The last day of the holidays found us near Penzance on an outing to St Michael’s Mount. I had a foggy childhood memory of a giant’s heart embedded in the stone path up to the castle. So three generations embarked on an expedition to find the heart.

It was an absolutely perfect English summer’s day: wonderfully warm with a slight breeze and not one cloud in the sky. When you come across such your soul sings with joy at the knowledge there’s no better place on Earth to be. And one of those even rarer days: an outing with your family that unfurls without drama, with an enjoyable volume of excitement, and provides a memory to cherish.

With my two-year-old on my back, and the five-year-old holding tightly to Granny’s hand, we boarded the motorboat, zoomed across gently ruffled cobalt sea, and disembarked in the Mount’s walled harbour. We climbed the steep path to the castle, passing the Giant’s Well, and there it was, smaller than we estimated a Giant’s stony heart to be, but no less satisfactory for that.

The children chased each other atop the castle ramparts, my mother and I drank in the long views from the Lizard round to Mousehole. And then we wound our way down to catch a boat back, finishing up with Cornish ice creams in Marazion, our hearts gladdened.

Images by Nadine Mellor