arkness swept overhead; the birds having long since fallen silent.  With the rapidly dwindling light levels we realised our chances of seeing the eclipse had just approached zero...

The day before had been a glorious one typical of North Cornwall with clouds bubbling up inland but a crisp clear sky remaining at the coast.  Given the state of Cornish traffic in general and Newquay's in particular we had decided to remain at the hotel, sacrificing a precious 30 seconds of totality for the sake of convenience and better weather.

Having risen to a wonderful cooked breakfast we ventured out onto the large balcony surrounding the hotel and picked the best spot under a large parasol on the south eastern corner, unfortunately today it was shielding us from the rain and not the sun's rays - c'est la vie.

Soon we had gathered a small band of like minded souls choosing to shelter from the elements under the kind graces of the sun shade rather than retire indoors and miss out on any of the event.  The morning wore on and we struggled to share the BBC coverage on the woefully inadequate screen of a miniature TV showing us dogs, chickens and crickets (don't ask!) on Penzance beach and Burt Weeden piloting the RAF Hercules overhead.

I had resigned myself to watching the spectacle on the TV whilst the rest of our group braved the skies to see the rush of the oncoming shadow line in the clouds.  The Isles of Scilly were almost at totality when a small cheer reached us from the crowded Crantock beach to our west, then a huge cheer rang out.  Crestfallen we realised they could see the sun, yet quarter of a mile away we had nothing.  "There it is" someone shouted, searching the sky we caught our first glimpse of the final sliver of the sun vanishing behind the moon.  Then as if by an act of God the clouds parted to reveal the eclipse in all its glory.

Rapidly dragging the rain soaked cover off the Nikon I scrabbled about, stupidly unprepared, jamming the lens in vaguely the right direction - all systems were go.  Sarah on the Weston light meter sounded out the objective readings which tumbled from a steady 7 to zero in less than 20 seconds.

TOTALITY

An eerie light fell around us, the streetlights had turned themselves on and I started to fire off a reel of Kodachrome.  As the mid eclipse approached a large flock of rooks came from out of nowhere in a cacophony of roosting calls, flying about like demented things.  The onlookers were quite simply stupefied by the vision before them, some realising a 40 year ambition in just 90 seconds.

The light levels had dropped so low that reading shutter speeds was almost impossible, so just keep firing and bracketing like mad and hope it all comes out in the developing tank.

Then with little warning the "Diamond Ring" appears heralding the end of totality.  Within minutes the clouds had closed back in and it was all over.

WOW !