in quest of freedom, and later put down roots and found content, I have come a small way on the path. The beauty and the mystery beckon still.
Vanishing Cornwall, Prologue, p.8, Virago (2007).

My delight is to remember the twinkling blue eyes as another mischievous thought crossed Daphne's mind. I shall continue to think of her as an observer and an absorber; qualities inherited from both her father, Gerald, and her grandfather, George perhaps. Qualities that fortunately have been passed to present generations of du Mauriers. Jeremy Saunders.

Kits Browning
Vanishing Cornwall

The place has the impersonality of somewhere superbly dissociated from humankind, even from life itself. There are no gulls perching upon the ledges or the clefts, no sheep grazing on the headlands beyond. The force of matter is pre-eminent, hard rock challenging the elemental thrust of water. Perhaps this was what drew the hermit to wander here from his cell higher up the valley, endeavouring to reconcile the indifference of nature with an all-seeing and benevolent God…
Vanishing Cornwall, Ch.10, p.121, Virago (2007).

My mother's description of the Rocky Valley a few miles inland from Tintagel, North Cornwall is one of my favourite quotes. Kits Browning.

Christian 'Kits' Browning is Daphne du Maurier's son. CL.